This is One Thing, a column with tips on how to live.
In early April, I took my daughter to see Olivia Rodrigo at Madison Square Garden. The tickets were her Christmas present, and we’d been counting the weeks and days until the show. There was just one challenge I did not anticipate: how to get home. For reasons that are not relevant to this piece, we were going to have to get a car home, no subway. So after the concert got out at 10:30 p.m., I ordered an Uber. The app alerted me that it was going to take 30 minutes to arrive thanks to the tween mob and the moms who also needed rides home.
Fine. We could wait. We stood on Seventh Avenue and tracked our car. But as it approached the venue, I got a notification that my ride was starting … then it disappeared. Someone had gotten into my car and jacked my ride. We were screwed!
Just minutes later, a yellow cab without its light on pulled up. I knew what this meant: The driver was off duty but potentially willing to pick us up. “Where you going?” he asked. “Brooklyn.” “You got cash?” “Yep,” I said. “How much?” “I have 40 bucks,” I said. He waved us in. We were on our way home. I am not scripting this when I tell you that my daughter said to me, “Good thing you always carry cash!”
She was right, and it’s true: I do always carry cash, and you should too. My recommendation is $40 to $60. Having cash on me is in my DNA. I grew up with parents who cashed a check every week for the spending money they’d have on hand, which kept them to their budget and with zero debt (truly impressive).
Today more and more people are choosing to forgo carrying around paper bills. But I still prefer to pay in cash for smaller purchases. If I pop into the bodega for milk and watermelon gum, it’s four bucks. Why use a card for that? The nail salon down the street gives a 10 percent discount if you pay in cash. (Don’t worry: I tip 20 percent on the nondiscounted amount.) My mechanic is also a cash-only business; I typically have enough on hand to pay for my inspection or an oil change.
My last reason: If the Showtime dancers show up on my subway car, I always give them money. I do not give money to ALL subway performers, but I truly appreciate the guys who do gymnastics on a moving train car and manage to get nearly everyone to clap along and smile at the end of the workday. It’s a kind of New York moment that we don’t have that often, when a bunch of strangers come together randomly around their appreciation of one very New York–y thing. I think you can actually Venmo the dancers now, but I prefer to drop my five in the baseball hat of a young man after his backflip.
After all, I’ve got the cash.