The Essay Essay1
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I bit down hard on my pen, a habit I usually don't show unless incredibly pressed for ideas or time. The previous three—or five—drafts weren't good enough. “What do I do now?” I asked myself. I screamed in frustration. I wouldn't dare turn in an essay in its first draft solely because I didn't know how to fix it. I thought hard.3
It was February 7, 2008, around one o'clock. It was an unusually warm day, and I was in a good mood because of the sudden change in weather. The professor had given us the prompt, had us formulate ideas, and then asked for three volunteers. The volunteers had to turn in their essays a week ahead of time so the professor and students could rip the victims' works to shreds like hyenas on a carcass on the Serengeti. He asked who would like to volunteer, and I heard a snicker from behind me that sounded like a “Yeah, right.” I, being one who usually enjoys writing, raised my hand. He found his chosen three and proceeded to tell us more details. Again from behind, farther back this time, I heard someone say, “Suckers.” I laughed a little to myself; this would be cake.4
I had work after class, and I set my computer up in the lifeguard office and began to write. But then I had a revelation: the topic I had chosen wasn't something I wanted to share with the entire class. I scrambled over to my bag and pulled out my notes. I looked through them for something a bit more appropriate. I decided that I would choose the most informational topic; my coworkers would be a good subject.5
I typed up the rough draft and looked over it, then realized I had made a huge mistake. Sure, it was chock full of information and witty little lines like “Incompetence runs twelve feet deep at my pool,” but I couldn't find a valid reason for why it changed my views on anything, and there was no way I could translate it to a narrative voice. To top it off, I didn't even stay true to my purpose.6
Once again, I returned to my notes. I started several other drafts. One about my father and how his alcoholism and smoking addiction have influenced me: too serious. Another about my mom: too inappropriate. Even another one about my coworkers at a different job, but I decided not to do that one for legal reasons. I went back to the drawing board and decided to have one last go at the incompetence essay, but to no avail. The essay was a failure, and there was no way to revive it unless, of course, I took one of the topics I mentioned in the essay and expanded on it. No, it would have to be done without.7
I sat down and stared at a new blank screen. I couldn't distract myself with the Internet at work as there was no wireless connection, so this was the perfect environment to generate ideas. Smoke poured from my ears. My cold disabled me from using my brain, and it couldn't have picked a better time. I sipped on my cappuccino, tapped my pen on the desk, and lay my head down in defeat. Suddenly, an idea hit me in the back of the head like a stray water polo ball.8
My fingers danced across the keyboard, and the beginnings of a more successful essay were born. The children rejoiced and paraded through the streets, or at least in my mind they did, for my work was finished. I sat back, laced my fingers on the back of my head, and admired my finished product. Then I remembered I still had to edit it.9
Adding your comment:
But it's okay 'cause he liked them. Not only that, but he kept quoting my essay when we were about to start the description essay.
I put the essay back up if you want to read it. 550 words, so it's not long 
The progressions is great - I like the way it starts with your impatience before moving to the premise, then ends with the solution. Nicely laid out. I find it's usually very entertaining to write about the way you write... 
