Hello friend, do you wish to be as wealthy as me? Do you wish to feel the loving embrace of financial security? Of knowing you’ll always have a roof over your head, warm meals, and a comfortable retirement?
Do you hesitate when the server at your local Boost Juice asks if you’d like to up-size for 50 cents, and you tearfully decline because you know you can’t ball out on large smoothies? Do you lament the absence in your life of a private jet with wings of solid gold, so it can’t fly, but that’s not the point?
If you’re reading this blog, it’s beyond all reasonable doubt that you do want “up-size” money for the designer smoothie shop, and a private jet because you’re too embarrassed to poop on a commercial plan. It’s quite probable you also want your own reality TV show that chronicles the shops you visit because you really, really are that interesting.
Because if you’re reading this blog, you’re most likely a resident of a relatively wealthy nation and so have time to waste on blog reading (and writing).
Residents of other countries sadly just don’t have the time, concerned as they are of the state of the family water buffalo who’s been looking unwell, meaning little Chantou might need to hand-plow the rice field, which is going to be hard because of the landmine she found… No I never insulted the Great Leader, my brother did, shoot him instead, he’s over there. Oh, the volcano’s acting up again… That lava stream doesn’t look like it’s slowing down, does it? OHNOATIGER! etc.
Yes. Yes I did combine the rural hardships of three completely different nations into one compounded series of problems for the sake of hyperbole.
Point is your life is at least good, bordering on great, except your thighs touch.
It was brought to my attention recently that I might actually be a ‘wealthy’ person, following a recent media pillow fight between millennials and a baby boomer columnist who sardonically blamed young people’s inability to purchase a house entirely on their wasteful brunching habit.
Principally: “Smashed avocados on toast” for the mortgage-crippling price of just $22. Now, obviously it’s not that simple: It’s not “toast.” It’s actually a sourdough rye.
Whilst all my Facebook friends were getting all mad, three things occurred to me:
- I am a millennial. Albeit a very, very old millennial. I may be the oldest millennial.
- I have never ordered smashed avocado on toast.
- I own a house.
Clearly this guy was on to something, since I come away looking like a financial savant. And as a financial Jesus, I thought it only wise that I help guide my fellow millennials down to mortgage town with my patented tip to get rich slow.
I call it “Don’t Go Outside.”
The Don’t Go Outside method of wealth accumulation is made up of two principals:
- Don’t do stuff
Doing stuff costs money. Movie tickets, park entry, bottled water to keep you hydrated throughout your expedition to the mall, plus bus/Uber fare to get there. Perhaps you drive instead which necessitates parking fees, and, unless you’re able to drive mostly downhill, you’re spending a lot on petrol.
Fancy brunch places charge a premium to keep their baristas in mustache wax, and the simple act of leaving the apartment brings about wear and tear on your sneakers and incurs laundry costs for armpit stains in your $80 shirt, which you wouldn’t have if you’d simply stayed on your couch, naked.
Hey, friend. Do you like to get fucked up? Do you like to get wasted!? You idiot. Clubbing and/or bar hopping is an enormous waste for a young professional likely earning between $20 and $40 an hour at their office job. Going out hard, costs at least $50 an hour on entry, shots, replacement drinks for the ones your friends double-dared you to chug, which you did because you want to fit in, and the taxi home.
Not to mention running costs for going-out clothes and assorted scents and face-enhancing unguents.
Did you have such a legendary night that you imbibed so much craft beer you threw up on your shoes? Congratulations dickhead, you threw up your own money on your other money. To paraphrase Hannibal Buress.
- Don’t die
The biggest obstacle to slow wealth accumulation is dying before you can accumulate it. This is also why you shouldn’t do stuff. Doing stuff kills. Romantic hot air balloon ride? Riding something extremely flammable that’s powered by flames? Sometimes they mysteriously catch fire, leaving the occupants the options of burning alive or leaping to their deaths. It’s happened several times. No thank you.
Skydiving equals high velocity death. Wingsuit diving guarantees death. Remember the London Olympics opening ceremony where a base jumper landed in the stadium with the torch like a boss? He’s dead now. Outside is where lightning, skin cancer and car accidents are. Other countries have diseases you’re not immune to. The beach is where 300,000 people drown every year.
And sharks. Oh, yes. Some people, millennials mostly, often quote the statistic that more people are killed each year by vending machines toppling on them than sharks, and so you shouldn’t fear sharks. This is a stupid way to think about it. This statistic includes all people on earth, including people actively approaching the summit of Mt. Everest. There are no sharks on Everest, but there is a vending machine at Everest Base Camp.
Simply put, people are around vending machines more than sharks because people are land mammals and not really in the ocean that much. My office has a vending machine 20 meters from my desk. I like my odds. But if I surfed 8 hours a day off the west coast of Australia, five days a week, 20 meters from a Great White you see my damn point.
And there you have it! If your stay inside, away from the windows, and ignore your friends you can be just like me: A mortgage owner.
You can also ask your parents. Mostly, I asked my parents.
Next time: “The Dine & Dash: How a life of low-key crime can be your ticket to $aving$!!”