(Note: I wrote this for my memoir class at The Attic.)Growing up, I loved the television show Little House on the Prairie. I related to spirited Laura's freckled face and to Pa’s gentle folksy parenting style that reminded me of my own dad. In one of my favorite episodes, Pa treats the otherwise low maintenance Ingalls girls to new leather shoes bought on credit at the Olsen’s store. Unfortunately, a drop in lumber futures or bollweevils—I forget the particular catastrophe—causes the mill to shut down, leaving Pa without two months pay and an outstanding bill at Olsen’s mercantile. Mrs. Olsen has a fit, running around the store with the Ingalls’ bill screeching “Nels!” while Mr. Olsen gives a repentant Pa an understanding look.
I don’t recall how the bill was paid, or what the show’s conclusion was, but I do remember Pa’s Big Lesson (and there was always one at the end of every program): Always pay cash on the barrel.
I carried this adage of personal finance with me into adulthood; that is until I obtained my first credit card in college. With only a $1,500 credit limit, I resolved to be prudent and use the card for books and other school expenses. After six months of steadily declining budgeting willpower, I’d maxed out that card and applied for a second. My glittery new Discover card came in handy when I was fired (after two days) from my job in as a art gallery assistant in SoHo and paid my rent with cash advances. Credit card offers arrived in the mail daily and only two years after that first plastic card arrived with its free money, I found myself $4,000 in debt to three credit cards.
Thankfully, soon after I was rear-ended by a drunk driver and an insurance check for $5,000 not only compensated for my pain and suffering, but also put me back in the black.
My mother, sitting on her own enormous pile of debt, cautioned, “Now don’t get yourself in this kind of money trouble again.”
Right. Cash on the barrel.
I resolved to be good. Pa’s mantra echoed in my brain as I lingered in the shoe department at Barney’s. His sweet face and curly mop sprang to mind when I turned down dinner invitations with my friends and Mrs. Olsen’s shrill condescension was the only thing keeping me from charging all of my Christmas presents.
Then I cracked. It was an invitation to Mexico. I have a job and a zero balance on my Chase Mastercard, I thought, I can pay it off.
Somewhere in Walnut Grove, Michael Landon was very, very disappointed.
After those ten sunny days in Puerto Vallarta, my once taboo plastic emerged from my wallet more and more. At first I used it sparingly for emergencies such as veterinarian bills, then for admittedly non-emergencies at the end of the month when I’d spent the contents of my checking account. Job changes, cross-country moves, and more vet bills all funded by three shiny pieces of plastic, found me, four years after I’d paid off the first round of cards, in debt for $12,000. Missing a few payments here and there pushed most of the interest rates over 20% and I had no money to pay even the minimum balances.
One day, in the depths of debt despair, I summoned the Spirit of Pa and called a consumer counseling service.
The news from the credit counselor was grim: I had expenses of $1,000 a month and only earned $1600 per month working as an assistant at a book publisher in New York City. In order to pay off my debt paid in four years (a time limit established by some authority, I was never sure who), I had to pay $400 per month for 48 months. My other option, bankruptcy, seemed like a cop-out. I had borrowed the money, hadn’t I? Pa would expect me to pay it back, even if it meant I only had $200 a month pocket money.
And slowly, over four years, I did pay it back. All of my credit history is gone, I believe my FICO score is still somewhere below 500, but I did it. I’m truly a cash on the barrel gal now.
Somewhere in heaven, Pa is proud again.
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