I need to not make a scene at the pawnshop
...again.
I had plans in place for Thursday night. They involved a dinner with strangers at an Argentinian restaurant in Barrio Antiguo with carefully curated tables based on the survey I had filled out the week before. The event was one of many “experiences” that have popped up in the last few years as we’ve gotten lonelier, more isolated, and finding it increasingly more difficult to meet friends offline and irl. It was, as far as I could tell, the first time they had offered something like it in Monterrey, a city known for its often icy demeanor and closed-off friend groups.
For $200 pesos, I reserved a seat (did not include dinner and drinks). They kept the restaurant secret until 24 hours before; I’m guessing to build up anticipation and add to the “experience”-iness of it. On Wednesday night, once I had the name of the place, I looked it up and started reading the reviews: good empanadas, intimate, if not romantic, vibes, and terrible service.
I was dreading it like a Hinge date. It would probably be awkward, I would have to put on my cheeriest demeanor and appear charming, relaxed, friendly, interesting. But like all my past dating app experiences, it would not be THAT bad. I’d at least get a good story out of it and enjoy a couple glasses of Malbec.
Reader, I did not go.
I did not go because I failed to pay the $8,000 peso electric bill that was due a few days before. So on Wednesday, around mid-morning, a man drove up to my gate and turned off my lights. I didn’t pay because the physical bill sometimes just doesn’t show up and only my dad has access to the online account. Why? I don’t know, I just haven’t asked him for the login.
My parents sent me half since most of those costs are from the central AC that I only turn on when family comes to visit. But I, a freelancer working about five or six different gigs at once, did not have the rest. August was slow, like it always is, and only now is the work picking back up to its normal pace. I was between paychecks holding onto the $1,000 pesos in my bank account that would have kept me afloat for another week before a decent paycheck hit.
So, I was standing there, in my dark living room, wondering how I could be so dumb as to forget that there are bills and utilities and that this big empty house often costs a lot of money to maintain. After an hour or two of sitting in my own embarrassment and failure, I went through my belongings, looking for things I could part with. I grabbed an Apple watch I hadn’t used in years and a heavy silver ring and like a scrappy child in a Victorian novel, I went to the nearest pawnshop.
The place was small with glass cases crowding around the counter full of old iPads, cell phones, immersion blenders that were “lightly” used. At the counter I dropped the watch and the ring through the slit in the glass. The guy looked at both, typed something in his computer and offered me $300 for the ring and $800 for the watch. He grabbed the watch and after a few minutes told me I had to take it back home and update it before they could buy it. So, I grabbed the cash for the ring and went home. Immediately, I plugged the watch in, and once again, looked through my jewelry for something that would get me to the $3,000 I needed. Once the watch was ready, I went back, this time with my engagement ring and my wedding band.
As the guy behind the counter inspected the rings, I did the math in my head. If I could get at least $2,000 for both rings, I would have enough left over for a bottle of wine to clear my head of all this. He could give me $2,400 for both. Immediately, I felt my shoulders relax and accepted the offer.
He gave me some forms to fill out and moved on the watch. “Look, there’s a chip here in the corner. It’s damaged so we can’t accept it.” I looked at the watch and saw nothing. Still, he had a magnifying glass and the last word.
Without the watch, I was basically back to square one. I asked if he could give me anything for it, $300 even. He said no.
I dropped my head in my hands and I swear I tried to breathe through it. But with my head down, I heard myself yelling: “I need $3,000 to get my fucking lights back on.”
There was an older woman in the store asking the other employee to see a ring from behind the counter. We all just stood in silence for a few seconds; I could feel the tears in my eyes.
Before I could decide whether or not to make an even bigger scene in front of these three strangers, he said “okay, I can give $3,200 but the interest will go up.” I wiped the tear running down my cheek and said, okay, as I hung my head in shame.
I apologized for yelling, grabbed the cash and left the store. I got in my car and drove to pay the electric bill. I was sweaty, mortified and tired. When I got home, I took a shower and despite the fact that it was noon, I got in bed. I fell asleep and by the time I woke up a few hours later, the lights were back on.
I didn’t go to the dinner because I didn’t feel like paying for an Uber or an empanada with the little cash I had left. But mostly because I felt pathetic and could not play the game of meeting and charming strangers in a kind of crappy restaurant.
My rings are sitting in the pawnshop, hopefully until the end of the week when my wallet evens out again. But I’ll probably keep counting my pesos and dollars and cents and putting out small fires like this.
Money has ruled a lot of my life but it’s become a powerful dictator in the last few years since I lost my cushy D.C. media job and moved back to Mexico. I’m lucky to have my parents’ big, empty house. I really don’t know where I would be without it, but after almost two and a half years, you’d think living paycheck to paycheck would have made me smarter. Instead, I never have money when I need it and when I do have it, I find myself wasting it.
I’m not sure why I wanted to share this embarrassing story. Maybe it’s simply because it happened and I didn’t want to sit alone in the shame of it. But I think it’s also that I’ve been working to build a freelance career that I’m proud of and I’ve become increasingly frustrated these past few weeks that I’m just spinning my wheels on small jobs that are getting me nowhere.
This was the first time I’ve cried in a pawnshop but it’s not the first time I’ve had to scrounge up money from somewhere to pay a bill. Still, I know somewhere along the last few years, I’ve made progress, I know freelancing is hard and it’s only getting harder, and I know sliding backwards (and making a scene at a pawnshop) can feel like failure.
But I have to accept it as just another day in a long string of days where things feel insurmountable. At least my lights are on now, there’s gas in my car and food in my fridge, and I have enough cash for a bottle of wine tonight.
Despite all that, some good things did happened this week!
This year had some of my favorite first-time Emmy winners: Hannah Einbinder for Hacks, Jeff Hiller for Somebody Somewhere and MY FRIEND ALI for directing and producing this interview between Terry Gross, Yo-Yo Ma and his cello. Watch it!!!!
Speaking of Terry — her interview on the Talk Easy pod moved me in ways I did not expect. She’s a big hero of mine and this episode reinforced that for me this week.
Rachel Tashjian, as usual, wrote my favorite piece on NYFW.
The mornings in Monterrey have finally cooled to about 68 degrees and I can now start my day with a cup of coffee on my balcony.
Thanks for reading! I promise to actually write about a cool activity next month.
Thank you for reading! 🤩