I swear, you can’t make this stuff up. (Well, you can, and I can, but I’m not.)
Coming home from the hangar (had to make it in time to watch my beloved KC Chiefs demolish the Houston Texans 30-0 for their first playoff win in over twenty years) I get off the freeway. About two blocks north, out of a side street behind me pulls out a blue sports care. It pulls up beside me at the light.
It’s a Maserati Ghibli.
Okay, so I already suspected that something’s making them more common. Whatever.
I get to the next major intersection and turn right. The light blue Maserati has pulled in behind me and follows.
I drive three or four miles north, then turn left off of the main street onto a secondary street, away from all of the businesses and into the housing tracts. The light blue Maserati follows me.
Now we’re seeing behavior that is…unexpected.
Up over the hill and down the other side. I turn left at the stop sign onto the tertiary street that leads into “strictly middle-class land,” where no Maserati has ever gone before. The light blue Maserati follows me.
This is now full blown creepy, sort of.
Finally turn right onto our short street. Nothing here but us chickens. The light blue Maserati hesitates at the stop sign…then follows me.
We’re just a handful of houses from the corner so I’ve got time to swing into the driveway, get out, and be standing on the sidewalk watching him as it goes by. The driver, a guy, is going slowly, actually looking the other way, as if he were lost and looking for an address.
Sure! That’s what he wants me to think he’s doing!
He passes me, gets a house or two past ours, then finally picks up speed and heads off down the street.
They’re on to me. My story the other day has exposed some super secret cabal, or possibly an alien invasion that’s underway under our very noses. Now the “Maserati people” (who no doubt come from pods) know that I’m a threat to expose them.
If I’m not heard from again, rescue me! I’ll no doubt be in the trunk of a Maserati Ghibli, my mouth covered with duct tape, blindfolded, and handcuffed.
Wait – do Maserati’s have trunks?