This reminds me of a Honda meet I went to one time.
I used to work for a small retail chain by the name of Target back in the days where I was young and had no idea what I was supposed to be doing with my life besides working for small amounts of money and slaving away to some system known as "higher education" in order to make myself less dumb on paper. (In retrospect, the "on-paper" portion of becoming un-dumb has been successful, though in other avenues, I feel as though I have come up short, but that's another story for another day.)
I drove a 1997 Chevrolet Cavalier, the Fast and the Furious edition. This car had a wing larger than the entire trunk lid, some hellaflush wheels in white, a large muffler permanently welded to a factory catback exhaust system, cleared out headlights and taillights, police-evasive debadging (but no police-evasive horsepower package - I needed a management position to afford that), and neon lights throughout the interior, complete with an obscenely large billet aluminum shift knob mounted atop my automatic transmission shifter. I was proud of all $700 in mods. I worked hard for those modifications so that I may draw copious amounts of nala-esque attention to myself.
As I often worked closing shifts sifting through cereal boxes and various cleaning products strewn about the greeting cards section, I found that the area car enthusiasts for the ultimate street tuner brand, Honda, were gathering further out in the parking lot closer to Babies-R-Us, preparing for many 10 second sprints at 110 dB of VTEC to the 45-mph speed limit on the main road outside of the strip mall. I decided to indulge my curiosity.
In the midst of the plethora of pocket rockets (think the tiny pocket on your jeans what will only fit a 2nd gen iPod nano), I spotted the "leader" of the group. He had two vehicles, and one with a "for sale - $800" in the window. I immediately began scheming... I could sell all of my mods and my inferior chevrolet for this pristine 1991 Honda CRX. I could finally be with the "in" crowd. I began investigating his ride. He told me of his upgraded brake package to help control all 110 of his horses underneath that majestic vented hood of his. Ceramic pads, slotted rotors. I was so impressed with the rotors and their construction that I took a picture.
"These will get you from 60-0 in about 92 feet."
I was sold. Hot hatch Honda. Surely I would find a way to get laid even while sacrificing my pimptastic four door Cavalier and its accomodating backseat. I took down his contact information and drove home after chatting with the other cats that owned the more exotic vehicles such as the Acura Integra.
The next day, I had gotten my money together and was going to work. I had planned to meet our resident VTEC highlander at the same time and place as before, but fate had other plans for me.
I was about to turn into the side street next to the burger king when a woman in a Jaguar was too busy smoking her 7-foot-long Virginia Slim to realize she was travelling across three lanes of traffic, and I was too blinded by the two Chevy Tahoes she narrowly avoided to see her coming. I jammed on my two disc brakes and prayed the pair of drum brakes in the rear weren't only usable for parking. Alas, in spite of my masterful application of foot to my double-wide brake pedal, I nailed the Jaguar.
My limited edition Vin Diesel Cavalier was destroyed. The insurance company ruled it a total loss after they assessed $700 in damage, which was more than 2/3 the total value of the vehicle.
My father arrived to console me. The first thing I said to him was...
"If I had only had those brakes like the guy in the Honda, we could have avoided this MADNESS!"
My father smiled in a sort of relief and said to me, "Perhaps your brakes would have been more effective without the extra weight on the trunk."