Of Sweat and Stinginess

Some call it the "slick," others the "slice;" I prefer "slizzle." But by whatever name, the Student Learning Center, or SLC, is at the heart of UGA and near to the heart of most students. Being quite new, it has the latest in technology (including floppy drives, eight track players, and VCRs), a student-friendly staff, and air conditioning, which is of course the most important. I have always been extremely fond of the SLC from the first time I saw it. It is a beacon of traditional architecture, in stark contrast to the hideous Caldwell Hall and the old Ag Hill buildings. In those days, it seems it was chic to be ugly. And I will never forget pulling all-nighters in the SLC during finals season with many other students, all hoping that cramming might work this time.

But truly, it's the air conditioning that makes it. Unlike some places, Georgia is still obscenely hot when college gets under way - in fact, the last dying breath of summer may not come until two or three months after arriving in Athens. And summer comes early every year too. Come April, the heat is on. So as a perpetually perspiring male, and might I add that I perspire profusely even for those of the male persuasion, pacifying my pores is no perfunctory point, but is rather of particular importance. (But I do love alliteration!) Hence, my affinity for the SLC, one of very few buildings on campus guaranteed to be sufficiently frosty to assuage my heat-laden body on a toasty day in Georgia.

On one such day I found myself slogging to the SLC from Myers Hall, not too far really, but it was crazy hot. I stumbled into the SLC, steam rising from my body as from a manhole after a storm. But I had reached my sanctuary, my igloo of paradise, so all was well. Or so I thought. On this day, as I often did on hot days, I arrived to class early to provide a buffer of cool-down time. So I walked to the central staircase and began a slow ascent to my third floor recuperation area. After the first turn I started having this nagging feeling; maybe I had forgotten my homework. Or maybe I had forgotten to brush my teeth - unlikely. (I am a colossus of dental hygiene...sort of.) After a brief pause to consider, I continued on, unaware of my impending doom.

Rounding the next turn, I knew something was wrong. The uncertain feeling had started in my feet, promising to climb as soon as my memory kicked in. (Did I leave the coffee pot on?) But strangely, the hint of oddity just lingered at my toes, growing stronger by the moment. Then suddenly, with only one step to the third floor landing, the cheapo flip-flop on my right foot exploded, the button shooting off into oblivion. As I stumbled over myself, my left foot followed suit, launching pseudo-plastic down the hallway towards unexpecting passersby. So there I was, sprawled on the ground, awkward as a platypus, and worst of all, I had no footwear! I sat there thinking about how to fix this awful predicament, completely stupefied. My fellow students walked by, shaking their heads, knowing the terrible shame I bore - the shame of three dollar flip-flops.

Eventually, I had the good sense to try stapling my fallen comrades back together - bad idea. I ended up walking home barefoot after class. And to think this could have been prevented had I not been quite so stingy. Now don't get me wrong, I am a staunch supporter of the bargain bin, and the paparazzi often catch me peeking at the clearance rack. But this was not my first bargain flip-flop mishap. To be honest, it was the fifth or sixth such accessory death in the prior six months. It was like I kept retelling that bad joke that no one laughs at. Over and over. And over. Again.

Well, after hearing of my plight, a few of my friends decided it would be wise to help me change my stingy ways. That Christmas, I received my first pair of real flip flops - Reefs. These actually had a sole, a novel idea indeed, and they were so comfortable, almost as good as the refreshing climate control of the SLC. And what was really amazing - they lasted me almost two years! Yes, you heard me right, two years. I normally started bruising my feet on stones by just walking around after about three weeks in clearance flip flops, and holes shortly followed.

So let's do some math, shall we? I paid $3-5 for bargain flip flops about once a month (and I wear flip flops year round) - that's around $50 a year. My friends got my $30 Reefs that lasted almost two years. The choice is easy my friends. Since then I have stepped one notch higher to Chacos - the king of sandals. I can hike in them, raft in them, run in them if I wanted, and they are about 378,091 times more comfortable than any other shoe I've ever owned. All this, and they last forever. I wear mine almost every day of the year, and after a year and a half, I cannot notice any major signs of wear yet! Unbelievable. They are kind of steep (anywhere from $60-100, depending on sales), but they last forever and put you in shoe heaven.

Cheap shoes had been just one part of my frugal way of life. I grew up with the mentality that cheap equals good. Saving money is what it's all about - splurging is discouraged, discounts and coupons are the proper way to shop. And for the most part, that's true. Living frugally encourages responsibility and good decision-making. And despite my occassionally over-eager spending, I still maintain a general caution with my money. But at some point, frugality enters the realm of stinginess. Then, the merits of more expensive items (or of being generous with others) are neglected simply to spend less. Many people who grew up like me don't realize that sometimes it actually saves (both money and face) to spend a little more now on the good stuff rather than buying the cheap stuff five hundred times separately. And generosity must never be forgotten - we are nothing if we are unwilling to share our bounty with family, friends, and those in need. But even if you had no companions with whom to share, you could still avoid an SLC faceplant and be more comfortable, all while saving money. I'm never going back. Thank God I have friends who buy me flip flops.