The day I begged the bank for mercy (and got judgment)

A little over ten years ago, I was poor.

Once, during that period, I looked at my bank account and saw that I had about seven dollars. I went to the grocery store to buy a loaf of bread and milk. That would give me something to eat for a few days until I found a way to put more money in my account.

I spent about three dollars on that trip to the grocery store.

The next day, I went back for another small item. About a buck. By my calculations, I should have around three dollars left in my account. That afternoon, I treated myself to a Dr. Pepper.

A couple of days later, I received a $200 check. I took it to the bank to deposit the money in my account. I needed to buy groceries and fill my gas tank. Once I paid for those things, I expected to have about $100 to get me through a couple of weeks.

Except when I deposited the check, my balance was only $54.70. How could this be?

A few days earlier, when I thought I had seven dollars in my account, I overlooked pending transactions. By the time I went to the grocery store the first time, my account was already overdrawn by about 15 cents. The bank hit me with a $35 overdraft fee. I was $35.15 in the hole when I purchased bread and milk. The bank hit me with another overdraft fee, taking my account to $73.15 in the red. When I returned to the store the next day and spent one dollar, I got another overdraft fee. Now my account was at $109.15 in the red. Finally, when I bought the Dr. Pepper, the bank charged yet another overdraft fee. By the time I deposited the $200 check in the bank, my account was overdrawn by $146.30–almost all of it in overdraft fees.

I had to spend about $30 of the $54.70 on gas (I needed my car to get to school and to work), leaving $14.70 for groceries and other needs until my next $200 check (two weeks away).

One of the lowest lows of my life was the day I went to the bank to beg forgiveness of the overdraft fees. I sat in the office of a 22-year old, fresh-out-of-college junior branch manager. He looked across his desk like a judge presiding over his court. He could not hide his contempt for me. He lectured me about balancing my checkbook and keeping better track of my balance. He suggested I needed to get a job (I was going to grad school full-time and working part-time as a minister at a local church).

I reasoned with him that, surely Bank of America could spare $140 whereas $140 was 35 percent of my total monthly income.

“Our policy is that we do not forgive overdraft fees,” said junior manager crisply. He once again suggested I get my act together and shooed me out of his office. I left defeated, emasculated, and seething with rage. I vowed (quite irrationally) to never do business with a bank again for as long as I lived. The next day, I withdrew my $54.70 and closed my account (take that, Bank of America!).

That experience changed me.

For starters, I recognized that I could not afford the life I was living. It’s hard for a 30-year old single male to go to school full-time and not fall into hock. A few months later, I put grad school on pause and went back to work full-time. Incidentally, I’m still paying my student loans from that period with no graduate degree to show for it.

More important, I learned what it is like to actually be poor. I’m not just talking about the money. I’m talking about what it feels like to beg a bank for help and get a lecture and a sniff in return. I’m talking about what it feels like to have to get groceries from a church food pantry. I’m talking about what it feels like to borrow cash to pay for a visit to the doctor (and never being able to pay back the loan). I’m talking about what it feels like to feel embarrassment and shame that leads to despair and isolation. During that season, there were times I felt broken, defective, incapable, stupid. It got harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning.

I was blessed. When I made the decision to get out of that situation, I had a college education, experience working management-level jobs, and a network of people who could open doors for me. Within a year, I was making the best salary of my life and sitting in an office with a view of the downtown skyline.

Two truths:

My brief season of despair and poverty is not a brief season for millions and millions of people. It is their entire existence. It is all they know. They are down a hole so deep the opening to daylight looks like a pinhole.

I had education, experience, and a network. I had a family and friends who always had the means to get me back on my feet. And, I am a white male. In other words, poverty was just a detour for me until I resumed my life of affluence and privilege. Not so for the vast majority of those millions and millions of people living in poverty. They have none of what I have. The field is not level. The game is not fair. I was born and raised on third base while they are born and raised in the parking lot outside. They can’t even buy a ticket to get in. It took going through poverty for me to learn this.

So be kind today. Be patient. Be understanding.

Be gracious. Be merciful.

And most of all, be committed to changing yourself and your world.

Grace and peace.