The $62,500 Question

$62,500. That's approximately how much I make, before taxes. I'm pretty comfortable revealing that here, in front of (mostly) strangers, but it's a different story in real life.

Last Monday morning, one of the women I supervise walked into my office before I'd even poured my first cup of tea.

"Did you freak out on Friday?" she asked. "Did you think you'd been demoted?"

"No...why?" I said, searching my brain for something that might have gone wrong on Friday afternoon.

She held up a pay envelope. "I accidentally got your paycheck."

We have the same first name, and our checks got switched. I rarely look at mine, so I hadn't even noticed.

She seemed to think it was a good joke, but for me, it was awkward. I don't like her knowing how much I make. And I don't really know why. I make more than her, of course, but the difference isn't astronomical, so I don't think she'd resent my salary. And I can't think of any situation in which her having that information would hurt me or benefit her. Still, it feels like she knows something private, something that somehow gives her a small edge on me.

I debated telling my parents about this blog because I wasn't sure I wanted them to know how much I make. I'm sure they assume the number is lower, even though they know I got a big raise when I took this job. I tell my parents a lot about my life, and would tell them even more if they weren't so conservative, but this, for some reason, I wanted to keep to myself. I did finally tell them about Working for Rachel. They don't read it--they read the one post I told them about, but I'm not sure they quite understand the concept. :)

Today R. and I went grocery shopping. At the checkout counter, I picked up the latest issue of Chicago magazine. Every year, Chicago does an issue where they feature the salaries of a cross-section of Chicagoans--celebrities, athletes, businesspeople, artists, and so on. Some people are identified only by their first names; others are profiled in half-page articles including all their vital information and a color picture.

I flipped to the page on arts and media. On the lower right hand page was a guy about my age standing amid piles of paper--my friend Sarah's ex-boyfriend. The article listed his name, occupation, alma mater, and salary down to the dollar.

That took bravery. I imagine most of the people he knows will see this article--it'll travel fast in the circles we run in. He grew up in Chicago, so people he knew as a kid may see it. And people who dislike him, like me and like Sarah, will also see it, and judge him for it. My first thought was, "Whoa, a guy I know is in a magazine." My second thought was, "Ha, Sarah makes way more than him."

The taboo against sharing salaries goes deep. I'm rather infamous for telling people more than they wanted to know about myself. With those I'm close to, I babble about painful childhood memories, openly share things that most people would consider deep dark secrets, and when something embarrassing happens to me, I can't wait to share the funny story. And yet even I get close-lipped when this topic comes up.