When I was 19 years old, I saw car ownership as a sign of maturity and responsibility. I had no desire for either. I had graduated early from high school, had my bachelor's degree, and was working an adult job, but not calling myself an adult. I considered it the best of both worlds, and I reveled in refusing to grow up.
But after a while, commuting from Carson to Redondo Beach on the bus became less and less bearable. I finally broke down and decided to buy a car (I literally broke down; ...