20/20

In an earlier life, I lived on $20 a week. Every Sunday I’d carefully withdraw one crisp $20 bill from the ATM. On Friday afternoon I would calculate how to get through the weekend on what remained.

With a starting salary of $10,500 in NYC, every dollar mattered. I accepted my first job at a small no-name advertising agency because at the annual salary of $10,500, it was $500 more than the entry-level job offer from the well-known and prestigious Young & Rubicam.

Some 45 years and one pandemic later, however, $20 seems to be very little. Almost nothing really. Especially when in an upscale department store, surrounded by many much more expensive, out-of-my-budget items, even $40 can seem like almost nothing.

So when I saw a high-end brand name small leather good marked down from the ridiculous $95 (ugh, out of my range) to $43 (cha-ching), I took a second look. Holding the well-made leather in my hands, I imagined how nice it would feel to have it. The handwritten red ink said “$43.” I decided at the very least I could probably consign it and recoup my investment. After completing another loop around the sale items, I strode with it up to the register. Call me "markdown motivated": Did my accompanying increased heart rate count as an aerobic activity?

The well-dressed woman at the desk rang it up.

But the monitor awaiting my charge card showed “$63”.

“Oh.” I said, deflated and immediately stuffed my charge card back into the perfectly serviceable small leather good I already owned. “I’m sorry, I thought it was $43.” Obviously, I was out of my depth here. What was I thinking?

$63? That’s more than $50 -- which to me it feels like a "no-stops" express train straight $100!

And though the difference between $43 and $63 is only $20, to me it’s a different kind of $20. That’s just a bridge too far.

$43 was one thing: It’s $20, which is almost nothing, times two, and nothing times nothing is still, mostly nothing. I concede this might be my shopping math aka "girl math" -- the only kind of math I can do.

I put my wallet away in a reflexive recoil. Even my non-verbal base lizard brain knew that, regardless of my unbridled love for them, no small leather good is worth $63! Insane!

Because in the infinite spectrum of numbers, $20 can either seem like nothing, or outrageous, depending on where it lands.

It feels like synesthesia, where one sense crosses over to another: $0 to $20 is the barely detectable pineapple flavor in those flavored waters. If you don’t force yourself to consciously think “PINEAPPLE PINEAPPLE ,PINEAPPLE,” you won’t taste the one part per million drop of pineapple. It just vaguely smells like someone in the next room is eating a pineapple.

But when $40 goes to $60, that $20 becomes a thick and sticky pineapple syrup that won't clear the back of the throat without choking.

The kind cashier took a second look at the price tag, squinting her eyes a little.

“I can see how you thought it was ‘$43’”.

I apologized again. What was I, a confirmed consignment, thrift store, and TJ Maxx shopper, even doing in this nice department store?

The classical music wafted up through two beautiful floors from the live piano playing on the floor below. I considered making a stop in the glamourous marble bathroom before leaving.

Then she looked up at me and said the most unexpected thing:

“I’ll give it to you for $43.”

My eyebrows raised, likely to the height that I know clears the wrinkles from my eyelids.

In disbelief, I thanked her and pulled out my wallet and credit card. For some reason she continued to treat me like a customer who deserved to be in the store and went through all the steps: Fresh tissue-paper wrapped, shiny gold sticker sealed, and gently placed my winnings in a brand new handled shopping bag, a new trophy for my always-growing bag collection.

I left without daring to stop in the marbled ladies room, slightly nervous that the cashier would second guess her decision and come running after me to re-possess it. My anxious mind conjured up visions of being chased by store security for markdown theft. Time to leave.

Returning to my lane of comfort, I headed straight to Target in search of a new Pop Socket to hold my phone. There were two options: $9.99 and $34.99. Really?

I had to summon the courage to disturb what may have been a séance being performed by the two completely motionless workers in the “Tech” department, eyes down, half-eaten snacks on the counter, sporting Goth hair and black nails filed to frighteningly severe points.

Holding the two Pop Socket options, I approached gently and innocently asked: “What is the difference between these two?” One looked up at me and explained the difference, and then added:

“Yeah, $35 is expensive”.

Even she agreed that sometimes another $20 is just too much.