I Am So Popular: Laughing In The Face Of Hard Times

Earlier this week, I found myself making a rare book purge, opting to try to sell off part of my collection instead of just donating it to a friend or going for the thrift store tax write-off which is what I usually do. The reason I decided to sell is because I am prone to occasional bouts of mini-amnesia. For example, when Henry was little, I’d take him to the circus, get extremely sad when the elephants were dragged out and humiliated and then, with a year being just enough time to forget this sadness (unlike those elephants that never do) I’d take him back again. Similarly, with the passing of enough time, I forget the HalfPrice Books Walk of Shame which led to this book-selling foolishness.

As an aside, let me say HalfPrice is an okay place if you’re buying. Sometimes, for kicks, I like to head over there and look for copies of my own books. When I find one, I turn to the inside to see if it’s a signed edition and, if so, which of my friends decided I was unworthy of space on the shelf. At which point I rub my hooves together, stroke my pointy beard, and plot revenge, which is a fun, inexpensive form of entertainment.

But as far as selling goes… the times I do resort to this activity, I am instantly hurled back to my early days in Austin, when I wrote under-priced term papers for UT students to get by and still often didn’t have enough to cover rent and food and utilities. So I’d lie in bed at night, worry keeping me awake, and I’d plot how to hold it together.

Sometimes, I’d imagine that selling off books would net me enough to keep the electricity turned on. So I’d head over to HPB, turn in ten boxes, and wait. And wait. And wait. Until at last they’d make me an offer I couldn’t refuse because no way was I lugging all those boxes back out to the car. So, in exchange for 790 books, instead of covering my electricity bill, I’d net just enough for a six pack of Old Milwaukee and a pack of off-brand cigarettes. Thus I could go home, sit in the dark, get drunk, and for a little while quit worrying about money.

The other day, I loaded up two boxes of decent hardbacks and set off on my journey.
Enough time had passed since my last foray to HPB that the amnesia had kicked in to a certain extent. Any cynicism I had, I beat back by forcing myself to have low expectations. This trip wasn’t about paying bills— I make enough money now that I mostly pay my bills on time. This was about clearing my house and getting a little chump change for gas money. And still, when at long last it was time to hear my offer, I was stunned that the price they quoted was about half the price of just one of the books I’d brought in, not even enough for half a tank (and I drive a small, efficient Japanese car).

At least I was inspired. Because I was thrown back momentarily to recalling the old days of poverty, I decided that, since we’re in a recession and all that, that I would be so kind as to offer a list of ways to make it through these hard times. So I consulted with friends to ask for their tried and true methods of cost-cutting and extra income earning. Some of the usual suspects were trotted out: donate blood for cash, cut the maid’s salary, fly first class every other trip, Xeriscape your private island, that sort of thing.

Here are some other ideas:

Save Money at the Movies—My young, hot boyfriend, Warren, is a tightwad and a spreadsheet addict. Nothing pleases him more than using Excel to plot out a day at one of the multiplexes where, for the price of a matinee, we will proceed to sit through six hours (at least) of blockbusters. We also bring our own food. Is this unethical? Who cares? In the end, six hours of SurroundSound and two totally numb butts leave us woozy enough that the theater has gotten even with our cheapskate ways. My friend Sarah Bird told me that her family even rigged one of their mom’s oxygen tanks to hold rum and coke so that they could, sans suspicion, smuggle in cocktails for ten. Now there’s an idea.

Other People’s Food—Again, I point to Warren. Once, at a Denny’s, while we were waiting for our eggs to arrive, Warren noted a stack of untouched pancakes on the recently vacated table across from us. In no time he transferred these golden beauties to our table. Voila! Free appetizers. We have also employed this technique at Mandola’s where, who can say why, people seem very fond of leaving behind large portions of perfectly good pizza pies. Waste not, want not.

Legitimate Free Food—For those of you too prissy to eat off of the abandoned plates of others, there’s always the Sample Circuit, best conducted on Sundays when the supermarkets are crawling with vendors hoping to lure you into buying a fifteen dollar jar of jam or some exotic salsa prepared with ostrich shit and hatch chiles. In the good old days, Central Market was a veritable free buffet. Now it’s a bit tighter over there. But plan it just right and you can take a tour of Whole Foods and CM, go in hungry and without your wallet, and leave bloated and happy. And, so I hear, you can even throw back a little free vino at Grape Vine Market on Sundays.

Give Up Your Apartment— live in your car, and shower at the Y. Individual memberships at the East Communities Y—my favorite Y—are just $39 per month. No smoking or pets is the down side. But utilities are included.

Put Your Foot Down— Stop buying your skanky, undeserving boyfriend expensive presents.

Practice Your Acting—My friend Ann Woodall points out that if you act like a drummer, you will be able to find some woman to take care of you, house you, and feed you for six month intervals.

Bulky Trash Shopping—This is a favorite pastime of mine, particularly fruitful in December and April when UT students move out and abandon perfectly good everything from furniture to appliances to last year’s expensive jeans. Of my extremely limited furniture collection, much of it came from the curbs of the not-so-mean streets of Austin.

Poop in Public—Not for everyone, granted. But if you use public restrooms for big jobs, you will, over the course of time, save a decent amount on toilet paper.

More Free Food—Sarah Bird also reminds us that empty diaper bags—which are lined in plastic— are excellent to bring to weddings, funerals and other events where a plethora of fancy food offerings means that no one will notice if you fill up with groceries for the week.

”Sell your eggs and sperm until you’re spent,” advises my friend Southpaw Jones, who also points out that if you’d actually watch the DVDs you already own, you’d save a lot of money.

Set Up Your Own Airplane Black Market—I’ve traveled a lot this summer and for those of you who don’t know, airlines are now charging for everything from pillows to soft drinks to snacks. Load your carry-on bag with pretzels, energy drinks, and little blankets and undercut the competition by peddling to nearby passengers.

Sleep Around—Rudy Ramirez, my Dick Monologues cohort, suggests that if you do decide to live in your car and shower at the Y, you can enjoy sleeping on mattresses by participating in free love on a regular basis.

Get Down with OPP—Other people’s plants, that is. A lot of folks start a garden, then get bored with it. Planting your own garden can be an expensive endeavor—I spent about $500 this year putting in a garden that yielded me about $20 worth of tomatoes and peppers. See if your better off neighbors will share their bounty in exchange for weeding and watering.

Half Price Books—Act of desperation, as noted. But go ahead, if you’re really in dire straits, and take in your collection of beloved signed, first edition hardbacks and irreplaceable comic books and trade them in for enough money to buy a whole week’s worth of ramen noodles.

And in conclusion, I ask—what are you doing to be thrifty these days?

Spike Gillespie is available for weddings, funerals, and bar mitzvahs. She blogs regularly for LaunchPad Coworking and at www.spikeg.com. She is also head mistress for the Dick Monologues. You can email her at spike@spikeg.com to reserve seats for the October 8th show.