Wrong career choice

I was at Body Beautiful, my usual car wash on Pacific Highway and Hawthorne, when I saw a red Ferrari sitting in the detail bays. There were only two of us waiting for cars, since it was 6:45 p.m. and almost time for the wash to close. The other guy was about 25-years-old, wearing a t-shirt, shorts, sandals, and sunglasses. I asked if the Ferrari was his. It was. I asked if it was fun to drive, and he smiled and said it was. The only thing he doesn't like about driving it around town is worrying about door dings in parking lots or somebody sideswiping it if parked on the street. He also said it's hard to have fun with it because a red Ferrari attracts police attention like fly paper attracts flies. Cops seem to follow him constantly, waiting for him to do something wrong. He was a very nice guy.

I didn't ask what he did for a living because I didn't want to hear that daddy bought it for him or that he's an internet millionaire -- or some evasive answer that would mean he's a heroine salesman. One thing's for sure, he's no cabbie.