Being cheap is a quality that is ingrained deep within my personality. My main reason for working at my first job was to get tacos for free. At my second job, I have to pick up trash and i will often take things like pants and hats from the trash. My friends have discovered that if they ask me to go somewhere that has a price tag over 30 dollars my answer will be a resounding no. They often will ask how I became like this. “Why are you so cheap?” “Why are you so unwilling to spend the money you make at your job?” One of the most vivid memories I posses of becoming like this occured when I was seven and was given five dollars.
When I woke up that morning I had an idea. I was going to go ask my mom to do chores so I could get an allowance. She seemed overjoyed with the idea and quickly set me to work on cleaning the dishes. I hurriedly began to scrub away at the scum of uneaten food on the unclean dishes. I spent what felt like 10 minutes on every dish making sure an healthy amount of soap was applied to every plate and cup. Making sure they looked as clean as the day they were bought. After an hour, I finally placed the last cup on the shelf and walked exhaustedly to tell my mom I had finished. To my dismay she was not finished with me.
Her next chore was for me to sweep the kitchen. I knew that if I wanted to earn the money that I was promised I would have to just as well at this as I had done with the dishes. I set forth with my broom and my dustpan to pick up every particle of dust that resided in the kitchen. I spent the next hour meticulously sweeping every corner working my hardest to make sure it was up to my mom’s standards. I finally finished; I was completely fatigued. In my zombied state, I walked to my mom and she gave me what I so desperately wanted a five dollar bill which I proudly placed it in my red plastic wallet. However the day was not done. The reason I had so desperately wanted the money was I had a UIL competition on that day.
Once I finally arrived, I met up with my friend. On his arm he had a bunch of strange markings that looked like tattoos. “What are those?” I asked. He explained it was a tattoo sleeve. I ran to the concession stand. “5 dollars pleas” the worker said. And just like that my hard work was gone and all i had to show for it was a regretful purchase. The second i held it in my hand I knew I had made a mistake.It was a useless knick knack. I knew that the sleeve wasn't worth the time I had spent working for it. It wasn't worth the dishes that I had cleaned or the floor I had swept. It wasnt worth my hard work.
That’s why I am cheap. I can't help but see my money as the time and hard work I spent to get it. I can’t help but see that thirty dollars as the four hours I had spent at my first job making smelly tacos and burritos. I can’t help but see that thirty dollars as the four hours I spend at my job picking up trash. That’s why I am cheap.