Lonely Saturday night, I have nothing to do.
Figure I'll go to Scottsdale Pavilions car show, because that's where I'm in my element.
So I roll in a bit after 7pm, in my crusty black MR2.
I enter through the back, to avoid the busy rows, where all the popular cars are.
And there I see it.
In the shadows, unnoticed.
A real Noble M400.
Now, most people don't know what a Noble M400 is, so I've provided a picture.
This is exactly what it looked like.
This is a rare gem. For the price of a Corvette, the Noble annihilates everything. It puts Lamborghinis, Porsches, and Ferraris to shame regularly. The body is British, the engine is American, twin turbocharged 6 cylinder.
It weighs 2300lbs. To give you an idea of how stupid light that is, a Mini Cooper weighs 2,895.
I park the MR2 beside the Noble. They are about the same size, but the Noble has 4 times the power, and infinitely faster at 3.2 seconds to 60mph.
I'm admiring the Noble's curvature, its design meticulously planned with one single purpose- perfect performance.
I hear a voice behind me.
"Soo, what is it?"
I turn around, it's an older gentleman, with his two young sons.
I tell them what the car is, and smile proudly.
So I explain what kind of engine it has, where it's from and why. How for $60,000, you can either buy a Corvette like everyone else, or get this Noble and be king of the world.
His sons are in love with it, and ask to take pictures with it. I say sure, just be careful.
Now a couple in their 20s nudges closer. She's looking through the window, in awe of the sparse, racy interior.
Her boyfriend asks me this and that about the Noble. So I answer him too.
Suddenly there's a crowd around me.
They think I own this car.
I look at my shoes, I'm dressed nicely, after meeting a client. I seem to know everything about a car no one's seen before. Clearly I must be the owner.
The Noble and I are completely encircled now. People are taking pictures, filming me explaining who manufactures the M400's body, and how you can buy one.
I'm given about a dozen handshakes. The crowd keeps getting larger, with whispers of "Who is this guy?" "Wait isn't he from that one show you like?" "I don't think so?" "He looks familiar." "I wonder what he does!"
For 22 minutes, Andrew Centrella was a Somebody.
Not once did I say the Noble was mine.
They all just assumed it was.
So after a mom thanked me for letting her kids pose for a picture with the Noble, I shook some more hands, and said it was time for me to go.
I took out my keys.
The crowd perked up.
They were going to hear the Noble come to life!
Oh, what thunderous music would bless them now!
I wave to them, they step back...
and I unlock the MR2.
"W...what." I hear a man say.
"Oh you gotta be shittin me..." another groans.
The people disperse, I smile and drive away, dripping bits of oil in the process.