v.38 The Most Expensive Free Time I’ve Ever Had: My $40 Petty Era 🥴
Welcome to Life, Created—a new [old school] blog for modern times. This twice-a-week(ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, share ideas, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
Ok, fair warning: there is zero wisdom in today’s essay but instead a dumb lesson on opportunity cost. You’ve been warned. 🥴 Onwards.
Let me paint you a picture: it’s me, on the phone with the New York Times billing department. Again. And again. And again. Five. separate. calls, each one a minimum of 20 minutes. That’s 100 minutes of my actual, (quite) valuable time. Time I will never get back.
And all for what? Two rogue subscription charges. Two. That’s forty dollars. FORTY. As in, more than a half tank of gas. As in, the cost of one and a quarter cocktails in NYC. (Because cocktails are now $18-23 now but I digress.) As in, too damn much for something I signed up for at $20/month—but not for it to magically double without warning. And yet—here I am, being charged $40 a month for the privilege of… what exactly? Access to spelling games and existential frustration? I mean, I do love the NYT’s games but still. C’mon!
I should’ve let it go. I know that. The rational part of my brain, the one that’s usually busy managing real problems and reminding me to hydrate kept saying, “Cyndie, it’s forty dollars. Move on.” And technically, I could let it go. But that would mean admitting defeat to a customer service labyrinth designed to outlast my will to live. Is that dramatic? Maybe. Is it accurate? Definitely.
This is where opportunity cost comes in, friends. An economics term that basically means: what did I give up while doing this nonsense? In my case, I gave up peace. Sanity. Two potential naps. The soft joy of not being on hold. The time I spent on this refund has now cost more than the refund itself. If I billed my time like an actual professional (because I am one), we’re talking over $500 of energy spent chasing $40.
And yet, I persist.
Why? Because I hate this kind of shit. And also. Because it’s the principle. Not the money. Not the shitty “we’re so sorry for the inconvenience” phone calls. The principle that just because something is “only” $40 doesn’t mean I owe it to them.
We’re living in a capitalistic world that banks on us being too tired, too distracted, or too polite to follow up. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not in the mood to be polite about it. Not today.
So if you need me, I’ll be the one refusing to let forty dollars slide quietly into the abyss. And if I have to make a sixth call? Well... I’ll bring coffee. And probably a spreadsheet. And definitely not my sense of humor.
Because this $40 isn’t just $40 anymore. It’s a stand. A small but mighty protest. And frankly, at this point, I’m in too deep to back out now.
Also, if you’ve read this full essay, please come save me from myself. Because, y’all…I am about done with these folks. Now, let’s move on to microjoys, shall we?!
This week’s microjoy: A casual Saturday night dinner in Montclair with another couple turned into such a microjoy. No big plans, no performance—just easy conversation, shared laughs, and the quiet comfort of being walking distance from home (even though we drove because it rained.) Anyway. Joy often shows up in the simplest places when no one’s trying too hard, doesn’t it?!
P.S. Per usual, if this resonated with you- PLEASE repost, comment, share and spread the word.
Welcome to Life, Created.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
