The Unzipped Absurdity

The cold October air is finding its way into places it really shouldn’t be, mostly because I’ve been walking around the west quadrant of the Hillside Memorial for exactly 152 minutes with my zipper wide open. It’s a specific kind of draft, one that alerts you to your own negligence before your eyes ever do. I’ve spoken to 2 families today, nodding solemnly as they discussed the placement of wreaths, all while my fly was broadcasting my laundry choices to the silent inhabitants of the 42nd row. It is a humbling thing to realize you are not the dignified professional you imagined yourself to be. I am a groundskeeper, a man who deals in the finality of granite and the slow creep of Kentucky bluegrass, yet here I am, caught in a state of unzipped absurdity. It’s the kind of mistake that makes you question your entire grip on reality. If I can’t manage a brass slider, how can I possibly navigate the complexities of a modern economy that seems designed to extract every spare second of my attention?

The Dopamine of the Deal

This morning, before the sun was even at a 12 degree angle over the horizon, I sat in my truck and spent 32 minutes trying to save 52 cents on a digital purchase. I was looking for TikTok coins. Don’t ask me why a 52 year old man who spends his days digging 62 inch holes needs digital currency to throw at a creator who juggles flaming chainsaws, but here we are. The purchase was small, maybe $12 in total, but I refused to click ‘buy’ until I had exhausted every corner of the internet for a promotional code. I felt like a hunter stalking a deer through the brush, my eyes strained against the blue light of the phone screen. When I finally found a site that offered a marginal discount, the rush of triumph was so intense it actually made my hands shake. I had outsmarted the system. I had clawed back 52 cents from the digital abyss. The fact that I had essentially traded half an hour of my life-worth significantly more than two quarters-for this ‘victory’ didn’t occur to me until much later, probably right around the time I realized my pants were open.

There is a profound irrationality in the way we perceive value in the digital space. Behavioral economists call it transactional utility, but I call it the ‘Joy of the Deal’ because it feels less like a math problem and more like a drug. In a world where everything is automated and prices are fixed by invisible algorithms, finding a way to pay less feels like a small act of rebellion. It’s a way to assert control. When I’m at the cemetery, I have control over the height of the grass and the depth of the sod, but the prices of the gas for my mower are dictated by global forces I can’t influence. So, when I find a way to shave a few cents off a digital transaction, my brain registers it as a massive win for the little guy. It’s a dopamine hit that masks the objective reality that I’ve just wasted 32 minutes of my finite life.

The Friction of Identity

We live in an age where the friction of buying has been almost entirely removed, yet we deliberately reintroduce it in the form of ‘deal hunting.’ I could have just bought the coins and been done with it in 2 seconds. Instead, I navigated through 12 different tabs, closed 22 pop-up ads, and ignored 2 phone calls from my boss. Why? Because the ‘smart shopper’ identity is a powerful shield against the feeling of being a mere consumer. If I pay full price, I am a victim of the market. If I find a discount, I am a player in the game.

I’ve seen this in the people who come to visit the graves, too. They’ll spend $1002 on a headstone without blinking, but then they’ll spend 12 minutes arguing over the 2 dollar fee for a plastic flower vase. It’s not about the money. It’s about the principle of the thing. It’s about not being the person who got ‘taken.’

The Sickness of the Secondary Coupon

I’ve spent 22 years working in this cemetery, and if there’s one thing the dead teach you, it’s that your time is the only currency that actually matters. You can’t take your 52 cent savings with you to the 82nd row. And yet, I still find myself falling for the trap. I recently discovered a platform called

Push Store where the prices are already lower than the standard market rate. You’d think that would satisfy the urge, but even then, my first instinct was to look for another coupon on top of their already reduced price. It’s a sickness. I found myself hovering over the checkout button, thinking, ‘If I could just get another 2 percent off, this would be a legendary haul.’ The site is efficient, the value is clear, and it solves the problem of ‘market-leading prices’ that they talk about in those business journals, but my brain still wants the struggle. It wants the friction because the friction is what makes the spark.

I remember a guy who used to work here, old Pete. He was 72 when he retired, and he used to carry a pocketful of coupons for a grocery store that had closed down in 1992. He knew they were worthless, but he liked the weight of them in his pocket. He said they reminded him of the time he was ‘quicker than the clerks.’ That’s what we’re all doing online. We’re carrying around digital coupons, hoping to be quicker than the algorithm. We are trying to prove that we aren’t just data points to be harvested. We are individuals with the agency to find a better way. Even if that ‘better way’ results in a saving that wouldn’t even buy a single bolt for my weed-whacker.

The Permanent vs. The Fleeting

There is a strange contradiction in my work. I spend my day looking at the long-term-the permanent markers of lives lived-while my internal life is dominated by these short-term bursts of digital activity. I’ll be leveling a stone for a woman who lived for 92 years, a woman who survived the Great Depression, and I’ll find myself wondering if my TikTok balance has updated yet. It’s a jarring shift in perspective. I am literally standing on the ground of the past while my head is in a cloud of virtual currency. The discount I hunted for this morning gave me a sense of accomplishment that lasted for about 12 seconds. The embarrassment of my open fly, however, is going to stick with me for at least 32 days. We weigh these things so poorly. We overvalue the small ‘win’ and ignore the massive, glaring errors in our own presentation.

I’ve often thought about why digital goods trigger this response more than physical ones. If I’m at the hardware store buying 12 bags of mulch, I don’t usually spend 32 minutes looking for a coupon. I just want to get the mulch and get back to work. But with digital items, the lack of physical substance makes the price feel arbitrary. If a TikTok coin is just a string of code, why does it cost what it costs? This perceived arbitrariness invites us to haggle, to search, to find a loophole. We feel like the price is a suggestion rather than a fact. When I use a service that offers lower rates, I’m not just saving money; I’m validating my suspicion that the ‘standard’ price was a lie all along. It’s a way of pulling back the curtain on the digital wizardry.

The Final Zip

I finally zipped up my pants behind a large cedar tree near the 12th plot. The relief was immediate, but the shame lingered. It’s the same feeling I get when I realize I’ve spent my lunch break scrolling through deal forums instead of eating or resting. We are a species that loves a shortcut, even if the shortcut takes twice as long as the main road. We want the secret entrance, the hidden code, the insider knowledge. We want to feel like we are in on the joke, not the butt of it.

I’ll go back to my truck now, and I’ll probably check my phone again. I’ll see that my 52 cent saving has been applied, and for a fleeting moment, I will feel like the king of the world. Then I’ll look at the shovel in the back of the truck, the dirt under my fingernails, and the 2 families waiting for me by the gate, and I’ll realize that the system always wins in the end. But for those 12 seconds of dopamine, maybe, just maybe, it was worth the drafty drafty breeze.