Save Karyn

by Karyn Bosnak

  Now I had been in an Old Navy before, but I never bought anything there. But I had high hopes, because how much can you screw up a T-shirt? It’s cotton stitched together, right? And I was presently a big fat pig, and was about fifteen pounds heavier than when I started at Ananda, so I wasn’t about to go spend $100 on a pair of jeans that would hopefully be big on me in a couple of months. I’ve always made a vow not to spend a lot on “fat” clothes. That’s like being an enabler. When your clothes don’t fit, it’s time to go on a diet. So anyway, I headed down to the local Old Navy to see what I could find.

  After browsing around, I was a bit impressed with the clothes—but very impressed with the prices. The T-shirts were like $10 and weren’t that bad either. They even have a sale rack at Old Navy. Seriously. I got a $24 skirt on sale for $8. I mean it was already a bargain at $24—there was no need to mark it down. So after about an hour at Old Navy, I walked out with a pair of jeans, three skirts and ten T-shirts and a pair of sandals, all for under $150. Now that’s power shopping! I also touched up my roots and painted my nails. I needed to look presentable.

  On Monday I went to work for the first time in almost five months. My alarm went off at 7 A.M., and I showered and left for work by eight because I didn’t want to be late for my first day. After a short train ride, I got there a bit early, so I went to Starbucks. I hadn’t had Starbucks since—gosh, who knows? It seemed like forever. The cup was so good. Finally, around 9 A.M., I left and went to meet my new boss, Molly.

  CameraPlanet’s offices were located on the top two floors of a loft building in the Flatiron District of Manhattan, right by Madison Square Park. The inside of the office was mostly a big open space with a few private offices. The staff for Dog Days would be housed in an open area with open desks. I didn’t even get a cube here. Just a chair pulled up to a table that was shoved against a wall. No frills, to say the least.

  After a brief meeting, Molly introduced me to the guy I’d be working with, Manny. Manny was the casting director and I would basically be working for him. He was in his early thirties and wore big thick black glasses and didn’t have any hair. He wasn’t naturally bald or anything, I think he just shaved his head. Michael Jordanitis—except he was white and Jewish. Being a producer I was used to leading a team and not answering to anyone. And when I interviewed I was told that I’d be in a department of three people, with no titles. Now all of a sudden he was the casting director, and I came to find out that I was a casting associate. But because I needed work so badly, I didn’t say anything.

  Manny explained to me that we had one open casting call a week that took place in one of the many dog runs around the city. We were looking to cast people for a reality show about New Yorkers and their dogs. It was an eight-part series, and new cast members would constantly be added, so the casting process would be ongoing. On the off days, the department needed to concentrate on getting word out about the casting calls as well as line up some experts like doggie psychics and stuff that would be implemented into the series.

  For the next few weeks it was kind of hard to take a backseat to Manny, but I did it. I swallowed my pride every day. I seriously had to put my tail between my legs (no pun intended) to do this. He was nice—it was just kind of hard to not be in charge. I felt stifled. The job was kind of limiting. I couldn’t be that creative. Sometimes I sat at my desk and wanted to scream out loud. But I did what I was told and trudged on.

  Molly ended up leaving when production began, and I moved on to solely booking experts and working more closely with the field producers. The change was kind of nice because I now kind of ran my own ship and didn’t have to take a backseat anymore.

  About one month before production was scheduled to end, I started to look for another job again. And just like when I was in my apartment, I was once again having trouble finding something. I had some leads, but I either had too much experience or not enough experience. As time grew closer to my last day, I began to worry more and more. Every night I just lay in bed and agonized about how much money I owed. I felt so stupid that I charged up all those things. I felt like I was the only person with debt—like the only person who could have done something that foolish.

  My mom and stepdad came to visit for a weekend, and I tried to have fun but I couldn’t. I felt like the debt had paralyzed me. My mom had always bailed me out in the past, but I just couldn’t ask her again.

  On Monday, June 10, I scrounged up $1.50 to get to work. I didn’t have any more money and wouldn’t be getting paid for two more weeks. I sold some stuff on eBay and expected a couple of payments to arrive in the mail any day, so I went to the local Food Emporium on my way home from work to write a check for $25 over the amount, just so I could have some cash to buy a subway card so I could get to work. I thought by the time it cleared I would have received the checks. To make a long story short, those checks didn’t arrive in time, and I bounced that Food Emporium check. Yep, like a rubber ball, that puppy bounced all the way to a collection agency. I had a closet full of clothes, but I bounced a check for food and cash so I could get to work. It was pathetic.

  The next week, the staff found out that production was ending two weeks early and the company laid off over half the staff. All the cameramen, field producers, etc.—they were all out of a job. The supervising producer of the show, Lori, asked me to stay on board in post-production as an episode producer for an additional six weeks because of my “chipper attitude.” Despite my inner turmoil I put on a smile for everyone to see. Glad to see that they bought it.

  Despite my promotion, I didn’t get a raise. I didn’t ask. I knew that budgets were tight, and I felt if I did, then I too would have been laid off. A normal episode producer should have been making twice what I was making. But I just kept my mouth shut because I was grateful to be kept on, and even more grateful to get a promotion as a producer again.

  Every day that last week of work before moving into the post-production department, I just walked to work and wondered if this was going to be what the rest of my life would be like. Going from job to job unable to pay my bills, bouncing checks at grocery stores, worrying about being laid off early—this couldn’t be it. Could it?

  In a few short weeks my episode would be edited, and I’d have to find a new job again. And after that job ended, another new job again. And then another. And then another. I felt like I was in a rat race. And I hated it. I felt so defeated. I felt like I had been through the wringer. I was simply existing, and was not making any kind of mark in the world. A breaking point had to happen, because I was at my wits’ end.

  The Rebirth

  JUNE 2002

  LYING IN BED AND DREAMING…

  One night, while lying in bed wide awake for the umpteenth night in a row, I again started worrying. Bouncing that check at that grocery store made me realize that I needed to make a change. I needed to get rid of this debt. I still owed over $20,000 and that was a lot of money. I had a debt payoff plan—I moved to Brooklyn, I canceled my cards and turned them over to a debt consolidation agency—but then I went and lost my job. And, well, that screwed everything up.

  And look at me now. I didn’t get my hair done anymore, the last time I shopped was at Old Navy. I even plucked my own eyebrows. And I used Pantene—a grocery store–bought shampoo. I was a changed woman!

  I thought about Donald Trump, Bill Gates—all the richies in the world. To them, I bet $20,000 was a drop in the bucket. But to me, it was as big as the ocean. Even if just two of those richies gave me $10,000, my debt would be gone. Or if five of them gave me $4,000, then my debt would be gone. And that money would probably mean nothing to them. Come to think of it, if twenty thousand people gave me just one dollar, then all my debt would be paid off.

  The more I thought about it, the more I believed that there had to be at least twenty thousand people out there who had been in my situation before and felt my pain. Frivolous debt—that’s what I had. If twenty thousand people gave me just one dollar, all that
frivolous debt would be gone. Just a buck. Almost everyone can afford a buck, and all I needed was twenty thousand people to give me one. The more I thought about that, the more obtainable it felt. There are millions of people in New York alone. If just twenty thousand of them gave me a dollar, then I’d be home free!

  I then thought about that sign that Scott had seen at the grocery store. It really wasn’t a bad idea. What if I made a sign asking for $20,000? It might work, it might not—but what did I have to lose by trying it? What did it really hurt to ask? Seriously. If someone didn’t want to help me, then they didn’t have to. But if just one person saw it and they did…and then another person saw it and they did…and so on and so on, then great! I’d be paid off! So I decided to make my sign.

  THIRTEEN

  GRAND DEBT TALLY $20,716.00

  POSTING THE LETTER

  On Wednesday, June 19, I made that sign. I waited until after work and pulled out good ole Claire the laptop from the closet and put her on the kitchen table—the same place I’d sat for months trying to find a job. After thinking about it for a while, I realized that I didn’t want my letter just to say “I need $20,000.” I felt that with an amount that high, I needed to give people a reason why I owed the money. I wasn’t going to lie about it though. I needed to be truthful. I also needed to laugh at myself about what I did. And I needed to make it sound fun to help me pay it off. I wanted my letter to sound kind of fun and campy—kind of like an infomercial. So I just started typing.

  After a while, I came up with what I thought was an appropriate letter. But the more I thought about it, the more I opted not to hang it at the grocery store. I mean, how many richies really hung out at the local Brooklyn Met? Not many, I bet. I needed to go more global with this project. I decided to turn to the Internet.

  Now I’m not very Web savvy, but I was familiar with a website called Craigslist.org, which is kind of like an online classified paper or bulletin board that you can post things on for free. There are several editions of Craigslist online—almost twenty, actually, one for each major city in the United States. There’s a Craigslist Chicago, a Craigslist New York, a Craigslist San Francisco, etc. Each of those editions is broken down into different sections. There’s a For Sale section, a Help Wanted section, a Wanted section, a Community section, etc., just like the classifieds. I had become pretty familiar with it during my unemployed days and thought that it would be the perfect place for my letter.

  After poking around the site for a while, I decided that the Wanted section seemed like the right place to post it, because I wanted $20,000. I mean, it only seemed logical. And I decided to start with the New York edition. In order for people to respond to my letter, I needed to provide an e-mail address, so I signed up for a free one at hotmail. After thinking about it for a while, I came up with the name “savekaryn@hotmail.com,” because I was looking for someone to save me.

  After going through all the “posting” motions, my letter was up. There, sandwiched between someone wanting a dresser and someone wanting an air conditioner was my listing. The headline said: WANTED: $20,000. And when you clicked on it, you got my letter.

  Hello!

  My name is Karyn, I’m really nice, and I’m asking for your help! Bottom line is that I have this huge credit card debt and I need $20,000 to pay it off. All I need is $1 from 20,000 people, or $2 from 10,000 people, or $5 from 4,000 people—you get the picture. So if you have an extra buck or two, please send it my way! Together, we can banish credit card debt from my life!

  HERE’S THE DEAL…

  I’m a 29-year-old girl who moved to New York a few years ago from Chicago. I now live in Brooklyn. Over the last few years I’ve run up quite a credit card bill…let me tell YOU! $20,221.40 to be exact. OUCH! Maybe it was too many morning lattes that pushed me over the edge, maybe it was the Prada pumps that I bought on eBay (They were only $100—a STEAL!) Who knows! My debt just got larger and larger, and here I am today with a huge monthly payment.

  TOGETHER WE CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE!

  You see, I’m done with my frivolous ways. I’ve stopped buying designer clothes. I’ve stopped using department store products. I decided that I really DO like Oil of Olay. It really DOES work just as well…And Old Navy is actually kind of cool…I’ve done my part, now I need you to do yours. I believe that this world is a good place, and if someone needs help, then they should ask for it.

  SO I’M ASKING…

  Please help me pay my debt. I am nice. I am cheery. I am the girl at the office that MAKES YOU SMILE. I didn’t hurt anyone by spending too much money. I was actually HELPING OUT THE ECONOMY. Give me $1, give me $5—Hell, give me $20 if you feel like it! I promise that everything you give me will go toward paying off my debt.

  WHAT’S IN IT FOR YOU, YOU ASK?

  It’s normal that one should ask this question. I’ll be honest…nothing is really in it for you. But I do believe in Karma. If you help me, then someday someone might help you when you need it. SO HELP ME, and maybe someday, I’ll be able to help you.

  AND TO THE IRS…

  Yes I’ll report everything I make as income. I’m honest—sometimes too honest, but I believe in honesty! If you’d like to help me, please e-mail me at savekaryn@hotmail.com.

  XOXO,

  Karyn

  When I was done I told Scott what I did, and although he’d given me the idea, he thought it was a bit strange. He didn’t think it would work. But I didn’t want to feel down about it, I needed confidence. So I decided to call Naomi and tell her.

  “Hello,” she said, answering the phone.

  “Hi,” I said. I paused.

  “Hi,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “I have to tell you something,” I said quietly.

  “What?” she said.

  “I feel really stupid telling you,” I said.

  “Tell me,” she said. “What?”

  “Well, I owe some money to credit card companies,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said and paused. “How much money?”

  “I don’t want to tell you that part,” I said. “But I’m trying something creative to get rid of it and I need your opinion.”

  “Okay, how much though?” she said. “You can tell me.”

  “Twenty thousand dollars,” I said, whispering. I thought if I said it quietly, it would sound like a smaller amount.

  “Shut up,” she said.

  “No, it’s the truth. I owe twenty thousand dollars,” I said. “I kinda feel like I’m gonna barf.”

  “Okay,” she said calmly. “What’s your creative plan?”

  “Well, I’ve drafted up a nice letter and posted it on a website asking for help to pay it off. And I want to know if you think it will work.”

  “Okay, where do I go? What’s the website?” she asked.

  I told Naomi about Craigslist and how to find the letter, and explained the whole story about how I consolidated most of my debt, and how I thought I’d be able to pay it back and that’s why I was so freaked about losing my job. I also told her about how Scott saw the sign at the grocery store, and that’s how I came up with the idea.

  After reading the letter and laughing, Naomi thought it was a good plan.

  “I think it’s good,” she said. “It’s funny.”

  Somehow, knowing that my best friend knew and validated my effort, I felt better. When we hung up the phone, I continued to post my letter to the Wanted section of every Craigslist across the country. The more the merrier, I thought. By the time I was done, it was past midnight. I was so tired and had to be at work early, so I fell right to sleep.

  THE RESPONSE

  The next morning I got up early because I was dying to see if anyone responded to my letter. I pulled my laptop back out of the closet and fired her up on the kitchen table again.

  “Come on, Claire…,” I said as I patiently waited for her to turn on and log online.

  “Good morning,” she finally said in her usual cheerful voice, signaling to m
e that the connection had been made.

  “Top of the mornin’ to ya,” I replied.

  I logged in to my new savekaryn e-mail account and pushed the button for my inbox. After taking a few seconds to load, the page finally appeared before me. I had twelve e-mails! I stared at the computer because I didn’t know what to do. I was kind of afraid to open them. I didn’t know what to expect. But then I decided to go for the gusto and clicked the first one from someone named Lenny I closed my eyes while it opened. After peeking out of the corner of my eye and realizing it wasn’t going to explode in my face, I read it.

  Stop by my place in Hoboken, NJ, and we can talk about me helping you. Someone helped me once so it only seems fair! My place is amazing and I’m an attractive guy. A picture of me is attached.

  Oh my gosh! Are you kidding me? A picture of him was attached, and he was kind of attractive, but I didn’t reply. I just moved on to the next one from Fred…

  What would you do for larger donations?

  Um, nothing, actually, but thanks for asking. I clicked on the next one from Lori…

  Has anyone sent you money? From one Brooklyn transplant to another…

  Nope. Not one dime, Lori. But I still didn’t answer her. I just moved on to the next one from Alex…

  I was wondering what type of response you have had. I’m in a similar situation in that I went on a one-month vacation to New Zealand with brand-new credit cards…well I came back seven months later with veteran credit cards. I’ve now got so much to pay off I’m stuck. I’ve even thought about writing the president. He likes to spend money, maybe he can relate. And instead of 500 million for this and that, he can spend 499.970 million.