I wrote an essay last year about what it’s like to go from desperate poverty to having a middle class income. I told the story in another essay about the time that a very minor mistake—forgetting to deduct a $5 swipe of my debit card—caused an avalanche of negative consequences that took months to fully abate.
I’m having an adventure today that would be so radically different, back when I was poor, that despite the frustration, anger, annoyance, etc., I keep shivering with gratitude.
So Stupid that It Wouldn’t Even Work As Farce
I live in an adorable little apartment that’s a segmented portion of a Victorian mansion (so I have my own entrance, bathroom, kitchen, separate utilities, etc.—only the driveway and yard are shared). My rent is $1,100. The landlord is a non-tech-savvy old couple, so I write them paper checks.
My July rent check somehow got entered by their bank (maybe; this is in dispute, as you’ll see in a moment) as $2,200.
The rest of this story is for paid subscribers; I write a personal story once a month or so just for them. If you’re not one because you can’t afford it, email me: hollymathnerd at gmail dot com. No questions, no judgment. I’ll hook you up.