My monthly nut isn’t huge, but given my meager salary, it is formidable. Therefore, I need my bi-monthly paycheck to be heavy on the cash and light on the deductions, which mean I claim a lot of dependents on my W-4 form, so I don’t get much taken out of my paycheck, but this rickety financial ploy means that I owe taxes every year.
This year, I owe the IRS 3 grand. That sucks, but it is what it is, and I pay it, though the look on my face when I write the check can be described as…pained.
The older I get the more I fret over money. When I was in my 20s, just starting out, I didn’t give a damn. As long as I had enough money to pay my rent, buy some gas, beer, and weed, I was good.
But that changed. Now I own stuff, like a house, and I have kids and such, and though I’m always fretting over money, I do know what I’m worth–or to put it another way: I know the monetary value of what I own. Guys, it is imperative that you know the value of everything you own. Your net worth. The ONLY people who DON’T need to worry about their net worth are batting .310 in the majors and making 20 million a year. The rest of us–we need to know.
Let me explain this by telling you a story. I have a friend who makes 40K a year as a bartender and he drives an Uber every afternoon from 4 pm to 6 pm. His name is Rocco. I was talking to him last week at the bar where he works. He was moaning about his life, which by the way, is usually done by the drinker, not by the guy pouring the drinks, but Rocco was in a sour mood. Basically, he was saying, “I’m 36 years old, I work about 60 hours a week and I got nothin’ to show for it…” And so forth. I listened to him for a bit, and I said, “Shut up, you got
plenty, and I’ll come by tomorrow and prove it to you.” He said, “ok, asshole..” and ignored me the rest of the night.
I met him at his place the next day. He sat on his couch and stared at me while I poked around. I had a pen and a piece of paper.
After about 20 minutes I sat next to him on the couch and said, “you got a lot of assets here”. He looked at me expressionlessly, but his eyes said, “you are out of your effing mind…”
So I read off my piece of paper. I found about 30 items that were, well… assets. A plasma tv, couch, two lamps, a DVD player that he never uses, a lava lamp, a laminated wood coffee table, some DVDs, an IKEA mirror, a 2 drawer filing cabinet that he used as an end table, a metal picture frame, an ab roller with dust on it, an Xbox and maybe 15 games, a bed with a mattress, cups, dishes, all sorts of pots and pans and utensils, and a second lava lamp, which he believes creates a seductive atmosphere; a laptop computer, iPad, a bowling ball, a suitcase, a Cleveland Indian Duvet; a Cleveland Indian lamp, a baseball mitt signed by Jim Thome, a Cleveland Browns poster, an array of comic books, binoculars; a coin collection he got from his dad, a Darth Vader piggy bank, a banjo that he doesn’t know how to play, and all sort of clothes, an alarm clock, a baseball bat, and a poster of Kate Upton in a one-piece bathing suit. I asked him how much money he had in his checking account: $422.12
Savings: three grand; all this, plus his 2012 Honda Civic–were his assets.
He actually cracked a grin when he heard the list. We grabbed his computer, went Craig’s list and eBay, and went through the list one by one to see comparable items that were listed for sale, and what they were valued at, including the Civic. We wrote down the amounts next to every item. Then we totaled it and added the money in his checking and savings account.
It came to eleven thousand, four hundred and twenty bucks.
Rocco stared a the piece of paper for a while, then got up and got me a beer (a Stella!) and sat down next to me. He looked at the paper again, held up his beer bottle, clicked it on mine, and said, “fuckin’A”.
TASK:
Find your assets. List them. Put a price against them. Know what you are worth.
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