How the Sunk Cost Fallacy Applies to Leftovers

Working on a parable (Hey, I’m starting a cult here, I’m going to have to get around to writing a bible sooner or later…) to better illustrate the concept of sunk costs. Also, have to avoid writing my novel somehow these days. But, well, here’s a metaphor I’ve considered and rejected for inclusion:

There’s a great little Mediterranean place near where I live. That ever gossipy they says that you can always tell the best Chinese restaurants because of all the Chinese people who go there. Well, this place is often chock full of our Arabian brothers and sisters. They do real authentic Mediterranean food is what I’m getting at here. Including the deliciously dangerous kibbie. That’s raw ground meat like steak tartar in case you aren’t aware. It’s mixed with fragrant herbs and mouthy cracked wheat and tangy onions and, if you’ll excuse me, my mouth waters just thinking about it. They also do a bunch of “vegetarian” kibbies including a tomato based one that I can only describe as tabbouleh with tomatos. It’s like the sharp crisp of a wonderfully refreshing salad on a warm summer day. And the thing is huuuuuge. Good value. For about $6 - or the cost of a couple of fast food burgers - you get a plate full of the stuff. Big enough for a group of, say, five to share as an appetizer or for one person to make a meal of with plenty of leftovers. It’s great, I think, and I’m not even that partial to tomatos. With a lot of pita bread (And, man, you should taste the pita bread they make fresh at this place) it’s easily enough for, say, four good sized meals for me. I can dine at this place once and wind up eating for a week. That’s nice when you’re, you know, on a budget like I am.

Now, I’m the type that hates to throw out leftovers. Even when I’m past the point of being interested in ever eating them. I always find an excuse. “Oh, well, maybe I’ll have some room for this tomorrow.” Or, “Yeah, I don’t want this but if I throw it away now it’s just going to rot until I take the trash out, so I’ll just leave it hear until garbage day.” Or any of a dozen other excuses to save myself from wasting whatever’s left of my hard earned $6. I might never touch it again, and it’s certainly no longer bringing me any enjoyment, but I just can’t bring myself to throw it away. So, any time I order the amazing tomato kibbie – which, I’ll admit isn’t often, I’m more partial to the lentil variety (It’s like dahl) – I wind up with a bunch of chopped up tomatos, grains, and spices sitting at the back of my fridge. Until whenever I clean it out and get rid of all the things starting to get a bit moldy (Which, of course, is extremely, punctually, often. I don’t let things sit and get all kinds of fascinatingly beautiful spore colonies in my fridge for, oh, months. Not at all.). I just end up creating a bigger mess for myself but, well, waste not want not is what I’ve always been told.

The day I found out about sunk costs I walked over to my refrigerator, took the half-eaten box of tomato kibbie I’d just bought the other day in my hands, dumped it in the trash, and I haven’t looked back since.