Reporters are poor.

I heard all the warnings.

The biggest one everyone told me was how humiliating the wages for reporters were. Professors casually reminded me almost as often as they stressed the five Ws and the importance of punchy leads. It was almost an inside joke among journalism students and our professors. Everyone knew there wasn’t much money to be made, but nobody really took it too seriously. After all, we were young and beer on Wednesday nights was only 50 cents.

After graduating, I was at church with my family to pay respects to my grandma, who recently died thousands of miles away in her home country of Poland. It was in the middle of summer and my job hunt was at a standstill. I couldn’t even get an interview. After the service, one my mom’s Polish friends made some small talk with me. I mentioned how I wanted to be a reporter, even though I was pissed at my lack of success and jealous of my colleagues that were getting hired.

“A reporter?” he said. The guy had an incredulous look on his face, as if someone had told a barely coherent Polish joke. “How are you going to support a wife and kids?”

I grinned and told him I’d find a way. All I could think of was that I was hoping I didn’t have a wife, and especially a kid, any time soon.

Months later, I landed a job at a small community newspaper in the wealthiest in one of the wealthiest towns in the U.S. The truth is that it if I had a kid, I wouldn’t be able to provide him any of the basics without drastic help from my parents. I nearly qualify foodstamps, but I have too much money saved up and I make a couple hundred dollars over the aid limit. The ridiculously high rent in this part of Connecticut eats up more than half of my wages.

The best way to determine the living costs of a place is to check the beer prices. In a bar in Poland, a king sized beer was usually less than 2 bucks. Best of all, tipping was mostly unheard of. In Thailand, the manliest of manly beers was a buck in a 7/11. This thing was epic in size and delicious in taste (I set myself up for a prime "that's what she said" joke). In upstate New York, there are some bars that serve two dollar drinks all night long. Here, I’ve had the displeasure of $5 Bud Lights. I even had some more expensive drinks and nearly wept as the money left my wallet.

I still buy superfluous things now and then (usually used, like my $60 skis), so things probably aren’t as bad as I make them out to be. With that said, I love my job even when I hate it. More on that another time.