Starting a new job is always a sort of wake-up call for people who have problems making a paycheck last.
I’m mostly talking about me, here, but I know other people have problems with this too.
When I first head that I was starting my new job, I was ecstatic. After the initial exhilaration waned, however, I realized something: I would have almost a month in between paychecks.
See, inevitably, when you start a new job, you start on the week of turning in time-cards, meaning you don’t get the chance to submit your own time-card for that week. Meaning you don’t get paid. Meaning your bank account looks pathetic, empty, and more than a little lonely. Then you have to wait another two weeks before you can submit your first-ever time-card (feeling a bit triumphant at how covered in hours it is because you’ve got two and a half weeks worth on one two-week card). Then you have to wait yet another week before you actually get any money for that.
Basically, you feel like you’ve worked for over a month for one measly paycheck.
The first paycheck from any job always seems to look pathetically tiny, whether or not you’re making six figures a year (which, believe me, I’m not). You expect more on that first payheck because, well, you’ve worked more for that first paycheck.
It takes about four pay periods (give or take) before you finally feel caught up to where you ‘ought to be’–though I, personally, still feel a little behind on payments.
That’s what comes from working a job where you get paid weekly, I guess. I kind of miss that.
Adding to the feeling of minuteness you feel your first paycheck (or all your paychecks) possesses, you probably did a bit of quick math your first day on the job, after someone told you how much you get paid.
“So if I get this, then for two weeks, I’ll make…wow, that’s a lot of money…”
But then you hold the check stub in your sweaty little palms and realize that taxes and social security and benefit packages and that 401L you were so excited about (even though you didn’t know precisely what it was) actually takes a lot out of what you make. You realize quickly that you should have expected it, of course, because you’ve had a job before, and you know about taxes–or at least, you know they exist and you have to pay them.
But there the check lies, in your suddenly cold-but-still-sweating-cause-now-you’re-terrified-of-being-poor-all-the-time hands, as you realize: I have to pay rent with this.
And out the window go your dreams, and suddenly it feels like you’re driving a Maserati down a dead-end road like a Taylor Swift song. You can feel the dead end coming fast.