An 18-year-old boy who worked part-time at Pizza Hut pulled into his parents’ driveway one afternoon driving a beautiful Porsche. The engine purred, the paint gleamed, and the neighbors stopped to stare. His parents rushed outside in shock, knowing full well there was no way an after-school job could pay for a car like that.
“Where did you get that car?” his parents demanded, their voices nearly overlapping.
“I bought it today,” the boy replied calmly, shutting the door and smiling.
“With what money?” his mom insisted. “We know how much a Porsche costs, and you can’t afford it!”
“Well, it’s used, and I got a good deal,” the boy said. “It cost me twenty dollars.”
His parents stared at him in disbelief. “Who on earth would sell a Porsche for twenty dollars?” his dad asked.
“The woman up the street,” the boy answered. “She just moved in. I delivered her a pizza, and she asked if I wanted to buy it.”
Furious and confused, the parents marched straight to the neighbor’s house, ready to demand an explanation. They found the woman calmly planting flowers in her front yard, humming to herself as if nothing unusual had happened.
“I’m the father of the boy you just sold a sports car to for twenty dollars,” the dad said sharply. “I need an explanation.”
Without looking up, the woman replied, “This morning my husband called me. I thought he was on a business trip in Florida, but it turns out he ran off to Hawaii with his secretary and doesn’t plan on coming back.”
The parents exchanged uneasy glances. “And what does that have to do with selling our son a Porsche for twenty dollars?” the mother asked.
The woman finally looked up, smiling sweetly. “Well,” she said, “he asked me to sell his car and send him the money.”
