My $800 Title Pawn Became a $1,320 Bill and the Credit Union Ended It

Eleven in the morning on a Friday in August. My truck title flat on the glass counter, a ballpoint chained to a clipboard, a box fan turning its head back and forth behind the clerk at a title pawn shop on Parkway Drive in Birmingham. The rate sheet on the wall said 25 percent a month in letters two inches tall. I read the number. I did not read the math.

The AC had died July 26 during the first 100-degree week, and Berg's came out July 27 with a $780 fix, a compressor capacitor and a hard-start kit, cash or check, against a $4,870 replacement quote we did not have either. Checking: $340. The plant had me at 32 hours since May. My wife's asthma does not do August at 88 degrees indoors. The Silverado, 2008, 212,000 miles, owned free and clear, was the only thing in the driveway with a signature in it.

I heard 25 percent and reckoned APR, the way a car loan says it. It was not APR. It was 25 percent every single month, and the $800 I borrowed on August 15 turned into a $1,320 payoff demand before Christmas. What ended it was a credit union lunch hour, a title back in my hand on January 9, and a payment of $122 that I will make eleven more times.

the shop on Parkway Drive

The clerk's name was Glenda and she was efficient and kind in about equal parts. Eight hundred dollars on the truck title, truck stays with me, keep up the interest and the truck never moves. She counted out $800 in tens and twenties, had me sign twice, and slid the clipboard back with the ballpoint still chained to it. The whole transaction took nineteen minutes, which is exactly how long it should take to notice you are in the wrong line. I was driving home in fourteen.

two $200 months, then the slide

September 15: $200 interest, balance back to $800, receipt in the console. October 15: $200 more, same balance, same console. November, still 32 hours, rent came due and the interest payment lost. Unpaid interest rolled into the balance December 15: $1,000 plus $250, call it $1,250, plus $70 in accumulated document and title fees on the sheet, which produced the number that made me photograph it so somebody would believe me later. Payoff demand: $1,320. On an $800 loan. Five months in.

what the truck never did

The truck never left my driveway, not one night, and that is the part people misunderstand about these shops. They do not want a 212,000-mile Silverado on their lot. They want the interest, forever, calm and monthly, and the title is just the leash. My truck kept hauling mulch and rattling at 55 the entire time. The threat was always paper. Paper and a fan turning its head back and forth.

the credit union lunch hour

The plant HR office had a flyer for Redstone Federal Credit Union, and I walked in on a Tuesday lunch with the December slip and the title loan paperwork. We hashed out car loan rates across the desk: the bank up the street wanted 18.9 percent for a signature loan, Redstone wanted 12.9, and then the loan officer flipped the sheet around and offered a third thing, secured by the truck title itself at 9.49 percent. A refinance car loan on a truck with no loan, cutting the pawn out entirely. $1,400, twelve months, $122.68 a payment, about $72 of interest for the whole year. I signed before my lunch hour ended.

payoff, January 9

January 9, back to Parkway Drive with a certified check for $1,320. Glenda stamped the title released same day, the mail took six more, and the credit union added their lien the week after. First autopay hit January 28, first of twelve. The console holds a Redstone payment schedule now instead of pawn receipts, and the difference between the two stacks of paper is about four hundred dollars a year and most of my ability to sleep in December.

the arithmetic, written down

Borrowed: $800. Interest paid September and October: $400. Payoff demand: $1,320, fees included. Total out the door: $1,720. Cost of borrowing $800 for five months: $920. The credit union version: $1,400 in, $1,472 out across twelve months, cost $72. Same truck title on both desks, eight months apart, two different gods behind the counters. I wrote the numbers on the back of the payment schedule and stuck it in the drawer with the Berg's invoice.

the folder marked TRUCK

The AC ran all winter on its $780 part, hours went back to 40 the week after Thanksgiving, and the title lives in a filing cabinet now instead of a glass counter. The fan in that shop still turns its head back and forth. Somebody else's title is on the glass this mornin', chained ballpoint and all. Mine is in a folder marked TRUCK, next to the deed to the house. That is the whole ledger.