When I was a 15-year-old growing up in Los Angeles in the 1980s, I had big dreams.

I was finally going to get my driver’s license and, soon after that, my generous and loving parents would buy me my first car.

I scoured the ads in the L.A. Times: Perhaps a used Ford Escort, which looked like a turtle back then. Or a used Honda Civic, which also looked like a turtle. Hey, it was the ’80s. We loved acid wash and Milli Vanilli – style wasn’t exactly our thing.

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