(Photo: Pavel Danilyuk | Pexels) For 16 years, I drove what my friends somewhat affectionately called “a grandma car.” It was old, it was tan, and it had indeed belonged to someone’s grandmother prior to me. Even when I first got it, it showed its age. The cassette deck didn’t work. The driver’s door randomly locked itself. The radio turned off if you used the power windows. These things were, at ...