The Essay: “See attached”

By Marlene Shinn Lewis

I have a great deal of respect for the essay now, although I remember when I thought my advanced degrees in English were impractical if not simply useless. A new car changed my mind.

In the mid-80s I found myself suddenly single and without a credit record of my own. It’s a lost and vulnerable feeling. Like so many women in the same situation, I struggled to establish a new public identity. The first step was credit. So, trusting ingenuously in the glut of advertising by banks and car dealers soliciting new car buyers, I shopped.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the easy-finance welcome mat wasn’t out for me. My first stop, the national credit union I’d done business with for years, firmly rejected my request for a car loan. Deflated, I reminded myself that I never liked that credit union anyway. So, with my spirits lifted again, I visited a friendly bank I’d dealt with previously. They considered my loan request. They considered it hopeless.

A little less enthusiastic now, I went to a new bank that had been entreating the public to take advantage of the Special Low Rates and Flexible Loan Qualifications for Alaskans. Their flexibility stretched beyond the limit, apparently, because they too turned me down.

I was disappointed, I was frustrated, I was a failure. I was crazy to think I could get a car loan with a financial statement that clearly showed a five-figure net worth—in the negative.

Well, there are other ways to buy a car, I consoled myself. GMAC, however, assured me they were not one of the other ways. So did the Chrysler Credit Corporation. I started to panic. For years, my mantra had been, “I’ll never buy a Ford, much less one from that cheap, flashy, West Coast mega-dealer Cal Worthington.” Now I was reduced to skulking into Anchorage’s Cal Worthington Ford, hoping no one I knew would see me.

The salesman was wonderful. He gave me confidence when he reminded me of the well-known slogan that Cal Worthington had a car for everyone. I picked out my car, a modest sub-compact. Even with the salesman’s assurance, I felt I should be reasonable. We wrote up the sales agreement and chatted while the computer ran my application through. I had to feel sorry for the salesman. That was the first rejection he’d ever had from good old Cal.

At that point, I was so depressed and miserable that nothing could stop me from what I did next. I went home and cried. I spent about an hour and a half doing a thorough job of it. Acquiring that much-needed line of credit on my own seemed impossible. It was unfair. It was wrong. It began to anger me then, and finally, like the phoenix out of the ashes, I rose with new purpose and determination.

Marching resolutely into the Book Cache, I bought the latest Consumer Guide to new cars. It was the “Smart Buyer’s Guide” covering all the new foreign and domestic models. “Full specifications, expert ratings, and honest, informed commentary by the automotive pros.” My dignity returned. I was a Smart Buyer.

After I determined the one most practical, economical, well built, and highly rated car for me, I carefully planned my strategy for obtaining it. I found a local credit union in my town and requested a loan application. “No, thank you, I prefer to fill it out at home.” With deepening resolve, I assembled my Consumer Guide, dictionary, and typewriter at the kitchen table and started to work on a loan application that couldn’t get turned down.

The spaces requiring general information—my name, address, and phone, employer’s name, address and phone—I filled in carefully and completely. Any space that might cause a loan examiner to pause in review I filled in with “See attached.” Actually, except for name and address, the entire application noted, “See attached.”

The “See attached” was my piece de resistance. I needed something unusual, something that would make my loan application unique, stand out over all the rest. I needed to be noticed. I needed an essay! Dredging up everything I could remember about methods of communication in writing, I made an outline and then proceeded to pour out onto paper an argument full of logic and persuasive discourse. The result was a full page, single-spaced masterpiece of rhetoric.

My tone was logical and businesslike. The loan officer should appreciate that. No whining. I explained that the bank would benefit from my loan, thus indicating that I understood their position. Since I held a responsible and well-paid position at work, I urged the bank to consider my dependability and trustworthiness, never mentioning my lack of credit, of course. I posed what I felt was the final persuasive touch. The monthly cost I currently paid for gas to commute a round-trip of 80 miles in a ¾-ton Chevy pickup was twice what I would pay for both a car loan and gas in a new Honda Civic. If I could afford the first, then it followed I could easily afford the second, didn’t it? Rhetorical questions help emphasize a persuasive theme. It all made sense to me, and I hoped it would make sense to the loan officer.

Stapling the essay several times to the application, I returned it to the credit union. By that time, I’d decided it was a stupid idea and a waste of time, so I didn’t stay to talk with the loan officer. But the entire writing process had lifted my spirits and made me feel worthwhile. I resigned myself, however, to another year of driving my truck with the 200-gallon-a-month diet.

The next day at work I got a call from the credit union. The loan was approved.

I’ll never know for sure if it really was the essay that did it. I like to think it was. I do know that for the first time since graduating from college, I saw my education pay off. All that learning was finally put to a practical use and produced immediate results. Most important of all, however, was the realization that there truly is power in the written word, and if we can control words, we can control our lives.

Marlene Shinn Lewis is retired and living on Washington’s gorgeous Olympic Peninsula after 46 years in equally gorgeous Alaska. Her essays and short fiction appear in anthologies published in the U.S., Canada, and Scotland.  Earlier graduate work included introducing and annotating the only modern edition of the 1867 play Alaska, A Spectacular Extravaganza in Rhino-Russian Rhyme and Two Acts.  Among an eclectic variety of occupations (short attention span?) Marlene taught several English and writing courses at the University of Alaska Anchorage and Wayland Baptist University.  She is currently working on three historical fiction novels and is in over her head.