Staff Soapbox
Copyright © 2011 by Allison Creutzmann | ISH | • All Rights reserved • E-Mail: allison13@ish.co.cu
Every month, Scribbler bullies - uh, convinces - a teacher to write about anything at all. So while you read, remember to respect your elders!
This month’s column written by Ms. Elizabeth of the illustrious English Department.
How much do we really need? I mean, really, really - not just to literally survive, but to be content with the life we lead? The answer may be a lot scarier than you think. On a recent trip to the U.S., I was bombarded by the frenetic urge to buy, buy, buy - from things I definitely needed, like the cough syrup I couldn’t find anywhere in Havana the last four weeks, to things I definitely didn’t, like a mechanical pill cutter so I didn’t have to use a kitchen knife (luckily, the pill cutter was plastic and cheap). It was both awesome to see the selection of tennis rackets available at the Sports Authority, and terrifying to imagine that I was making some crucial consumer’s mistake (Was it so cheap because it sucked? Could I find it on sale somewhere else? Was I being ripped off? Was I sacrificing quality for economy? AHHHHHHHHHHHH!).
Back when I lived in Brooklyn, I had a strategy for killing my urge to bankrupt myself - I would grab a shopping cart and fill it with the things I actually needed, the things I thought I needed, and the things I impulsively oohed over and shoved in with everything else. Then, instead of heading straight to the checkout counter, I would let myself wander around the giant store (yes, I love Target and I’m not ashamed to admit it). Inevitably, guilt would kick in. Jiminy cricket would appear on my shoulder and
This month’s column written by Ms. Elizabeth of the illustrious English Department.
How much do we really need? I mean, really, really - not just to literally survive, but to be content with the life we lead? The answer may be a lot scarier than you think. On a recent trip to the U.S., I was bombarded by the frenetic urge to buy, buy, buy - from things I definitely needed, like the cough syrup I couldn’t find anywhere in Havana the last four weeks, to things I definitely didn’t, like a mechanical pill cutter so I didn’t have to use a kitchen knife (luckily, the pill cutter was plastic and cheap). It was both awesome to see the selection of tennis rackets available at the Sports Authority, and terrifying to imagine that I was making some crucial consumer’s mistake (Was it so cheap because it sucked? Could I find it on sale somewhere else? Was I being ripped off? Was I sacrificing quality for economy? AHHHHHHHHHHHH!).
Back when I lived in Brooklyn, I had a strategy for killing my urge to bankrupt myself - I would grab a shopping cart and fill it with the things I actually needed, the things I thought I needed, and the things I impulsively oohed over and shoved in with everything else. Then, instead of heading straight to the checkout counter, I would let myself wander around the giant store (yes, I love Target and I’m not ashamed to admit it). Inevitably, guilt would kick in. Jiminy cricket would appear on my shoulder and
March 2011
SCHOOL
start singing, “Do you REALLY need that sweater-vest? You already have one at home that you never wear because it’s so unflattering on you… And, seriously, you’re going to buy the Sex in the City movie? You don’t even really like that show!” And, probably much to the consternation of the employees who have to re-shelve the merchandise, I slowly but surely begin shoving my surplus items in whatever part of the store I happen to be in (Yes, I’m the reason you find a random picture frame in the pots and pans section). By the time I get to the cash register, I usually have even fewer items than I originally set out to buy.
But after three months in consumer-exile, all bets were off. By the time I had finished stripping my local Walgreens of its cough syrup stock (and cough drops, expectorant, pain-killers, etc.) and putting a hefty dent in my bank account, my conscience was blowing pathetically like a first grader trying to learn to whistle (“Give a little whistle! Wheee-Whooo! Give a little whistle!”) and spitting on everyone nearby instead.
Back in Havana and settling into my happy little routine of tennis lessons, teaching, and playing with legos (it’s amazing how much little kids love legos!), I honestly don’t know what came over me to make me buy pink tennis balls (they were so pretty! A teensy fraction of the proceeds goes to support breast cancer research!). Next time I head to the belly of the beast, I’ll be sure to pack a stash of crickets in my suitcase to keep me solvent over the Christmas holidays.
By: Ms. Elizabeth
But after three months in consumer-exile, all bets were off. By the time I had finished stripping my local Walgreens of its cough syrup stock (and cough drops, expectorant, pain-killers, etc.) and putting a hefty dent in my bank account, my conscience was blowing pathetically like a first grader trying to learn to whistle (“Give a little whistle! Wheee-Whooo! Give a little whistle!”) and spitting on everyone nearby instead.
Back in Havana and settling into my happy little routine of tennis lessons, teaching, and playing with legos (it’s amazing how much little kids love legos!), I honestly don’t know what came over me to make me buy pink tennis balls (they were so pretty! A teensy fraction of the proceeds goes to support breast cancer research!). Next time I head to the belly of the beast, I’ll be sure to pack a stash of crickets in my suitcase to keep me solvent over the Christmas holidays.
By: Ms. Elizabeth
October 2011
