Crackers for your chowder

    You walk into a restaurant. Its dimly lit, warm. The walls are painted a dark color, you can’t tell exactly what. Avant garde and abstract art are on display on the walls, and the floor. New-age fusion music plays in the background. This location is a popular meeting place for counter culture collectives.
    You sit down at the counter. The waitress approaches you and you order chowder. She brings you the chowder and charges you for your meal. $4.99. You open your wallet and find that it contains only a $5 bill. You hand her the bill. You dip the spoon into the chowder and bring it to your lips. It is warm. It is well seasoned. You taste hints of pepper and garlic. The chowder has more milk in it then is to your liking, and the contents are spread too thin. You ask the waitress for some crackers. The waitress explains that crackers are $2.00 extra. You express your outrage at the price. You could get a box of crackers for $2.00, you say. Filled with frustration and contempt, you climb up on the counter. You begin to shout. You spout grievances to the masses. After your breath is spent and your diatribe concluded, you sit.
    If you would have just order the crackers, the chowder comes extra, the waitress explained.


Life without money is like surgery without a knife: less painful and more difficult.