So, I needed to get a roll of quarters to do laundry and decided to go to my bank. Mostly I was trying to avoid paying a fee at a Currency Exchange to do so, but also I knew where my bank was, whereas finding a decent Currency Exchange downtown can be a challenge. I hadn't been to the bank in a long time. I check my account nearly daily online, I get cash from ATMs and I almost never need to make a deposit, so I admit I must have looked lost while searching for the tellers.
"Do you need help?" a pretty woman asked me. She was polished, wearing a dark suit and looking well above handing out change. I told her I needed a teller to get a roll of quarters and she laughed and directed me to her cubicle. If I had my ID card and my debit card handy, she would be happy to get my quarters.
That's when I realized my blunder. You see, I am broke. I have been living from paycheck to paycheck for months. The reason I check my account nearly daily is to update a detailed spreadsheet of expenses I keep in hopes of getting myself out of this mess. So I knew she would find out what I already knew: my credit card was maxed out and checking account had fallen into the negative.
I had already resigned myself to the additional fees. I had made a mistake and forgotten to add an automatic payment in my spreadsheet which caused this expensive blunder. I'll get paid soon, the fees will be paid and I'll move on. I told her I had some cash in hand (borrowed from a friend), that I didn't need to withdraw it from my account, but it was too late. Her face fell when she saw the negative balance, the credit card straining its limit. She left me alone for a moment and I wondered, weirdly, if she was checking with some supervisor who would confiscate my $10 to pay off some of the late charges. But she didn't; she returned and with a cheery smile, handed me a roll of quarters.
"Even though your card is maxed out, they've approved you for another smaller card," she told me. She turned her screen towards me so that I could see my banking information for myself. I pretended to look while the buzz of embarrassment filled my mind. The antidepressants must be working, because before I would have flushed and choked up with tears of shame.
"It's only a $300 limit, but it will certainly help in an emergency," she added. She didn't need to add "like now."
I wanted to say, I don't need another credit card, I'm trying to get out of debt, not wrack up more, but I just said, "I'll be fine. I get paid on Friday."
'It's Wednesday," she countered. I'm a decent judge of people. I get that she's a salesperson, that she might even get some sort of bonus for each new card she talks someone into, but there was an edge of pity in her voice. She pressed the point only a little: how are you getting by, are you sure you don't need it?
All I wanted was a roll of quarters to do laundry.
"I will be fine," I insisted.
She pressed her business card into my hand before I left, in case I should change my mind and accept her offer, and advised me not to use my debit card and make things worse. Yes, I know this already, and no, I haven't used it all week, but there was no point in telling her these things. Why do I should I care what she thinks of me? What use would it be to say, no, I'm usually very responsible, I've been a self-sufficient adult for a long time, honestly! But as I walked back to work, I couldn't help replaying the conversation in my head. I saw the concern in her face, heard her perky voice, over and over, her misplaced sympathy. I'm not sure which makes me feel worse, the lack of money or the pity of a complete stranger.
But tonight I'll do my laundry.
