Sell your soul to credit card demons

In Editorial /

By Viagro

“Hey little girl, do you want some candy?” 

If that gives you the creepy crawlies it ought to.  It sure as hell sent shivers down my spine as I sauntered along Jorgenson Hall of Shame recently to witness Mephistopheles hawking his deals with the devil — credit cards.

Like you’re not already in enough personal debt.  But never mind, because in true Ryerson tradition, life imitates art — or should that be “artfulness” — and in Faustian fashion, no less.  Why not?  You only have to divvy up a minimum-per-month payment.  Every month.  Every year.  With interest the likes of which you’ll not find in any relationship.

However, if the temptation of recreating history with a semen-stained dress or blasting the Beastie Boys isn’t enough, these traders of pecuniary trappings are offering licorice sticks, Tupperware and Beanie Babies.  BEANIE BABIES!  Talk about appealing to one’s puerile instincts.  Scary stuff.

Listen up here, Master-of-HadesCard could have offered you reduced interest rates or a points-per-purchase plans but let’s face it — that’d cost more than a $1.69 pack of Twizzlers.

Yet are credit cards really the issue?  No way Jose.  The issue is, who is responsible for allowing these agent of angst onto campus and what is their cut of the action for proffering a slice of your soul?  Exactly where is this dough going on and to whom?   If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion — how about Financial Aid’s emergency loan fund?  Seem appropriate?  You betcha.  And how likely?  As likely as our Board of Governors voting against a tuition increase.  Hey, the only nest these geese want to feather is their own?  And the only “down” you’re likely to see is the statue on your credit rating.

Remember, what’s good for the goose ain’t necessarily what’s good for the gander.  And this goose won’t be hatching any golden eggs if you refuse to sign on Mr. Credit’s dotted line.

As Dorothy Park once said, “Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker.”

Go grab yourself a pint at the pub.  You won’t see any bills in the mail.

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