Discounts: The Deepest Cut of All

From a very early age I've been aware of discounts.  Discounts, coupons, and sales were the tripod of my Mother's thrift.  She'd clip coupons and make sure she got the discount at checkout; she'd ask if a business offered a clergy discount; she'd back and forth across town picking sale items from one store after another.  It would drive me crazy and I felt labeled travelling alongside as she'd follow the path of thrift. Lo and behold she'd have good company in this decade.

Age discounts are another thing. My friend Danny's Father would take us to Disneyland each year over the spring break.  It would be one full day of E ticket rides and junk food all at the generosity of Dr. Freeman. Trick was, before we queued up at the ticket booth window he'd stop us, line us up in order of height, and then assign ages to finagle a couple of ticket books at children's prices.  I didn't like having to play down my age but, hey, it was Disneyland and Main Street Station and the Disneyland Railroad was just beyond that booth and through the tunnel. Why yes, I'm 8.

After that there was the 12 - 25 Club on United Airlines.  I could get super deals, $16 LA to San Francisco, not that I used it more than once or twice.

AARP was a boon to my Mother's sense of thrift and accomplishment.  My parents loved entering a new age of thrift and opportunity but I remember thinking at the time, "Why would you want to join a club that identifies you as old?"

Lucky me. As it turns out, when you hit 50 the group starts sending you mailing after mailing soliciting your membership.  It seems like the things come to my office weekly. It's enough to make me run out and grab the mail from the carrier's hand just to save face and keep that sentinel of advancing age from being handed to me by some smiling staffer in my office.  I know AARP offers all variety of useful discounts and opportunities but I'm just not ready to carry the card.  Vanity, thy name is reluctant aging male! The last milestone of age I really cared to celebrate was 21.

The event that precipitated this rant occurred last week at the art museum.  We went, my wife, son, and I, to see a couple of exhibits before they came down.  We'd never been to the Flint Institute of Art and so it was a new and curious experience.  We asked and the lady at the desk informed us ticket prices were, under 5 free, adults $7.00, and $5.00 if over 62.  "Are you members?"  We were not but I explained we are happy to pay the fare, support the museum, and enjoy the show.  "Okay.  That will be twelve dollars."  
Do the math. I'm still not functioning right.