Spring Break
Max's New Years Resolution
Max Brugger
Issue date: 1/11/08 Section: Diversions
This New Year, I decided to resolve to save more money. As a poor college student, it's important to have enough money for the necessities: tuition, books, granola, cable internet and Ron Paul stickers. So every year I pledge to take a closer look at how I'm using what little money my university wage earned by cleaning dust off the library books garners me, and to spend some time figuring out clever ways to save. Maybe you'll find some of these tips helpful too!
The most important thing is to cut down on the frequency with which you make those big purchases. For instance, laundry detergent is kind of expensive, so I started thinking about washing clothes less often. Thus, I have to use the washer less often, and bam! Instant savings.
Of course, once I got thinking about laundry, I started to realize how much I could save on clothes, too. I steal my roommate's socks from the dryer, one by one. Everyone knows about the fairy that steals the socks from the dryer; well, in a way, I'm him. I'm not a fairy though. I definitely don't dress up in a pink tutu and wave a wand. That would just be weird. But I do steal socks, one by one.
The key is subtlety. It's important to only steal an average of one or two socks per week so the hapless roommate learns to blame himself. And if he's got a wealth of those little white foot socks, it's jackpot time, my friends. They're all identical, and poor old roomie will never notice he's suddenly got 9 pair instead of 10.
The biggest concern is paranoia, though, and things can get especially hairy if, on some lazy Saturday afternoon, you're both reclining on the couches, shoes off and socks exposed, and he says, "Hey! Those are mine!"
This is when you turn the paranoia back on itself. Surely you will have noticed your roommate reacting to the mysterious thefts with "night sweats," "squirrel eyes" and frequent stops to Fred Meyer to replenish the diminishing sock selection, and it's this erratic behavior that you can use to your sinister advantage. Merely turn to them and say, "Oh my yes, Johnny, they were. But you lost them to me when we played poker with the devil on top of the shrouded mountain."
"What did you say?" he'll ask. Then you'll calmly explain that you said you got them for Christmas, and give him a concerned look. It's important to mutter something under your breath after this - you know, to give the general impression of a hallucination.
The most important thing is to cut down on the frequency with which you make those big purchases. For instance, laundry detergent is kind of expensive, so I started thinking about washing clothes less often. Thus, I have to use the washer less often, and bam! Instant savings.
Of course, once I got thinking about laundry, I started to realize how much I could save on clothes, too. I steal my roommate's socks from the dryer, one by one. Everyone knows about the fairy that steals the socks from the dryer; well, in a way, I'm him. I'm not a fairy though. I definitely don't dress up in a pink tutu and wave a wand. That would just be weird. But I do steal socks, one by one.
The key is subtlety. It's important to only steal an average of one or two socks per week so the hapless roommate learns to blame himself. And if he's got a wealth of those little white foot socks, it's jackpot time, my friends. They're all identical, and poor old roomie will never notice he's suddenly got 9 pair instead of 10.
The biggest concern is paranoia, though, and things can get especially hairy if, on some lazy Saturday afternoon, you're both reclining on the couches, shoes off and socks exposed, and he says, "Hey! Those are mine!"
This is when you turn the paranoia back on itself. Surely you will have noticed your roommate reacting to the mysterious thefts with "night sweats," "squirrel eyes" and frequent stops to Fred Meyer to replenish the diminishing sock selection, and it's this erratic behavior that you can use to your sinister advantage. Merely turn to them and say, "Oh my yes, Johnny, they were. But you lost them to me when we played poker with the devil on top of the shrouded mountain."
"What did you say?" he'll ask. Then you'll calmly explain that you said you got them for Christmas, and give him a concerned look. It's important to mutter something under your breath after this - you know, to give the general impression of a hallucination.
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