Because I am so influential and noteworthy, The Bitchy Waiter was interviewed by U.S. News and World Report a few days ago. I know, I know, it is quite impressive and all. I am in awe of myself even. They contacted me via this blog to ask me some questions about my retirement plans because they were researching a story about the uncertainty of so many people's financial futures. The reporter said that she was looking to speak to servers especially because she knew that most restaurants don't give a rat's retiring ass about the financial future of their employees. Well, she didn't say it like that exactly, but pretty much. I would give you the link to read, but then my anonymity would be compromised because the article used my real name and even more shocking they gave me an age. If you should happen to come across the article, just divide the number in half and you will be much closer to my actual age. Anyhoo, it got me thinking about my golden years. I foresee some poverty in my future along with cat food for dinner.
As a waiter, I don't have the benefit of a 401(k) with matching contributions. I think most restaurants feel that the shift meal they give you at the end of the day should satisfy not only your hunger for dinner, but also your craving for financial security. And speaking of security, what about Social Security? Does anyone really believe that will be around when we need it? Even if it is, my latest letter telling me how much to expect when I retire was barely enough to cover my tequila intake each month. Do I worry about it? Sure I do. So I have started my own personal retirement account.
I read somewhere that 3% of your salary was a good amount to put away for your retirement. It's even better if your employer will match it. (God, I miss working for The Marriott sometimes...). So I decided to open up an IRA at the bank. I rolled over what The Marriott had helped me save and now it is there for me to deposit whenever I want. My financial advisor reminded me that I was limited to $4000 a year. I laughed in his face when he told me that. That is about $80 a week and I am sorry, but I just don't have an extra $320 a month for retirement. If I was to put that much money into retirement each month how the hell am I supposed to enjoy Monday Margarita Madness? So I do 3% of each shift. No matter how shitty, I take 3% and put it into an envelope in my closet and when it gets to $500 I will proudly carry it to my financial institution for deposit. Yesterday the shift was so bad that I only made $33. I put one dollar in my envelope. One. Dollar. My golden years appear to be shaping up more like my pewter years. Or aluminum. Or cardboard even. In the meantime, I blog and write and wait for that big break that is going to bump me into a better future where I can afford luxurious things like Boar's Head turkey and shampoo that didn't come from Dave's Dollar Discount Den.