Making Money -- The Hard Way

No, I don't think anyone would pay me for that these days.
Instead, it was a taste test. I've done these frequently. They put about 20 people in a room and give us chewing gum or macaroni and cheese or coffee to taste, and we give our opinions on a survey. Then we walk out and they hand over a white envelope with $20 or $30.
So I had no trepidation as I entered the room to taste diet soda. Then the woman in charge told us we'd be tasting six different sodas. That's a lot, considering that I don't even drink diet soda.
Next she told us we'd be given four ounces of each. We needed to drink half of the sample before we answered the survey. What? Drink 12 ounces of soda?
Then, she said, we had to finish the entire sample. Gulp! That's 24 ounces of soda. Two cans of pop. In half an hour.
I can't remember drinking that much since I played quarters in college.
I was looking for a nearby plant that could benefit from some refreshing soda, but I was isolated in the middle of the room, surrounded by other desks.
The first sample burned a bit as I chugged it and it only got worse. When the people around me began belching from all that carbonation, not the cover your mouth and release a small bit of air, but the college frat boy burps, I knew this would be the hardest money I'd ever made.
One guy had to excuse himself to use the bathroom. Come on. Half an hour and you couldn't make it?
The samples seemed to get more bitter as I made my way toward the end, but finally I downed the last cup of soda, slammed the survey shut and exited the room.
My husband was meeting me for lunch on that hard-earned money.
We went to a local "cafe" that had inflated prices. I had the special of the day -- the Monte Cristo sandwich. I think I had that before in France but there wasn't nearly as much deep frying going on. I ate half of the rather blah sandwich. My husband ate the other half and half of his chicken salad wrap. I just couldn't muster any enthusiasm for the meal.
Luckily, it was $17, so with the tip, my hard-earned money was gone. Of course, the company of my husband was priceless. I drank 24 ounces of soda for a mediocre lunch. Next time, I think I'll hold onto the money a little longer, at least until I stop burping.

The Hidden Cost of ChiRunning

I just want to reiterate the value of exercise before I start totaling up the cost of exercising, and I'm not talking about the cute running shorts or the expensive shoes. Today, in my second trip back to the doctor in a week, I handed over my credit card for my $20 co-pay.
"$10" the Russian-born receptionist asked, as if she hoped to make it less painful. Maybe she felt guilty that I paid $20 on Monday and all the doctor did was tut over my knee and tell me to come back.
In some distant month, I can see myself practicing ChiRunning as I glide along the street, barely breathing hard. For now, I'm entering the bills on my Quicken, unable to run for another week yet.
ChiRunning class taught by impeccable instructor -- $125
ChiRunning book and metronome to keep me in beat -- $ 55
Emergency Room co-pay at 6 a.m. -- $ 75
Co-pay for first visit to have stitches removed -- $ 20
Co-pay for second visit to have stitches removed -- $ 20
Lost hour and a half of work in the writing center
while I had the stitches removed -- $30
Session with psychologists to lament the fact that
I can't run and must find other ways to deal with
my stress -- $120
Extra large bandages, epsom salts, mochas to ease
the pain, extra gas because I'm driving instead
of walking -- $??
New running shoes to replace the bloodied ones -- $90

In spite of the finances, the thing I feel badly about is that Grace fell on the same day as she was riding her bike to school. I was sitting with my stitched knee propped up when she came home with large bandaids on her ankle and knee. She hadn't ridden home in disgrace, dripping blood and crying. She had simply gone to the school nurse and gotten taped up. She didn't, or couldn't, make a big deal about it, because I had trumped her with my stitches. I was proud that she was more concerned about someone else (me) than her own injuries. She's really growing up. And it gave me pause, briefly, to wonder what it would be like to have a self-centered mother who frequently grabs the limelight with her own complaints.
Of course, I shouldn't overlook the benefits I've reaped from this episode. I haven't done laundry for two and a half weeks because the washing machine is in the basement.
As my fall becomes a bad memory, I will be left with only a Great Britain shaped scar.
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