My boss owns a vintage Packard sedan. Actually, he owns two. And my hunch is, he's aiming to acquire a third one by stealth.
This hunch is grounded on the theory that: (a) one large car is made of many small parts; (b) it is possible to reduce most of those parts down to a size that can be posted; (c) over time, one may gradually (and stealthily) collect all the parts and (d) build the car in a quiet weekend down in the garage.
Barely a week passes without a package from the USA arriving at our office - and this has been going on all year. These packages, we are told, contain all the necessary ingredients to get his last Packard purchase up to scratch. I first saw the car in early January, and it looked pretty complete to me: so where could all these parts be going?
(I've often wondered why he doesn't just have them delivered to his home address 2 kms down the road; I must ask his wife about this ...)
Even when he's away, mysterious boxes from America continue to arrive. Another large one came today. It feels a bit like one of those grisly murder mysteries where one week a finger turns up in the post, and the next week a leg. I keep wondering when the chassis rails will be couriered through the office door, bound and gagged.
Anyway, it keeps us all entertained. And good luck to him, I say. Perhaps at Christmas time we'll hear a honk of the horn out the front, and he'll drive up in his third Packard, the sum of a year's parts delivered to the office.
It could just be me, but I'm pretty sure there's a parable in here somewhere ...
This hunch is grounded on the theory that: (a) one large car is made of many small parts; (b) it is possible to reduce most of those parts down to a size that can be posted; (c) over time, one may gradually (and stealthily) collect all the parts and (d) build the car in a quiet weekend down in the garage.
Barely a week passes without a package from the USA arriving at our office - and this has been going on all year. These packages, we are told, contain all the necessary ingredients to get his last Packard purchase up to scratch. I first saw the car in early January, and it looked pretty complete to me: so where could all these parts be going?
(I've often wondered why he doesn't just have them delivered to his home address 2 kms down the road; I must ask his wife about this ...)
Even when he's away, mysterious boxes from America continue to arrive. Another large one came today. It feels a bit like one of those grisly murder mysteries where one week a finger turns up in the post, and the next week a leg. I keep wondering when the chassis rails will be couriered through the office door, bound and gagged.
Anyway, it keeps us all entertained. And good luck to him, I say. Perhaps at Christmas time we'll hear a honk of the horn out the front, and he'll drive up in his third Packard, the sum of a year's parts delivered to the office.
It could just be me, but I'm pretty sure there's a parable in here somewhere ...
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