You ever just feel like you don’t belong? Like really don’t belong? I’m not talking about the slight awkwardness that we’ve all felt when we realize we’re out of place, I’m talking about the in-over-your-head-so-far-that-even-when-you-come-out-you’re-still-in-over-your-head. Yeah, that kind of ‘don’t belong.’
This past weekend, we were invited to test drive a few luxury cars, and by luxury, I mean luxury (said in a sultry voice). The opportunity came about innocently enough, but really, there was not a lot of foresight when we accepted the invite. Actually, who am I kidding, there was none.
It all started a few months ago when we were telling the story of a recent trip we had taken, when a caravan of about 30 luxury cars sped past us on the highway like we were standing still. The parade of luxury cars included a white Lamborghini Diablo and a green McLaren (among others), and of course, a token souped-up Ford Focus (I’m not kidding). When we saw the Ford Focus bringing up the rear – with the largest spoiler I have ever seen on a car – I thought we had a chance in our Honda Civic. But alas…the best view we would get of those amazing cars was from the back, as they sped away leaving us feeling like Bowser tripped up on a banana peel in Mario Kart.
Fast-forward a few months, and the person we were so excitedly telling this story to, had the opportunity to bring some guests to test drive some luxury vehicles (sultry voice). I’m not quite sure why, but they thought of us for the invite – maybe they could tell how much we love nice cars? Or maybe they felt bad for us because we drive a beat up old Honda Civic that has no air conditioning, only one speaker left, and windshield wipers that have a mind of their own? Likely the latter, but regardless, never ones to turn down an invitation, we graciously accepted, not thinking twice about driving cars that cost over 100x the Kelley Blue Book value of our ‘Fair’ Honda Civic (gulp).
Anyway, back to this past weekend. As (un)luck would have it, babysitting fell through the day before the event, so that added another layer of stress to the day. It would have been smart to use that as an excuse to graciously bow out, but note the phrase ‘would have been smart.’ Smart goes out the window when you get an opportunity like we had. So we cobbled together multiple sitters to cover the duration of the excursion, and we were off!
Arriving at the venue, as we walked past a cherry-red Lamborghini Huracan and a yellow Lamborghini Aventador, I started to get that feeling. It wasn’t the large cup of coffee I had drank on the way in. It was the start of the in-over-my-head feeling (although both feelings were nauseously similar at this point).
Of course though, we are Dubowsky’s, so we walked into the place like we owned it, introduced ourselves, and proceeded to sign our lives away as if we did this on a daily basis. We had come this far – heck, we had a babysitter (more than one, actually) – this was officially a date now and there was no turning back. So we provided copies of our license, insurance, and credit cards, and promised free labor from any future unborn children of ours should anything happen to their cars. What could possibly go wrong?
During the event’s introduction, I started to get that feeling – that feeling I described above as completely in-over-your-head-so-far-that-even-when-you-come-out-you’re-still-in-over-your-head. Never have I wished for my Honda Civic, which my children have fondly named Marshmallow, like I did as I was lectured on how to drive a performance vehicle. Bizarrely though, no one else seemed nearly as nervous as I was – I mean for goodness sake the host had an accent – this was legitimate! But fake it to make it – we were in this now…
Luckily, I didn’t have much time to completely let my fear consume me because we were among the first wave of people in line to drive (that’s what confidence gets you!). I walked outside and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw what my first car would be. I found comfort in the fact that the car I was going to drive was not an inch off the ground (like my beloved Lambo’s), it was a nice sporty coupe – a 2019 Bentley GT Continental prototype…not even released to the public at this point. Wait, what?
Yes, you know. The W12, 6.0 L twin turbo, 600+ horsepower car. Um. Holy in-over-my-head-so-far-that-I-am-still-in-over-my-head.
Of course, I didn’t realize it when I got into the car. I’m pretty sure the escort I was driving with thought I was a gigantic moron as he explained to me the features of the car, what I needed to know, and what I could expect as I drove this on the streets of…NYC. Wait, what?
Oh, did I forget to tell you? We were driving these cars in one of the most populated cities in the world! On the West Side Highway. You know. At 7:00 in the morning.
So I pull out of the driveway onto the West Side Highway, and proceed to drive like a grandma (sorry, Mom!) for the next 30 minutes. I really opened that baby up – we’re talking like 65 mph. No kidding. I get back happy to have survived, high on adrenaline, and find out that everyone else is tearing around at 90+ mph and then I really feel like a moron. You just can’t make this sh*t up.
I go inside for more coffee – because my stomach wasn’t rumbly enough – and wait for the next car, vowing redemption. Car #2 was a Maserati Quattroporte. A family sedan if there ever was one (I’m pretty sure Cheerios and goldfish are no match for this hand-sewn interior). I did drive this one a little more aggressively, but given that it was truly a large sedan – something about as far-removed from my Civic as a Lambo was – I felt a little awkward driving this one too.
Lastly, they let the husband and I go out unchaperoned in a BMW I8 (up until this point the husband and I had been driving separate, different cars). It was probably their attempt to either: 1. Encourage us to join the club where this event was occurring by offering us a shared experience; or 2. Make us liable for some unknown damage since we didn’t have a witness to prove otherwise. But I digress.
Anyway, I drove up the West Side Highway, completely confident at this point that I finally had it together. However at the turn, I pulled off to the side so my husband could drive…and found myself stuck in the car. Mind you, this is one of those cars that has the doors that swing up, and well, for the 5-millionth time that day, I was a moron and completely clueless as to how to open the door. And yes, in over my head.
I should note that where we pulled off to u-turn back down the West Side Highway wasn’t in the nicest of areas. Here I am, stuck inside a super-nice car, while my husband is pantomiming to me outside my door (apparently getting out of the car wasn’t a problem for him) about how to open the door. A legit crowd starts forming at this charade. We play it cool, of course, and I climb over the console to the passenger seat just as he is opening the driver’s side door. He gets in and I’m sitting there like, what took you so long? He is not in the mood for my ridiculousness, and he waves off the bystanders as he rips out of there. Except he actually sends us deeper into an area where we don’t want to be. There are only one-way streets for as far as we can see (with our panicked tunnel vision!) so he does what any rational human being would do given the situation. He does a 14-point turn – in slow motion because we can’t figure out how to shift gears (the crowd is forming again) – and we finally head back down the West Side Highway. He floors it, I’m sure associating speed with his manhood, and off we go, having survived another day in the Life with Dubowsky.
And to think, at this point it was barely 11:00 a.m…