I don’t have a car and because my roommates and I are renting an apartment for the next year, I think it’s about time I invest in a one. But guess what? While moving off campus and seeking other modes of transportation seem to go hand in hand, I have found that buying a car and paying monthly rent do not.

I know this. I also know that buying shorts at Old Navy and the second book in Stephenie Meyer’s sexy vampire series are not spending behaviors I should be engaging in at this point in my financial career. I probably should not have bought my dog that raincoat and my new 500-pack of nail files doesn’t seem like the wisest investment in hindsight. I’m spending lots of money, but I justify it because I’m raking in a lot of cash too.

I’m working three jobs this summer and Subway recently added a tip jar to our counter right next to the raisins. (Eat Fresh! Too bad they don’t pay me to say that!) So in addition to my $7.10 an hour, I can also earn a few extra bucks a shift when I decide to turn on my charm.

I tried flipping the switch on a man in his mid-40s who rolled up into Subway in a nice station wagon a few weeks ago. When I confessed my love for hatchbacks and wagons, he expressed frustration at the fact that I was merely 15 or else he would have asked me out.

I did not get tipped by this man. However, after I stopped retching into the banana peppers and wondered what about my face made me seem 15-years-old, I thought about something. I thought about how great it would be to drive my own hatchback or station wagon, coupe, sedan or lemon. And I thought about what it would take to make that dream come true.

I’ve been guilt-tripping various members of my family for a car. I even decided to bring it up in front of all four of my parents and stepparents at lunch after my sister’s high school graduation ceremony. I did so in a joking manner, merely pointing out that while I didn’t expect anyone to take me to the car dealer and gimme my pick, I at least wanted someone to sit me down and explain my financial options.

I was shot down, but as I wallowed in self-pity in Mongolian Barbeque, I muttered this promise:

“Well . I’m gonna come home with a brand new hatchback and everyone is going to be jealous.”

As if to aid in my quest, I received a letter in the mail that same day – a letter that said all I had to do was send one dollar to each of six people listed on the paper to receive at least $800,000 in completely legal profit. Then, I had to spend just over $175 dollars in envelopes, copy paper, postage stamps and a list of addresses from a registry to mail 200 copies of the same letter to 200 more lucky people, probably in desperate need of a hatchback, new or used, with four doors, a compact disc player and air conditioning.

Needless to say I’m on the brink of something wonderful. Extensive Internet research of my heaven-sent letter has provided me with the necessary tools to take my future by the throat and demand that it yield a vehicle with less than 75,000 miles made after 1995. My family just better hope that I don’t rat them out to the authorities for neglect or something along those lines. They better hope my hatchback costs less than $800,000 and that I can learn to forgive them and maybe even pick up the tab next time we’re out to eat. I doubt that meal will be for my college graduation. Who needs a degree when you have 800,000 people sending you concealed dollars bills through the mail? Not this girl.

Kristine Gill is a junior newspaper journalism major and columnist for the Summer Kent Stater. She’s not really going to participate in that pyramid scam, but feel free to yell at her anyway at [email protected].