I know it’s not polite to talk about money, but I just removed the cushion from the sofa, and it’s like fucking Fort Knox in here! Okay, so I exaggerate a bit, but according to my calculations, I have an additional $3.67 which, if I were to apply it to my monthly credit card bill, along with the minimum payment, should certainly be enough to improve my credit score.
I can just see the look on their faces over at Mastercard when they get my payment this month. Some smug bitch (who I will call Carol; I don’t know why. I just picture her name being Carol for some reason) will announce to the rest of her office, “Oh look! We got a payment from that Jensen guy again in Oak Park, Illinois. Let me guess! Fifty dollars? Ha ha ha!” Then, when she actually stops to read the number and sees that I paid $53.67, her jaw, along with her Donald Duck coffee mug, will fall to the floor. Her equally smug co-workers will run up to her computer. “No…way!” they’ll mutter. Yes way, bitches. Yes way.
I’m not an accountant or anything, so I’m not exactly sure how these things work. But I’m assuming that since I will now pay more than the minimum on my credit card this month, Mastercard will have no choice but to lower the minimum monthly payment next month from fifty dollars to say, forty-nine dollars. But they have another thing coming if they think they can lure me into a false sense of comfort. I’ll continue to pay fifty dollars every month despite the forty-nine dollar minimum, and whenever Carol sees that I’m no longer paying the bare minimum, it will cut her to her very core. “What happened?” she’ll ask out loud. “Did he get a promotion at work, or something?” And my response to that is, “That’s none of your God damn business, Carol! Just process my payment and shut the fuck up!” A year from now, after Carol and the other assorted villains at Mastercard realize that I’ve been paying a dollar more than the minimum payment for twelve months straight, they’ll call an emergency meeting where they’ll conclude that the best way to deal with me is to increase my credit line. I’m sorry to disappoint you bastards, but I won’t fall for that particular temptation either. The next thing they’ll do is try to charge me a hidden annual fee of exactly (what a coincidence!) three dollars and sixty-seven cents! That should serve as a clear and dire warning against any type of future hubris on my part. Unfortunately, they don’t know who they’re dealing with. I’ve had this sofa for about a year, so there’s no reason to think that over the next twelve months, my pockets won’t hemmorrhage money again.
That’s not to say that my road to financial freedom will come without consequences. Jealousy will spark friends and family to turn against me, and even though I welcome the hatred of Carol and her minions, the battle with Mastercard will, at times, become exhausting. When it does, I will take comfort in the words of Gandhi, who said, “First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.”
And if I get really desperate, I’ll go to the deli on the corner and steal a few dollars from the donation box that goes toward the Make A Wish Foundation. Fuck it. Those kids are going to die anyway.