I recently was speaking to a farmer who began chit-chattering on about price control. And quality control. And other big important financial matters that have nothing much to do with my life of staff discounted red wine and stolen converse shoes.
As he went on and on I started to sort of understand what it was all about. Not completely of course, as you will discover while reading this post, I don’t care much for the details of these grand schemes. This is partly due to the fact that instead of really listening to the nitty gritty, I of course began applying the rules to everyday life. And boys.
I am quite impressed with this idea of price control. Totally brilliant. Basically, if I have a pretty dress that I want to sell at a garage sale for 20 dollars and you have a pretty dress that you don’t mind selling for 2 dollars (because your daddy is wealthy and you have a pony named ‘Fancy’), then that is a bit unfair. I get that.
So while learning about this rule, I quickly decided it should apply to lots of things. Not just food. Or whatever it does apply to. (Told you I stopped listening.)
For example. If all girls got together and ‘price controlled’ our interactions with the opposite sex… the world would be a much better place. Especially Bondi. Bondi could certainly do with a bit of this action. Bondi is not quite sure if it’s a cheap variety store or a 5 star organic grocer.
Let me explain.
To put this as graciously as I can, if I am selling my jugs of milk for $2.50 … but you are Swedish, only here on holiday and don’t mind giving them away for 20c… it more or less messes up the marketplace. Do you follow? Understand? Comprende? Begrijpen?
It means the rest of us have to drop our prices also or go out of business. Both options aren’t great. Trust me.
I’m not saying you have to lift your cost (or standards ) astronomically. I’m not insinuating you have to aim for ongoing profit. I’m not even disagreeing with some last minute midnight fire-sales.
My point is, if you sleep with a guy who then sleeps with your best friend, steals your skinny jeans, your bus card and your bottle of jagermeister, never buys you breakfast, kisses other girls in your living room, sleeps on your couch and flirts with your sister… and you go back for more… because you’re ‘easy-going’… you’re not doing any of us any favours. (Best to just knock the ‘going’ off that self-description sweet cheeks.)
Anyway, I’m not pointing any fingers. I am just suggesting a method of maintenance control.
Meeting at Roy’s Tapas Bar on Curlewis to discuss price brackets every Tuesday night.
Oh no wait. That’s open mic night.
Okay. Maybe stuff the whole price thingy. Lets just get drunk and sing songs.