Fail Up by Tavis Smiley Page B

company, nearly one-third (30 percent) of college students put their tuition on credit cards; 92 percent of undergraduate students use their cards to charge textbooks, school supplies, and other “direct expenses.” The higher the grade level, the more heavily students depend on credit cards. The average freshman carries a median debt of $939—nearly triple the $373 documented by Sallie Mae in 2004. Many college students, the study concluded, use credit cards and pay obscene interest rates, not just for convenience, but also “to live beyond their means.” So it’s not bad enough that students today graduate with massive debt for their education; they also graduate with massive credit card debt and are unable to find a job to boot.
    It wasn’t the credit card trap that ensnared this wide-eyed transplant to Bloomington; I was hooked by a checking account offered to newly arriving students by a local Bloomington bank.
    I was much too young and ill prepared for such a serious responsibility. I came from a poor family and, like so many others from my background, my parents never talked about money matters beyond basic survival. I knew absolutely nothing about handling money responsibly, and the issuing bank wasn’t exactly offering training sessions on balancing checkbooks or using credit cards properly.
    My checking account became my credit card. It sounds really sophomoric now, but if I needed something and didn’t have the money, I’d write a check. Sure, I’d deposit money into my account on a regular basis, but I knew if I fell short, I’d simply have to pay $15 for any bounced checks.
    Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t write checks for clothes, fancy shoes, music, or even textbooks. My extravagance was pizza—one local pizzeria, in fact: a place called Pizza King. I can still see myself writing those $7.14 checks for a large savory sausage and pepperoni pizza.
    My naïve rationale went something like this: “The bank will cover me. Sure, I may not have $15 to waste tomorrow, but I’m hungry today.” It reminds me of Wimpy in the Popeye cartoon series: “I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today!”
    If I had paid more attention to the bank’s notices informing me that I was seriously in arrears, perhaps I could have avoided the embarrassing outcome.
    Check-Kiter
    My suspicions should have gone on high alert when I came home from school one day and my roommate, Chi, told me that “Mark, an old high school friend of mine,” had stopped by our off-campus apartment for a visit.
    â€œMark?” Neither the name nor the description—tall, white, heavyset with glasses—jogged any memories.
    Not to worry, Chi assured me. Mark asked him what time I’d be home and said he’d drop back by around the time Chi had indicated.
    A half hour or so after I got home, there was a knock at the door. I was greeted by a stranger who asked with a smile and friendly tone: “Tavis … Tavis Smiley?”
    â€œYeah, that’s me,” I answer, still not recognizing my supposed high school friend.
    BAM! Handcuffs are out; demeanor has changed; and a new, unfriendly voice barks:
    â€œYou’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent … yada, yada, yada.”
    â€œUn- un- under arrest,” I stammered, “for what?”
    â€œCheck-kiting.”
    â€œKiting? I haven’t flown any kites. What’s check-kiting?”
    â€œWriting bad checks,” the mysterious Mark responds.
    I was totally baffled. It never crossed my mind that I could be arrested for writing checks. I was paying my little $15 fees: I thought I had the process down pat.
    Turns out, at the time, the local sheriff’s department had launched a check-kiting sting . A whole lot of folks in Bloomington, including students, were arrested that day.
    Of course, I didn’t know all that. As I was trotted out in front of my