"I finally finished off my Polar Points!" exclaimed a friend as he walked out of the Pub with a plate of fries. I winced; I felt as though someone had swiped an ID card through my soul. Polar Points, for me, are a mere distant memory?a Golden Age, when the C-Store was as accessible as my back pocket.
But 75 bottles of Diet Coke later, or around 50 bags of bulk gummy peaches, however you want to look at it, I am here, left behind on a campus full of fiscally responsible students, reaching out to my wallet to nurture my midnight snacks. While all the other kids get to celebrate the end of the semester by using up their excess points with pizzas, sodas, and other teeth-rotting festivities, I'm scrounging up pennies from the bottom of my bag to make the final payment on a bag of Smartfood.
"Why don't you just get more added?" you may ask. Let me clarify: It's been done. But telling my father that the "Polar Points" he sees on his student bill are actually extra funds going toward the purchase of a complimentary Parent's Weekend hotel room will probably only fly once. So for now, I'm forced to press my face up against the glass of the café pastry case, looking at spicy tuna rolls that are so close, and yet so far away.
You would think that having this happen would serve as a sound lesson to be more frugal with my Polar Points. After all, the last half of every semester since I first arrived at Bowdoin has been filled with hunger and severe caffeine withdrawal symptoms. I should save my coffees for nights when they're truly necessary, and indulge in Lindt truffle balls only on special occasions. But somehow, every night just feels like an emergency, and every day like a special occasion. My excitement over each moment at Bowdoin has led me to go through Polar Points like M&M's.
It would also seem reasonable that, having exhausted my supply of essentially free food, I would learn the value of a dollar. Not so. I simply find myself going broke more frequently than usual. Financial responsibility, perhaps one of the most valuable skills I could have attained at Bowdoin, has been lost to the intoxicating allure of Odwalla bars.
My lack of self-restraint in Smith Union has led me to ask the, I think, reasonable question: "If you haven't been spending your Polar Points, what have you been doing all semester?" Enjoying the dining hall? Talking with friends? Being outside??? It seems inconceivable to me that someone could simply neglect their Polar Points all semester, and then rediscover their possibilities at the end. It's like somehow missing the fact that you've had a $50 bill sitting in your favorite pair of jeans since January; or, worse yet, knowing you have the $50 there, but choosing not to acknowledge it. Possible? Yes, but an extraordinarily admirable display of restraint.
It takes me back to the days when I was 10, and I would go to the drug store and buy several peppermint patties at a dime each. "You know," said my mother, "if you save all those dimes, you could buy something really big someday." "Like what?" I asked. "Like a car or something!" "But why can't you just drive me?" I said impertinently, unwrapping another patty.
I haven't missed out on a BMW here or anything, but the same ideal of future financial security as a result of saving earlier in life still applies. If I had put my points into my piggy bank, instead of draining myself dry, I would have a lot more freedom and luxury in my spending than I do.
As I crouch outside the C-store, holding out an empty jar for spare change with a sign around my neck that reads, "Will work for Smartfood," I reprimand myself. And maybe, next semester, I will, once and for all, learn to distribute my Polar Points more sparingly, waiting only for the most crucial moments to use them. But, for now, if you happen to see me panhandling in Smith Union, appreciate that I've learned my lesson, and maybe find it somewhere in your heart to spare a half a point. I could really use a Lindt truffle.