Keeping up with the Joneses

This afternoon I decided to ride my bike to the hardware store to buy a new water spigot. I could no more install that spigot myself than perform open heart surgery on one of our dachshunds but I know that someday soon I’ll convince myself otherwise and will give it a try. Within minutes water will be spurting everywhere and I’ll have to run get my next door neighbor, Bob, to make it stop. Bob’s good with plumbing and stuff like that.

As I was wheeling down the driveway I noticed a crowd next door, a group of neighbors gathered around Bob, who had just taken delivery of his latest car – a Lamborghini Aventador. (When you buy a Lamborghini, you don’t drive it off the showroom floor. The dealer brings it to you.)

I stopped and joined in as they oohed, aahed, drooled and all but wept over Bob's latest toy.   

Bob, you see, buys a new high performance sports car every year. This year it’s a Lamborghini. Last year it was a Ferrari. The year before that, a McLaren. He also has a brand new Range Rover and a Rolls Royce.

Bob doesn’t actually drive his sports cars. He doesn’t like to drive. They simply sit in his garage. He goes out every so often, runs his fingers lovingly over the paint, sits in the driver’s seat and, on rare occasions, backs one out and guns the engine, making it sound like a 747 is taking off from the driveway next door.

It would give me perverse pleasure to report that Bob’s an ass but he's not. In fact, he’s one of the nicest guys you can imagine. The kind of guy who, when you ask him where he got his Christmas tree, says he has an extra one then brings it over and puts it up for you. The kind of guy who, as you’re driving your wife home from her colonoscopy, calls to see how she made out and says he was up half the night worrying and praying for her.

Bob grew up poor, made good money and now buys whatever strikes his fancy  – including $400,000 cars.

I'm happy for him – really I am – but it sometimes makes life difficult living next door to a guy with cars like that.

Last month I was in my front yard with a painter who was about to give me an estimate for painting the exterior of the house. He was leaning on the hood of his pick-up, writing numbers on a pad, when Bob’s garage door opened and the Rolls backed out. The painter’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Nice wheels,” he said admiringly. I could see what he was thinking. Ka-ching. If this guy has neighbors who can afford cars like that, I can charge him out the ying-yang and he won't dare question it.

“My neighbor’s a chauffeur, “I replied. “He keeps his boss’s cars in his garage.”

I’m convinced my quick thinking saved me a bundle.

Maybe even enough for a down payment on that new Kia I’ve had my eye on.