A twelve-dollar movie ticket is a luxury.
Years ago, a friend of mine told me that her aunt didn’t frequent movie cinema often, because it was too expensive. I was in disbelief. Like many teenagers, I didn’t understand the value of a total of twelve dollars. A decade later now, I do. Spending one or two hours in a darkened room, sitting in a cushion-padded seat, popping in the mouth snacks, which are bought with additional money do indeed seem like a luxurious experience.
For a great number of immigrants, a ticket price of twelve dollars is earned through one hour of floor scrapping in someone’s home, one hour of sweating and washing in a sweat shop, and one hour of carrying hot plates in a noisy dim sum restaurant. All of the obstacles that they have to overcome as being new to a foreign land have made them truly understand the value of a ten-dollar bill and a toonie.