When I hit HP from Chicago, all of a sudden my jeans weren't right, my tops weren't right, I didn't have the right shoes, and worse yet, not only did I not give a darn, I KNEW my parents couldn't afford all that stuff.
I didn't even understand WHY something like that even mattered. I picked up the bullies in Jr High and carried them right along to HS. I dropped out at sixteen because the bullying had gotten to the point where I was in physical danger.
I got my license and got a car. I'd been saving up since i was 14. I got a 69 VW Squareback that I rebuilt from the wheels up. My peers' parents got them BMWs and Camaros and Firebirds, and eve Z28s. A couple of kids got Porsches!
Then, the bullying changed to the bullies trying to run me off the road in my VW, cuz while my VW ran well and looked good, it was old and there was no way it could keep up with the sports cars, though it actually handled better than they did except for the 2 Porsches.
I didn't get into drag racing or any of that. I needed my car to get to and from work and volunteering, and for my social life.
And, I paid for that car, for the ins, for gas, and for whatever mechanical work I couldn't do myself (and parts).
