Nearly three years ago, I was fired from my job; a casualty of the post-9/11 economic downturn. After 18 months of looking for work without success, I sat down to write a book, entitled, "Blown Job: an unemployment odyssey." Here's an excerpt from Chapter Nine. (See "Past Posts of Note" for earlier chapters )
Chapter 9 - Money, or, Go Suck A Nest Egg
It is not an exaggeration to say that losing your job changes every single aspect of your life. You dress differently, think differently, act differently, and spend differently when you are no longer working.
When you lose your job, your immediate worry is, how will I pay my bills? You sit down and make out a monthly budget. Then you divide your cash on hand to determine how many months you safely can be out of work and still meet your obligations. You pray that you find work before the money runs out. Most likely, it will before you do.
My own assessment gave me a little comfort at first. When they fired my ass, they gave me my accrued vacation, some severance, and my retirement earnings. I also had some small savings and I knew that I would be eligible for unemployment insurance. So, after I did the math, I knew that I would be good for about a year and a half, if I watched every penny. And I have. Watched every penny. As they trickled, and more often, poured, out of my checking account.
I live very frugally. It comes from growing up as a poor kid who never made much money as an adult. I’m not cheap, but I am careful. Oh, now I’m cheap, because I have to be. How I hate that.
The first thing that I cut out of my life was my magazine subscriptions. Au revoir, Vanity Fair and The New Yorker and New York Magazine. Half the time, I didn’t know who was being profiled anyway, and I was pretty sure that I could survive without knowing what Paris Hilton was up to. But, after a few months, I found that my long train commutes became intolerable without the short-attention span reading material that those periodicals provided. So, the first time Vanity Fair made me a renewal offer I couldn’t refuse, I couldn’t refuse. Fortunately, since most of the ad-larded issues are the size of a phone book, I can stretch the read throughout the month.
Next to go were charitable donations – Meals on Wheels; diseases that I was well-acquainted with; the library, which was my favorite cause. Well, they’re just going to have to cure diabetes, heart disease, and Alzheimer’s without me.
I began paying close attention to coupons that came in the mail and in my Sunday paper. I stopped being brand-loyal and bought whatever coffee, apple juice and ice cream were on sale. And when I was able to use the points that had accumulated on my supermarket’s club card to get a free roll of paper towels, I counted it as a good day.
I took advantage of rebates on everything from bras to frozen food to the zip disks I used in my computer. I started a file to keep track of when my rebates were due and when they didn’t come on time, I called to find out where the hell they were. For the longest time, the only checks that I’ve deposited into my account are from the good folks at Healthy Choice and Fujifilm.
When I had a steady paycheck, I didn’t worry too much about spending $20 for mascara and $40 for foundation from Lancomé at Bloomingdale’s. Now, I comb the makeup wall at Duane Reade for buys from less expensive brands. So what if my eyes are red and itchy and my lashes clump together into one big fat eyelash and I can’t cover up the dark circles very well or hide the adult-onset acne? I’m saving money, dammit.
I stopped buying books and CDs. I stopped going to the movies. No more new clothes. No more Friday night Chinese takeout. Now I walk eight extra blocks from the train to save carfare. When I’m away from home all day, I eat lunch at fast food restaurants, taking advantage of the $.99 menus.
I put off dental surgery, primarily because it cost $3,000, but mostly, to be honest, because I didn’t want my gums cut up by a sadist in a white coat. And, though I’m dying to have my teeth professionally whitened (not only for vanity’s sake, but also because it will improve my candidacy,) I’ve come to rely on quarterly applications of Crest Whitestrips, a solution that manages to be both efficacious and viscous at the same time. (How’s that for an ad campaign?)
I delayed the purchase of a new sofa bed, even though my couch cushions are now pancake-thin and I have to sleep in a K-formation to avoid being gored by the metal mattress coils that protrude like barbed wire.
I’ve long since stopped getting my haircut on Park Avenue at $100 a pop and I now go to Supercuts, where it costs me $15. No longer do I have to tip the woman who takes my coat and hands me a robe, the woman who washes my hair, and the man who cuts it. Now, I only have to tip the one person who does it all. This has turned out to be the best of my cost-cutting ventures, because, quite frankly, the cut is terrific and my hair looks better than ever. I just hope that my hairdresser doesn’t get wise to the fact that she is so good that she could be making a pile elsewhere.
I no longer can afford to buy my friends and family nice presents for their birthdays and holidays. I used to love to shop for gifts, spending way too much time picking out just the right thing for each person and buying pretty wrapping paper and a matching bow and a nice card. Now, I buy utilitarian presents like umbrellas and wallets and scarves and I wrap them in cut-up shopping bags and magazine covers. I recycle bows from gifts that I received, and instead of cards, I say, “Here, this is from me.” And, as I’m coming up on year two of unemployment, even this is too much of an extravagance.
I used to clean out the two tiny closets in my apartment every year, weeding out the unfortunate purchases and clothes that are either two sizes too big or too small. They usually wound up at a charity or in the closet of a friend who appreciated my fashion sense. Now, I’m all cleaned out. I no longer need to wear smart-looking suits and heels, except for what’s become my semi-annual interview. Most days, I don’t need to get dressed at all.
Last week, I was walking past a store and saw a knockoff of a Kelly bag, a beautiful pocketbook that the elegant Grace Kelly used to carry. I went in, checked the price, walked out, started for home, went back, walked in again, held the bag on my arm in front of the mirror, said fuck it, it’s only $34 and I bought it. It was the first thing that I’ve bought for myself in 18 months, and boy, do I feel guilty.
There is something else, something big, that I bought for myself during this time period, but it wasn’t a luxury, it was a necessity. I had to buy a computer. I’d put off the purchase for years, rationalizing that I could use my office computer to type the occasional personal letter, or my novel. When I lost my job, I trekked to the Career Center to use the publicly available computers. But when I lost access to the Center, the only alternatives I had were the public library, where time was brief, or a retail outlet, where time was money.
So it became clear that I’d have to break down and buy a computer. But which one? And what kind of hardware and software would I need? And where would I put it in my tiny apartment? And how much would I have to spend? I’d been avoiding these issues for years, but I realized I would have to face them now.
A friend told me about a fabulous computer that cost only $400. In truth, this is probably the cost of the face plate on the monitor that displays the company’s logo. When all the necessary add-ons were factored in, the bill came to $1,400, which I will probably be paying for until the day I croak.
*
I think you can see what I mean about how your life can change when you lose your paycheck. And I don’t even own a house, two kids, or a dog. I don’t even want to think about what unemployed people with those responsibilities have to face every month.
I’d really like to stop for a moment and address all of the employers who have put me and my nine million cohorts in economic purgatory. Were the cost savings you realized as a result of all the firings worth ruining other people’s lives? I really hope so, because, otherwise, wasn’t downsizing just another fucked-up management decision? It would give me limitless pleasure if each and every one of you is next on the chopping block. Come and see how the other half lives.
So, here I sit, gazing wistfully as my bank book, wondering if I’m going to make it. What if I don’t find a job before the money runs out? Some days I’m able to keep the panic at bay; at other times, my stomach is in a constant knot and sleep won’t come. But I’m sure to find something soon; some job that will help to make ends meet. Right? Don’t you think? I bet we all will, all nine million of us. Right?
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