Back when I was going to college I worked three jobs to support my partying habit. Most of it as you would suspect was spent on booze and women but I did manage to save up enough money to buy a car that was both fun to drive and economical but in my budget of fewer than 5 grand. Two out of three ain't bad. It was a 1991 resale red Pontiac firefly but in a convertible format. Now you might say I was mad and blame it on the hormones and copious amounts of alcohol and I couldn't agree more. I couldn't imagine how bad it looked until I let my best friend take it for a spin down the street and realized that my brother in law was right. Laughing how it was a "chicks car" He coined the car (like he does with all my cars) the pregnant roller-skate. No matter. It was my first convertible I had ever owned and I wouldn't let him take all the fun out of my car. But it got worse.
To defeminize the car I did what all adolescent adults do - I stuffed her with two 12" subs and fed her 1200 RMS of pure pulsating bass. This combined with the metal symphonies of Metallica and Guns and Roses would deliver a message of saturated manliness. The new plan worked until I realized not only did no one notice my car, but now it has everyone's attention.
It came with a great safety feature on it as well. You could go to work, hop out of the car, leave it with the top down, and it still will be there to greet you out the door, like that neighbor kid who always wants to cut your lawn - even if he had just cut it yesterday. And to add to that fact, any man that dared to mess with your car wouldn't bother as he too out of fear, might be the one blamed for owning such a feminine car just by standing next to it.
She had a 1 point slow liter engine in it, but with the top down, and the cool wind blowing in my long hair, I felt like Thelma and Louise, without the lady parts. Like all my great ideas at the time happened at the end of happy hour, I decided to not cut my hair until I got my Journeyman ticket. In hindsight this just added to the overall picture I was projecting on the road. It did however attract a large portion of the male population to speed rapidly to my side, only to speed twice as fast when they realize the brunette they have been chasing sports a goatee.
Just like Undergrads TV series my convertible days would be short lived. One night driving about, a 17 year old girl decided she would improve the roller skates behind by smashing the front of her car into it. And she was right. There is no better way to end my delusion than rendering the car inoperable. Without a car and a minor payout from her insurance company, I am forced to transplant the drivetrain into something with a little less estrogen...