Staff Editorial

Letters to the Editor

Editorial Cartoon

Wendy M. Miller

I have a new vehicle. Well, it is used -- but it is new to me. I have just cause to be excited about my recent purchase. Instead of my parents' name, it will be my name listed on the payment book. I, Wendy Miller, have committed to a sixty-month liaison with the bank that graciously financed my mode of transportation. 

When the gentleman at the bank handed me the loan papers, I felt like gushing out a Grammy-acceptance speech: "I would like to thank everyone who made this day possible … my parents, my boyfriend and his family, and most of all the bank vice-president Leonard Helm for believing in me and my ability to make the payments."

The acquisition of my vehicle did not happen overnight. First of all, I had to find the right one. I wanted a mini-van with the proper modifications for a person in a wheelchair (remote entry, ramp, brake and gas handles and so forth). The 1992 van that was my primary ride for years could not be adapted for me to drive. As long as I used it, I was forced to be a back-seat driver (which drove my boyfriend crazy).

Due to the time restraints to have a new van modified (the process usually takes four to eight weeks), I chose to scour the want ads and the Internet's used-car listings for my ideal mini-van.

Lady Luck sometimes smiles on me. I found my dream van on-line. It was a ‘98 model with average miles, and it was listed by a Mobility Plus in Houston. I was ecstatic. After one visit to meet destiny, I found myself in need of a bank. I tried for a loan at mine first. I had more of a chance of scaling a wall at Fort Knox (can you see me trying to lug my wheelchair).

In this faceless corporate America, loans are granted on a point system. An applicant earns a point here for credit cards owned. A point deducted here for past credit blemish. The person desiring the loan is reduced to a number that the loan officer punches in to a real bank downtown.

I realize that modern society is leveled on economics. I admit that, as a first time owner with a previous bad credit card experience, I do have the potential of being a "risk." However, with my how-not-to-handle-a-credit-card experience two years behind me, I am eager to greet tomorrow. 

As the monotone loan officer briefed me on my rejection, I longed to shout, "I am a good person that made a mistake. I am human … look at me, I am not an animal." Oh, the drama of my elephant man moment re-lived.

It always helps to know the right people. With knowledge of my plight, my boyfriend's dad introduced me to a Baytown bank with a hometown feel. My dilemma had a quaint Andy Griffith closure. It was the reciprocal of what I faced at the grocery store. The tellers knew all the patrons and treated me as an equal. At the end, the banker, Mr. Helm, smiled approvingly as his new account left - in her mini-van.