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 Davids 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.