Like asking a person about his or her sexual, religious or political attachments, inquiring about post-college plans has become taboo. The mere idea &-&- the thought &-&- has become scary. Like Voldemort.
But I came head-to-head with my fate last week and decided to take matters into my own hands. My undergrad bubble will soon burst, and I, like scores of others, will be gasping for survival. If the war was coming, I needed to be armed for battle.
The Office of Career Services hosted a series of presentations to prepare students for the workforce and the first was called “Understanding Your Paycheck: Keeping up with the Cash.” Not the most exciting of lectures, but there was free pizza.
I arrived late, skateboard in hand and still jittery from coffee. There were no seats available so I grabbed one from a room next door and put my jacket and backpack down before making a beeline for a slice.
T Anthony’s &-&- it wasn’t no Upper Crust, but it would do. I took two pieces and a cup of Sierra Mist, picked up the accompanying worksheets and sat down toward the back of a roomful of anxious seniors.
“Now, the average college graduate with a liberal arts degree will have a monthly gross income of $2,713,” the woman who presented told us. “But, with all other costs taken into account, this number will be significantly lower.”
She ran down the mandatory deductions &- taxes, social security, medical and dental insurance etc. “In reality, your $2,713 will come out to be around $1,914.” Harsh.
She went on, tabulating our hypothetical monthly expenses.
“Our research has showed us that a one-bedroom apartment in the Allston-Brighton area &-&- heat and hot water included &-&- costs about $1,000.” She clicked the slide, displaying the number in the empty space of the expenditures table. We followed suit and filled out the worksheets we had been given.
The expenses went on: food: $300; Internet and cable: $200; cell phone with data plan: $115; laundry: $20 and so on. I scoffed at the laundry expense, scribbling down “$5” in the space provided.
“OK,” the woman continued, “when we add all these up, what do we have left of our 1,914 dollars?” She clicked to the next slide, revealing the figure “&-$371” at the bottom of the table. Why was this evil woman trying to break our hearts? I was already in the red.
“But there are things we can do to lower our expenses. Any suggestions?”
Someone in the front raised his hand. “You could get rid of the data plan.”
“Yes!” she said, “I know you kids are a lot more connected than our generation was, but you might have to make some sacrifices with your cell phones. So, get rid of that data plan!”
I caught a glimpse of a girl a few aisles up from me shedding a tear as she stared longingly into her own reflection in her iPhone.
“Not all starting salaries are this low,” the woman proceeded. “People with other majors, like SMG students, can make between $30 and $50,000 right out of college. Petroleum engineers can make up to $90,000!” She tried to console us by pointing out how those that get paid more earn proportionately less due to higher taxes, but no one cared. Stupid anthropology degree, I thought.
When she was done, a man named Bob came up to warn us of the silent evils of credit. He had given us a multiple-choice questionnaire and was now running through the answers. One question asked: “Are you saving money when you accept an offer to open a credit card at a retail store check-out in order to save 10 percent on your current purchase? A: Yes, B: No or C: Maybe.”
“Maybe,” the guy next to me snorted, “but it’s highly unlikely.” He had been commenting to no one in particular throughout the presentation, occasionally raising his hand to ask irrelevant questions, and he was beginning to get on my nerves. I gave him a furtive glance. He was like a white Steve Urkel with Tourette’s.
Once Bob was finished with his credit bit, a portly Asian kid came up to give us suggestions on how to cut back on unnecessary expenses. After rattling off a few ideas &- starting a book club, staying in on Saturdays, hosting karaoke nights &- he asked for the audience’s advice.
I chimed in, figuring if Urkel was going to try and hog the stage again, I’d nip his stupid ass in the bud.
“You could drink Steele Reserve instead of Bud Light,” I said, “I mean, superior drinkability is nice, but you can’t beat the 8.1 percent.”
There was a moment of silence before the presenter responded, “Yeah. That . . . that’s good. Thanks.”
“Hey,” I said, “Anytime.”
By now I was getting restless. Cheese after coffee is never a good choice, especially when you’ve eaten pizza two days in a row. My tummy was angry at me.
I made a dash for the little boys’ room, then came back to grab another slice if pizza before listening to the closing remarks. Heck, I thought, If I’m gonna be this broke after college I better wring the crap out of this gig -&- milk it for all it’s worth.
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