Hello, everyone. My name is Michelle. And I’m a cheapskate.
It’s remarkable that it’s taken me so long to admit this – the signs
have always been there. Just ask any of my childhood friends who
rudely refused my requests to shove their pockets full of free bread
samples any time we passed a Baker’s Delight; or any boyfriend
who’s waited patiently on a bench while I spent hours in a dollar
store, only to emerge empty-handed because “nothing was on sale”.
Have a rummage through either of my two bags (I have more bags,
but they were expensive and are therefore kept in storage, to be used
only for special occasions like my wedding day or funeral) and you’ll
find them filled with fistfuls of serviettes from McDonald’s, or packets
of crumbs that were once complimentary biscuits from a Qantas
flight. (Note: I only fly Qantas for work. Normally you’ll find me on
Tiger, the airline-of-choice for flaming bags of trash like myself.)
People have ridiculed me over my cheapness. So, if you’re going
to judge, I strongly discourage you from reading the following list
of cheapskate activities in which I’ve engaged, including but not
limited to: stealing teabags and toilet rolls from hotels; cutting
open empty toothpaste tubes to access the paste that gets stuck
to the edges; stopping in the middle of the road to pick up five cents;
strapping my laptop to my body like a drug mule so airline staff
won’t include it in my cabin luggage weight; eating a questionable
kebab that gave me gastro for two weeks instead of chucking it
out, because it cost me $7; and only throwing out underwear I’ve
had for 10 years because the elastic is so worn I have to tuck it into
my arse-crack for it to hold. I don’t get the appeal of brands and
status; my favourite boutique store is Chemist Warehouse. Recently
someone asked me which high-fashion labels I liked best, and I had
to google ‘high fashion’ because I’ve only just broken the habit of
exclusively buying clothes from the sale section.
So, why do I subject myself to these cost-saving measures? I’m
certainly not poor. I mean, yes, I have lived below the poverty line
for most of my adult life, but I’m privileged as hell: I’ve never been
without a roof over my head, and relatively speaking, I’m basically
a millionaire compared to most people in the world. I just can’t stand
seeing things go to waste, and I hate being ripped off. As the kid of
migrants who lived through poverty, the value of things was instilled
in me from the get go, and those habits are hard to shake. My sister
still only uses one light when she’s home to save electricity. My
grandma uses the foam trays from pre-packaged meat as coasters.
When my mum snuck into the business lounge, she stole half a dozen
boiled eggs and stuffed her purse full of bread rolls.
People may snigger and call this behaviour undignified, but I’ve only
ever seen it as resourceful and practical, and sort of impressive,
to be honest. I’ve never felt like I’m being mean to myself, and my
cost-cutting measures have led to long-term benefits. I’ve been
able to indulge in other more significant ways, like paying for
private health insurance and buying a new car and phone outright.
I’ve put together care packages for my friends when they’re sick;
I can afford treats for myself when I’m having a bad day, and I think
massages are worth every penny. Maybe one day I’ll have saved
enough to feel like I can stop stealing toiletries from hotels, or even
book myself onto a Qantas flight for leisure. However, that seems
pretty unlikely. This trash bag never forgets her roots.in a tight spot
MICHELLE LAW IS A PENNY-PINCHER,
AND PROUD.
something to say