To My Credit

As I rushed out the door to go to work yesterday, I took a quick look at the end table on which we pile all of our mail, to see if there was any mail for me. There was a big fat unmarked envelope from Markham, Ontario. I quickly opened it, to see what I was being solicited about, and realized that it was a credit card. I fainted. (No I didn't, I'm lying.)

I couldn't effing believe it. I have been applying to get a credit card through my bank ever since I bought my new car. I figured that if they were willing to give me thousands of dollars, they might be convinced to give me $500 credit. But they could not be convinced.

I applied about 7-8 times in the past 3 months, just to force someone to print off the generic rejection letter and mail it to me.

"Sorry, Ms. Road, you are bad with money, and we don't like you. Piss off. Best Wishes, Your Bank."

In a sad, twisted way, I liked it, because it is very rare that I get mail that isn't from Reader's Digest, The War Amps, or Ralph Goodale.

A few years back, when I was still wild and crazy, (ok, crazier) and didn't really give a shit about the future, I got myself in some credit card trouble. I went to Scotland, England and France for a few months, with not quite enough money, and half way through my trip, had to start using my credit cards for everything. Of course, I wasn't making payments, (except for the cash my mom threw on the cards when I'd call her from a payphone from gawd-knows-where), and shortly after I arrived back in Canada and got settled back at work, and found an apartment, the credit card people caught up with me. My first paycheck, that was to pay rent and a damage deposit so I didn't have to live on my brother's girlfriends couch anymore, was taken from me. No matter what I said to them, they just didn't care. My last call to them, went something like this:

"But, I'm homeless. I have a job, but I'm homeless. I just got back to Canada. I can pay the whole thing off next month. "

" Sorry, Ma'am. You should have thought about that before you left the country."

"So I made a mistake. Sue me."

"Don't worry ma'am, we just might."

"I hate you for not having a soul."

"Have a nice day ma'am, thanks for getting your poor mother to pay us our money. I hope no one ever lets you live this down."

"They won't. Good-bye."

Ok, I'm lying again, but it was something along those lines, followed by me crying my face off for about a day.

So, when I got that credit card approval yesterday, it was a huge weight off of my shoulders. According to the bank, I am not an irresponsible twenty-something anymore. I can be trusted again. I, am an adult. The past doesn't matter to them anymore, and I should clear up some things myself, so it doesn't matter to anyone else either. The only way to go, is up.

The only reason I wanted a credit card so badly, was so I could start my own Etsy shop. I joined Etsy two years ago, and after going through all the steps, I realized that you need a credit card to have your own shop. It was a kick in the face. Over the past year, a bunch of friends have started their own shops, and I was a jealous bear about it. But now, finally, I can have my own.

I just need some time to sit down and get it going. Which may be tougher than I want it to be, but I'm determined. But, I'll keep you posted, and once it's up, I'll take you shopping. You have to pay of course though, because I'm living off bottle recycling money.