Sunday night, I was at the bank, cursing the ATM machine for running out of paper. I’m not an anal person who keeps an alphabetized file of every financial transaction, but I wanted to make sure that the bartending tips I just deposited left me with enough funds to cover the rent check I wrote two days before.
Normally, my wages and tips are more than adequate to cover my basic bills. However, the start of school three weeks ago signaled an onslaught of expenses in the form of tuition and books, leaving my checking account in the low double digits.
Since I don’t fall into the fortunate group of star athletes, future Einsteins or aspiring concert pianists who are basically paid to go to school, I have something in common with the other 98 percent of the student body: finding the winning combination of cash from part-time jobs, loans, parental assistance and beer bottle refunds to pay for my education.
I could opt for the well-used option of taking out loans. For people like me, who have a fear of debt and signing my financial future on the dotted line, scrubbing gum off benches sounds more desirable than owing the government large sums of money. It’ll be great to get out of undergraduate school debt-free, knowing I accomplished that myself. And that sense of accomplishment will last about five minutes, as I plan on attending law school and have no hopes of an unknown relative leaving me a large inheritance.
The other popular alternative for cash, if parents aren’t part of the equation, is the job. We all have one of these at some time or another, or, in some cases, several at the same time. Making the decision to work during school may seem easy enough, but there are more variables than initially meet the eye. In my case, having to work wasn’t even a decision; it was a given.
But in actuality, how heroic am I for paying for my education? Sure, it may make me feel like I have a character-building jump start on all the little Ducklets whose parents still foot the bill. I’d like to think it’s worth it for the freedom that comes with providing for myself.
Students whose parents pay their bills may not have to worry about making sure the rent is in on time, but those of us who work can pretty much spend our money on whatever we want. I don’t have to justify — or even tell my parents — if I decide to spend $300 to fly to Vegas for the weekend because it’s my money. If I decide to opt for a Ritta’s burrito for lunch instead of brown-bagging it, I don’t have to feel guilty that Mom intended for me to use that $5 on toilet paper and mechanical pencils.
At the same time that I proclaim the bittersweet freedom that comes from pulling my own weight, I’m a hypocrite. If my parents offered to pay my bills, I’d say, “Hell, yeah” in a New York minute. You may still find me working behind the bar, concocting some great Martinis and Long Island Ice Teas, but it would only be to continue to accumulate great stories to someday write about — not for a winter break trip to Bali.
Rebecca Newell is a columnist for the Emerald. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the Emerald. She can be reached at [email protected].