One more funny little story;
I was just getting off the freeway one day, when a state patrolman pulled me over. I hadn't been speeding, had signalled carefully (i'd seen him following me), and couldn't figure out why he pulled me over.
He walked up and asked me for my license. No registration, no proof of insurance, just license. He glanced at it, handed it back to me, informed me I had a brakelight out, and then asked me, "Nice Z. What year is it?"
"'77," I replied.
"' Twin carb?"
"Nope, electronic fuel injection."
"Really? On a '77?"
"Yeah, they had fuel injection from '75 on," I told him. The discussion went on for about ten minutes, talking about how long I had the car, What I planned to do to it, How he had always wanted one of them as a kid, and so on. If I'd had somewhere important to be, I'd have been mad, but I thought it was hilarious that he had found some little excuse to pull me over just to ask me about the car.
THAT's what it means to own a Z.