Something For Nothing

Damn, am I ever a cheap-ass old skinflint.  The lessons of childhood were well learned and, now in old age, not easily forgotten or ignored.

I was born just as the rationing of the Second World War was ending, to parents who had lived through the Great Depression of the ‘30s, with a mother who was Scottish.  You know how copper wire was invented??  Two Scotsmen, fighting over a penny!

Most of the men in my hometown worked at one of the four factories.  Most of the women stayed home to care for the kids.  My mother became an exception, but, most families had just about the same income.  Sure, there were merchants, and real estate and insurance brokers.  The preachers at six Protestant churches did better than most of their flock.

We weren’t dirt-poor, as many other families in town were, because my mother practiced some basic birth control.  We only had two kids in our family.  On one of the paper routes I had, there were two families, living side-by-side in two shack-y houses, much smaller than ours.  One house had seven kids and five dogs.  The one next door had seven dogs and five kids.  There’s not a lot of disposable income left after feeding and clothing a mob like that.

I’ve written that I keep my eye open in places where people might drop money.  The hundred-dollar bill I picked up at a Meijer store was an exception, but I find bits of money all the time.  I had to take a bus the other day, to pick up the car from a repair garage.  The bill for the car was almost $350, but I was thrilled to pick up 20 cents off the floor of the bus.  A bill like that only happens every six months or a year, but I find money all the time.  By the next time the car needs to go in, I will have found a good chunk of what the next bill will be.

I am not exactly embarrassed, but still somewhat surreptitious about checking payphone coin returns.  It’s really interesting how many times people try to place a call, get no answer, and rush away without retrieving their quarter.  About coins lying in coin-return slots of pop machines, or snack vending machines – I can’t be the only one who notices them, but I’m often the first to notice them.

I don’t walk or bike-ride as much as I used to, but still pick up any beer bottles or cans that I see.  Not only do I clean the neighborhood, but I make a dime apiece refund on them.  Liquor and wine bottles are also worth 10 cents each, but, with the usual bureaucratic genius, you buy them at the Liquor Control Board store, but have to take them back to the Beer Store for refund.

The daughter watches when she’s out on her power wheel chair, as does the grandson.  I recently cleaned off the shelf I use in the basement to store them.  More than a year’s accumulation yielded $8.00.  I’ll add it into the fund to buy more American cash from the bank, towards our next trip south.

The supermarket a mile to my north has been selling the Toronto Sun newspaper as a loss-leader for 4 or 5 years.  $1.50 paper for 50 cents Monday to Thursday and $1 on Friday.  Recently that went to a buck, every day.  If we’re out for a doctor’s appointment or other shopping, it’s well worth stopping in.  If we’re not, does it cost 50 cents in gas to save on the paper?

The head-office of the store three blocks to the south used to give cash rebates to charities who collected cash-register receipts.  About a year ago, with great fanfare, they stopped, cutting off Boy Scouts, the Library, and seniors square-dance groups, but quietly continued for selected groups, including the Humane Society.

About once a week, I put a harness on the dog, and walk him over to pick up a paper.  I tie him to the outer of two garbage containers on one side of the entrance, and check inside it.  People often exit the store, and immediately throw away their receipt.  Then I check the one right beside the door, and enter the store.  I check under, and in the return chute of the coin-counting machine in the entryway.  Coins often drop and roll just under.  One day I got 40 pennies that were fed in too fast.

I buy my paper at the newspaper/cigarette/lottery kiosk at the front.  Cash register amounts can be significant, but these customers are often in a hurry.  I check for receipts in the waste-paper basket where dead lotto tickets are thrown.  On my way out, I often go through the opposite doors, and check the big garbage pail over there.  On my walk today, I brought home $245 worth of receipts….and another beer bottle.

Then the daughter phoned.  They have a Blu-Ray player on sale.  Would I go over and pick up the last one in stock?  By the time I got home, I had picked up another $250 worth of receipts.  The rebate is 1/5th of 1%, so that’s one can of food for an abandoned cat.  I have a wad of several thousand dollars worth, which we’ll turn in at the pet-food store, the next time we go in.

We have five rain-barrels from which we water shrubs and flowers, when we have a hot, dry spell in the summer.  The cost of 250 gallons of water from the hose is probably pennies, even if Canada doesn’t officially have pennies anymore, but there’s more nutrients, and less harmful chlorine in rainwater – usually.  A local woman also waters her plants from rain barrels, but had all her pretty flowers die.  Turns out, her busy-body neighbor was worried about mosquitoes breeding, so she poured in chlorine bleach.  Toting the water around gives me something to fill my time, and some exercise to keep me (relatively) strong and limber.

Advertisements

14 thoughts on “Something For Nothing

  1. BrainRants says:

    Best opening sentence ever. I also pick up dropped change, because of course we still cling to our useless pennies here.

    Like

    • Archon's Den says:

      Every once in a while, I drop a linguistic gem. I’m glad you liked it. I think we both pick up useless pennies, not because we’re cheap (although I proudly admit I am), but because we have orderly minds. 🙂

      Like

  2. whiteladyinthehood says:

    Archon, I have no idea if you would be interested in American coins, but I make the book store deposits and the kids pay with all kinds of crazy coins. I’ve see Susan B’s, Gold Dollar coins, fifty-cent pieces – you name it. I don’t know if they are of any value other than for collecting, but let me know if you’re looking for something in particular and I’ll keep an eye out for it.

    Like

    • Archon's Den says:

      Thanx for the offer. I thought you worked at the school. Is the “book store” an internal part of that? 😕

      Like

      • whiteladyinthehood says:

        I took a job in the office at the school I work at (I had to have some health insurance). You didn’t have a book store growing up? A little cart loaded up with notebooks and pencils? (and the ever popular furry pencil grips) 🙂

        Like

      • Archon's Den says:

        When I went to elementary school, we had to bring our own chisels, to inscribe the stone tablets. It, and my secondary school, had 350 students….and were regarded as Huge. No book store, no tuck shop, no cafeteria. I saw a single desk like we still had in two rooms of the high school. It used to be joined to a string of them, on cast-iron rails, like a little train, six or eight to the row. It was selling for $300. 😕

        Like

  3. Kayjai says:

    I always thought the term ‘skinflint’ was strictly a Newfoundland slang. Guess I was wrong on that one…

    Like

  4. ‘Skinflint’ was the recipe for survival for a lot of folk during the depression. “Use it up, wear it out, make it last” was my parents philosophy in life. Mama learned ‘throw nothing away, there may be a use for it someday’ from hers.

    I’m a little more lenient about it. I figure if I haven’t found a use for something in twenty years it may be time to think about discarding it.

    Umm, Mama. That doesn’t apply to husbands.

    Like

    • Archon's Den says:

      I read a blog from an almost-hoarder woman who had decided to throw out 100 items every day for 100 days – 10,000 things! From tiny screws to a cat-scratched sofa. We’ve accumulated like that, so I’ve tried to start with a little here, and a little there. If I don’t get at it, the son won’t be able to sell the house for six months after we die, cleaning out room after room.

      Like

  5. linda says:

    Thoroughly enjoyed your post. Nothing better than rain water. Feel sorry for the lady who lost her flowers……calling the neighbor a busy body…. Is far tooo kind, I would of /-:;#*^~# * at her to replace my flowers. But then, a lady does not use words like that…hehehe.

    Like

  6. benzeknees says:

    Scottish on my father’s side, so I can relate! My grandfather could squeeze a penny until it squealed.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s