by Karyn Bosnak
Save Karyn
One Shopaholic’s Journey to Debt and Back
Karyn Bosnak
This book is dedicated to my big sister, Lisa, and her crazy curly hair.
Long live Lou Lou Bell and Squeaky!
Contents
Author’s Note
The Summer I Stared at the Ceiling
The Rise
May 2000
One
I awoke that morning to a buzzing in my ear.
Two
That Monday my alarm clock woke me up at 7 A.M.…
Three
The next week at work was great. I booked some…
Four
So let me get this straight,” I said to the…
Five
On Monday, I called American Express and was delighted to…
Six
Despite high hopes, Curtis Court didn’t premiere with stellar ratings.
Seven
To go along with my New Year’s resolution, I decided…
The Fall
June 2001
Eight
The staff for The Ananda Lewis Show, including myself, started…
Nine
The next Tuesday, I finally mailed my June rent check…
Ten
After three months of preparation hell, The Ananda Lewis Show…
Eleven
I woke up Monday morning and just lay in bed…
Twelve
By the beginning of February, I had really hit rock…
The Rebirth
June 2002
Thirteen
On Wednesday, June 19, I made that sign. I waited…
Fourteen
On Monday, June 24, I started in a new position…
Fifteen
The momentum that seemed to start the previous week only…
Sixteen
I should have realized that the death of Claire was…
Seventeen
Every single week since I’d started the website, things just…
Eighteen
After the Today show appearance, it took me twelve more…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
AUTHOR’S NOTE
While this book is a work of nonfiction, I have made a few changes along the way to protect the privacy of those mentioned. For obvious reasons, I have changed the names of numerous people in the book, as well as altered their descriptions.
In addition to those changes, I have taken certain storytelling liberties to help move the events along, but it has been my intent to stay true to the story as it happened. Enjoy!
THE SUMMER I STARED AT THE CEILING
Have you ever made such a mess of things that you were sure there was no way out? That’s basically the story of my life. In June 2002, I was in that position: dead broke and $20,000 in the hole. How did I end up that way? Well, I guess you could say it all started three years earlier, during what I now refer to as “the summer I stared at the ceiling.”
It was May 1999, and I was twenty-six years old. I was living and working in Chicago. I wasn’t unhappy. I was just unfulfilled. I realized that there must be more to life than what I had experienced so far. I was born in Illinois, raised in Illinois, went to school in Illinois, and was working in Illinois. That summer all I did was stare at the ceiling and think. I didn’t know who I was. I was the person that my parents raised, but I never felt like my own person. I felt like an extension of them, and an extension of my job. I felt defined by my friends. All I did was stare and think.
At the end of the summer, the conclusion that I came to was this: I had to get the hell out of Illinois. I needed to pack my bags, leave the Windy City, and move to a faraway land. I needed to be alone to figure out exactly who Karyn Bosnak was. And the faraway land that I chose to be alone in was…New York! I had been there once—for a day. But I liked it, and I had seen tons of episodes of Friends and Seinfeld, and decided that it was going to be my new home.
The next year all I did was work and save money. Well, I tried to save money, let’s just say that, but I’ve never been really good in that department. But I saved enough to pay for a one-way plane ticket and an apartment. I had enough for everything, except the movers. I had to charge the movers…
The Rise
MAY 2000
ONE
GRAND DEBT TALLY $3,434.00
THE MOVE
I awoke that morning to a buzzing in my ear. My head was throbbing. The night before we had a big party to wrap up the ninth season of The Jenny Jones Show, where I had worked for four years. (No, I wasn’t there for the murder, so don’t ask.) As desperately as I wanted to leave Chicago, I was sad to say good-bye to all of my coworkers, some of whom I had become very close with throughout the years.
The buzzing stopped and then started up again. I finally realized that it wasn’t my alarm clock, but my doorman buzzing my apartment. I got out of bed and went to answer the intercom.
“Karyn, it’s Robert the doorman. Your mom’s here,” a voice said.
Ever since I’ve lived alone, I’ve had an apartment with a doorman. It’s always made me feel safe. Sure, doorman apartment buildings are more expensive, but how can you put a price on safety? This particular apartment was on Oak Street—the Madison Avenue of Chicago. If you walked straight out the front door of my apartment building, you’d hit Barneys. That was good for me, a girl who grew up shopping.
“Oh, right. Let her up.” I was moving to New York the next morning. My mom was there to help me pack and was planning to stay overnight so she could take me to the airport. It was my last day in Chicago.
I love my mom. But she was part of the reason that I decided to move. She’d do anything for me, and I knew that and always took advantage of it. I was hoping New York would make me feel more independent, so I wouldn’t call my mother every minute to ask for her help. “Help” to me usually meant “help with some cash,” which meant “I spent too much at Marshall Field’s and I need help paying the bill.” And Mom was always there in that department.
After packing all day, we slept for a few hours before we had to get up and leave for my 6 A.M. flight. I was going to bring some of my clothes with me, and movers were coming to my apartment the following day to pick up the rest of my stuff. The reason for the early flight was that I had a job as a producer for a new court show called Curtis Court and had to be at work at noon the day I arrived.
That morning my mom and I woke up, loaded the car, and drove to the airport in silence. I’ve always had this horrible separation anxiety when it comes to my mother. When I was little, I would cry at school because I wanted my mom. My sister, Lisa, who is two years older than me, would have to leave her class and come to help my teacher quiet me down. I also was unable to sleep over at any of my friends’ houses until I was in fourth grade because again, I would cry at bedtime because I missed my mom. I would fake being sick and have my friend wake her parents up and tell them that I needed to go home. Every time I’d attempt a sleep-over, my mom always knew the midnight phone call would come, and would get in her car to come pick me up.
After the twenty-minute ride to O’Hare, we pulled up to the United Airlines departure terminal. I got out of the car and my mom popped the trunk. The bell cap came over and took my bags out of the back. I had five of them.
“You are only allowed to check two bags,” he said.
“What? Why didn’t they tell me that on the phone? I need all of these bags,” I said.
Now, I admit that I’ve never been a light packer, but I had to have all these bags. My apartment wouldn’t be ready for me to move into until two weeks after I got to New York, so I had to bring some of my clothes, purses and
shoes with me. And two weeks of clothes meant five suitcases.
“Sorry, miss. I can’t change the rules.”
So, I had to carry on three bags. Three big bags. These were not overnighter-size bags either. They were suitcases.
I turned around and looked at my mother, who was wearing her sunglasses so I wouldn’t see her tears, but I knew they were there.
“Mom, don’t cry!” I said. “Please don’t cry or you’ll make me cry.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Why won’t you let me come in with you?” she asked.
“Because if you come in with me, you’ll make me cry, that’s why.”
I looked at my mom and hugged her. I closed my eyes. I’ve always thought that if I closed my eyes when I cried the tears would stay in.
“Okay,” she said and continued to hug me. Hard. I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t want to say the word “good-bye,” because I knew that would have pushed me over the edge. So I just said “I love you,” and pulled away quickly. Without looking at my mom, I turned around and pushed the heavy cart with my three suitcases through the automatic door.
After checking in and looking around for a while, I finally found a seat at the gate that accommodated me and my three suitcases. After I sat down, I looked to the left and saw someone familiar dart behind a pole. I couldn’t see the person’s face, but I could see the outline of a black Kate Spade purse. It was my mom! She was watching me!
“Mom,” I said, getting her attention, “you’re not supposed to be here!”
“I know but I couldn’t help it! I just wanted to make sure you got on the plane,” she said as she wiped the stream of tears coming down her face.
“I can’t believe you did this!” I said, now bawling. “I didn’t want to cry!”
She straightened my blouse and counted all three of my bags to make sure they were there.
“Now boarding Flight 668 to New York LaGuardia,” a man said over the loudspeaker.
“I have to go.”
“Okay. I love you,” she said.
“I love you too,” I said and gave my mom one last big hug. She wouldn’t let go. I finally broke away from my mom’s arms and walked toward the boarding area, gave the man my ticket and turned one last time. My mom blew me a kiss, and I caught it, smacked it on my lips, and blew one back.
After hitting all the passengers with my bags on the way to my seat and sitting next to a chatty German dude, the flight from Chicago to New York took off, and landed an hour and a half later. I was now home.
THE ARRIVAL
Since my apartment wasn’t ready yet, I had made arrangements to stay with a girl I used to work with named Ann Marie and her husband, Bill.
After a short cab ride from the airport, I arrived at the their apartment with all five of my suitcases in tow. They lived in a swanky pad on the Upper West Side. It was a doorman building with a beautiful view of the city.
This arrangement came about because I was going to be working with Ann Marie at my new job. Curtis Court was a new Judge Judy–type of daytime court show that was set to premiere in September. I was one of six producers. Ann Marie was also a producer. The staff started two weeks before me, and I was the last person to arrive, so it was important that I use this weekend to catch up.
So my boss arranged for Ann Marie to take me to the office that first day to show me around.
After unpacking some of my stuff, Ann Marie and I walked a few blocks to where our offices were. Once we arrived, I followed her upstairs to the third floor, where our desks were.
“Here’s your cube,” she said, pointing to a short cube, no more than six feet by six feet.
“A cube?” I asked.
“Yeah, I know it sucks, but we all have them. These facilities are just too small to fit everyone, and there aren’t enough offices to go around.”
I was so excited for my first producing job and I got stuck with a cube. How could that be? I was a New York City television producer for a syndicated daytime television show from King World Productions, the same people that distributed Oprah, and I got a cube. A short cube. The walls didn’t even go above my shoulders.
Anywho, I settled into my short cube and Ann Marie explained how producing a court show worked. She told me that there were these employees called “stringers” who go to small claims courts around the country and make copies of the small claims cases that people file. Once someone files a small claims case it becomes public record, so anyone can go and do this. They make the copies, and then the copies are handed out to the producing teams, which consist of one producer and an associate producer. The producer or the AP then cold call the plaintiff or defendant and try to convince them to come on the show. If they do, then they plead their case to James Curtis, the host/judge.
It sounded easy enough. So I got my claims and started calling. And calling. And calling. And everyone hung up on me. How could someone not want to come on a television court show? After about an hour, I decided to give up and decorate my desk instead.
An aesthetically appealing work environment is a very important thing. After asking Ann Marie to point me in the direction of the supply closet, I made my way there and started thinking about what color scheme I’d choose. Okay, I couldn’t get really elaborate because I had a short cube, but I could make it somewhat cozy. When I got to the supply room, I was saddened to see a few three-ring binders, some legal pads, yellow Post-its, and a few Bic pens. That was it. I moved some boxes thinking I’d find some bulletin boards and colored paper behind them, and perhaps some fluorescent pink highlighters too, but I found nothing. There wasn’t a desk pad to be found. No colored paper clips in the house. Nada. Zilch. Just some plain paper and pens. I expected being a New York television producer would be a bit more glam than it was. I guessed wrong.
Disappointed, I made my way back to my cube and pretended to work for another hour. Finally, Ann Marie and I decided to leave and go back to her apartment.
THE APARTMENT
Despite a slow first day, the next two weeks at work flew by. I eventually got the hang of cold calling and managed to book a few cases for my first week of shows. Before I knew it, it was time to move into my apartment. On June 1st, after going back to Ann Marie and Bill’s apartment and packing up my stuff, I hopped into a cab and told the driver my destination.
“Four hundred East Fifty-seventh Street, please,” I said.
“No problem,” he replied.
While in the backseat, I stared out the window and watched as the driver made a few turns until he finally turned left on 57th Street. Looking out my window I stared in utter amazement. What a beautiful street I lived on! As the driver headed east, I started flailing all over the backseat, switching between the right and left windows as fast as I could just so I could see all that my new street had to offer.
Oooh, lookie! There’s Carnegie Hall! It was so big and pretty! I wasn’t much into classical music, but I bet all fancy New Yorkers went to Carnegie Hall! There’s the Russian Tea Room. What was I coming up to on the left? Bergdorf Goodman? Wow! Now that looks historic. I had never been to that department store before. And what beautiful window displays they had! Window displays really say a lot about a store, and their displays said “expensive and cool.” I’d have to make a note to go there.
Just then the cab came to a screeching halt at a red light at Fifth Avenue. As we sat there waiting for the light to turn green, I looked south down Fifth Avenue and noticed that it never ended. There was just one store after another. This was my neighborhood. I felt so, what’s the word…rich?
As the light turned green, we continued our journey across 57th Street and one after another the stores kept coming. We passed Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Prada, and the Four Seasons. I know that the Four Seasons isn’t a store, but it is still fancy nonetheless. In the distance I saw big poles shooting out of a building with Gucci flags hanging down from them. Wow. The Gucci in Chicago was in a mall. This one had flags. The cab passed a
cute shoe store called…Otto Tootsie Plohound? What a cute name!
Before I knew it we were passing Second Avenue and were just one block from my new home. On my right we passed a place called Mr. Chow. I had heard of Mr. Chow before. It was a very fancy Chinese restaurant where all the famous people went to eat.
A few seconds later I saw my building. It was a large white monstrosity on the corner on 57th Street and First Avenue. The awning said 400 East. That was it. That was home. Wow, it was big. As we pulled up, a doorman in a suit and a hat came to the cab and opened my door.
“Hello!” I said to him as I stepped out of the cab, “I am moving in today!”
“Oh, welcome,” he replied in some sort of accent. “My name is Sam.”
“Well, hello, Sam. I’m Karyn.”
“Welcome, Miss Karyn,” he said as he made his way to the back of the car to get my bags out of the trunk. “What apartment are you moving into today?”
“Four-E.”
“Okay, well, come this way.”
I paid the driver and followed Sam into the building. Right inside the lobby was a beautiful desk with another doorman standing behind it who was so short he could barely see over the counter.
“Hi, I’m Edson,” he said, introducing himself.
“This is Miss Karyn,” Sam said, “she’s here to move into apartment Four-E.”
“Oh, great,” Edson said. “The superintendent left your key for you.”