FREE ESSAY ON DESCRIPTIVE NARRATIVE

DESCRIPTIVE NARRATIVE

Descriptive Narrative
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 David's 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.