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I knew it wouldn't take long before self-pity would kick in, and I would start to wonder: am I impoverished? But with a subject this serious, maybe it's better to ask a different question. Does my self-imposed situation ($310 to spend this month on everything that's not a monthly bill, including food) equate to the federal poverty level? To answer that, I have to talk about my finances, a task that's more disagreeable than any other topic. We're trained from an early age in this culture to guard our statements about money. You never know when you might accidentally offend someone by flaunting financial "problems," and there's still a strong vestige of the British ideal that money, really, isn't worth talking about, and therefore not a topic suitable to polite conversation. This vestigal notion is so strong, you'll see two friends at a bar gladly discuss intimate sexual problems, but rarely see them settle into the fourth pint with a frank examination of their bills. That said, here goes ... here's my monthly bills:
Rent: $690 (by my own minuscule research, a medium amount for a single person in this area -- nobody gasps at how high or low this figure is, especially given the creature comforts of my apartment). Medical insurance: $125 (prviately held, roughly half of what my employer offers, though the copayments and maximum amounts are much higher ... given my age and risk factors, a sound financial decision, I hope). Student loans: $280 (undergraduate and graduate, and every day I thank my stars I'm not a doctor). Phone service: $55 (just a cell phone -- landlines are superfluous, and I move a lot). Credit Card A: $100 (approximate minimum payment, on a temporary 0% interest card ... this is a balance I bounce around to anyone who will offer 0%, and represents a few creature comforts I needed, like a home computer, bicycle, and bed ... about $3,000) Credit Card B: $200 (approximate minimum payment, the reason I'm doing this experiment, and currently holding slightly more than $10,000 ... the less said about this the better, for now.) Utilities: $155 (my particular apartment complex includes no utilities in the rent -- includes internet but not cable TV.) Car insurance: $45 (the least amount allowed by law in terms of coverage.) Dental/eye insurance: $40 (through my employer.) Total monthly bills: $1,690 Add in the paltry $310 I'm allowing myself for everything else this month, and you arrive at an even monthly minimum budget of $2,000, or $24,000 a year. In order to take home that kind of money, one would need a salary of $36,000. A tax refund once a year would increase the overall take-home pay, but in my experience, standard payroll deductions in the $30k+ range for a single person are about 1/3 of wages. Now, I could find a cheaper apartment, cancel all medical insurance, ditch the phone (though that would severely hamper my ability to work), sell the car (which further limits my ability to find and retain employment), and still need $20,000 just to get through a month, or a $30,000 salary. The federal poverty level for a single person is $10,400 . So what is poverty? This month, I cannot afford clothes, gasoline, a haircut, a movie ticket, a date, or a medical problem. To me, that feels a little like poverty, and yet I'm operating at a level three times higher than someone who's officially poor. As for the credit cards, which make up a tremendous percentage of my monthly obligations before I even attempt to make higher payments to decrease my debt, mine are only slightly more burdened than the average American's. Only a saint could afford to be poor. *** Which brings me, oddly, to my next epiphany, also somewhat mundane in that many millions of people have it every day: it's better to give than to receive. My largest single purchase this month came over the weekend, when my girlfriend and I attended a screening at the Santa Cruz Film Festival. Now, through my connections, the entry was free, so that in itself made the evening possible. However, it's just not a night at the movies without a box of Sour Patch Kids, and Veronica didn't have cash on her at the time. I bought the box for $4. Two days of income. But, oddly, they were more worth it than anything else I've spent this month (including the $1 Pacific Cookie Company purchase I made after typing the above figures and becoming thoroughly depressed, although it was a damn good cookie). With my food budget clicking along well (more on that in a future post, since this one is becoming too long already), I've begun to ponder just what I should be using my $2 a day for. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to get through the rest of May without spending any of it. But here's the thing: how can a person not spend money and still feel good? Maybe I'm just incorrible, but hording my money makes me feel kind of like a jerk. I like buying people things. I like offering to pay for things. And I dislike skating through life on favors and handouts (which is why I so rarely take advantage of the free tickets this job affords). I guess the thing to do is live Biblically, and just spend all my wallet money on other people. Now, I cannot promise I will do this until June -- life's hard enough right now as it is -- but I do think my little Jeffersons smile a little more when they are used for someone else's happiness. And that's enough cliche for today. Next time: how local food saved my life.
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