
After a weekend of bill-paying, grocery-buying and tax-evading I've got money on the brain. I got to thinking about my own situation, and how it's actually pretty enjoyable for what it is. Poverty is underrated, unless of course you have children or big-time responsibilities. Poverty is cool if you're an educated white male from an upper-middle-class upbringing, is I guess what I'm trying to say. Here are a few little-known perks of living on meager means.
Easy Tax Returns
It took me about 30 minutes to do my taxes this year. That's state and federal, in their entirety. How? Well, my only income is hourly wages and unemployment. The latter doesn't even have a real form to fill out: you say which state you collected from and type in the lump sum. I don't have any kind of retirement account or investments. I don't own a home (probably never will), I don't get anything paid for by anybody else, and I rarely travel because I can't afford it and my job would never send me anywhere.
Essentially, I copy a couple numbers from my W-2 and I'm done. My entire financial existence could be scrawled on a single piece of notebook paper by a book-smart but awkward child, whose school performance lags behind his capabilities because he's afraid to stand out. Good thing there's no form in the federal code that would require me to pay a Literary Genius tax, because I just created a phenomenally compelling character in one sentence for no reason. My talents are going to waste just like a Russian trapeze artist who loses her leg to a wolf trap in the Urals while on a pilgrimage to St. Basil's Cathedral. AGAIN.
Opportunities to help people
Just a week ago, I was shopping at Trader Joe's when an old lady came up to me and started asking questions about produce. No senile geriatric she; instead, she just assumed I worked at Trader Joe's. Trader Joe's has loose uniform standards, but all retail employees wear aloha shirts. I was not wearing anything that resembled an aloha shirt, yet this woman was so convinced I had to be a worker that she didn't even inquire. There was no "excuse me, do you work here?" Just a sudden embarkation into the stormy seas of squash pricing.
I couldn't help her, it turned out. Her conundrum was something outside my limited powers to correct, but it's nice to know that my beard, wardrobe and slovenly demeanor immediately project to the rest of the world, "I work in a yuppie grocery store." I informed her I didn't work there, and while she quickly apologized I reassured her: "No worries, I am young and scruffy." She didn't answer. I wasn't even trying to be a dick; it just comes so naturally.
No health worries
Well, I take that back. You can afford to purchase an insurance policy. You can't afford to buy one that offers you actual medical care. Under my policy, I pay for all expenses out-of-pocket unless I get hit by a train. If I tear my ACL playing frisbee, I am screwed. If I get hit by a train, I'm set. Anything in between, I'm also screwed. But like I said, this leads to some serious peace of mind. Should you go to the hospital or shouldn't you? Why even worry? I can't go to the hospital under basically any circumstances (see: Train, hit by). My friends with cushy jobs have to make appointments for physical therapy and massages and checkups: things that I never have to think about. A former co-worker of mine got hit by a car not long ago, bouncing off the hood as the guy drove off. Did he limp off to a hospital like some Pointdexter? No, he limped to Walgreens and bought some bandages and Bactine. Like a boss. Well, a boss who doesn't have health insurance. No clue where you're supposed to find one of those.
Riffraff, street rat
ReplyDeleteI don't buy that
If only they'd look closer
Would they see a poor boy? No, siree
They'd find out
There's so much more to me
/tear