So there I was, driving in the BMW M3 I had owned for approximately five months. I was driving home from a rather unsuccessful sojourn at the casino with a friend of mine who may have a relation to the organization you support here.
My short experience with Blackjack was humbling, I displayed quickly and conspicuously my glaring maladroitness. I lost, I believe, $80, on the very minimum number of hands required to lose $80. It didn't take long; I estimate the whole bankruptcy took no more than 20 minutes.
I was happy to leave. My friend had won, I believe, so he was annoyingly in a better mood than I was. My mood lightened, however, as I began the drive home.
The Ortega Highway in Southern California is one of those rare roadways that creates driving excitement in its own design. It is extraordinarily anfractuous and dangerous, and because of that, alluring to many young adult males with sports cars.
Few things can anesthetize the loss of eighty dollars better than a perfect apex in the middle of a perfect drift while one's rear tires are six feet from certain death.
The purpose of my balls-out driving was less to make myself feel better as it was to make my friend shit his pants in revenge for actually winning money. Unfortunately, I think I failed to instill fear in him. Rather, I made myself feel better in the process.
The highway ended, and the M3 arrived, satisfied, on the typically vapid streets of South Orange County. I was feeling better, or so I thought.
Then I saw him.
Ahead of me was a silver 330ci, the likes of which are not uncommon in OC. The difference was in the details. He had a license frame with, gasp, an ///M logo on it.
Let me talk for a second about the ///M.
BMW bestows the ///M distinction on four vehicles: the M3, the M5, the M Roadster, and the M Coupe. It is given to those vehicles modified, ab ovo, to be racing machines. The suspension, engine, body style, and nearly everything related to performance is tweaked and tuned in order to make the ///M cars the most respected and feared on the road. Those who have them are proud of it.
The trenchant pride of ownership can also be manifested in a commensurate hatred of the assholes who put the ///M distinction where it does not belong. It is as a man with a Harvard MBA were to spot a fake diploma on an office wall. Or a Purple Heart winner notices a replica hanging on the uniform of a private.
I decided it was in the interest of society to inform this driver of his egregious error. So, tossing prudence out the window - to a similar fate as the $80, hours earlier - I began to tailgate this dickhead.
He gassed it. Nice try, my poser friend, I have a real ///M. You are not getting away.
He pulled into a gas station. Normally, I would just let him go. But maybe it was the lost money. Something about this guy made me forget all about the wonderful feelings I had only minutes ago on the Ortega Highway.
I followed him in. I had no idea what I was about to do.
He pulled up to a pump, and I pulled alongside him and rolled down my window.
"Hey man, nice car," I proffered amiably.
"Thanks man, you too."
Game over. It was time to regulate. "But I have to ask, what the fuck is up with the ///M?"
He tried to fake a confused look. He knew exactly what I was talking about. Who wouldn't? It's like the cheating kid who acts surprised when he gets caught by the teacher. Dumb ass.
"Wait, what?" His thespian skills were on par with Jennifer Lopez.
"The ///M, man. That shit isn't an ///M. Why do you have that on there?"
He paused a second. He looked at his friend. Then he walked over to me.
"This is an ///M, asshole. Do you know what Motorsport stands for?"
Freudian slip. He meant to ask what ///M stands for. It stands for Motorsport. Motorsport is the division of BMW that makes all the M cars. I played along.
"Uh, Motorsport?" I asked dumbly.
"That's right."
Gee, you don't say.
He continued. "See, my car is Motorsport. It has the sport package. It has the rims and interior. Sport package rims. It's Motorsport. That's why I put the ///M."
I didn't know they made people this stupid. Motorsport is the division that makes ///M cars. A sport package is a dealer addition patronized by Orange County yuppies. It gives you rims and a spoiler. Motorsport gives you the vehicle Car and Driver called the greatest handling car at any price. I detect a slight difference. He obviously missed it.
"Dude, you have no idea what you're talking about. Go look in your door jamb and you'll see that it says 'Manufactured by Bavarian Motor Works.' Mine says "Manufactured by BMW Motorsport." That's Motorsport. You are faking it, and it's stupid. Have a nice day."
I started to drive off. My friend is looking at me like I just took a shit on the hood of the guy's car. I don't think he expected this. Neither did I, for that matter.
I put the authentic ///M shifter into first and eased off the clutch while steering toward the exit.
Unfortunately, our sport package friend wasn't finished with me. He ran after my car and said, bravely, "Get the fuck out of here, little boy! Go have your daddy buy you another faggot yellow M3, you faggot!"
After being blown away by his brilliant rebuttal, I smugly replied, "Actually, I bought it myself." Which was true. I worked long hours at the grocery store to pay for that baby. And it was a real ///M.
As for the faggot yellow comment, I ignored it. That's what the jealous bitches in my high school said, too.
