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David DiLoreto |
I’m a car kid. I love cars. I think they’re gorgeous. And there’s nothing better than being able to stare at a perfectly shaped rear-end without anybody scolding you. So what better opportunity could there have been around here than the Portland International Auto Show? I could go with my best friend and stare at rear-ends.
My roommate came up to me a week before the show and told me we were going. Naturally, I didn’t hesitate to agree. The rest of the week dragged on with thoughts of cars running through my head. I felt like a little kid dreaming of seeing Santa Claus drop down the chimney. Finally the day of the show came, and I didn’t care that thousands of feet of this wild thing called snow was shutting down the majority of Portland. Apparently neither did the rest of Portland, because nobody was about to miss out on this experience.
My roommate and I managed to scavenge a bank-breaking twelve dollars from our wallets and proceeded to sprint past the elevator and up the stairs. We walked out into my childhood dream: a huge room with all the cars I could ever imagine. They ranged from basic cars to sport cars to the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile. I had to ease myself into everything, otherwise I would have easily embarrassed myself. I drooled over the Ferraris and just about had a heart attack when I realized I was actually allowed to sit in the Maseratis. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to continue to stare at the beauty I was looking at or move on to the next one.
It didn’t matter where I went; I was happy. I could look at Hondas, Fords, Subarus, Chevys, Jaguars, BMWs, Mercedes-Benz, Maseratis, Ferraris, Lamborghinis and just about anything else. One car led to the next, and before I knew it, there were no more cars. How could I possibly have seen every single car already? I had just gotten here...a few hours ago. It suddenly hit me how tired I was. Running around, heart racing at every new sight, I didn’t process that we had been going for so long. We slowly worked our way back to the parking garage, while simultaneously throwing a temper tantrum in my head because I wasn’t done and didn’t want to go home. But it was time, I had seen everything and there’s always next year.
So if you like cars, or even kind of like cars, I say start saving for that twelve dollar admission next year. I guarantee you will see me there again.
