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My Bank Account: A Memoir

As the school year comes to a close, I have spent some time reflecting back on my first semester at Boston College.  I smile when I think back to tailgates and football games, adventures into the city, my classes, and meeting all of my friends. But all of my good memories are overshadowed by one looming factor: my bank account.

In the beginning of the year my bank account was happy.  She was full of deposits from my summer job, and she was ready to take on the year as a faithful friend.  The transition started off slow. Small purchases were occasionally made when I was feeling bold, but my bank account loved being used and she did her job well.

I quickly learned that I couldn’t get through college without an Uber account, and I finally gave in and got one.  That was the worst thing of all time.  Uber rides add up, and I have continuously watched as my account takes hits once or twice a night, several times a week.  Although a little shaken, my bank account remained loyal.

The holidays arrived and everything went wrong.  There were countless trips into the city, presents were purchased, and dinners out were celebrated with friends and family. I might as well have just stabbed my bank account with a knife.  She was not doing well, and it began to show.

Second semester was worse than the first.  I ventured off campus more and purchases began to pile up.  It was not longer fun spending, but reckless.  My bank account took it hard, fighting to the end but ultimately losing. She wasn’t prepared for what I threw at her; she wasn’t ready to be used constantly without care.

So here I am, remembering the good times my bank account and I used to have together.  I wish I could apologize to her, and let her know I am sorry for building her up just to strip her down, for giving her life just to take it away.  I wish I was better, for her sake and my own.  But now I can only live with regret. I hope that next year I can be different. Honestly though, I know I won’t be.

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