A Credit Score Conundrum, or The New Slavery

Financially sliced 'n diced.

by Angela K. Durden

A Magnificently Methodical Southern Woman
and The Most Brilliant Woman in the World 

Citizen Journalist.  Novelist. Author of other stuff. 

Business writer.  Songwriter.  Publisher.

I once met a man from Texas 

Buys everything with his cashes.

He has no debts.

Bills ne'er forgets.

Still his credit score was a-messes.

It's true. I know this man. He wanted to get married but the woman said she had to know his credit score. It was almost non-existent. He had always lived within his means. If he didn't have the money, he didn't buy. He'd save and scrimp until he could pay cash. 

Sounded like a good plan. He was stress-free. Could pay attention to his woman. But she was freaking out. He had to have a credit score that registered, see. 

So he went out and got an auto loan. But he paid it off too fast. Change in credit score? Nil.

By this time the woman was gone and then the loan company came after him saying that he wasn't allowed to pay it off ahead of time and instituted a bunch of early payment fees that equaled the interest he would've had to pay them. That fight lasted three years.

In any case, his credit score never got higher than about 350. He decided to live even further off the grid. Built him an underground house in the desert and that's the last I heard of him. I bet he's happy. 

Why am I telling you this? Because my bank, Wells Fargo, is like a lot of banks these days. Trying to be helpful, they are now offering my credit score through my online banking; free of charge. Here is my FICO [Fair Isaac Corporation] score. Now, you're probably noticing the big eight-two-zero in the middle and you're thinking, "Hey, Angela. That ain't bad at all." 

Now, see the little black dot in the green area? It does not go all the way to the peak of the green. Why not? 

Because of this language below:  

Right about now I feel like the man from Texas. I've always paid off my credit card balances every month. I do not have a mortgage and I own my condo outright. I do not have a car loan as Baby Doll has been paid off since she was five years old and she turned five in 2007. 

So, here I am with one of the almost highest credit scores in the world and I am still being dinged because I do not have any loan history and I don't have any aging balances. 

If I were a cussing woman I'd be saying "Jesus H. Christ!" But I'm not a cussing woman. Okay, I'm lying. I cuss, but I never say Jesus H. Christ. 

All this to say that in the credit reporting world, it doesn't matter what you do because you're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't. The financial system is designed to keep you enslaved. 

If I lived near a desert, I'd be hunkered down living off the grid, too. 

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Title Obscura, or "Who'll pick my 'maters?"

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.

I, your Citizen Journalist, have a confession to make. Yes, I too allowed the Language of the Caring Socialist to creep into my daily use of language. For this I apologize and ask forgiveness. I shall not do that ever again because to do so simply hides ugly truths.

In other words, an undocumented worker is still a slave by any other name. Of all people, I should know about Title Obscura and how it is used to support slavery and other ugly truths masquerading as care.

Case in point

I was out and about one night recently, feeling pretty good while listening to live music, when what to my wandering ears do I hear a but the plaintive wail of what I identified as a Caring Socialist. Yes, it was a wail and yes, it was plaintive. This is no exaggeration on the part of a comedian columnist who takes liberal license with facts to entertain.

Of course, why would there be such a sound in a place where Jazz is being played, right? Jazz is supposed to make you feel good about being blue. The only thing wailing should be the horn and the singer, right?

My head whipped around to find the source of this impassioned wail because it was out of tune and out of sync with the overall vibe when what did my wandering eyes confirm but that it was a Socialist complaining that the price of his tomatoes was getting higher because undocumented workers — his word, not mine — were being kept from the fields:

"Oh, all those tomatoes rotting because nobody else will pick them!"  

The impassioned wail of the 'mater lovers

Now, this guy I happen to know. He would be the first to march in the streets to show how much he cares for a meat-eating animal's right to be vegan, a woman's right to kill her baby before the child is born, and the paying of a non-living wage to slaves so Massah can keep 'maters on his table.

Did I know this is how this guy and other caring Socialists think? Yes, I did. But hearing it against the great sounds of live music simply brought home the absolute uncaring nature of that class called "The Caring" and how even I, your Citizen Journalist, fell into the use of the Title Obscura.

I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.