Queen of the Bondo

Today’s Cheapskate Evangelist is brought to you by the Generation Y.

One of the greatest tragedies of modern American life is that “living like a college student” doesn’t mean what it used to mean.

Oh, how I pity the twentysomethings! Those fragile, delicate youngsters who are poised on the Cliff of Becoming, whose smooth, unlined brains haven’t yet settled on the career that will ultimately disappoint them, who actually look forward to being funemployed! Those Kayleighs and Tylers who live in such comfort with their parents, who will never stay up late debating the merits of Top Ramen over Maruchan, who will never scrape around under parking meters after the snow melts, hoping to find enough change to buy those peanut butter crackers in the school vending machine, the ones that tempt and taunt with their alluring orange glow. And why should they? Their moms will give them money if they just ask! Because after all, it’s hard to be a college student these days.

Ah, the times they are a-changin’. Come gather ’round, children, come gather ’round and old Mrs. Garrett will teach you a valuable lesson. (“Who?” you say. Sigh. This lady.)

Picture this: Cleveland, 1997. It was a world that had never heard of Monica Lewinsky, and the Great Recession was just a twinkle in Alan Greenspan’s eye. A 98-lb sophomore at Cleveland State University digs through the garbage can at the neighborhood grocery store where she works. A bruised apple? Looks good. She puts it in her bag. A hunk of moldy cheese? It’s soon wrapped up in cellophane. Ditto the package of week-old bagels. They may be rock hard, but they can be dipped in a bowl of hot tea to form a kind of nutritious — and stimulating — sponge. She hauls the bag of booty out to the bus stop, where she waits for twenty minutes. The bus is late. One of the store managers pulls up, offers her a ride. She shakes her head. “At least take this can of spaghettios. It’s dented, I can’t sell it.” Our sophomore takes it, eagerly. Botulism be damned! The bus comes, and she clambers up the stairs, balances the bag on her lap. She gets off the bus, waits 30 minutes for another bus. Gets off that bus, walks half a mile to her one-room apartment (for which she pays $300 a month in cash), puts her garbage food away, gathers up her linguistics textbooks, and heads back to the bus stop because it’s time to go to her second job.

I’m so sorry that you’ll never have this character-building experience. I mean that, from the bottom of my cheapskate little heart.