I had just turned sixteen. Understandably, I was eager to get my driver’s license; it’s no fun trying to arrange a date night by way of the local transit schedule. Greatly to my distress, my father put a damper on my mobility aspirations by pointing out that the cost of insuring a sixteen-year-old male as an occasional driver of the family vehicle was well beyond his means. I was welcome to get a part-time job after school and pay the cost myself if driving was all that important to me.
Well, driving wasn’t, but grousing was.

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