A Need For Speed It had been a slow week at the local Ferarri dealership. In fact, it had been a slow year. The economy was sluggish, and thus, the desire for expensive modes of transportation such as the Ferarri was sluggish also. Bob, the owner of this particular dealership, had sent his employees home hours ago. There was nothing for them to do. As he looked at his watch, he realized that today was going to turn out no differently than the others. He decided right then and there to close up an hour early, and hit the bar for a badly needed drink. Then something caught his eye. Movement near the door. Hope welled up briefly inside of him as he quickly straightened his tie and smoothed back his hair. A customer at last! But as the door slowly opened, and then closed again, there was no customer to be seen. Bob frowned. Then he caught movement again, and blinked in astonishment. There, inching its way toward him across the showroom floor was a rather ordinary looking snail. That wasn't so odd in itself. What was odd was the plain white envelope that the snail appeared to be dragging behind him as he made a beeline toward the large desk marked "Sales." Bob began to wish he had left just a bit earlier for that drink. Suddenly, the snail stopped, and looked Bob square in the eye. "I'd like to buy a car." the snail shouted, in an impressively and unexpectedly loud and clear voice. "I want the fastest car you can sell me." Bob's hands shook slightly. We desperately wished he had that drink right now. Trying not to think too much about his so recently having gone completely insane, he cleared his throat, and spoke. What harm could it do to be polite, he thought to himself... and after all, he was alone. No one would ever know. "I'm sorry -- sir --" he managed to add with only a slight smile to show that he was going to try his best to be a good sport about all of this when the men came with the straight jackets. "Our classic automobiles are all quite expensive, and perhaps a bit beyond your -- means. Perhaps if you tried the -- Toyota -- place down the --" The snail did not let him finish. "I anticipated your reaction, sir, and i have come prepared. Please read the letter I have brought with me. It will explain everything, i am sure." Giggling slightly now, Bob found himself reaching down, and picking up the envelope which the snail had somehow dragged along behind him from God only knew where. Inside, he found a letter attached to several very official looking documents. The letter, properly notorized Bob noted, was from the president of the most influential bank in town, and was signed by the bank president himself. It went into some detail about the snail, who he now learned was named Mortimer, and his financial holdings, which turned out to be considerable. The rest of the papers were letters of credit. Mortimer was worth something close to seven hundred thousand dollars. Mortimer cleared his throat. "As you can see, price is no object. Can we discuss my needs now?" Bob nearly fainted on the spot, but he was a good enough salesman to do the right thing when opportunity presented itself. He snatched up his order book, and forced his brightest smile on his face. "Of course, sir! How can I serve you today? A Ferarri you say? Why yes, we have --" "I already know what I want," Mortimer interrupted hastily. "And, I need it as soon as possible. Can you help me?" "Absolutely!" Bob replied, managing a slight bow in the process. "You describe it, and if we don't have it in stock, we can special order it. Please, go ahead!" Mortimer smiled. "Excellent. Here's what I want. I want a white Ferrari. It absolutely must be the fastest Ferrari ever made! I want custom leather inside, and I want all the extras outside. Mag wheels, spoiler, the works!" Bob jotted feverishly onto his pad as the snail then went on to describe his dream car in astonishing detail. As he wrote, he kept a running total in his head. This car would cost a small fortune, perhaps everything the snail had in the bank. Still, that was none of his business, he thought, as he heard Mortimer saying something about custom paint." "You can do a custom paint job, right?" Mortimer stopped to ask. "Oh, absolutely sir!" Bob nodded vigerously. "In fact, we do our own custom painting right here in the shop! What would you like?" "I want a big red letter "S" painted on each side!" Mortimer announced without hesitation. "I also want another big letter "S" painted on the hood, and on the trunk! I even want a big letter "S" painted on the roof, so people can see it from the air!" Bob paused. Every instinct told him not to ask. Of course the letter "S" meant "snail" -- well, didn't it? But then he remembered that the snail's name was Mortimer. Why not a large letter "M" instead? He kept jotting down notes, and estimating costs for each extra. He should just take the money and run. He should -- He couldn't stop himself. "Why the letter "S"?" he heard himself asking. Seconds ticked by. Finally, Mortimer spoke. "For years, in fact, for my entire life, I've been the slowest of God's creatures. Even the turtle is faster than me! So, I promised myself long ago that if I ever found the means, I'd become the fastest of God's creatures, and finally it happened. I won the lottery! And so, here I am -- you can do this for me, can't you?" "Oh, without a doubt!" Bob enthused as he finally jotted the total for this wonder car onto his pad. This would make his entire year, and then some. "But, the "S"?" he asked again, no longer feeling any sort of worry or hesitation. "Why not your initial, or even your whole name?" Mortimer smiled. It looked odd, on a snail. "Now, when all of my friends see me zooming by in my new Ferarri, they'll know it's me. I can just hear them now..." HEY! JUST LOOK AT THAT S-CAR GO!!! (If you don't get this joke, look up the word escargot.)

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