Ferrari Dealership Proves Douchebag Ferraristi Stereotype
The Edmonton Motor Show was this weekend. While it is difficult to truly express how thrilling it was to walk through a giant auditorium that seemed to be little more than a used car lot filled with 5,000 people, there were, at least, a few highlights. While I’ll talk more about some of the highlights and lowlights of the show later — and it must be pointed out that there were far more lowlights than highlights — there was one experience that must be shared. At the center of the main room was an amazing display featuring some gorgeous cars.; there were multiple Aston Martins and Bentleys, immaculately detailed and displayed, with a stunning pair of Spykers taking centre stage. Naturally they were cordoned off to keep the thousands of people from climbing in, around and through them. One does not let a careless three-year-old climb over one’s Spyker. When I talked to the presenters, however, and explained that I wanted some photos for Redusernab, they were beyond fantastic. They talked me through the cars, opened the hood, tipped the front, demonstrated the racing suspension, gave me a brief history of the cars. Knowing full well neither I nor my audience would be buying one anytime soon, they were nonetheless enthusiastic and accommodating. After that fantastic experience, I headed over to the booth from Ferrari and Maserati of Alberta, hoping to get some similar photos for you, my beloved co-Hoons. When I attempted to converse with the salesprick they had manning the booth, he regarded me with a look of disdain that was designed solely to wither the average plebian under the crushing weight of his contempt. I am fortunate in that my ego tends to be somewhat excessive, so his powers were largely ineffective against me. While he made it quite clear that the few seconds I was managing to procure of his attention were certainly better spent on anyone other than myself, I ignored his clearly flawed belief and asked if I might be allowed beyond the 14-foot cordons to take a few photos of the Maserati interiors to share with Redusernab. He once again scoffed, and held out his hand. “I’m going to need to see your press pass and credentials.” I was somewhat taken aback by this, since the Edmonton Motor Show was not handing out press passes. “For a photo?” I asked. “Ferrari insists that I record the credentials for any journalists wanting to publicize photos of their products.” “Ah, but I was asking about the Maseratis; I didn’t really care about the Ferraris.” Again he scoffed. “Oh, of course you do. At any rate, without a press pass, I’ll have to ask you not to take any photos of the cars.” This was while dozens of others were taking hundreds of photos all around us. Somewhat stunned, I repeated back to him, “You don’t want me taking photos of your cars?” “That’s correct, not without any credentials.” I couldn’t do anything but laugh and continue on. The conversation was clearly audible to everyone near us, and served no purpose but to make him look like an ass. I can only suspect that it was no coincidence that for the rest of the day, every time I looked, there were multiple fans clustered around the Aston/Bentley/Spyker booth, and none anywhere near the Ferrari/Maserati booth. For myself, I don’t particularly care. I had plenty of photos and information from the Spyker booth, and let’s face it, the Ferraris are not exactly attractive cars anyhow. But the level of incompetence required for someone to think that alienating people who would potentially be singing your praises is somehow a good idea, well, that’s absolutely staggering. What say you, Hoons? What’s your worst experience with elitist douchebags? Can you top my story? Open fire in the comments below.