The other night, my wife and I had plans to go to our local movie theater to enjoy one of our quasi-standing date nights. For me, these nights are always wrought with stress and anxiety simply based on how much this quality time is going to cost us. Something you should all know about me: I’m inherently cheap. I love my wife dearly – but I am cheap.
Let’s start with the babysitter. She’s a mature, responsible college student who is great with our little girl, so it only seems fair that we pay her the going L.A. babysitting rate of: $12 an hour. It is with increasing frequency that I find myself questioning the cost of things like this. I have, in fact, become my father. I think to myself: “When I was a kid, my parents gave the neighbor girl, like, ten bucks for the night. And there were three of us kids. And my parents would be gone for upwards of six hours. Compare that with my wife and I who have one five-year old who’s in bed by eight o’clock – approximately 30 minutes after we leave for the movie. So basically, our babysitter makes $36 for a half an hour of child care and 2 ½ hours of catching up on her Tivo’d shows. Yes, she Tivo’s shows at our home. Either that or my wife has a newfound affinity for Bret Michaels and VH1’s “Rock of Love.” Hmmm.
I’ve learned to try to keep my blood pressure in check when it comes to babysitting costs. After all, what are my options? Although a locked door and a stern: “Do not come out of that room for any reason, young lady,” has crossed my mind on a few occasions. (Hey, $36 bucks is $36, Rockefeller.)
Our local theater burned down a year ago. I would have thought that insurance would have paid to rebuild it, but since they’re charging $14 per ticket, I’m guessing someone missed a premium payment or two along the way. Why else are ticket prices so high? The rebuilt theater isn't even that great. The only other difference I could spot between the old theater that burned down and the new one is that the marquis now spells “theater” in the old English “theatre” implying the new building is somehow fancier now. At any rate, my wife and I are fifteen minutes into our date night and I’m already out $64.
Next, my wife must, must, must have popcorn when we go to the movies. She says its part of the whole movie-going experience. It’s an indulgence I happily agree to. After all, if we get home early enough, and the movie isn’t some “based-on-a-true-Holocaust-survival-story,” I just might parlay my financial expenditure into some real (insert lurid adjective here) marital action later on.
My wallet is out again. Seven bucks for a small popcorn. A small popcorn. And my wife won’t get the medium for $7.50, because it’s unreasonable. Don’t get her started on the $8.00 large! Heck, in my mind, for an extra buck, we can both stuff ourselves like pigs, and I get to keep the container – which doubles nicely as a handy oil pan with which I can drop my car’s oil the next day. (I am not paying $60 for an oil change.) Nonetheless, I fork over my credit card for the second time in as many footsteps, because I might as well earn that coach-class companion ticket while we’re here.
When we get into the theater, I’m fuming -- angrily trying to figure out where ‘they’ get off charging this kind of money for what I’m already convinced will be a terrible movie. There’s a sign on the wall that says, “Please pick up after yourself.” Now they’ve gone too far. See, I believe that my $14 entry fee has, in effect, given me complete license to not clean up after myself. In fact, I will make a sincere effort to ensure someone will be earning the hourly salary that my $14 ticket is clearly paying. If I drop some popcorn, it’s staying on the floor. When I’m done with my popcorn bag and napkins (of which I’ve taken enough to mop up, oh, Lake Michigan), I’ll leave them on the floor as well. Hell, if I’m enjoying the movie and I need to pee, I might forgo the restrooms altogether and just — Okay, I wouldn’t. But only because I’m not quite sure of the acrobatic position I’d need to conceal my actions while simultaneously not peeing on myself.
As we wait for the movie to start, my wife offers me some popcorn. I take a handful – or what I calculate to be seventy-cents worth. Now, I distinctly remember the sign above the popcorn machine saying, “Hot” and “Freshly popped,” and for $7 you’d think you’d at least get “hot,” or “freshly” or even “popped.” But my first bite verifies that none are true. To make matters worse, I cracked a filling on an un-popped ‘old maid.’
Let me digress for just a moment, because the description of ‘old maid’ is really kind of repulsive when you think about it. Stay with me: A generation or two ago, a woman who never married was referred to as an ‘old maid.’ A popcorn kernel that never pops is also called an ‘old maid.’ So, would logical deduction lead us to believe that these unmarried women of yesterday were simply ladies who had never been, ahem, popped? Ladies and gentleman, I have nibbled at my last ‘old maid.’
Well, the rest of the night was a disaster, what with me whining about money and the need for remedial dental work. Said whining then contributed to me retaining some of my own ‘old maid’ status. (That's right. No sex.)
The next day, a $225-trip to the dentist to fix the 'old maid' damage put the night’s final bill at just under $300. At some point, you have to wonder: Wouldn’t it be easier and much less expensive to put the kid to bed, buy a DVD and pry the wife with a bottle of wine? The way I see it: that’s $4 for the Benadryl (you want the kid to stay in bed), $25 for the DVD and $20 for the bottle of wine. With very little effort, I have just saved myself nearly $250 and had what many of us would describe as a perfect evening.
And that $250 a week I save us would easily pay for a shrink to help me get over this whole “cheap” thing. I am so right on this.
I’ve learned to try to keep my blood pressure in check when it comes to babysitting costs. After all, what are my options? Although a locked door and a stern: “Do not come out of that room for any reason, young lady,” has crossed my mind on a few occasions. (Hey, $36 bucks is $36, Rockefeller.)
Our local theater burned down a year ago. I would have thought that insurance would have paid to rebuild it, but since they’re charging $14 per ticket, I’m guessing someone missed a premium payment or two along the way. Why else are ticket prices so high? The rebuilt theater isn't even that great. The only other difference I could spot between the old theater that burned down and the new one is that the marquis now spells “theater” in the old English “theatre” implying the new building is somehow fancier now. At any rate, my wife and I are fifteen minutes into our date night and I’m already out $64.
Next, my wife must, must, must have popcorn when we go to the movies. She says its part of the whole movie-going experience. It’s an indulgence I happily agree to. After all, if we get home early enough, and the movie isn’t some “based-on-a-true-Holocaust-survival-story,” I just might parlay my financial expenditure into some real (insert lurid adjective here) marital action later on.
My wallet is out again. Seven bucks for a small popcorn. A small popcorn. And my wife won’t get the medium for $7.50, because it’s unreasonable. Don’t get her started on the $8.00 large! Heck, in my mind, for an extra buck, we can both stuff ourselves like pigs, and I get to keep the container – which doubles nicely as a handy oil pan with which I can drop my car’s oil the next day. (I am not paying $60 for an oil change.) Nonetheless, I fork over my credit card for the second time in as many footsteps, because I might as well earn that coach-class companion ticket while we’re here.
When we get into the theater, I’m fuming -- angrily trying to figure out where ‘they’ get off charging this kind of money for what I’m already convinced will be a terrible movie. There’s a sign on the wall that says, “Please pick up after yourself.” Now they’ve gone too far. See, I believe that my $14 entry fee has, in effect, given me complete license to not clean up after myself. In fact, I will make a sincere effort to ensure someone will be earning the hourly salary that my $14 ticket is clearly paying. If I drop some popcorn, it’s staying on the floor. When I’m done with my popcorn bag and napkins (of which I’ve taken enough to mop up, oh, Lake Michigan), I’ll leave them on the floor as well. Hell, if I’m enjoying the movie and I need to pee, I might forgo the restrooms altogether and just — Okay, I wouldn’t. But only because I’m not quite sure of the acrobatic position I’d need to conceal my actions while simultaneously not peeing on myself.
As we wait for the movie to start, my wife offers me some popcorn. I take a handful – or what I calculate to be seventy-cents worth. Now, I distinctly remember the sign above the popcorn machine saying, “Hot” and “Freshly popped,” and for $7 you’d think you’d at least get “hot,” or “freshly” or even “popped.” But my first bite verifies that none are true. To make matters worse, I cracked a filling on an un-popped ‘old maid.’
Let me digress for just a moment, because the description of ‘old maid’ is really kind of repulsive when you think about it. Stay with me: A generation or two ago, a woman who never married was referred to as an ‘old maid.’ A popcorn kernel that never pops is also called an ‘old maid.’ So, would logical deduction lead us to believe that these unmarried women of yesterday were simply ladies who had never been, ahem, popped? Ladies and gentleman, I have nibbled at my last ‘old maid.’
Well, the rest of the night was a disaster, what with me whining about money and the need for remedial dental work. Said whining then contributed to me retaining some of my own ‘old maid’ status. (That's right. No sex.)
The next day, a $225-trip to the dentist to fix the 'old maid' damage put the night’s final bill at just under $300. At some point, you have to wonder: Wouldn’t it be easier and much less expensive to put the kid to bed, buy a DVD and pry the wife with a bottle of wine? The way I see it: that’s $4 for the Benadryl (you want the kid to stay in bed), $25 for the DVD and $20 for the bottle of wine. With very little effort, I have just saved myself nearly $250 and had what many of us would describe as a perfect evening.
And that $250 a week I save us would easily pay for a shrink to help me get over this whole “cheap” thing. I am so right on this.
1 comment:
Maybe you should pop your own popcorn at home, and bring it to the movies... Just trying to help.
Post a Comment