Baby, You Can Drive My Car

What is the sign of moving up in the world? Is it the ability to put on a power suit and not feel like you are playing dress up whenever you look in the mirror? Is it enjoying cocktail hour with actual cocktails? Is it needing a security badge to enter and exit a work building?

I think, perhaps, I have reached the apex of workforce. The creme de la creme, if you will.

I drove the company car.

Not so much a car, mind you, maybe a better word for it would be the company boat. The Youth Sales department drives a Suburban, easily the largest vehicle I have ever driven. This vehicle was chosen so that clients can sit comfortably in the backseat without having their personal bubble invaded.

We literally own the road. Or like to think we do, though the newly repaired bumper proves otherwise.

When I returned the car keys to Lorraine, I joked that it was a good thing the company car was not a Caddy. If it had been, the car and I would be missing, heading south, never to be seen again. Such is my desire to fulfill the lifelong desire of driving such a dream machine.

Well, as it turns out, the company car used to be a Cadillac. I was so close, and yet so far. Instead of the sleek and impressive build of elegance, I went fishing in the Youth Sales Boat. We are worms.

It was quite the experience, but I think at the end of the day, I would take Baby Belle any day.