Heh, when I was 17 I was in a CYO marching band, and the instructor handed the keys to his car to one of us guys to go pick up some fried clams for the instructors.
It was an Olds 442 Convertible.
As the six of us piled into the car, he shouted out “I don’t want to hear any tires squealing.”
Less than 30 seconds, not even on the main road yet...
SCRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!