“If money is the root of all evil, I’d like to be a bad, bad man…cuz I’m sittin’ here with nothing but time, tryin’ to make you understand. My thoughts of you are as good as gold, but I ain’t got but one dime; if I could just get outta this soul…baby we could have a good time.” Huey Lewis & the News’ song “Time ain’t money”
This past week I made my bi-annual trip to the mall to the store Bath & Body Works. They sell some lotion there that I like to use on my face after I shave (it’s not too oily or greasy, and it’s the only effeminate thing that I do…I swear!) Anyway, it smells citrusy plus they sell this other lotion that smells like fresh baked sugar cookies that I use on my hands (there again…kinda effeminate…but it smells like sugar cookies so get off my ass already). Like any man, I walk straight from the parking lot into the store directly to what I wish to purchase only to be confronted by a clerk and the following conversation ensues:
Clerk: Can I help you?
Me: Do you have any coupons that I can use today?
Clerk: (looking confused that I would ask that) No, but I have some coupons for our special October Sales Event. Would you like some of those?
Me: Can I use them today?
Clerk: No…they’re for next month’s promotion.
Me: Fine, sell me these two things.
Clerk: Do you have any coupons?
Guys like me typically don’t wait for sales or use coupons, that’s just the way we roll. I don’t mind paying a fair price for a quality product but Bath and Body Works has this insane pricing structure where the more you buy the cheaper stuff becomes (it’s not insane, I’m just pissed). Usually I buy just two bottles (literally six months worth) and the clerk says “if you buy just one more you’ll get the fourth bottle FREE.” Free? Really? How about you just sell me these two for less? I don’t slather this stuff on thick enough to go through it in a calendar year. Cripes! I don’t have time for this. Anyway, when I get home my loving wife chides me for not asking her for some of her coupons whereas I could’ve saved 20%!! Guys like me are just hell-bent on getting things done with or without the dang coupons, which are probably kept in some dark, secret, mysterious place…like a drawer somewhere in the kitchen. Coupons…I don’t have time for.
Or the time that we needed a new vehicle so I got a part time job in addition to my full time, 55 hour a week job. My first part time job was at Red Robin Gourmet Burgers. I figured that since I had a part time job flippin’ burgers in the early 1980’s that I could do it again in 2006. Wrong, I lasted five hours. I hated it. Absolutely abhorred it. Nice place to eat, but I quit after that first night (I guess that I had “grown” some since 1983…thank God!). Anyway…my second part time job was as a security guard. Working at college football games, basketball games, semi-pro baseball games ensuring no one smuggled a bomb or six pack of Miller Genuine Draft into the event in their purse or backpack (which no one did…’cuz I’m badass that’s why.) Anyway…I got tired of standing constantly, being yelled at by women who didn’t like me looking in their purses (I didn’t see anything bad) and being called “Barney Fife” by the drunks. I did that job for over a year, which is a lot better than the previous five hours at Red Robin.
I quit the security guard job for a job taking care of mentally handicapped men. They were (and probably still are) higher functioning people for what they have. I liken the job to taking care of little boys, as often times they just liked to do the simplest of things. The dark side is that they’re full sized grown men and can knock the hell out of you with no warning. In the first year I was head-butted, kicked, punched, scratched and spit on (never bitten though, I like my fingers too much). You had to restrain them from attacking you or someone else often times. Not fair fighters those nasty men, but they live in a hell of their own, mental retardation. Some folks don’t care for that term, but I don’t say it in a derogatory way. They didn’t ask to be that way, God help us all if we ever forget that. I did that job for two years and I think that it aged me faster than all of my jobs combined. Rough times extract a higher price, I’m pretty certain of that.
“Time ain’t money…ya know it’s a bitch. If time were money….I’d already be rich.” Huey Lewis & the News
Time has a price, except for mine. I’ll be on the couch.