I decide that a Porsche Boxster S is going to be a) too expensive, and b) too impractical because of the limited space. I start checking on other models and decide on a BMW 330cic, which A) has a backseat, and B) costs $15K less.

Time for a quick search on Yahoo for local dealerships that advertise pricing on the Web. Nada. So, I place an order via CarsDirect.com and put $250 down as a deposit. They quote me MSRP with delivery in late April, and I email my acceptance. The entire transaction takes about ten minutes.

I chose the exterior and interior colors based on the swatches on BMWUSA.com (one of the most poorly designed websites for cars), which I now realize was pretty stupid since the color on their site is totally different from the real color of the car (periwinkle). I'd seen the steel blue color on several cars in the parking lot at work, so that wasn't a big risk, but the color of the interior I wasn't so sure about. I figured the lighter the better given that I live in California.

Buyer's remorse strikes. I have severe doubts about whether I've made a good deal on the car and start checking with local dealers.

Peter Pan (San Mateo)
I walk into the dealership on my lunch hour. I'm completely ignored. Keep in mind that I wear suits every day to work, and happen to be wearing one of my nicer Zegnas that day. I wave to a salesperson in the showroom who waves back and promptly disappears into a cubicle. I decide to look at their inventory and there is one used 330 convertible (black, black, auto, sport, premium). A black convertible in California? There is no price or sticker on it. I wander around for a few more minutes trying to find a salesperson, but with no luck. So I leave.

Stevens Creek (San Jose)
I decide to stop off after work the same day. 30 seconds after I step on the lot, a nice woman comes to help me. She tells me that they have one 330ci convertible (white, black top, premium, auto, <100 miles). I ask her why they are selling this as used, and she says that unless I place an order I'll have to take my chances on someone reselling theirs, otherwise it's a six to eight month wait. I tell her that I will check back to see what appears, but I've already decided that I'm sticking with CarsDirect.com.

I call the dealer to schedule an appointment. The guy seems annoyed that I'm apparently undecided whether I want the car. He tells me that if I don't come see it the following day, he will sell it.

I drive my filthy but trusty Eclipse to Weatherford BMW in Berkeley. Everyone is watching the Kentucky Derby. I'm greeted immediately and told to go look for my dealer in the warehouse. "He has a limp," they say, turning back to the race. There are a few 323cics in the warehouse and a couple of 328cics as well.

My dealer is on his cell. He hangs up and guides me over to my 330cic. With a limp. He's very nice and unlocks the car. Even under the dim orange glow of the high-pressure sodium lights, the car looks...fantastic.

• The blue top is very close to the color of the exterior, but a deeper tint
• It smells of leather and new plastic
• The gray interior blends nicely with the steel blue exterior
• It gives a lovely growl when you give it some gas

I hear myself say "I'll take it."

Then I remember that I drove to the dealership by myself. "Can I pick it up tomorrow?"I ask."No," says my dealer, "you take it today." I know perfectly well that a) he could sell this car for at least $5K more than I am paying, b) he needs me to drive it off the lot so I can't back out of the deal, and c) I REALLY want to drive it, so I agree.

I fill out a pile of forms, and run out to get my checkbook. After handing over the biggest check I've ever written, I go to the warehouse where they have washed my car. A second dealer quickly goes over the controls. My hands are still sweaty from writing the check.

He hands me the keys, and I climb in. I reach for the button to lower the top and watch as it magically detaches itself from the A pillar and stashes itself neatly beneath the hard tonneau.

And I shift into reverse. Nope.

And I shift into reverse. Nada.

I try this a few more times, looking for some hidden shift lock. Finally, I climb out and sheepishly walk up to the salesman.

"Reverse?" he says. I nod. He walks back with me to my car, tells me the top isn't completely stowed, and shows me how to manhandle the shifter into reverse. "No accidents," he states. And I'm off.

I pull out of the dealership and grab my briefcase from my Eclipse. I wait until it's completely clear before attempting to enter the busy street, realizing that this car is worth three times more than my parents' first house. I practice shifting and, bang, I'm headed up Highway 80 to the Bay Bridge. I give the accelerator a tap and the engine thrums softly. I sink a little deeper into the leather seats. I love this car.

I pay my toll and start up the ramp to the bridge. The girders fly by overhead. I pass through the Treasure Island tunnel and feel the air change as I pass through to the bridge towers ahead of me, the sunlight warms my face, the cool, salty breeze slips around my neck. I will never drive a hardtop again.