Lots of down time when you’re buying a car.
We’re sitting in the finance manager’s office waiting on something or other.
“That’s a nice watch,” Christina tells the finance manager.
“It’s a Nixon,” he says in a charming English accent. “Do you know why I bought?”
Christina and I look to each other for the answer, but none comes to mind.
“It’s got orange hands!” he says. “I’m just one of those people who loves orange.”
And suddenly, I find myself scanning his office like the payoff scene in The Usual Suspects.
Orange frames on his photos. Orange pot for the plant behind his desk. Orange highlighters in an orange cup.
He goes on and on about his love for the color orange.
“I’m not sure why I love it, I just do.”
Then I look out the window at the showroom. The view is of a black sports car with several panels painted orange. Sort of a Fast & Furious look.
“Well, for a man who loves orange, you have a great view.”
“Goodness no,” he says. “That car is a monstrosity.”
“But it’s orange.”
He studies the car for a moment and says with a sigh, “There are limits.”
Later, when we get up to leave, I notice that those limits don’t extend to his socks, which are as orange as a pumpkin.