I had unintentionally been following him for a couple of miles, our meandering turns matched left and right, light after light. Me, in my sensible Kia, he, in a new looking BMW Z4 Roadster, in a color I could only describe as “paprika.” It truly was a freshly polished, blemish-free, well-taken-care-of beauty of a machine that flowed through lane changes and traffic with such grace.
With each nimble turn, with each lane change, smoother than George Clooney taking off a bra, I felt like I needed to say something to the driver of this beauty. After a few more turns, I finally had my chance.
They lined up to turn left, and I sidled up next to them, planning to head straight at the light, bringing an end to our vehicular tango. I glanced to my left, and caught the attention of the driver. Even though almost no one uses a crank window anymore, he understood what my hand gesture meant. Damn. Even the window rolling down seemed perfect.
“Hey! She’s a beauty!” I stated over the rumble of engines. The driver smiled. "What model year is it?“
"Thanks!” He beamed. "It’s a 2013!“
"Oh! Nice! I didn’t know the turn signal was a fucking optional feature that year!”
The light turned green, and I puttered off, laughing as teh BMW sat for a second, digesting our exchange, before turning, still without signaling.
That’s exactly what happened.