Cheaper by the dozen

String-Savin', Cheap Yankee Bastid Frugalympics

by Sally Cragin

Illustration by Lennie Peterson

As winter marches into Tritown with its unlaced gunga boots and the piercing wind, only the prospect of Christmas and another New Year's bolsters the spirits of darkness-wearied Tritownies. The trees are skeletal, the sky gun-metal gray, and the oil-delivery men work overtime because a fraternal fuel-war has broken out. Tri-Fuel, run by an older Leblanc cousin, has cut its prices by a quarter-cent every week; and since people in Tritown read the fine print, competitor Econo Oil, run by the distantly related Levesques, has been forced to follow suit. The most cheerful sight in town, aside from the beaming faces of those who saved a whole $1.50 on a 100-gallon delivery, is the colorful pastry display at Happy's Qwik-Stop (30 kinds of doughnuts, 20 kinds of lottery tickets, 1/2 kinds of coffee, because Happy thinks decaf is a joke).

$erena the Waitress, now Mrs. Hasky Tarbox, still works mornings at the T 'n T Hair Salon, and afternoons and evenings at her father's store. A year of marriage and some personal tragedy has dampened her pep somewhat; but her curly red hair and general outlook is as springy as ever. For years, she's orchestrated seasonal doughnut flavors: pumpkin pie in October, cranberry in November, and, new for December, the thoroughly disastrous but still colorful "pine blend" (a wreath-shaped doughnut, complete with green frosting, red trim, silver candy, and pungent forest aroma), for which $erena had been tremendously hopeful at first. But when she persuaded her regular customers to give it a try, few came back for seconds. Even Delia Ellis Bell the Partial Yankee (there was a questionable great-great-grandmother) had taken her aside."Frankly, hon," she had said. "I think people around here associate this smell with camping or with bathroom cleaner." So $erena discounted the batch and moved 10 trays in a day and a half.

Even Hollis the Mountain Man buys a box. He hasn't bought presents for anyone at his job at Tri'd 'N Tru Potato Chips, so planting a dozen on the break-room table seems like an easy way to relieve his guilt for taking home cookies, or the bottle of hard cider presented to him by his boss. "What is that smell?" asks Dolores, the senior secretary, as Hollis opens the box. "Reminds me of Girl Scout camp -- now that takes me back." Hollis smiles and slinks away. No sense folks knowing that each doughnut is less than 20 cents. After all, it's the thought that counts.

Delia is thoroughly appalled when Hollis tells her this story. "Really Hollis," she chides. "That's got to put you up on the platform for the String-savin', Cheap Yankee Bastid Frugalympics." She calls $erena over and orders a French Cream Swirlette, the most expensive doughnut ($1.25; but hey, it's the principle that counts). "Can I treat you to a Swirlette?" she asks Hollis sweetly. He's is about to say "Shu-wah," but recognizes the trap. "Oh no, Delia," he says in unctuously gracious tones. "Let me treat you."

"Gee thanks!" she says brightly. "Guess we both get to go back to the preliminaries, at least today." Hollis opens his mouth and thinks better of it. Grumbling, he opens his copy of the Tritown Bugle.

"Hey," he says excitedly. "Econo Oil just dropped a whole 7/8 of a cent this week, plus they're giving out a pizza coupon with a full tank." He folds the paper smugly. "Better give 'em a call -- my indicator's in the red, and I just KNEW they'd have to respond to Tri-Fuel's half-cent drop plus a free Cumby Coffee coupon." He slaps the paper: if he orders a delivery for this week, he could treat everyone in the joint to a Swirlette.

There are many ways of qualifying for the String-Savin', Cheap Yankee Bastid Frugalympics. You could earn points for the following: having a worm bin but no radiator in the kitchen (there's a stove, don'tcha know?); an onion bag full of perfectly good soap slivers (an extra point if this is in the shower); a freezer full of "cheese ends"; a box of steamed-off stamps (an extra point if they're from wedding invitations); plastic bags around spark plugs to eke out a little more life; the first-ever microwave or VCR (an extra point if a Betamax machine is still in the closet "just in case"); re-used tinsel on the tree; having trained the cat to relieve itself outdoors to save money on litter.

FINALLY, when all is said and done, neither Hollis nor Delia, nor Aunt Winnie (whose idea of a Christmas present is the jar of jam you gave her last year), nor $erena (whose bathroom is papered in three different patterns of wallpaper that all matched the wallpaper in the other three rooms in the apartment), nor her husband, Hasky Tarbox (whose cars are paragons of cheapness: salvaged parts, plexiglass windows, and coat-hanger cohesion), nor Jean Paul (né Whitey Leblanc) or his brother Phil N. Leblanc (whose jobs are as junkmen, for goshsakes, and therefore get the dumpster stuff before it hits the dumpster), nor Myrt Scully, the proprietress of the Rod 'n Reel Club (who drinks off-brand cola, and smokes off-brand cigarettes, and adores cubic zirconia, but still has to drive a real live Cadillac), nor Ozzie the Wiz (Tritown's resident sage and reference librarian who, for obvious reasons, never buys a book or CD, but who also knows how to tape eyeglasses together better than anyone in Tritown), nor Big Theresa or Little T, $erena's aunts who own the T 'n T Beauty Salon (whose collection of waiting-room magazines dates back to the 1960s), nor even Happy of the Qwik-Stop (who sleeps in the back of the bakery in the winter because he's already paid for the heat) are gold medallists.

"The winner," declares Hollis the following week. "Is Lorencz the Hermit, hands down. I suspected he might triumph when the `Frampton Comes Alive' T-shirt that I used to wax the car went missing and turned up on his back."

"Yes," Delia agrees. "And that comforter that's a hodgepodge of sewn-together woolens: a scarf, some old rainbow polyester toe socks, a couple of stray gloves, and your old baby blanket."

"True," says Hollis. "He has a half-dozen table lamps, though the abandoned school bus he lives in isn't wired for electricity -- because he keeps hoping to find a way to light them using static electricity. So far the experiments have failed, and all that rubbing balloons on his chest hair was giving him a nasty rash."

"Oh god," says Delia. "The school bus is just a dumpster WITHOUT wheels. I hate to think about what it's like in winter, when he doesn't have access to your pond for ablutions."

"It's pretty rank," says Hollis. "But his `comfort station' is easy to find on a dark night because it's completely constructed of those reflective road signs," he adds, referring to the MEN WORKING and the BLASTING AHEAD signs that serve as walls.

Delia is doubled over, laughing. "At least he's easy to shop for. What do you think his prize should be?" she gasps.

"A bunch of boxes of pine-blend doughnuts, but of course," says Hollis, signaling for the check.

Sally Cragin is rich in dearly beloved, cheap friends and family, and thanks Chuck Warner, Melissa Houston, and Pete Greelish for ongoing inspiration.

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