Book Review—The Ultimate Cheapskate

I enjoy listening to books on tape while I drive. I figure it's a good way to achieve some productivity out of my commuting hours, and lets me tackle books that would probably put me to sleep if I were to read them at bedtime.

[Oh, I do also read at bedtime...but I reserve that time for books that have a plot. Most of the books I listen to are non-fiction, and it helps if they are at least somewhat motivational. It's good to arrive at work all psyched up after hearing the inspiring words of some self-help guru, or with your brainpan abuzz with some new learning. (A word of caution, though—some coworkers prefer a simple "good morning" when you arrive at the office, and can become suspicious and hostile if you greet them with your newly-learned Japanese phrases. I once said "Ohayo gozaimasu", which means "good morning", and received a rather curt response of "Hey, I got relatives what lives in Ohio, so lighten up, Jack!" Sigh.) ]

I just finished listening to a book called The Ultimate Cheapskate's Roadmap to True Riches, by Jeff Yeager. His basic premise is a good one -- that you have the freedom to earn less money if you spend less money. It makes perfect sense; he even claims that you can be happier as a cheapskate, because of richness of all the experiences you'll have in your single-minded pursuit of thriftyness. And I'll admit, some of the best times I've ever had were low-expenditure events. So far, so good.

I also admire his commitment to riding his bike everywhere, rather than spending money on a car. I could totally get into that if it weren't for two factors:

1. Some of the places I go are not accessible via bike paths, and the regular streets I'd have to travel are full of inattentive drivers who wouldn't even notice the bumping and screaming noises as they drove over me. (Some people rant against SUV and Hummer drivers, but I think the myopic molemen in the 1974 Dodge Darts are far more dangerous. And anyone who still has Dee Snider hair, or happens to be a teenage girl with a cellphone and chewing gum—they scare me.)
   


2. I am expected to be at work before 8:00, but I don't get away from the pool until around 7:30. Even Lance Armstrong couldn't make it under those constraints. (Of course, the Ultimate Cheapskate would suggest that I get a job that didn't require me to report by a specific time. Which would be possible if I didn't have a car & mortgage that required me to earn money. See how his thinking works?)

Transportation aside, I'm also on board with the Ultimate Cheapskate's philosophy on apparel. I have never felt that my value as a human being was determined by the amount I spend on clothing. Jewelry bugs me, and my perfume allergy ensures that I don't need to budget any money on Hai Karate or Brut (or whatever the "cool" guys are wearing these days). In fact, I'd probably be comfortable as a pygmy in a loincloth...if it weren't for having to hunt wild boars with a blowgun (which, come to think of it, those little fellers still have to do, despite not having a car nor a mortgage. Hmm.)

Yeager also raves throughout the book about the benefits of doing all of your own chores and maintenance. Not only do you save money by changing your own oil or repairing your basement foundation, he says, but you learn and acquire valuable skills...and have a good time doing it. OK. There was a time when I might've agreed with him. After all, I have performed my own automobile oil changes, and did all sorts of bicycle repair and even motorcycle maintenance (with and without Zen) for quite a long time period when I was younger.

But my experience didn't exactly support his cheapskate philosophy. There were a couple of problems:

1. Even simple maintenance chores require the proper tools, and those tools can cost far more than paying to have the chore done by someone who has already made the tool investment.



2. I am not, and never will be, a "handy" man. I've tried, but my genetic material and aptitudes have demonstrated time and time again that I was not meant to work with my hands. Software, sure, but hardware...no. It's odd, because my father has always been building things, and my brother is currently doing construction work -- so there are some productive tendencies float around my gene pool somewhere. But I suspect that the gene that made my dad the only man I know to break his arm two different times from playing tennis -- that gene was passed on to become my tool ineptitude.
   
   Here are some examples. I once tried to change a flat tire on my motorcycle. It would've cost about $10 to have the guy at the shop do it, and would've taken about 15 minutes. By doing it myself, I saved $10, but it took me an entire weekend and a medium-sized box of BandAids to get it done. And then there was the grime under my fingernails that didn't come out for about a month, and the extra laundry detergent required to remove the blood from my clothing. Conclusion: shoulda spent the ten-spot.
   
   I once broke my hand attempting to change a car's oil filter. Admittedly, it was not a normal filter-change situation—the car was a 305 V-8 Chevy Monza. The Monza was a dinky car, and they used an industrial shoe horn to wedge an engine of that size into the bonnet. Because of the large powerplant and lightweight body, it was a very fast car...but that was its only redeeming quality. With an automatic transmission and the idle speed factory-set to "hummingbird", the car wanted to jump to about 20 mph the instant you released the brake. Imagine for a moment what such a setup would do for you during a typical Kansas winter storm. Yes, that's right—you could not load enough concrete in the back of that car to keep the rear wheels from spinning out if the road had so much as a raindrop on it, much less a sheet of ice. I hated that car. But I digress...
   
   Anyway, to make a long story short, the motor components were all wedged in there so tightly that they had to remove the entire engine just to change the spark plugs. I am telling the truth -- you needed an industrial crane to do a tuneup -- a small tidbit the salesman forgot to share at the time of purchase. The oil filter was accessible, but barely. After much struggle and contortionism, I was finally able to get my filter wrench wrapped around the darn thing. It took all my strength, but I was finally able to release the filter. Of course, the car ended up sitting there, dripping oil from the filter housing while I tended to my broken hand...so again, the time lost was worth far more than the money saved. And that's not even counting the pain, time lost from swimming, and the emotional distress of not being able to play the guitar for several weeks.
   
   You get the idea. I tried to replace a window in the house -- broken foot. My attempt at replacing a bathroom sink drain stopper -- flooded cabinets. You get the idea.

I'm not arguing against the concept of doing your own repair work. I'm just saying that regardless how you build the equations, for me, the answer is "Let the professionals do it."

Overall, though, I'd have to say I enjoyed the book. I will definitely take his advice when it comes to a waiting period on major purchases, and I am planning to ride my bike to work on June 25th, but most of his other ideas (dumpster diving, diluting your milk with water, converting to the Amish faith, etc.) I shall leave to other, more disciplined cheapskates.

But if you want to try those things, I will be happy to support your efforts. Go for it, my friends. And have a great day!