Tacky Tactics to Save

On the rare occasion that I'm feeling responsible, I log onto my Bank of America online banking account and look at my current balance.

I stare at the screen for a while, blink in disbelief and ask myself, "Did I really spend 30 bucks on ramen this month?"I scan through the list of recent purchases, each more meaningless than the next. "When did I spend $20 at stuffedsafari.com? $50 on Chipotle alone?"

I doubt that I'm the only one. Most of us students just sadly stare at our dwindling money supply, close our eyes and hope that the funds magically replenish themselves, maybe while doing a jig of sorts for good luck. Well, at least I do.

Surprisingly, that magical money replenishing bank account never appeared. So I'm left with a few options: get a job or stop spending so much money.

The first seems impossible to fit in my schedule. If I start working, how am I supposed to find time to play Tetris Marathon every day? So I was left with the latter, and with delicious eateries calling my name at every corner, it's pure torture to tighten my purse strings.

So, I ended up devising a plan to help myself save money, with tactics that many people will immediately dub as tacky, but I prefer to call practical.

My parents are huge fans of "getting their money's worth," also known as taking full advantage of provided amenities.

For example, whenever we stay in hotels, they're happy to call housekeeping and ask for a few extra bottles of shampoo, lotion, toothbrushes, razors, until our suitcase if full of enough supplies to last us a lifetime. Trust me, my dad does not need that many tampons.

Mama, Papa? You've taught me well.

I already had a fair share of practice back at home. We've all visited the sampling table more than once at Costco. In fact, Costco samples often constituted as my entire Sunday lunch. Hey, if it's on a toothpick, it's free!

But college is a different territory, and I've had to adapt.

For me, meal points are a touchy subject. Since I live on campus, I'm forced to purchase a meal plan, which is all fine and dandy… except that meals are $7 on average.

Whenever the lines at Crossroads were long or none of the food choices agreed with me, I ultimately wound up getting a bowl of cereal and a glass of water. I needed a new strategy.

Instead, I've discovered the many benefits of the to-go box. At first, it might seem like the tiny box wouldn't be able to hold much food, but there is an art form that will significantly maximize the space of every compartment.

The secret? Layers. Pile on all entrees until it becomes a sloppy, unrecognizable mass. Top it off with a slice of pizza-wrapped in wax paper, of course. You don't want to get disgusting.

After cramming in as much food as possible into the little box, it's time to move on to the cup. Sure, you could fill it up with some carbonated beverage worth a couple of cents, or you could take advantage of the container and use it as a second storage compartment for more food! I can proudly boast that I was once able to stuff in seven slices of vegan chocolate cake.

The box now weighs approximately the same as a newborn. I eat what I can from the mass, and then, the beauty of the system: storing the leftovers in my fridge for me to enjoy (or at the very least, simply eat) for the next two days. Vegan chocolate cake and unrecognizable mass of dorm food? Bon appetit.

Taking a page out of my parent's book, I've also learned how to apply tactics similar to their hotel scheme to other establishments.

Let's just say that whenever I visit my beloved Chipotle, I'll grab a few more utensils and napkins than I'll need to eat my chicken burrito bowl. And when I'm at the GBC getting the necessities for my chicken teriyaki, I might just slip a few extra packets of soy sauce in my purse.

Friends of mine have even more skills that they were excited to share. One of them proudly proclaimed his discovery of ordering a $5 foot long from Subway (are you all singing the jingle in your head right now?) and stretching it out for his dinner and next day's lunch. I guess he didn't mind the soggy bread and wilted lettuce on the second day.

Yeah, yeah. The entire concept is tacky and inarguably disgusting. But desperate times call for desperate (and often disgusting) measures.

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