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 kgill2@kent.edu.