Save 100% On Airfare

This almost never happens

You don’t have to get to the airport early. Or at all.

 

It’s no secret that you and I subsidize Amtrak, to the tune of about $3 apiece annually. But as long as we’re paying for it, why not use it? Most Americans, especially those outside the Boston/Washington corridor, wouldn’t know a passenger train if it ran over them. Aren’t trains relics from some other century?

Hardly. Amtrak continues to serve 29 of the 30 largest metro areas in the country, Las Vegas being the outlier. Trains usually run daily. The Wright Brothers and their speedy progeny notwithstanding, taking the train can make sense if you’re trying to stretch a dollar.

Last month your helpful blogger traveled from Phoenix to San Antonio for $222. It took 21 hours. Granted, the train station is a few miles from downtown Phoenix, but so is the airport. Meanwhile the train station in San Antonio is right downtown, while the airport, somewhat obviously, isn’t.

The Federal Aviation Administration doesn’t suggest that you arrive at the train station 2 hours before departure, either. Parking is free, and requires neither a shuttle nor even an elevator. Theoretically, you can arrive at the train station mere minutes before the conductor gives the signal. And the next time a train remains stationary without giving the passengers an explanation, locks them in for 9 hours, refuses to serve them food and restricts them from using the bathroom will be the first.

The $222 gets you a reasonably roomy sleeper car, with a lockable door and a curtain. That price includes meals in the dining car, which are several orders of magnitude fresher and tastier than standard airplane food (and served on real tables with real silverware.)  In case you’re wondering – as I was – there are showers. With hot water and comfortable head pressure.

There’s no illuminated seat belt sign on a train: heck, there aren’t even seat belts. Add the comfort of a communal lounge car with big windows, and you might begin wondering why you ever bothered to fly. For a well-fed American male, the ability to get up and stretch a 6-2, 200-pound frame at your leisure is incentive enough to avoid flying whenever possible. I didn’t have to walk through multiple security gates, no one patted me down, and I removed my shoes only when I got to my sleeper.

Contrast a $222 Amtrak fare from Phoenix to San Antonio with a $213 fare United currently offers. The train costs $9 more and yes, takes 17 hours longer. However:

  • United charges $25 for your first bag, $35 for your second. Amtrak charges nothing.
  • Amtrak serves as a de facto hotel for one night, saving you $100 or so.
  • Whether you fly or take the train, you’re still going to need to eat. The three daily meals included when you sleep on Amtrak would cost about $50 if you ordered them off the menu like the coach passengers do – or bought them in restaurants, in whichever unfamiliar city you happened to be flying to.
  • You can get work done on a train without buying a spare laptop battery. Whether electric or diesel, the train has power outlets everywhere. Try to find a place to insert a three-prong plug on a 737.
  • If you’re travelling from Washington to Orlando, you can take your car. Or your motorcycle. Even your boat. Seriously.

Trains aren’t always the right answer. Unless you’re retired, or otherwise have unusual amounts of time on your hands, you’re probably not going to want to take 62 hours to get from Los Angeles to New York when a plane can do it in six. (Although $456 for a ticket plus half a 2-person sleeper plus 9 meals could sound tempting.)

If you live on one of the red lines on Amtrak’s route map, and never considered a train to be anything more than a noisy interloper, try it. The service is excellent, the scenery continuous, and not only is the price competitive with flying, you can’t get any lower.

**This post is featured in the Carnival of Wealth #2**

Lower fees through prevarication

And just like that, this post looks like new

If you missed it, this post originally ran on The Writer’s Coin. We contemporized it for August.

When is it OK not to pay a bill? (If you’re the Hawai’i state government, “Whenever it suits you.”)

Your humble poster automates whatever finances he can, setting and then forgetting the cable bill, the phone bill, the car payment etc. This frees up time our ancestors would have spent reconciling statements and hoping that the payments would post once the checks had cleared.

A few weeks ago I received an email from…well, a company whose parent is based out of Cleveland and grosses $2 billion annually*. I patronize this company only sporadically, but they make you buy an annual membership. Like a moron, I ignored the email’s unambiguous message that said my account would auto-renew within a week.

A week later, another email. From PayPal, saying my account had been debited.

(Aside: What’s more nerve-wracking than an email from PayPal? For me it usually means I spent money for some legitimate purpose sometime in the previous month, couldn’t recall what I bought and am only remembering it now.)

I’d automatically re-upped with the Cleveland company and was now on the hook for another 363 days. The price of the membership is nominal, but I shouldn’t spend money on something I can’t justify.

I called and spoke with an Interactive Voice Responder. “So you wish to cancel your membership? Please say ‘cancel.’ Thank you.” She confirmed my cancellation, but I still had to plead my case to a human to get the charges reversed.

Once I got a real person on the line, I got creatively dishonest and explained that I was out of the country and had left the job of cancelling my membership to my girlfriend. (Because when you have to get something done, it’s always smart to wait until the last minute and put someone else in charge of it while you’re thousands of miles away.) And, as long as I was weaving fiction out of the ether, I mentioned that my girlfriend happens to have a thick Czech accent. (More lying.) And, on the day before the account was set to auto-renew, she attempted to cancel via the…Interactive Voice Responder. Yeah, that’s it. But she couldn’t, because…it couldn’t discern her heavily accented English.

I felt dirty doing this, especially when the customer service person bought my story without question. I didn’t have to defend my ridiculous charade even slightly, which left me wondering whether she was naïve or just couldn’t be bothered to treat me with the skepticism I deserved.

If you’re persistent, polite, and apologetic, you can weasel your way out of minor charges like this. Which gives you a second chance to use the money you thus recovered to buy assets and sell liabilities with. (Note: This method will not work with the IRS or almost any other federal government agency.) But it does bring up an ethical question: How wrong is this? There are degrees.

Did I receive a service and fail to pay for it?

No, unless you consider the 1½ days of membership that I received but didn’t use to be a “service”. Extrapolating from the company’s annual dues, I owe them about 6¢. Having me on the membership rolls for that period cost them a small fraction of that.

How big a deal are we talking about?

Using the traditional scorekeeping method of dollars and cents, almost nothing.

What burden am I putting on the other party?

6¢ divided by all that company’s employees? I’d have cost them more money if I’d shown up at corporate headquarters and asked to use the bathroom.

Is there a pattern?

No. I learned my lesson. Once was enough.

Social convention dictates that we honor certain legal obligations and ignore others. Making the payments on your car falls into the former category—you can’t be surprised if your car with delinquent payments gets repossessed. Paying your mortgage used to fall in that category, at least before 2007. On the other hand, driving 4 miles an hour over the posted speed limit to keep up with traffic is hardly the kind of thing you should feel guilty about doing.

So is there a special circle of Hades reserved for deadbeats like me, or have I committed the equivalent of removing the tag from a mattress I don’t own?

*Alright, it’s American Greetings’ Blue Mountain. Pretty sure the statute of limitations on microfraud is less than 3 months.

**This post is featured in the Festival of Frugality Carnival**

**This post is featured in a Real Estate Investing Carnival**

Health care. Cheaper than you imagined.

What if I need an operation and you didn't save enough money?

This might be the greatest deal in all of commerce right now. It’s certainly the least publicized, relative to the benefits rendered.

Pet wellness plans. Seriously. A few dollars a month for uncommon peace of mind…because animals still can’t tell you where it hurts.

America’s largest veterinary chain, Banfield, the Pet Hospital offers its Optimum Wellness Plan for a mere $23 a month if you enroll your puppy or kitten early enough. (Competing chain VCA offers a similar program.) Pricelessness now has a price – and an awfully reasonable one, too.

No matter how well you might take care of them, even the healthiest cat or dog will come down with something. A pet wellness plan saves you money on everything from vaccinations to dental treatments to comprehensive exams and all sorts of lab work. Pet wellness plans even cover free checkups when you notice something out of the ordinary. One routine tooth cleaning for your dog can end up running $600 without a plan, and God forbid if your cat needs to be dewormed or something. With a pet wellness plan, it’s all covered.

At first mention, the very concept of a pet wellness plan might sound a little too esoteric to be legitimate – the veterinary equivalent of an extended vehicle warranty or rustproofing.

But a pet wellness plan is different. Don’t confuse it with insurance, which operates differently in the sense that with insurance you’re paying for something (fire coverage, death benefits) that you hope you’ll never use. A pet wellness plan is really just a steep discount on something you’ll almost certainly buy anyway, in exchange for a long-term commitment from you. For all parties to the transaction, it’s an unequivocal win-win-win. The pet hospital gets a customer, hopefully for life, who’ll have little incentive to seek out a competing veterinarian. You get across-the-board savings. And your pet gets better care than humans receive in some Third World countries.

My two cats of indeterminate pedigree – one from a shelter, the other from a garbage can – both joined the family at the age of 6 weeks or so. Each got their requisite vaccinations and sterilizations at the recommended time, at which point it was time to shop for a permanent physician. We enrolled them in wellness plans the moment we digested the literature, and the $276 annual investment paid off before their first birthdays. Administer an infectious peritonitis vaccine here ($24), a metronidazole prescription there ($35)…add an MRI to determine the cause of a blockage, or treatment to reduce the swelling from a scorpion bite, and your vet bill can add up quickly.

But a pet wellness plan reduces the standard office visit fee from $35 to 0. It lowers the payment on some in-office treatments by 75%. And it gives you 7-day-a-week care transferable to any pet hospital in the chain. The comprehensive exams alone (rectal, ophthalmic and many more) justify the cost of the plan, and then some.

You won’t have to ask your HMO for reimbursement, either. While a visit to the vet will probably never be enjoyable for the patient, a pet wellness plan can make that visit a lot more palatable for the patient’s chauffeur.

**This post is featured in the Carnival of Personal Finance #271**

**This post is featured on the Road to Financial Independence Carnival**