Y2K5SRT
Enthusiast
So my phone rings tonight. Caller ID is blocked, so I know it must be somebody famous. Sure enough, Ryck Sanders - Viper owner, NASCAR superstar. Besides being one of the coolest guys on the planet, he also happens to be Snake bitten in a HUGE way. You need only see his '97 GTS to know why. Anyway, I digress.
Ryck calls me and immediately proclaims "VIPER SIGHTING!" Now mind you, with Vipers in the garage I rarely hear from fellow owners about Viper sightings - but this was different. It was a red SRT-10 with Missouri tags that I was not familiar with. Being the humble president for these parts, I sensed this was an opportunity to recruit a new member for our beloved local VCA chapter. And it was indeed. After Ryck described some of the unique features of this SRT-10, I jumped in my own rather mundane SRT and zipped on down.
Now the car was described to me to be in front of a "body art" business. As it turns out, it was indeed at a tattoo parlor. Undaunted, I hauled my fat ass inside said establishment to make my inquiries of the owner of said vehicle. It was well into my return trip that I realized how utterly dorky I looked, but we shall save that tidbit for the end of this story.
Sure that the owner of this automobile must also be an owner in the business, I asked one of the colorful gentlemen inside ("I am not only a customer, I own the company too") where I might find the driver of this bright red Dodge. After a look that clearly said "Wow, a genuine doofus right here in front of me", I was informed that the car belonged to a customer. Said customer could be found in the third room down getting a new set of "tats". After stumbling through an "Ah, no that's okay I will catch him later", the young gentlemen (clearly amused by my discomfort of interrupting what I assumed was some sacred rite) said "It's cool, he is facing the doorway and can talk just fine."
So I made my appearance in the prescribed doorway as both the artist and patron looked up in confusion. Is it a bust from the local geek squad? Could this guy be collecting for Insecure Dorks In Outlandish Transportation (IDIOT)? Nah, it's just the local VCA president out recruiting new members! At first he thought that this particular fat guy was here as a Viper admirer. He said very politely (between winces), "Hey, I would love to show you the car but I am kind of busy." It was clearly the biggest understatement I have encountered in my 41 years. From here on I am going to make sure that if Ryck calls again that he is not at the doctor's office. I would probably interrupt a vasectomy the next time. "Kind of busy" indeed.
I bashfully explained who I was ("I am not only a customer, I own one too") and my humble mission to expand the club and the diversity of the same. Sure enough, my new tattooed friend (whose collection of ink was increasing as we spoke) recognized this particular IDIOT from my picture in VIPER Magazine. Apparently his magazine arrived on time. He did not ask me about my custom interior in my red SRT-10, but give him time (a misprint in the last magazine). We chatted Vipers for a while and he was grateful for the distraction. I apologized that I didn't send a stripper instead, but I will remember that for future reference.
Very nice guy and unlike any Viper owner I have ever met. He even bought his car from our own Bill Pemberton. I gave him my card and told him to give me a call and we would get him to one of our upcoming events. There will be no mistaking his car:
And now for the tear-jerking conclusion: I like to think I am fairly up to date on style, etc. I don't dress to impress, but generally try to dress to blend. The car can stand out, I prefer not to. We stopped at the local BP/Amoco station for some 92 octane (and paid over $2.00 a gallon for the very first time in my life). As I waited inside to pay for a drink, I got a good look at myself in the window's reflection. Egad, is this what a windbreaker looks like?! Cargo shorts, untucked polo shirt, ***** white legs and (gasp!) black New Balance running shoes with short white socks. Even my cool goatee (which I had even before they were "in") couldn't save me from this horror.
So now I am trying to figure out what went so terribly wrong. And trying to figure out what should be my first tattoo - yellow ducky or smiley face.
Ryck calls me and immediately proclaims "VIPER SIGHTING!" Now mind you, with Vipers in the garage I rarely hear from fellow owners about Viper sightings - but this was different. It was a red SRT-10 with Missouri tags that I was not familiar with. Being the humble president for these parts, I sensed this was an opportunity to recruit a new member for our beloved local VCA chapter. And it was indeed. After Ryck described some of the unique features of this SRT-10, I jumped in my own rather mundane SRT and zipped on down.
Now the car was described to me to be in front of a "body art" business. As it turns out, it was indeed at a tattoo parlor. Undaunted, I hauled my fat ass inside said establishment to make my inquiries of the owner of said vehicle. It was well into my return trip that I realized how utterly dorky I looked, but we shall save that tidbit for the end of this story.
Sure that the owner of this automobile must also be an owner in the business, I asked one of the colorful gentlemen inside ("I am not only a customer, I own the company too") where I might find the driver of this bright red Dodge. After a look that clearly said "Wow, a genuine doofus right here in front of me", I was informed that the car belonged to a customer. Said customer could be found in the third room down getting a new set of "tats". After stumbling through an "Ah, no that's okay I will catch him later", the young gentlemen (clearly amused by my discomfort of interrupting what I assumed was some sacred rite) said "It's cool, he is facing the doorway and can talk just fine."
So I made my appearance in the prescribed doorway as both the artist and patron looked up in confusion. Is it a bust from the local geek squad? Could this guy be collecting for Insecure Dorks In Outlandish Transportation (IDIOT)? Nah, it's just the local VCA president out recruiting new members! At first he thought that this particular fat guy was here as a Viper admirer. He said very politely (between winces), "Hey, I would love to show you the car but I am kind of busy." It was clearly the biggest understatement I have encountered in my 41 years. From here on I am going to make sure that if Ryck calls again that he is not at the doctor's office. I would probably interrupt a vasectomy the next time. "Kind of busy" indeed.
I bashfully explained who I was ("I am not only a customer, I own one too") and my humble mission to expand the club and the diversity of the same. Sure enough, my new tattooed friend (whose collection of ink was increasing as we spoke) recognized this particular IDIOT from my picture in VIPER Magazine. Apparently his magazine arrived on time. He did not ask me about my custom interior in my red SRT-10, but give him time (a misprint in the last magazine). We chatted Vipers for a while and he was grateful for the distraction. I apologized that I didn't send a stripper instead, but I will remember that for future reference.
Very nice guy and unlike any Viper owner I have ever met. He even bought his car from our own Bill Pemberton. I gave him my card and told him to give me a call and we would get him to one of our upcoming events. There will be no mistaking his car:
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And now for the tear-jerking conclusion: I like to think I am fairly up to date on style, etc. I don't dress to impress, but generally try to dress to blend. The car can stand out, I prefer not to. We stopped at the local BP/Amoco station for some 92 octane (and paid over $2.00 a gallon for the very first time in my life). As I waited inside to pay for a drink, I got a good look at myself in the window's reflection. Egad, is this what a windbreaker looks like?! Cargo shorts, untucked polo shirt, ***** white legs and (gasp!) black New Balance running shoes with short white socks. Even my cool goatee (which I had even before they were "in") couldn't save me from this horror.
So now I am trying to figure out what went so terribly wrong. And trying to figure out what should be my first tattoo - yellow ducky or smiley face.
