Own Writing
I remember that cold day in October three years ago as I walked down the endless
rows of new and used cars. I was oblivious to the sounds of the congested
afternoon traffic around me. All that was on my mind was anticipation, a little
hope, and a checkbook in my pocket that seemed to weigh so heavy despite the
lack of funds it represented. It was only a matter of time before one of the
salesmen would notice me wandering aimlessly through the car lot and eagerly
approach me. In the meantime I continued to inspect each car carefully. I felt
like a child in a toy store who wanted the most expensive toy but only had a
handful of change. I was lost in the moment when I heard, "Can I help you with
something?" I had been waiting to hear those words for what seemed like an
eternity and now I could finally get down to business. As we shook hands the
salesman introduced himself as David Burke. He was a stocky guy with a firm
handshake. There was no sign of desperation in his eyes which was a relief.

Remembering what my dad told me I substituted his face with a vision of someone

I hated most, but his smile that went from ear to ear seemed to swallow and
overpower that vision. He asked me what I was interested in and I immediately
led him in a beeline across the lot to the car that I desired. I ignored the
cries of the cars that I passed along the way and stopped at a white 1996 Acura

Integra. He was only briefly intrigued with the car that I had chosen before he
asked how much money I was able to use as a down payment. When I told him I only
had eleven hundred dollars, I could almost hear the mental laughter that was
coming from inside his mind. A few minutes later I was sitting in an office
sipping on a cup of stale coffee while David and another man were running
numbers through a computer. As I sat there and waited my anticipation
transformed into nervousness. I visualized myself driving home in that Integra
to help ease my mind. My nervousness ultimately became disappointment when David
returned to inform me that it would be impossible to finance the Integra. I was
young with almost no credit history but I still had to pretend to be surprised,
that it could not be possible, that there was some sort of mistake. He ignored
my denial and told me that there was another nice car that I might be interested
in, and that it was more or less in my price range. I reluctantly agreed to take
a look at this mystery car. When David drove the mystery car to the front of the
sales office I was immediately disgusted. It was a small, clumsy, and awkward
looking white 1995 Dodge Neon. What I hated most of all was that from a front
view the car was designed to look like it was smiling at you. A smile that was
almost as big as the one on Davidís face when he stepped out of the vehicle.

Maybe it was the eagerness or the impatience that I brought along that day, but
an hour later I found myself on the interstate driving that 1995 Dodge Neon. It
was not the Integra that I had been longing for, but for that one day, I was
proud to claim it as my very own car.