North Star Writers Group

The other night I dreamed I was living in the year 2050 and the average American worker was earning $656,000 a year. That’s the amount an economist predicted Americans will be earning in the 21^st Century. The downside of that figure is that prices of everything will have skyrocketed by then, too.

In my dream, I’m on my way to work, see, and I stop at a service station to gas up my $103,000 car. Because I’m a little strapped for cash that week, I tell the attendant to give me just $300 worth of regular. He puts the two gallons of gas in my car and I move on.

Fortunately for me, I find a parking spot across the street from my place of employment. I pop a $10 bill into the meter and stroll into the building.

After shelling out nine quarters, five dimes and three nickels for a cup of lukewarm, machine coffee, I take the coffee to my desk and spend a few minutes reading the daily newspaper that cost $6. I immediately notice several area stores have huge sales. “Use our easy credit plan,” one advertiser proclaims. “Just a dollar down and $2,500 a week.”

Then, remembering I have a letter in my pocket to mail, I slap a 98-cent stamp on it and put it in the mail box.

Instead of driving my car across town to an 11 a.m. appointment, I decide to take the bus. Noting the “EXACT CHANGE” sign next to the driver, I toss six dollar bills into a fare box and find myself a seat near the front of the bus. As I sit there, two women nearby are talking. “What do you think of our new mayor?” one asks.

“I wouldn’t give you 6,789 cents for him,” says the other.

I get off the bus at my stop and stroll into a sandwich shop. “I’d like an estimate on lunch,” I tell the man behind the counter. “How much for a hamburger, fries and a cola?” He whips out a pocket calculator. “That’ll be . . . um . . . $44.50,” he says. I write a check to pay for it and he hands me the food.

When I’m done eating, I leave my usual $7 tip (I’ve never been a big tipper) on the table.

Later, after keeping my appointment, I pay the $35 cab fare to return to the office.

On my way home for three hours, I stop at the local grocery to pick up a $14 loaf of bread.

“How did work go today?” my wife, Sally, asks as I walk in the door.

“Another day, another $2,400,” I reply with a sigh.

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This is Column # BB077. Request permission to publish here.