This is how much I rule.

If it’s one thing I know, it’s BMW drivers. I can just look at anyone and at initial glance know that they are a BMW owner. I’m not entirely sure who has bestowed this wonderful ability upon me, but today my spider tingle went off.

I was walking in the parking lot and this middle-aged man, dressed like a know-it-all executive was dashing and weaving through, apparently in an odd hurry. I took one glance at him and mumbled “Beemer-Owner” to myself. Baffled by my own brilliance I set pace to follow him just enough so I could see if I had won this fruitful contest… against myself.

He approached a black Mercedes. My heart stopped. This surely was a mistake. Could I have been wrong? Could my senses be fooling me? At this prime age of twenty, am I already falling apart? If I can’t trust my metaphysical hokus pokus magical senses, what could I trust? This revelation left me on the fringe of mental disaster. However, fear not avid readers. He walked by the Mercedes. And we were back in business.

Now, as self-indulged borderline stalker, I followed this elusive man through parking lot to parking lot. Finally, the moment I had been waiting for. He reached his large masculine manicured, aggressive yet soft and gentle hands into his pocket and reached out his keys. I couldn’t make out the logo through the dirty fence and spider webs, but something gave me the feeling that I was going to win a $1. Almost delighted by this news, I held my breath. Partially because I was excited but mainly because I was standing in some parking lot vomit.

He approached a set of cars. A BMW, an Audi and a Civic. Right there and then, I realized the political significance of the automobile industry. What an epiphany, I’m talking Nobel Prize in Economics-style. But I was too captivated by this movie moment that I forgot to make a mental note, and by have forgotten it since. Regardless, he walked up slowly… and pushed that little button my girlfriend calls ‘open the fucking door’ and then.. silence erupted from the true unmistaken sound of “The Ultimate Driving Machine’s” Keyless Remote Entry. I could taste the victory now. Oh how sweet it is; sweat drenched and 2 miles away from home. Unfortunately, this was another BMW in the parking lot behind me, which completely threw me and my chi off. Also slightly distracted, my quasi-lover looked around, opened his car, threw in his briefcase and drove off in his diarrhea colored BMW 535i.

I was victorious. I walked back home frolicking and dancing like I normally do when I walk but, as though the city of Irvine was holding a victory parade in my honor, I cranked open a new bottle of Diet Coke in celebration. “Viva la Monde!” I shouted, pretending as if I actually speak German. And a home I went.

I know a lot of you are wondering if I can nail it down to BMW model, and the truth is harsh but simple: no, so please stop asking me. I am not a magician and I cannot teach you how to do this. This incredible feat is even more impressive since I am not a BMW owner myself. Maybe once I buy my first BMW it will, osmosisically, complete and hone my heroic feats down to model number and color. However, until then, keep trudging my little fellow fanatics.

Adieu. Navid.