Being broke aint my cup of tea

           I was sitting in an empty living room with no furniture just crates full of Michael Jordan sneakers, bright-colored pumps, and past-due bills. Slumped over and drenched in my own tears I panted unable to catch my breath. I was hyperventilating. It was my wasteful and mindless spending that had gotten me here, and I was to blame for my own financial woes.

“I can’t get evicted,”? I thought. “I don’t have enough money to eat let alone pay bills,”.

I didn’t have much time. My $30 electricity bill was due in a week, along with my $86 cell phone bill, and $30 gas bill. I had to move fast, but I didn’t know what to do.

I could throw away my pride and ask my mom, but I knew she would, most likely, scold me and wouldn’t have the money. I could ask my brother, but last we he’d already given me $30 for food, and gas money, and that was like pulling teeth. I was frustrated. I mean, I was a junior at one of the greatest colleges in the nation, The Ohio State University, yet when it came to managing my money I was as dumb as a door knob.

 The money I was awarded from school last month was more than enough to cover these bills, but I had spent it all on eccentric clothes, and stylist jewelry. I was down to my last $100. I thought, to myself, what would make me commit such financial atrocities upon myself. I knew my expenses, yet I continued to buy material things I didn’t need, and couldn’t afford. I must have been insane.

I blamed Facebook. Growing up in such a social media manic society I felt the pressures to keep up with the trends and fashion.  Religiously I scrolled through pictures seeing everyone with the latest dresses, purses and bags. It had taken over my mind. I was consumed with keeping up with the viral Jones.

I bought it all from overpriced skinny jeans to hi-tech smart phones. I bought numerous shoes at one time, and once I even spent over $200 dollars in ten minutes, just so I could get my shine and reign as the flyest Facebook diva that had ever lived. I was subconsciously feeding off of every comment like “looking good girl, and “Dang can I borrow that,”. It had become like my imaginary cloak I wore for a quick self-esteem boost, but what else had it gotten me?

I looked in my closest. Every inch covered with something name brand. I rolled my fingers along my navy blue pea coat. I had just paid $45 dollars for it the previous week. It was originally $85 so I had gotten away with a steal. I picked up my new favorite mini dress I had also recently purchased from Urban Outfitters. It was royal blue with crisscross black and gold back straps, and fit me like the designer had preordered my measurements. It was a must-have, but the reality was these things didn’t mean much, and I couldn’t turn in those Facebook comments as currency to pay my bills. I needed to make a change.

I did the only thing a 21-year-old could do. I called my dad. My father and I had not had the best relationship throughout the years, but we loved each other dearly, and he made sure I was always taken care of. I hated calling him, and asking for money, though. It just made me feel like less of myself, but I had to do what I had to do.

“Hey dad,”. I sheepishly said.

“What’s up Eartha child,”. He said. I could hear the grin on his face.

“Umm dad I’m sorry I have to ask you this but I don’t have any money, and I have rent, and my utility bills to pay,”. I asked. “ I promise I can pay you back when I get the money, but I really need your help. I’m sorry,”.

My hands were shaking and my heartbeat slightly increased. My body was definitely in fight or flight mode. I hated asking for money.

“How much you need Earth,”. He asked.

“$200,”. I said.

“You don’t have to apologize. I know you are in school, and trying your best. Money is going to come,”. He said.

“But when, though dad ‘causes being broke aint my cup of tea,”. I had calmed down enough to smile and make a little joke.

“Delayed gratification, Earth,”. He insisted.

“ I know how it feels to be broke that’s why I work two jobs ‘cause I can’t stand not having money in my pocket,”. He said. “ Like my granddad always told me being broke aint that bad, it’s just so damn uncomfortable,”.

My dad and I both burst into laughter. My grandfather’s words of wisdom had managed to break the ice, and I didn’t feel so bad anymore. My father took my account number, and the next day I paid all my bills off.

It appeared that all was well in my world, but it wasn’t. I had a bigger problem. I needed to deal with the fact that I cared way too much about the approval of 350 friends on Facebook that I didn’t even know. I was competing with phantom opponents on the World Wide Web in a game of misconception. The funny thing was that I probably wouldn’t even be able to recognize half of these people if I ever saw them in public. Clothes didn’t make me who I was and Facebook didn’t define me, I did.