Yes, yes, I know, half of America is worried about money right now, and the other half is obsessed with bargain-hunting in the slow economy.
But I never think about money.
It's not that I don't have my budgets (I must cut down to taking a taxi only twice a day and three times a day on weekends) or my concerns (is ordering in Chinese food 4 days a week excessive?).
It's just that as a matter of principle I try to never think about money.
Call it an act of rebellion!
Growing up as the product of two Slavic Jews who were born in the Depression and never, ever, EVER seemed to tire of planning for the next one, I got a little sick of day-old bread and powdered milk.
Helloooo! It's called a carton, and normal people buy milk that comes in one!!
My mom was so convinced that another Depression was waiting just around the discount bend, that she would literally go into convulsions if we bought anything that was not at least 20% off.
Even 20% off in my house was considered top dollar. That's right up there next to highway robbery and the Hope Diamond in terms of excess.
If you wanted any kind of support from the folks, you had to shop for things that were at least half off. Not that that was the very best there was, because remember, half off was still half on.
Free was where it was at.
My mom had spent years, studying the art of getting things for free, and it was a talent she honed and sharpened to the point where her ability to acquire free stuff was akin to Einstein's talent for math.
She was the queen of freebies.
The bank down the street was giving out flashlights if you opened a Christmas club account; my mom opened up 20 accounts of one buck each.
The Shop-Rite was doling out free wristwatches for every 50 bucks worth of groceries. My mom had us crawling around the parking lot in search of other people's receipts.
This might sound funny … at first … but trust me, it was mortifying.
No one wanted to invite my family to a birthday cause they knew what they were gonna get. … A Shop-Rite watch, a Seaman's Bank flashlight and a keychain that read "Bayer Aspirin."
The kids in school jibed me for years about the time they went to our house trick-or-treating on Halloween and mom gave out bags of snack mix marked "free sample."
Sheeesh!
By the time I moved out on my own, the very last thing I ever wanted to think about again was money. Unfortunately there was the little matter of my not having any, but really aside from being broke, I tried to never think about moolah.
Aside from getting evicted, I really tried to never ever think about cash.
Aside from …
Well you get the point.
But now things are different. Now I'm thinking about MONEY!
Friends call almost every day to say they've been laid off.
"Just lost my job sweetie. Conde Naste laid off a third of their internet people."
"Have you got any work?? I just lost my corporate chef job of 10 years. …"
Now the freelance waiters I hire come into the kitchen at the end of the night and say, "Thank you so much for the work."
Man! The day a New York City cater-waiter says thank you for making them work, is the day you really know times are hard.
My business is down. Natch. But it's not that bad. I can make it. Luckily I'm a wedding caterer and weddings seem to be the only luxury spending that anyone still wants to partake in.
Getting married and, well … also getting drunk. Then there are those who get married while drunk, but that's another story … and I promise to never do it again (kidding).
I'm thinking about money.
I'm thinking how good it feels to be able to throw some work at down-and-out waiters and bartenders. It feels great!! It's odd, but it's only been since September 11th, that it suddenly occurred to me that I am an employer not an employee.
I'm thinking about how lucky I am that I can still pay my bills and feed myself and my two phenomenally fat cats.
I'm thinking about my mom, and how no matter how much I complain about my shnorr childhood, I'm thanking my higher diva for Mom now. I've got a little nest egg to lean on during these rough times, and that's mainly due to her voice drummed into that back of my soul, "Two for five dollars is nice, but three for five dollars is nicer. …"
I'm thinking about my father and how he somehow managed to not be worried about my physical well being since September 11th, but called in a panic last night when he read about New York's struggling economy.
"Is your business okay?!" he asked frantically.
"Yes, Dad … and so am I."
I'm okay.
Sigh.
Thanks, Mom.
