16 years old an out with my Dad's 66 Rambler. Last thing Dad told me as he tossed me the keys was no smoking in the car.
I pick up a buddy and he lights a smoke which I tell him has to go. After a short argument he tosses it out the window. Errand nearly finished, I return home with the dinner milk .
We're eating dinner and Mom asks if anyone smells smoke. No one does. A minute later Mom gets up and goes to the front of the house. Mom yells "Jesus Christ George, the cars on fire!" George (Dad) keeps eating and just raises his eyebrows at me.
My younger brother, Mom and myself all dash out to the car. White smoke is just roiling out of the interior.
I yell at my brother to get the hose and dive into the car holding my breath, having guessed my buddies cig came back in via the open rear window. Mom's screaming at me to get out. Brother is running towards car with the hose going full blast when he's suddenly ripped off his feet from the hose catching on a bush.
Frikin upper rear seat backs on 66 Rambler Americans are bolted in...
all I can get out is the lower seat portion which I toss on the lawn, both pieces are trying to burst into flame but the smoke prevents it. We hosed the rear seat back down in place and saved the car. Dad continued eating...a good thing. If he'd got up, it would have been just to kill me.
I unbolted the seat back, cleaned up the water and smoke damage. Carrying the damaged seat back across my shoulders I walked 5 and half miles to my buddy's Dads salvage yard where I knew a ( nearly ) matching interior was in the back row of cars.
Carried both salvaged upper and lower seats all the way back home with the springs cutting into my hands.
Never asked for the car again. Good news was my Dad soon co-signed a loan for me to get my own car !