Look at that idiot.
There I am, barely accustomed to my post-pubescent body. (I thought I was chunky then. I was the worst–look at that beauty! Anyway.) Glowing with consumeristic joy over the acquisition of both my first cellular phone that wasn’t drilled into the frame of an automobile and my first credit card. The ink was barely dry on my first private student loan and the federal loans that allowed me to pay the University of Rhode Island for my first year of college.
I’d worked babysitting jobs and a horrendous retail job and hadn’t lived away from home for more than a week in my life. Money had no long-term use for me; it was all about having enough to gas up my crappy car (easy enough in the halcyon days of a gallon of gas costing less than a gallon of bottled water) and some left over to buy a CD at Newbury Comics, and maybe some late-night diner breakfast at Bickford’s.
Fast forward about 15 years and the long-term consequences of my financial choices have become abundantly clear. I pay about $500 a month in student loans. (Sadly, a song compared to what some of today’s graduates have to face for their bachelor’s degree.) Over the years, I’ve been rent-poor. I’ve had to leave unsafe apartments or was asked to leave by roommates to make room for someone else. I worked a series of rewarding but low-paying jobs and tried to keep up with friends whose salaries were considerably higher than my own. I’ve had the unexpected stints of unemployment and little savings to cover it. It was manageable when I had one relatively low-limit credit card. But then I got a second in a foolish attempt to transfer a balance for a lower interest rate. Then my freelance gigs dried up during the recession. One day, I woke up and I had more than $10,000 in credit card debt.
That idiot’s chickens came home to roost.