My friend sent me the Gawker article “Signs That You’re Poor: City Dweller Edition.” From merely reading the title of the article, I knew that the mix of talking about New York City + numerous opportunities to self-deprecate = instant blog post. So, here we are, a few days later (not so instant).
While I would not dare infer that we are poor, there are a few of these signs that we fulfill:
Your apartment has four times the number of roommates as it has bathrooms or double the number of inhabitants as it has rooms.
The Cool Duplex really only has two bedrooms, but we’ll say three since the basement is split by a curtain. Inhabitants: me, Cool Mum, Cool Baby, Cool Newbie, and two Cool Roomies. Six inhabitants, “three” bedrooms.
You steal all your toilet paper from public restrooms and use napkins from pizza places as Kleenex.
Totally guilty of using leftover napkins as napkins, tissues, and burp cloths. Sometimes all on the same napkin! (joking) We don’t steal TP from public restrooms, but I have suggested holding it to save money on the precious commod(e)ity.
Your diet consists of dumplings, Ramen noodles, and the sandwiches you buy right before the store closes that are half off.
Doesn’t really count, but I eat plenty of Trader Joe’s frozen dumplings and we do have some Ramen in the cabinet.
You take the bus.
Also doesn’t count so much when you’re sharing the bus with Wall Street execs.
All of your furniture is from Craigslist.
We can one-up this one. Some of our furniture is from Craigslist, more of it we picked up from the street after it was thrown away by people with more discriminating tastes than us.
You cut your own bangs and you think they look good. (They don’t.)
Your mattress is on the floor.
After he revolted against the Pack-and-Play, CB’s mattress was on the floor for part of our six-month stay in the Cool One-Bedroom.
You spent more than 17 seconds trying to figure out your neighbors’ Wi-Fi passwords so you don’t have to pay for internet service.
I didn’t try to hack their networks, but before we secured an apartment, we lived and died by our neighbors’ generous wireless routers.
You don’t live in a loft, you sleep on one.