Event Production Fee

The day before our golf group’s end-of-summer lunch, I was in New York City, where prices follow their own laws of physics. Something listed at $32 magically ballooned to $50 after taxes, fees, surcharges, and what I assume was the “breathing Manhattan air” fee. By the time I paid, I wasn’t sure if I’d bought a sandwich or put a deposit on a studio apartment in Queens.

So imagine my surprise when I got back home to our humble little golf outing. Every September, a bunch of us old duffers gather to celebrate another season of hacking up fairways. Tradition dictates hamburgers, hot dogs, and a bag of chips tossed on the table like we’re rationing supplies after a hurricane. Simple. Honest. Many of the attendees wear cargo shorts...a sure sign it's not a swishy golf resort.

Enter the caterer. He dropped the usual itemized bill—meat, buns, condiments—then snuck in a 23% “Event Production Fee.” Event production? Taylor Swift was not lowered into our meeting on a crane. No pyrotechnics. It was fifty retired guys arguing about who cheats on the 12th hole while trying not to choke on relish.

But we paid, because at our age, outrage burns too many calories. Still, I’m starting to think the only thing more expensive than Manhattan is a hamburger with a side of “production value.”

Stay tuned. New book coming soon.

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