Well, a total stranger sends Kay a hug.
Haven’t been in that extreme a case, but I did end up short my 3rd year of college, by about $3000. I had reached the “limit” I could borrow on my Direct Loan for that year. In 4 years of college that cost damn near $100,000, I only ended up with $15,000 Direct Loan debt, which I think is quite respectable given what I was working with. Nope, I had reached the limit they were willing to loan me. When did they tell me this? Freakin’ mid-July. Great. The rest would have to be covered by scholarships or my personal contribution. Freshman year, I’d had enough one-shot small scholarships to cover the gap. (I mean, not that I’m not grateful for it, but doesn’t the idea of a one-time $500 college scholarship strike anyone else as odd? Well, every little bit helped.)a The next year I lived off campus. The third year, I moved back to campus and they’d raised prices (of course).
(My parents would have cosigned for me, but their credit was in the toilet and they were unemployed and disabled and fighting my dad’s asshole former employer–you had a heart attack partially brought on by stress from this job? that sucks man. eesh…medical leave? uh…well, we were going to fire you at the end of this project anyway. would you like to fill out an application for COBRA?–to pay for medical bills and the social security administration to acknowledge that when a GP, a physical therapist, a cardiologist, and a pschycologist all say a dude’s disabled, he’s fucking disabled already, and it’s honestly not a conspiracy to milk the government for free money. Jackasses. But that’s another rant.)
And then here I was, laden down with scholarships and grants but quite possibly in danger of not being able to afford returning to college because the financial aid office didn’t want to let me borrow another $3000. What little I’d managed to save on my summer job wouldn’t cover it, because I’d had to spend part of it on rent and food, and I’d need the rest for the trip back to campus and books anyway. If I’d backed out and moved off campus again–cheaper for room and board, but less convenient, more stressful, and an upfront investment that I couldn’t afford at the time–the Registrar’s office would still have stuck me with late cancellation penalties for the room and the meal plan. They refused to waive them, even partially. That was a fun summer all around.
I was lucky, though, because it worked out.
I called my financial aid counselor and found out I could ask them to increase the loan amount. Nice of them to mention that before. Well, here I am on the phone with you–can you increase my loan amount? Oh no, we need X, Y, and Z for that. Lady, you have most of that information already, and you just said you could only increase it slightly anyway. How much would you be able to increase it? Oh, we don’t know, it varies. Damn it, is there a limit, and is it imposed by the university or the Dept. of Ed. or are you just fucking with my head here? But I digress…the bureaucracy must be fed.
Well, I did the jumping through hoops thing–here’s my financial situation in plain language, here’s my tax return, my bank statement, pay stubs, here’s my parents’ tax return and their bank statement.
Great, they increased the limit slightly, but oh look, there’s still a rather large gap there. I don’t have to jump across a 50 foot wide hole now, just 30.
My grandfather cosigned for a private loan for me. I thanked him for it, and it was the first one paid off, after I graduated, with a very generous graduation gift I received. I let him know and he received a letter from the bank saying it had been paid in full and the account was closed. He still mentions the damn thing every time I visit, like he’s worried he’ll magically have to pay it himself. sigh
Working your ass off and not having the money anyway sucks.
