In the summer of '84, my dad often took us kids out to lunch, usually to McDonalds. He took us in a 4-door beige car. I'm not sure where he got it from, but let me tell you when he drove that thing, you wouldn't believe the commotion, the people with their mouths wide open looking upon us.
Feast your eyes on it: the Chevrolet Chevette.
I used to call it a piece of Chevette.
A couple years later, my dad bought a bad-ass black pickup truck. No one stared after that.