A humorous reflection on modern prices, sticker shock, and the moment you realize two small ice cream sundaes somehow became a financial event.
I have officially reached the stage of life where restaurant prices personally offend me. Not mildly surprise me. Not disappoint me. Offend me.
I just celebrated my seventy-first birthday, which happened to fall on Memorial Day this year. Bob and I spent most of the afternoon relaxing at the pool clubhouse in our community, enjoying the weather and doing absolutely nothing productive, which honestly becomes more enjoyable every year. Afterward Bob asked if I wanted ice cream, which of course sounded like an excellent birthday decision because at this point in life joy often comes in small forms, and one of those forms is definitely turtle sundaes.
So we went to Culver’s.
Now in my mind, a small one-scoop sundae still exists financially somewhere around 1994. Maybe four dollars. Five dollars if things are really getting out of control. We each ordered a small one-scoop turtle sundae, and the girl behind the counter cheerfully announced, “That’ll be fourteen dollars and something cents.”
Fourteen dollars.
For two small sundaes.
Honestly, I just stood there staring at the register trying to process what had happened. And the strange part is nobody else in line seemed remotely disturbed by this situation. Nobody gasped dramatically. Nobody clutched their chest in disbelief. People simply tapped their credit cards and calmly moved on with their lives as though frozen custard had always required short-term financial planning.
I think what shocks me most now is not even the prices themselves. It is how quickly everybody adjusted psychologically to paying them. Somewhere along the way Americans collectively decided that coffee should cost seven dollars, hamburgers require financing, and going out to eat should feel emotionally similar to reviewing your monthly utility bills.
Every restaurant receipt now turns into a full financial debriefing afterward.
“Did we really just spend that much for lunch?”
“When did iced tea become six dollars?”
“Why does adding bacon now require a co-signer?”
The truly humbling part is realizing I now sound exactly like older people sounded when I was young. I remember hearing adults complain that hamburgers had become outrageously expensive at five dollars while I rolled my eyes thinking they were exaggerating.
Well, apparently life eventually humbles everyone.
Now I wander grocery store aisles muttering under my breath like somebody personally betrayed me.
Eight dollars for potato salad?
Did the potatoes attend private college?
And do not even get me started on restaurants putting “market price” on menus. That phrase immediately fills me with distrust. If I have to ask how much the fish costs, I already know I cannot emotionally recover from the answer.
Still, despite all my complaining, I know this is partly just life changing around us. Prices rise. Economies shift. Time moves forward whether we like it or not. But I also think there is something strangely universal about realizing the world you understood financially no longer exists anymore. You keep expecting things to cost what they used to in your head, and then reality shows up holding a fourteen-dollar ice cream receipt.
It’s probably a good thing it wasn’t my dad driving us through Culver’s or he would’ve told that poor girl exactly what she could do with those sundaes.
