Keeping Tabs

After years of self conditioning, trading became the fundamental way I interacted with people.

As a child, I was known for eating other people’s snacks. I was a hungry kid. And snacks were precious calories taken at break time before another grueling session of class. But my snacks were never enough. 

I developed a discreet way of asking others for snacks. In fact, I didn’t even need to ask. I simply approached with overwhelming enthusiasm: “Wow! What is that? I’ve never seen a rice crispy like that before.” (let’s say the rice crispy had M&M’s on it). No one in the height of middle-school-cool, would ever be so excited about rice crispies with M&M’s. Taken aback by my interest, they would offer to let me try a piece. Sometimes, if I was lucky, they would say, “Yeah, but it’s not that good. Do you want it?” And then I would suddenly turn bashful, “Are you sure? Do you want to trade instead? I have a baked purple yam.” And they would look at my wrinkly yam with the skin still loosely attached – roots and everything. They’d usually say, “No, just take the rice crispy.” And I would hide my intense happiness. 

My closest friends eventually caught onto my habit of trading. They would flatout call me out. Or they would laugh when they saw me trading with strangers or new friends. Occasionally, I’d bring something worthy to the table, and even they would trade with me.

After years of self conditioning, trading became the fundamental way I interacted with people. I never wanted to feel indebted but being a giver was just too self-sacrificing. Trading ensured that no one was ever in the wrong. So I always offered to trade. 

And then I met someone who gave me snacks without me asking. Lay’s potato chips, hot Cheetos, convenience store brownies, overpriced Quadratini hazelnut wafers – the most glorious snacks. I think that people expect gifts in a romantic relationship, but I didn’t. I desperately tried to even out the giving. I kept tallies of everything we shared, even things that were immeasurable. The gas used to power our respective ovens, the water used to flush the toilet, the paper towels used to clean our hands. My mind was a mini stock exchange market, except I didn’t vocalize the trades happening in my head. I strategized discreetly, making sure the amount of time, space and money we spent on each other was roughly the same. 

And then I asked to pay for his electricity bill because I didn’t have anything else to trade with. And then he learned about my obsessive trading habit. And then I learned that he was a trader too. Except he was disguised as a giver. In giving, he gained a sense of moral purity knowing that he wasn’t indebted. 

We were at an impasse. I took comfort knowing the cards were even (we live in a capitalistic society after all). But he took comfort knowing he gave more than he took.

For the first time, I wondered whether I should be trading at all. Relationships are founded on give and take, but keeping tabs requires having good memory and strict rules. A one-off snack exchange at recess is easy to keep track of. A relationship, in which nearly everything is shared, is not. 

Still, I find myself devolving into this trading mentality without realizing it. All of a sudden, I’m counting how often a friend has given me something, so I can decide whether or not to offer a cookie I baked. A single cookie. My mind will race through our every interaction, trying to evaluate which side of the trade I’m on. Is it my turn to give or theirs? The tallies won’t be correct – they’ll be skewed by human error. I’ll struggle to keep track. I’ll message my partner, who being the person he is, will tell me to offer the cookie anyway.