We are really all victims of our past. For example, I remember that when we were first married we lived in a top floor “walk up” apartment. We couldn’t afford a building with an elevator, and when a onebedroom apartment became available and it was on the top floor we didn’t hesitate one bit, but we rushed and signed a one -year lease.

At first, we thought nothing of skipping up the five flights until we reached our own place. And then, to save money we often walked an extra five blocks to the market where oranges were two cents cheaper and think of how much we could save if we bought a half a dozen! We carefully scrutinized prices of bread, milk, cheese and all the necessary staples and wandered about from store to store, from block to block, and when laden with all our purchases in a brown shopping bag or two or three, we plodded our way home. (Of course we owned no car but relied on busses or subways at a nickel a person if we had to travel a distance.)

And then, bogged down with all our bargains we began to walk up the five flights. Somehow, the steps seemed a bit more onerous, but as we told each other and also our friends and parents, “We’re young and it’s good exercise.” And the years passed but the mind set still remains.

This past week, I noticed that my dashboard on the car I drive indicated that I was getting a bit low on gasoline. (Now my spiffy car has replaced all those busses and subways that I used to finance. But I hear that the nickel fare has evaporated with the snows of yesteryear. And even a dollar causes my grandkids to smile and tells me to enter the real world.) I wasn’t driving on empty. Heaven forbid! I had a little more that a quarter of a tank left, but it still would seem good to stop by at a gas station and call out, “Fill ‘er up with regular please.”

The nearest station was out of the question. The posted prices were way too high. The “regular” seemed more like the “plus.” So I drove a few more blocks where there were several stations, near each other. I felt that competition was good for the soul and perhaps that also included my wallet.

But still the prices were higher than what I thought that I should pay. And I was turned off by one sign that told me the price was right but I had to pay cash. If I used a credit card then the price jumped up and I was back in the ballpark where my first gas station was situated. I suppose I could have used those oldf ashioned dollar bills, but somehow I resented this double standard. I knew that before there was such a rise in gas prices we had no such difference between credit card charges and old-fashioned money. I gritted my teeth and murmured, “It must be those Saudis or those corrupt authoritarians in South America.

(I said this to myself because you never can tell who might be eavesdropping in today’s world.)

And so I traveled on. I glanced at my wristwatch because I didn’t want to be too late for my meeting and have to explain about gas prices and credit cards and Saudi royalty. Finally I remembered that there was a station near the highway. By near I meant more than several blocks, but still less than a mile or two or three. I headed for this station and sure enough the posted sign indicated the cheapest price thus far. It was even two cents less expensive than what I had to pay with cash at that last station.

And here the poster proudly announced, “Same price for cash or credit.” Now they were talking my language. My gas gauge indicated that I was now below a quarter full and so I handed the attendant my credit card and gave the direction for a complete fillup with the regular.

As I drove away, I calculated how much I had saved on two cents or more a gallon and there were not quite fifteen gallons that I needed.

I took a deep breath and thought that at least I didn’t have to climb all those steps lugging bags of oranges. I smiled to myself and wondered if I was looking ahead or back.