I would like to illustrate, from my own life, the absolutely untenable relationship between wages and prices that is the norm in this beleaguered country. The other day, at the Elite Grille on the Waco Traffic Circle (a place known to anyone who has driven through the town), I was charged for the ice in my bourbon. The ICE. One dollar for, as the receipt put it, “rocks.”
They also charged me for the dessert that they had run out of, so I got that one stricken from the record. But mind you, I’ve seen many other people complain about their restaurant experience, only to be showered with free food, gift certificates, Circiassian slave girls, and so on. I, however, got nothing but a pedantic manager out to explain to me, as though I were the most pathetic of country simpletons, how there is more alcohol in the drinks that have ice. Why do I have this sneaking suspicion that that isn’t actually true, but that rather this guy hasn’t even discovered displacement yet? “Look, sir. You’ll see, it is manifestly obvious that when I add these obloids of frozen liquid to your potation, the booze line undergoes elevation. So how could we remain in business in this land of Opportunity if we did not charge you for the utterly obvious increase in liquid in your cup?”
And of course, my salary remains the same even in a world that charges you to put some ice in your drink. Oh, the sacrifices we make in these trying times: I may have to begin taking my bourbon neat (or just ordering scotch). Bernacke and Paulson, where is your 700 billion? Is there room in that figure to buy me some ice?