4 Things That Go Through Your Mind on Pay Day

1. I’m Paid Slave Wages


Whether you have direct deposit and check your online banking or handed a deceptively fancy-looking check, you can’t help but think on payday that you don’t make enough.

“Jesse Jackson, Jr. is getting $8,700 per month in disability for being ‘bipolar’ while I’m making less than half that for working my ass off every day making sales calls, spreadsheets, tracking shipments, and being yelled at by customers. Maybe I should apply for disability benefits. I’m kind of moody on Mondays, where’s MY $8,700 per month? I think I’m allergic to pollen and there are plants in the office. That could work. I drunkenly stubbed my toe on gameday and it’s distracting me from work. I mean, people are getting disability for more ridiculous things than that. I’ve got it! My tiny paycheck is making me clinically depressed! I’d hate myself, but doubling my monthly income will allow me to drink away the shame with something fancier than six-packs of Natty Lite and $4 bottles of wine from Trader Joe’s.”

2. I Can Finally Make A Grocery List


There are days where you feel like you’re eating like a Rwandan refugee on the UN’s dime. By payday, you’re down to your last ketchup and mustard sandwich and it’s time to hit the store.

“Ok, I’ve budgeted about $200 per month for food and I can’t survive without at least one Chipotle burrito per month. I’ll probably have to throw nutrition out the window if I don’t want to get foreclosed on and lose my car. Here we go:

  • Ramen
  • Ramen
  • Ketchup
  • Mustard
  • More Ramen
  • Peanut Butter
  • Jelly
  • Bread

Good, that should last me about a month. Maybe I can write to Sally Struthers and get some food donations. I’m literally withering away. I look like Charlie Sheen after a crack binge on the equator. As far as toilet paper? Luckily the office doesn’t do inventory on the supply closet.”

3. Taxes Fucking Suck


If you are employed, you pay income taxes, and income taxes fucking blow. I don’t mind the portion of my taxes that pay for, say, national defense, fire trucks and roads, but hell, when you look at your tax withholdings you pay more attention to what your money is being spent on, like miscellaneous benefits for welfare queens who own HDTVs, Xboxes, and iPhones, paying ridiculous pensions for the half-educated morons at the DMV, and building “roads and bridges” to nowhere. Fuck taxes.

“Damn, my annual tax withholdings could buy me a better car. I’ve been driving this piece of shit since I was 16. It was a piece of shit then, and it’s a piece of shit now. Hell, it could buy a decent used car and I could stop eating only one meal a day, which is usually Ramen. I could repair the hole in my wall from when my drunk ass slipped on the power bill I threw on the floor. I could finally open a retirement account. I could turn my passion for knitting sweaters for squirrels into a lucrative side business. I could buy health insurance and avoid the stupid fucking obamacare penalty. I could afford to go out and fail at convincing a coworker to have drunk sex. The sky would be the limit. Fuck taxes, fucking thieving politicians.”

4. My Bills Are Too High


Let’s face it, in college all you had to worry about was probably a measly $350 per month college-town rent, a power bill, a gas bill, a water bill, and a cable bill. Now you have higher rent in the city or a mortgage with HOA fees. You have car payments, occasional repair bills, and student loan debt. When you originally budgeted it all out your face went pale and you went out and bought a Powerball ticket and a 40 oz malt liquor.

“My entire paycheck goes towards all my bills, and I’m slowly but surely eating my way through my savings. I’m going to have to cut costs significantly. One minute cold showers, turn off all the lights all the time, no air conditioning, 30 minutes of basic cable per night, wear a coat inside in the winter, and use something that needs a repair until it is completely broken, then don’t buy a replacement. I’ll cancel my gym membership and sleep 14 hours per day. The hobo life chose me.”

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"Technically, Pablo Escobar was in sales."

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