Eleventy million years ago, when I was in college, credit card companies were always hawking their wares on campus. Like many young college kids, I was broke, and a credit card seemed like a good way to provide a buffer between me and homelessness. I had no help from my father, and student aid didn’t cut it. But by signing up for a credit card, I’d get 50,000 airline miles so I would be able to fly across the country for Christmas.
Besides, I reasoned, I’d pay it off in full every month. Totally. Would use it only for emergencies. And for big purchases so I wouldn’t have to walk around with hundreds of dollars in my pocket. (Note: I went to college before debit cards were a thing.) I’d “build my credit,” and be a grown-up, and when it came time to buy a house (ha-ha-ha-ha!), I’d be in good shape.
Except nothing went as planned. I got the credit card and used the miles, but my first major purchase was buying six Grateful Dead tickets for a bunch of friends and myself. Or was it Lollapalooza? My memory is foggy. The intention was to take the cash, deposit it in the bank, and then pay off the credit card. But you know what they say about intentions.