When I was 13, my best buddy's father drove a limo that he had purchased with a partner who split the driving duties.
Other partner was a police officer. One Sunday afternoon, he left behind his unmarked squad car when he took the limo. Shortly thereafter, my friend's dad took the wife and all the other kids in the family except my buddy to the zoo for the rest of the afternoon.
For some unknown reason, the keys for the squad car ended up on my buddy's dining room table. We looked at those keys for the longest time. We knew we had to do it. So we got a couple other friends from our block together and we took the squad car out for a little test drive.
None of us had ever driven before, and a 1970 Monte Carlo was a big car. We all took turns driving, and finally we figured out how to get the siren light on the dashboard flashing.
That was fun, having cars pull off to the side of the road while we roared by. Not a bad first driving experience.
After about an hour of driving around neighboring towns, we realized we'd better fill up the gas tank to replace the gas we'd used.
Between the four of us, we had 63 cents, but that was almost a couple of gallons of gas in 1970. The gas pumper at the Clark station put our 63 cents in without batting an eye.
We parked the car in the same spot where we found it.
I haven't stolen any police cars since.