In Which Laurel Learns That Not Everyone Will Extend Her A Line Of Credit

We all have our low moments financially. (At least, I assume we all do. If you've never had even the slightest embarrassment caused by money, you're probably not reading this blog anyway. I don't know what an only-recently-underemployed Hyundai owner would really have to offer you.)

There's the first time you forget your wallet. "I'm sure it's here somewhere," you say, while standing at the register rummaging through a bag that contains old receipts, gum, lipstick, mace, ticket stubs, perfume samples, an emery board ... everything but your wallet, any cash or even a spare credit card that might get you out of the store with your purchases. Also, this will never happen when there are not at least three people in line behind you, one of which is an impatient mother with a screaming child and another of which is a large man who thinks his sighing alone will make you give up the ghost.

But, at least when you only forget your wallet (because you might have forgotten to pick it up from beside the computer where you left it while you were online shopping, but you were already late because you needed to see the end of Law & Order: SVU even though you'd watched the episode before but still had no memory of the ending and your hands were already full with a Diet Coke and your car keys, but whatever), you seem absent-minded.

When the credit card is declined, it ranks a little higher on the humiliation scale.

"Do you think you could run it just one more time?" you say. "I'm sure it's just the machine."

"You know, I was definitely near something really magnetic not that long ago. Maybe you need to enter the number manually."

"How about this one?"

I'll never forget the first time I had to walk out of a Target during my sophomore year of college because there just wasn't a way to pay for all of the seasonal decor and hair products I was positive I needed to survive. (At least, not a means of payment that came from any U.S.-backed financial institution.)

When you have to get out of line because of this kind of financial embarrassment, there will still be at least three people in line behind you, but they'll mostly just offer pity. In this situation, it's the clerk that tends to hate you for your perceived denial and holding up her line.

But, when it comes to shopping and financial shame, I still can't remember ever being as embarrassed as I was the first year after I graduated college.

Living in a nice place for the first time (despite some minor concerns about the surroundings in my  at-the-beginning-of-gentrification neighborhood), I headed to the mall for a new slipcover, so that my love seat would match the sofa in the living room. (A living room with a fireplace by the way. I felt like I was on top of the world.)

After picking out my navy slipcover (all the better to hide beer stains, I was still young after all), I proceeded to the register.

"Would you like to save 15% on your purchase today by applying for an in-store credit card?"

As I was prone to say in those days -- and as my former credit report with Victoria's Secret, Limited, Lerner and Banana Republic cards, in addition to a couple of Amexs and a Mastercard prove -- I didn't even hesitate. "I'd love to," I said. "What do I need to do?"

I filled out the form, handed over my info and waited to hear my total announced minus the nine whole dollars this decision was going to save me. 

I waited for awhile.

"I'm sorry, Miss," the clerk said. "It looks like we can't offer you a credit card today. Is there another way you'd like to pay?"

I handed over my Visa, took my bag and left the store quickly. I no longer felt wanted there.

You see, there's one thing to be said for not getting a credit line increase. There's another to be said for being turned down at Neiman Marcus or Saks. Even Macy's is somewhat respectable. But, I never, never thought that J.C. Penney wouldn't want me as a card-carrying member of their club.

Do you even know anyone with a J.C. Penney card? Of course you don't. No one shops there. How had they earned the right to turn me down? I was a Georgetown grad with a title that included "Assistant Director" in it; didn't they know I was going places?

In the years since, I've curbed my spending ways (largely out of necessity, but also partly due to the brilliant creation of my fake husband), and I have a credit score that is respectable. But, I still can't go near a J.C. Penney without feeling slightly inferior.

So, while my original rejection by Penney's did seem beyond cruel, I suppose it's kind of a blessing in hindsight. After all, who actually does shop at J.C. Penney? If it had been Anthropologie or Urban Outfitters, I probably wouldn't have ever recovered.