Wait Here for the Next Available Teller

The bank teller at the local branch is absolutely gorgeous, and every time I drop in I want to flirt or make a witty joke or seem like a romantically desirable potential male counterpart... but then I stop because I remember that she can see exactly how poor I am.

New plan:  start hitting on unemployed girls.

Tangled Up In Green

It's windy in New York City. After putting it off for weeks, I decided today that I finally needed to get a scarf. As I haven't begun classes or student teaching for the semester yet, I found myself with some free time and decided that this was the day for such a shopping adventure. Insert cryptic, foreshadowing hook here.

I wanted to find something plain, inexpensive, and not douche-y, so right away I knew that Greenwich Village was out. My decision felt justified when the first dude I saw on the sidewalk stepped in front of me with cartoonishly rigid posture and a whiff of arrogance. This young man was rocking Bob Dylan sunglasses and an olive green, WWI-era military jacket, complete with a Gunnery Seargent Marine insignia on his sleeve. He must have thought it complemented his skinny jeans. I debated asking him what unit he served with but he'd have to take out his earbuds to hear me, and he was probably listening to a podcast of this morning's news from Iraq because he is so supportive of his country and all that. I would never want to interrupt this hero as he returned to whatever base in the Village he was stationed at. Also, he seemed like he was in a hurry to get to Qdoba.

I walked up Fifth Avenue on the off chance I could afford something there, but I only can take so many doormen and bellhops eyeing me suspiciously before I have to leave. I strolled over to Sixth Avenue instead to see what Chelsea had in store. Pun.

My first stop was Old Navy. This store has been a standby for me for years, namely because the prices are excellent, the clothes last me a while, and I honestly prefer plainer clothing. If nothing else, solid colors highlight my traffic-stopping good looks. I never found the regular scarf section, but there were a few hanging on the clearance rack and I grabbed one for 99 cents.

That's right. 99 cents. And it was green. Not like a muted green or a forest green or any of that. Green green. Kermit the Frog green. Crayola Crayon green. I immediately liked it for that reason, and the price, but I knew that it would not work for more professional occasions. Still, for less than a dollar, I picked it up if just for the rest of my walk. This was a very intelligent decision.

Having never once even considered the finer points of scarf shopping, I still figured that this would be a quick trip. I was hoping for something gray or white or black--really basic stuff. Shouldn't be hard to find, right?

Well, it was. I struck out at more stores than my friend did when he was trying to land a summer job (Small-Target-Audience zing!). I tried many stores haphazardly as I walked by them, including:

• American Eagle: Seemingly hadn't heard of scarves
• Filene's Basement: Offered designer named scarves at reduced prices (like only $59!). Also was on the 3rd floor (?)
• Urban Outfitters: Would I like to try a shawl instead?
  
• T.J. Maxx: Forced me to realize that scarves might not be unisex. Naive ignorance leads to fear of buying a girl's scarf and getting laughed at.
• Dude on the corner: Did not offer colors that pale Irish kids could pull off without looking even more pasty.
  
• Urban Outfitters #2: Very nice scarves for upwards of $28, which is apparently a great price, I am told.
• American Apparel: There were scarves in the window, so I checked. I was walking by it anyway. Of course there wasn't anything I would or could wear. Yes, I am ashamed of myself for even trying.

So what did I learn today? First, scarves are apparently not just a piece of fabric, like I had previously thought. Even thought they look the exactly same, scarves must have some secret magical quality that allows them to be fashionable where a strip of wool would not be, thereby jacking up the price. Second, scarves are a hot accessory item that should compliment your outfit (they are, after all, #97 on Stuff White People Like). Silly me for thinking that they were just protective winter gear. Finally, I have absolutely no idea how to pick out a man's scarf, if such things exist. Of the four or five all day that I saw that could decidedly be called manly, none were even remotely in my budget. I might be a cheapskate but I just can't part with thirty plus dollars over a periodically useful rectangular strip of cloth.

I might just stick with my green crayon scarf.

Food Shopping During an Economic Depression is Depressing

I've intentionally tried to cut back on the amount of unnecessary snack foods in my budget, but when this week's major purchase was an ice cube tray (and I'm actually excited about it), well... it's just sad. Get me some dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets up in this piece!

Pay For What You Get

Tonight I decided that it was a great time to finally mooch off of my brother's employee discount at Target. I needed a new set of headphones, had new music to listen to, and had to pick him up from work when he got off an hour before closing. The stars were aligned, and I felt like being a sponge.

As I roll up to the front of the parking lot and approach the entrance, I meet my brother JP and shamelessly usher him to the electronics section, where I pick out a pair of decent (and dorky) headphones from Sony for $20. Cool. As I prepare to surrender my debit card and thus my life savings to my brother, I am informed that the Target Team Member (read: employee) discount is applicable only when paying with cash.

Cash? What the crap is cash? I'm fairly certain that--outside of the vending machine market--I have not paid in cash since the Clinton administration. My brother comes to the rescue, again, by loaning me the cash out of his wallet. The employee discount that I totally had no part in earning was 10% off the top and netted me a mere $2.00 in savings. At this point, I'm feeling kind of cheap. I hadn't asked, but I was guessing that the discount might be more like 25 or 30% off. Whatever, $2.00 is a coffee, right? And it totally took care of the sales tax and then some.

As I left South Easton's gorgeous shopping complex, with two saved dollars to my name, I pull into the local bank to hit up the ATM and pay JP back on the spot. While I have no issue with carting him around and shamelessly filching his discount option, I did feel a bit crummy about borrowing cash from my little brother. I opted to get a quick $20. This bank, however, is not my bank. This ATM, therefore, was not my ATM.

Vis a vis, I paid a ATM fee.

A $2.00 ATM fee.

Postscript
This is the kind of story that, if told in person, would receive sighs and stares from the few people who stuck it out til the end. I'd follow it up with a quick 'Then I found five dollars!' but it would heavily alter the math and principles involved. No, you will never get that two minutes of your life back ever again. But I felt like sharing my boring story. I feel that in some abstract way it could be a metaphor for life. Or some BS like that. Two page reflection due Thursday.