The Camel Girls
There was once a time I was in overwhelming debt-like I had thousands of dollars in credit cards bills that I couldn’t pay. The interest alone was more than my weekly paycheck. I lived in shame but also fear about how I would buy gas and contribute to my co-worker’s baby shower. I was young and drunk a lot of the time and had no idea how to stop the bleeding. So, I stayed numb and charged on (like literally with my credit card).
One of my lowest points when I was in Subway (the sandwich shop). I was getting ready to charge my sandwich with my nearly maxed out credit card because I didn’t have any money to buy it outright. My friend called and told me that she had just bought a house. I was charging salami and she was buying a home.
Interestingly, my story to accruing thousands dollars in debt is very much tied up in the story of my alcohol use.
It was 2am and I was in a bar in southern Illinois with my then boyfriend. It was winter, or at least the bar still had up their Christmas lights because I faintly remember seeing the twinkly lights strung around the pole upon entry.
I was drunk, obviously, and had just run out of cigarettes. This happened a lot. The pack that I went in with would diminish with each passing hour. As I was getting ready leave the bar, I looked up and saw the most beautiful sight. The Camel girls were walking toward me.
The Camel girls are best described as women who came to bars late at night and gave away free smokes to drunk people. They wore short shorts and tiny white tees and they were always there-ready to save the day. I didn’t usually smoke Camels. I preferred Marlboro lights. I had stupidly come to believe that the brown filter of Camels made them worse for you. If I was going to smoke-I needed a white filter.
But on cold, dark winter nights like this one I was willing to abandon my health goals for the sake of the dopamine rush that came with each inhale. I rushed up to the Camel girls with a smile and asked for my free pack.
“Sure,” one of the girls smiled. “Just fill out this form.”
It didn’t matter that my speech was slurred and that I could barely read what was on the paper. I filled it out with my name, address and phone number. I got my free smokes and went on about my night.
A few weeks later I received a credit card in the mail. It was for Bed, Bath and Beyond. I’d never been in Bed Bath and Beyond and given my current living situation-renting a room in my roommate’s condo-I really didn’t need much in the way of bedding. Apparently, the Camel girls thought differently when they seduced me into signing up for this.
To be fair, I didn’t have to use the card. I could have cut it up and thrown it away. I would have still been broke-like struggling to find enough money to buy more cigarettes-but I wouldn’t have been in debt. But, I wasn’t mature enough for that. I hadn’t yet learned to think about my future self.
In the spirit of doing whatever I wanted in the moment, I walked into BB&B (as I lovingly came to call it) and filled my cart with things that I thought would make me happy-a candle, a warm fuzzy blanket and a new set of sheets. I charged it all to my new shiny card.
And so it began.
Soon, I found that I did in fact need things that Bed, Bath and Beyond could provide- fresh new towels, an insulated cup, a wedding gift or a Mother’s Day present. The store had it all. I would whip out my card, walk out and feel nothing but pure pleasure. It would be months before I saw my first bill and that was a problem for later me.
But-as things go-the newness of the card began to slowly wear off. I felt like I was made for more than just sheet sets and hand towels. I wanted new clothes and body sprays and underwear too.
One day, while shopping at the mall I saw a sign that Victoria’s Secret had a discount if you signed up for their credit card. I didn’t need the Camel girls’ help for this one. I signed up all on my own, walking out with a bag full of Love Spell-a luscious scent that now only reminds me of cigarettes and booze.
These two cards were the gateway to my real Discover credit card where I could finally be free enough to charge everything-including that Subway sandwich. Over the next few years I would rack up over $15k in credit card debt without a single thing to show for. Not a new car or a down payment. Not a new bedroom set or a TV and DVD in one.
I still had trouble buying gas (bc I never knew how close I was to being maxed out) and embarrassingly, I still wasn’t able to contribute to my co-worker’s baby shower because that was something that couldn’t be charged.
I’m not proud of any of this.
Eventually, I got it all worked out. I took out a loan to pay for the debt (that my parents had to co sign for) and borrowed money from them to get back on track.-solutions that only a privileged white girl has. I also learned to do things like open mail, send payments on time and stop buying things that I could not afford.
The shame of this has softened as I’ve healed. I no longer feel like a worthless human who has no value. I no longer tell myself things like I’m not good with money. Sobriety helped me reclaim confidence around money and I’ve learned that blowing up your finances while engaged in a toxic relationship with alcohol is quite common. When I emerged from my drunken haze I could only tend to the loudest scream-which was always my anxiety.
I don’t really blame the Camel girls. They were only doing their job of getting me hooked on cigarettes and credit cards. (I kid). It’s more likely they too, might have been in need of some extra cash to cover the cost of their attempt to live in a capitalist consumerist society. But I do caution-nothing is free. Especially not when it comes to you in the middle of the night in a bar!
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Girl, you are not alone in this! I signed up for a credit card the first day I got to college because they were giving away free 2 liters of soda! That 2 liter of diet soda ended up costing me thousands of dollars too! Thanks for always being so honest!
My first credit card came as a gift when I turned 16. In my name, to Express, and was supposed to teach me money management. I was strict at first, but Express didn't buy anything I needed, unlike the real cards. The real one took inheritance from my grandmother's death to get paid off and opened my eyes to the privilege of generational wealth. Thank you for your story!