When patriotism requires a shopping spree, frugality brings guilt
BlackBerrys, iPods, mattresses and linens clamor to be sold. But sorry, retailers: You couldn't get my wallet open with a Swiss Army knife.
My Toyota has 160,000 miles on it, and my TV is a 27-inch relic from the cathode ray days. I don't have a home computer or a cellphone, let alone a BlackBerry or iPod. Plus, I could use some new clothes and maybe a mattress. At the very least, how about some new towels and washcloths?
It is not lost on me that I'm exactly the kind of person the country is looking for right now -- the kind of person to jump-start the economy with some timely purchases.
But instead of revving up my engines, I'm idling.
Instead of shopping till I drop, I'm hanging back.
Mine is a world with no cha-ching.
I know the country is counting on me to come through. I haven't felt this needed by the government since I was draft bait. This time around, Uncle Sam isn't even asking me to tote a gun. He just wants me to tote my wallet to the nearest retail outlet. He's not asking me to lay my life on the line, just some cash.
So, what am I doing about it? How am I responding to this national call to arms?
I'm taking a powder. Instead of taking my money to the mall, I'm taking it to Bank of America. Instead of disposing of my income like a loyal American should, I'm hoarding it like a battlefield coward in full retreat.
In the past, I had ready-made excuses for not shopping: the crowds, the parking hassles, the taking of money out of my wallet and giving it to someone else.
I disliked the whole dance. So demeaning. Sure, I was cheap, too.
But nobody cared then. A weekend without shopping was totally guilt-free. I wasn't needed to help grease the economic wheels. We weren't in Great Depression II mode.
Nowadays, everyone with extra money should be pitching in. I know that, but can't seem to get off my duff. You couldn't get my wallet open with a Swiss Army knife.
I'm the retailers' worst nightmare -- the guy who has money to spend but won't spend it.
Even the thought of window shopping makes me uncomfortable. How, in these troubled times, could I justify going to a store, walking around for 30 minutes, building up the hopes of the sales forces and then leaving without buying anything?
That sounds cruel to me. "How can you torment us like that? My God, man, don't you know what we're going through?"
I'm trying to account for my cowardice under fire. Economists talk about the psychology during economic downturns like this, when uncertainty makes consumers fearful and cautious.
