17 years old. '67 Chevy pickup 283/3 spd. Left the gas station where my buddies were hanging out and did a nice burnout. Cop came out of nowhere. He says, "let me guess...throttle stuck?" I said yup. He notices the gallon of orange juice on the seat next to me and looks all over the cab with his flashlight. Wants to look behind the seat but nothing but gas tank back there. He finally lets me go with warning. Never noticed the half gallon of Peachtree schnapps tucked on the little platform between the grille and core support. People have accused me of being too paranoid over the years...but it can save your ass.