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Browse Old Austin Grouch posts about price inflation, Austin nostalgia, and the city habits locals still argue about.
Use this topic hub to explore satire, memories, and cultural commentary about price inflation in Austin, Texas.
Barton Springs' old five-dollar cash drop, cooler-on-the-grass freedom, and no-questions-asked laps have been replaced by an app demanding your wristband size, $27 peak-hour access, and ambassadors enforcing a 'mindful splashing' policy.
6 min read
El Patio's lunch plate used to set you back $3.25 with beans, rice, two fajitas, and all the tortillas you could eat; the new owners kept the sign but swapped the Formica tables for live-edge wood, added a $9 add-on for 'street corn', and now the same meal costs more than a tank of gas while a guy in Patagonia shorts explains NFT tacos to his date.
6 min read
Watched a product manager in limited-edition kicks argue with the Continental bouncer that his $1,850 platinum badge granted priority entry; the festival that once ran on $35 wristbands, photocopied schedules, and rooms smelling of beer and broken dreams now runs on geofenced tiers, $22 margaritas, and more marketing VPs than working drummers.
6 min read
I found the crumpled receipt in a coffee can of old stubs—$19.75 including tip—and it detailed a night that now sounds like science fiction: three bands, four beers, two slices from the guy with the pizza box on Red River, and enough left over for gas to get home to Crestview.
6 min read
Miss Rosa's blue cooler at Cesar Chavez and Chicon moved a dozen pork tamales for three singles, no receipt, no questions; the block's new 'heritage masa collective' just rang me up $19 for half that many, complete with a compostable tray, a QR feedback link, and a wall mural of the exact cooler they helped price out of existence.
6 min read
The Circle K cooler at Airport and 51st used to dispense a sixer of Lone Star for $2.99 before the clerk even looked up from his crossword; last week the same transaction required an app, a loyalty scan, and left me with $19.47 on the receipt and a sudden urge to lie down in the parking lot.
6 min read
I dropped three crumpled singles for a Lone Star at the Carousel Lounge only to learn the new price is $7.25 before the app prompt and suggested tip; the Burnet Road dive where $3 once bought beer and belonging now hosts tech bros discussing cap tables under the same spinning neon rooster.
6 min read
The Torchy's trailer that once squatted in the gravel off South First handed over four fat tacos, chips, two Big Reds, and actual human small talk for three crumpled bills; yesterday the brick-and-mortar flagship rang me up $41.12 for a similar bag, suggested an $8 tip via tablet, and tried to upsell me a $14 margarita kit while a QR code explained the "journey" of the corn.
6 min read
The filling station at Barton Springs and South Lamar used to let you pay cash, buy a 32-ounce Coke for 89 cents, and get actual directions from a clerk who knew every back road to the gig at Threadgill's; yesterday the digital pump offered me a 'fuel subscription' for $9.99 a month and tried to upsell me oat milk while the total ticked past $52.
6 min read