This afternoon, along with miscellaneous other junk in my mailbox, I found a little plastic box with tear-jerker pictures and the title “Three Journeys”. My first thought was that it was some kind of religious propaganda, but it turned out to be an advertising DVD from Lexus. Not having a DVD player at home, I don’t yet know what’s on it; that treat will have to wait until a return to work. I suppose Lexus doesn’t think anybody who doesn’t have a DVD player is a potential purchaser of their automobiles, and they’re probably right. So how did such a demographic anomaly get on their mailing list? I had a suspicion, and when I saw the address, I knew I was right.
Way back in May, I promised scintillating narration of this year’s Rolex event. But, aside from some pictures of the competition, the promised report never materialized. Considering this year’s absence of some of my obsessions from previous years, I suppose the major highlight of this year’s report, had it been written, would have been the infamous Lexus test drive.
Eagerly anticipating a captive audience of what they hoped would be well-heeled yuppies (aren’t all horse-people rich?), the Lexus folks hauled in a couple of truckloads of their luxury SUVs. Then they hauled in even more truckloads of dirt, rock., logs, etc., and built an obstacle course. It was similar to the ones you see in TV commercials, with the disclaimer “Professional drivers on closed course; do not try this at home.” But this promotion had an unusual twist.
Instead of hiring professional stunt drivers to drive the SUVs around the course, they hired pretty women to drive around the grounds in golf carts, picking up members of the general public and chauffering them to the course. Anybody with a valid driver’s license was invited to put a Lexus to the torture test, even someone stumbling around with a glass of straight Bourbon (alas not Woodford Reserve) which was obviously not my first of the day.
The folks in charge of the demo did politely insist that I leave my drink outside the vehicle while I was driving. When I protested that there was no bleepin way they were gonna sell me a bleepin $50,000 car if it didn’t even have a bleepin cup-holder, they patiently explained the cup-holder was not the issue, gently took my glass of Bourbon (I warned them I would remember exactly how much was in it), and steered me to the driver’s seat of one of their vehicles.
At some point in this process, probably while I was signing a waiver promising not to sue if I totalled one of their vehicles, I must have given them my name and address. And today’s delivery demonstrated someone’s diligent effort to interpret my drunken scrawl. It was addressed to:
Matt Simpsonm 1845 Haokius Cannes Rd. Paris, KY 40301 |
instead of |
Matt Simpson 1045 Hawkins-Cummins Rd. Paris, KY 40361 |
Since I never miss an opportunity to bash the US Postal Service when I think they deserve it, I suppose I should take this opportunity to give them credit for re-interpreting Lexus’ interpretation of my address. (They probably just thought Lexus’ computer had caught one of them viruses that’s goin around).