Paid in Full

So, the moment I’ve been working toward for months – no, make that years – occurred Friday evening when I sat down to pay bills, Friday being pay day on alternate weeks. I logged on line to chase.com – the keeper of my most-used (and lately, the only-used) credit card, the one that nets me mileage for every dollar I spend and which has flown me to London, to Venice, to Istanbul, and soon – Paris…. that credit card, noted the balance of $386.27, and PAID IT IN FULL. Read zero balance. Zero, zip, zilch, nada. 

This moment has been a long time in rehearsal. I remember the first credit card I got when I was about 20 years old. It was to Sibley’s, a family-owned department store in Rochester, NY, (sadly) long out of business, but similar to Macy’s.  They wisely gave me a credit limit of $100 because, after all, I was only making $100 a week. The first item I bought was a long-sleeved pink and white dressy blouse, costing around $30. I was so nervous about handing over that card for something I really could not afford, but at the time was desperate to have. I paid the bill when it appeared in my mailbox, writing the check standing up in my kitchen before I even took off my coat. I didn’t want Sibley’s to be sorry they’d trusted me. Although I no longer have the blouse, somewhere I still have that credit card.

My most embarrassing credit card moment was when Mobil (gas) asked me to return my card to them. I was in my late twenties and I had charged way more than I could pay for gas for my car.  I was in film school making my thesis film, and driving back and forth a lot between New York where my cinematographer and actors all lived, Syracuse, NY where I was in school, and Batavia, NY where I was shooting. The specific details have faded but I missed a payment or paid less than the minimum or I was late – something that understandably infuriated them. So after a couple of angry letters back and forth, they demanded their card back. I slunk away in credit card humiliation.

Several years later, with an income finally beyond the student level, American Express took a chance on me and I was back in the credit card game. What yuppie wanna-be ever turned down AmEx? Even Mobil eventually emerged as a contender for my now steady income although I held my breath waiting for them to realize their mistake after I sent in my application. As with many families in today’s world, I used my credit cards primarily to keep my kid clothed, bejeweled, lessoned, vacationed and tuitioned. However, by the time she was no longer my responsibility, the habit of whipping out that card was entrenched.  I’ve tried many times over the years to get rid of pesky balances.  But for some inexplicable reason, approaching zero has always triggered the permission to buy syndrome from which, I suspect, many of us suffer. Sometimes it has corresponded with my itchy feet urge to travel, or Christmas, or the need (I use that term loosely) to decorate. No matter. There’s something about zero that heretofore has freed the often-suppressed wild and crazy shopper that resides within.

I revealed my tango with zero balances with all the seriousness I thought it merited to the person I know as my “heart mother.” She laughed at me. I bristled – she’s not supposed to laugh. “I’m laughing,” she explained, “because I do exactly the same thing.” She knows I’m compulsive, but in the 26 years we’ve known each other, she swears she never knew I was a compulsive shopper. “I’m a binger,” I explained. As proof I offered up my birthday last May as an example. I met my daughter at her apartment early, before we went to dinner and the theater, as we often do to celebrate my birthday. “I want to stop at Cold Water Creek before we go,” I said. CWC is a women’s clothing store with which I have fallen in love (I use that term loosely) since they started carrying items small enough to actually fit me and it happens (dangerously) to be about two blocks from her place. “Sure,” she said. Whatever momma wants to do on her birthday, we do.  FIVE HUNDRED PLUS DOLLARS LATER, we staggered out under the bag weight. That’s what I mean by a binge.

In the scheme of things, my binges are relatively harmless. I’m not like the QVC shoppers who have intimate (I use that term loosely too) relationships with the UPS driver, with a constant stream of boxes coming and going. I’m not like the Gymboree-obsessed moms who buy up every new over-priced themed outfit, which their children will outgrow before they have a chance to look worn.   My mortgage and other bills still get paid. I rarely suffer buyer’s remorse. What I buy (or bought, in that case) is used, and likely will be for years to come. That’s where the influence of my mom comes in. She couldn’t throw anything out. “It’s still good,” she would say. Or “it might come back in style.” Or “you never know when this will come in handy.”  Remember slouch socks? They were big in the 1980s, the growing-up years of my sweet daughter. That’s all she wore at the time. Of course, she gave them up long ago, fashion maven that she is. But here’s a secret – I still wear her cast-off slouch socks under my jeans on weekends and only lay them to rest when the elastic is so dead and gone that they threaten to slouch over my sneakers and drag on the ground. Until then, they’re still good, as mom would say.

But back to zero balance and freedom from the monthly tyranny of paying back. I got through all day yesterday without running it back up, which usually would be my modus operandi. It would be easy to do. Set me loose in a bookstore or a bead store or on amazon.com with a zero balance and I could do some serious damage. Or reveal a whole new listing of coming-soon-to-Broadway shows and my entertainment for the next year could be established in one charging frenzy. I’m going to try hard to stay clean, to borrow a phrase from the addiction world. I’m very much liking the concept of conscious decision-making ahead of time about how to spend (or not) limited monthly funds. Shall I go to the theater OR the ballet? Which organization do I want to contribute to this month? How much do I want to save (what a concept)? The possibilities are endless. The money is not. It’s about time I acknowledged that.