By Hilary McMurray

I contemplated opening this article by ripping off those MasterCard “priceless” ads (you know, “Pitcher of beer: $6… Getting so sloshed you think stealing a parking meter is a really great idea: priceless”) but I thought that was a cop-out, and since I couldn’t think of a more creative way to put it, I’ll just spit it out – I’m broke.

For the past few years, Northeastern (and Conor Larkins) has been successfully sucking up every dollar I’ve managed to get my hands on. However, being a sociology major, I’ve always lucked out at the bookstore, rarely spending more than $70 total for all my classes.

Not this semester. So far I’ve spent over $200 – and I have seven more books to go.

I swipe cards five days a week, but that hardly pays enough to buy $500 worth of books. Sixty bucks for a paperback no bigger than a TV Guide? To think I used to complain when my Gnomon Copy packets were more than five bucks. By the way — my heart goes out to all you science people who’ve had to buy hardcovers your entire college career. Who knew you actually had to read books to pass a class?

I was in shock after leaving the bookstore, so I decided to go home, relax and watch a movie to take my mind off of the stack of $20 bills I no longer had in my possession. I chose “The Godfather.” When all else fails, I turn to Don Corleone for advice.

So, how to pay for the books? I considered making the bookstore “an offer they can’t refuse.” This seemed like a viable option until I realized I’m about as intimidating as a baby bunny rabbit. Scratch that idea.

A couple scenes later, Don Corleone sits in his office with Sonny and Virgil Sollozzo discussing whether or not the Corleone family should back Sollozzo in the sale of narcotics.

“There’s a lot of money in that white powder,” Sonny says.

A light bulb sparked above my head. I’m picturing myself rolling around in large bills just like Penelope Cruz in “Blow,” but then I remember the last several scenes of “Requiem for a Dream” and decided, in the end, Don Corleone was right in saying no to drugs. (Don Corleone is always right.) Up with hope, down with dope.

At this point I’m picturing myself flunking all my classes because I can’t afford the books and, consequently, having to stay here for yet another year. I’m secretly wishing painful deaths on my professors. Oh wait — what I meant to say was, “Learning is fun, I am thrilled to death you assigned us a $300 book and raped my checking account. How else would I experience new things and expand my horizons?” Then I remembered shrooms – but once again kiddies, hugs, not drugs.

I really hope this doesn’t offend any of my current/former professors because, don’t get me wrong, I do love you, but come on. Show some mercy.

I have a few more ideas on how to raise some funds. (By the way — you can’t sell your soul on eBay, so don’t bother trying.) After reading dozens of overpriced books, I know enough about personal injury law to understand that I could win myself a hefty settlement if I had an accident on the premises of any public property. So, NU, be careful, because if there’s a banana peel on the floor, I’m going to “accidentally” slip on it and make myself a millionaire.

I could take stacks of the Metro and the Improper Bostonian down to Logan Airport, wait outside the gates of flights arriving from foreign countries, and sell copies to tourists who don’t know they’re free on any street corner.

I could go with a method that’s worked for me in the past — wait outside a gas station or convenience store, buy cigarettes for little kids and keep their change. Little brats deserve to get ripped off if they think smoking makes them cool.

Or else I could stop whining, work more shifts at Resident Community Services (now Resident Safety Office) and keep swiping Husky Cards. I love my job, but it’s not exactly bringing in the big bucks. So, show some love the next time I’m at your building, and realize that I’m not there because I have nothing better to do with my time than piss you off by making you put down your groceries. (By the way, the “Friendliest Residents” award goes to West Village G — you guys understand that if you’re actually nice to me your heads won’t fall off.)

Hopefully by the time I purchase all my books, I’ll have enough dough left to buy beer, because I’m gonna need it.

— Hilary McMurray can be reached at [email protected].