Summer, 2014
Anything Free Is Worth What You Paid For It
Just like some people have definite views on over or under for a toilet paper roll, peanut butter or jelly on the top slice or the bottom of the sandwich and other vital questions, they undoubtedly have set patterns for paying bills and financial management. Some people pay them as they come in; some people wait until payday or some other set date. Some people carefully balance their checkbook each month; others never do, figuring, "what the bank says must be right." (I would go crazy with that last person. Seriously.)
When you have your own business, you either learn to keep careful records or your live your life with the specter of an audit hanging overhead. Worse than the sword of Damocles, if you ask me.
Ducky is one of those precise, methodical people who makes bill paying, if not a joy, at least not a dreaded chore. The checkbook has crisp, clean entries that look like a monk's notations; the bank statement has careful checkmarks and o's, and he balances to the penny. The credit cards have receipts checked, stapled to the statement and the balance paid in full each month. (The phrase "interest payment" makes him twitch.) I take care of the utilities and such; on Sunday night we both go over any bank or credit card statements that arrived during the week.
"Did you get new shoes last month?"
"Uh… no," I said distractedly, trying to read the tiny print on the date for half a dozen gasoline receipts. I had hit an even $60 on each purchase, making it even more difficult to put the right receipt in the right pile. I caught up with the conversation a few seconds late. "Oh. Stevens' Bootery?"
"Yes."
Ducky refuses to get his shoes at a department store or discount outlet, preferring to go somewhere where the sales clerks were taught how to properly size and fit shoes. I have to admit, when he converted me to buying from a "proper" shoe store (instead of the sale rack at T-Mart) my knees stopped hurting and my back didn't ache nearly as much. Stevens' has been in the shoe business since the early 1900s, handed down from father to son, mother to daughter. They took credit cards with great reluctance, checks with proper ID, and for old customers, allowed them to "charge" on their account and get a monthly statement. Ducky opted for the store account when he first moved to Virginia; understanding the hideous user fees the banks charge small businesses for credit and debit card transactions, he has continued to keep the account active. It's the Don Quixote in him. "I forgot. Lexi needed shoes for school, they had a great sale going on—"
He frowned and shook his head. "Well, this is a first. They double charged us! I'm sure it's a simple clerical error; I'll call them in the morning—"
"Uh—" I winced. "It's not an error."
"The amounts are exactly the same. One is charged June 4, the other June 27. To the penny! What else could it be—"
"Well… Like I said, they had a great sale going on. And she needed everything. If she hadn't outgrown it, she had worn it out. So she got sneakers, sandals, galoshes, dress shoes—" He looked at me with a, 'well?' expression. "And she outgrew them. You mentioned how high her jeans were riding on her ankles the other day? Well, that growth spurt hit everywhere. She had done a good job of breaking things in, so I couldn't very well return them…"
"No, no." Ducky may be cautious with money, but he's no cheat.
"And since the sale was on and we got the same things… it was the same amount both times."
He nodded in acceptance. "I see." As I passed by him to get a fresh cup of tea, I heard him mutter, "But at those prices, I can begin to understand the practice of foot binding!"
Yeah, yeah, I know Ducky wouldn't do such a thing and would understand the horror of the act. But it still made me laugh when my mother said it when she got the bill.