Where do your thoughts jump when you read that statement?
I was in a coffee shop recently where two men were talking about legacy costs…paid out to people like my dad. These were both younger workers, and the opinion seemed to be that people like my dad are an unnecessary tax on the system.
One guy said, “Those people should have saved more money. If they’d saved, they wouldn’t need that pension.”
I know that immediately many people who read this will think my dad is part of the reason GM went bankrupt. He receives a generous pension, has health care coverage and lives comfortably. He’s relatively young still and I hope he lives for a long time. That means that his benefits will continue to weigh on the company.
No Savings? Why Not?
My uncle also is a GM retiree. Around the year 2001, as the stock market experienced day after day of unnerving free fall, I happened to be standing next to him at a funeral.
Uncle: The stock market sure is all over the place. Your job can’t be easy right now.
Me: No, it’s not. Lots of people with 401k plans out there taking a beating and looking for advice.
Uncle: 401k plans?
Me: Yeah, like the one you have at GM.
Uncle: You know, I’m glad I never bothered with that. Look at all the money those people lost. I’ll stick with the pension.
At first, I thought poorly of my uncle. But for him and many others working in industry, a 401k plan was always considered “icing on the cake.” He also receives a generous pension and has health care coverage. Why should he risk hard won dollars in investments that could tank?
Because he didn’t invest online, mainly to practice internet safety for seniors, he’ll now be a burden on the system for years to come. However, the course he chose was a viable option at the time.
Reworking the Implicit Deal
This article at Timeless Finance recommends (among other things) that older Canadians should be forced into retirement by age 60. According to the author, this will energize the workforce and help young people get jobs….all at the expense of older workers.
Would this really work as intended? Will it help?
Before we tackle that argument, let’s evaluate the historical situation: it was a different game for my dad than it is for many of you and I. He worked in an era of “work for a large company to care for your family for 30 years, and then the company will take care of you.”
It was an implicit deal.
Now the deal has changed, and there’s a push to change it further. I’m sure many older workers wish the deal had been explicit.
You have to be a moron to not understand the shaky economics of our world financial situation.
There’s more fallout to come from the housing crisis.
The student loan bubble is about to pop.
European states are ready to topple like dominos.
But do we have to immediately jump to changing the deal for people who played the game “correctly” only to find the rules changed later?
Will Eliminating Older Workers Help?
I only told you half of the story about my dad and uncle. The other half is that both my uncle and dad are gainfully employed at the moment. They both play by the rules (their income is low enough that it doesn’t affect their guaranteed income stream from Social Security or their pension plans).
According to the Timeless Finance author, both my dad’s and uncle’s part time jobs should be handed to younger workers.
But I’ve seen my uncle and dad work at their jobs. Young coworkers ask their opinion frequently. In fact, the owner of the golf course where my dad works often consults him about overall operations. Customers gravitate toward them, thinking these men know what they’re doing. Both of these men possess tons of insight and knowledge help their employers succeed.
My opinion: If I still had my boner of the week segments, this Timeless Finance article would have been on it. While some of the suggestions make sense to me, and we clearly need change, I believe that we should look elsewhere for money rather than eliminate experience for youth. I also think it’s a mistake to penalize people who played by the rules as they knew them until we’ve looked under other stones.
Okay, everyone….your thoughts? Do we treat seniors fairly? Should we have a mandatory retirement age?
As I was rummaging through my golf gear (stored in the basement for the long-harsh winter that never materialized) I went through all the pockets…and guess what? I found…drum roll please…a $50 dollar bill!!!!! My wife and kids came running.
They must’ve thought I’d lost an eye the way I was screaming.
Have you ever found money when you didn’t expect it? Isn’t it a wonderful experience?
Now, since we’re all about honesty over here in Average Joe’s dungeon (yes, sir. This gruel tastes wonderful. May I have another?), I must confess I treat all found money as completely discretionary.
Here’s the rule: I can spend every penny without even the slightest ounce of guilt.
If you find money, what do you do?
So, if you want to find money, doesn’t it make sense to search places we’d likely have left some cash?
The first place you should look for cash right now
First, enter the following phrase into Google: “State of <insert your state> unclaimed property”
That search will turn up your state’s unclaimed property list – which I encourage everyone to check not just for your state, but for every state you’ve ever lived in.
You’ll be amazed.
Each state has an unclaimed money and property list and if you’ve ever left money somewhere, that’s where it’ll show up. I know what you’re thinking: I would never misplace a bank account. I know.
Here’s the thing: you may be entitled to a refund of some kind…maybe you paid home owner’s insurance premiums and they were too high. Trust me. I’m willing to bet my next bowl of gruel on the fact that someone who reads this and follows my directions will find money. It’d bring a tear to my eye if you shared it with me.
A couple years ago, I did the search for unclaimed money in our state and looked up relatives – and I was surprised when Aunt Donna’s name came up. I called her and asked if she ever did business with ABC Insurance Co., to which she replied that she had. I told her how to get the form to fill out and encouraged her to mail in the request form. Her response? “Ah, it’s probably not that much…so I don’t know…” WHAT THE @#$@? THIS IS FREE MONEY!
I would understand if the process took 6 hours, but in our state, it was a simple form and a stamp. Finally, I convinced her to do it…
Her reward? $418. It would still be unclaimed money today if she hadn’t looked.
Not a bad return for seven minutes of exhausting work stamping an envelope and completing a form.
The second stop on your treasure hunt
Let’s visit the United States Treasury department. Specifically, you should search the database of savings bonds.
Savings bonds aren’t nearly as popular as they used to be, partly because of their paltry rate of return, but that doesn’t mean that Great Aunt Betsie didn’t have a whole lot of ’em…here’s where you can check: Treasury Hunt Website.
When you visit the site, type your SSN or your Great Aunt Betsie’s and it will inform you if that SSN has any savings bonds registered under it.
Again, I know what you’re thinking: I’d never lose a savings bond.
Yes, you would.
You especially would if you were all of 11 days old when that well-meaning Aunt picked up that whopping $25 bond as a gift for you at the local Second National Bank.
Do yourself a favor and check the site for unclaimed money. Then tell everyone you know to check.
Because, get this: there are $16.5 billion worth of unclaimed bonds out there…that don’t even earn interest any more. That’s $16,500,000,000 reasons to check it out.
Any success stories? Post ’em in comments…if no one finds any money, I’ll donate my next bowl of gruel to the first person who wants it…
(About the photo….BAGRAM AIRFIELD, Afghanistan – U.S. Army Sgt. Benjamin Rudy, a Columbia, S.C. native, looks at a map that will help him find buried treasure while serving as a force protection non-commissioned officer for Combined Joint Task Force-82, at Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan. The mug and the map were sent to him as gifts from his kids, Logan, six, and Taylor, four, who believe he’s on a pirate ship to find treasures for them. His pirate character is a way Rudy bonds with his kids during long periods of separation.)
Let’s take a break from serious planning for a moment and give you some insight into my daily life. Here’s another glimpse into the stumbling life of a guy just trying to fit in. or not.
If you’ve ever wondered how to hob-knob with influential and important people in the basketball world, I’m the most perfect guy to know. Like a battle-scarred veteran, I’ve been there. Not only do I have a long, impressive history of meeting important people, but I must note that I’ve often preferred non-conventional methods to befriend insiders.
This is my story. Feel free to use this method:
As an up-and-coming and remarkably handsome young financial advisor, I recommended my clients complete their estate plan. My highest net worth clients all were entrusted to the work of one attorney. He called one day to ask if I’d like to be his guest with a friend at a Pistons game.
Me: “Sure, dude.”
Always keep the lingo real.
That’s Step One: To fully integrate with the top echelons of society, all you have to do is recommend lots of your friends complete their estate plans. Then, coerce the attorney into inviting you to a sporting event as a thank you. Simple.
We met at the Palace of Auburn Hills entrance. It’s a beautiful venue to watch any event, even from my favorite seats. To disguise myself as not yet wealthy, I generally try to sit three rows or closer to the roof.
John, the attorney, flashed tickets at me and my friend Paul.
John: “You’re going to love these.”
Me (thinking): “that’s cool. Maybe we’ll be sitting a few rows closer.
Okay, the strangeness began when we entered the area itself not at the upper level, but the lower deck. This was already new territory for me. I wasn’t sure if I spoke the language or knew the customs down here. Is my foam We’re Number One finger considered classless? Is it okay to yell at the refs from here? What are the traditions in this foreign land? I was a terrified stranger.
Step Two: Breathe. Realize, it’ll be okay.
A Piston’s person: “Tickets?”
Luckily, John took care of the whole thing. He had this practiced “I’ve been here before hand flip.” John really has skillz.
When we arrived at the next rep, about halfway down the lower bowl, she glanced at our tickets and pointed us further down.
If it was a trip to hell I would have been frightened; we were headed to the inner circle.
…we made it to the bottom of the arena, and still another Pistons rep.
He looked our tickets over carefully,then:
“Follow me.”
Ready? Our seats were folding chairs along the edge of the court.
Holy $%#!
Now you know Step Three: make sure your lawyer friend has awesome seats to the game.
Preferably know this information ahead of time, but my method seemed to work just fine. Maybe I’m just lucky.
Then, utter disappointment: we weren’t in the front-front row of chairs. No….my loser attorney friend was only able to score second row tickets to the game. You must realize how disappointing this was. Somehow I recovered. At this point, you’re with the who’s who of basketball. Which brings up the next key:
Step Four: bring on the alcohol.
Now, I used beer. You could choose something different, but you have to have enough grease on your vocal wheels to ease into conversations with the who’s who. Alcohol gets a bad rap for “causing health problems,” but I must recommend it to really spice up your trip to the ball game. (Okay, I have to pause for a second. If your sarcasm-meter isn’t working properly, that last paragraph you shouldn’t take literally. Alcohol created the $%#! mess that I’m about to describe, so use your good judgment and drink responsibly – Joe).
During the team warm ups, then-Piston superstar Grant Hill walked onto the court with a new pair of shoes. Instead of a swoosh or stripes down the side, these were white with two blue lines running straight up the spine. They looked like slippers with a racing stripe.
Me: “Check out those shoes. Wow. Is he playing basketball or at home cooking pancakes?”
John: “Oh yeah! Those are the new Fila Hill Ninety6, also called Fila Hill 2. They’re the hot new shoe.”
Paul: “They’re pretty strange looking.”
Me: “Beep, beep. Excuse me. My understatement meter is going off. I’m not sure I like ‘em.”
Then I continued to drink beer. I wasn’t driving, and hey, we were sitting courtside.
Here’s another cool perk I never realized. A server comes to your chair and takes your order when you’re sitting courtside. I wasn’t going to have to mix with those foul smelling little people clogging the concourse dippin’ dots stands and popcorn vendors.
This was the life. I’ve never been happier in a folding chair.
At this point, an apology: I find basketball kind of boring. Hopefully the truth is that I don’t understand the intricacies of the sport. I prefer to think that’s the case. It’s better than thinking that my basketball-loving friends are a bunch of morons with nothing better to do.
I wasn’t bored here, though. Between the beer, those cheerleaders, and being able to hear the players talking, I was having a blast. Our seats were about at the free throw line.
Near halftime, Grant Hill even walked over and inbounded the ball right in front of us.
Don’t underestimate the thrill it is to have a real, live NBA player’s butt in your face until you’ve been there. Maybe not a bucket-list moment, but I still get emotional talking about it. I could have pinched Grant Hill’s ass and he would have jumped sky high on television. Hilarity.
Truth be told, I didn’t even consider pinching Grant Hill’s butt. I was too busy looking at his shoes.
Me: “I really don’t know if I like those. Who do you think makes the design decisions at Fila?”
John: “I don’t know, but I think they’re drinking something stronger than beer.”
Step Five – Take the Card When It’s Handed to You
During intermission I was on a role. Shawn Bradley, playing his last year of basketball for the ‘76ers, towered over us.
John: “I never realized how incredibly thin that guy is,”
Me: “He needs to eat the whole box of Wheaties.”
Paul: “My mom’s roast beef would fatten him up. Did wonders for me.”
Me: “I’d love to keep talking about Bradley’s anorexia, but those shoes of Grant Hill are just plain weird. I’m not sure if I like them or not.”
Paul: “Quit worrying about the damned shoes. Eat some of this popcorn. Have you seen the server? We need another beer.”
Paul…always focused. That’s the sign of a true friend.
So, another beer came, and so did the third quarter. The ball rolled out of bounds right next to us. Grant Hill walked over to inbound the ball. It’s amazing how a guy walks right in front of you and never once looks anyone in the face. At the same time, he’s looking like he isn’t really trying to avoid looking you in the face. It’s an art, I’m sure.
But, this time, I wasn’t at all focused on on his facial avoidance ability.
Me: “Okay, I’ve made a decision. I really don’t like the shoes.”
John: “Really? Wow, it only took you three quarters?”
Me: “Yup. Hatin’ the shoes. Just wondering, though. Do you think he gets paid to wear them?”
And that’s when the guy in front of me turned around in his chair, face red with anger. He had a card in his hand and shoved it in my face.
Angry guy: “In fact, he does get paid. Call me some time and I’ll tell you how much.”
I looked at the card. It was the Fila rep in charge of the Fila Hill line of shoes.
You meet all kinds of amazing people at the basketball game.
Step Six – Realize You’re Wrong
Me: “Well, when I said I hated them, I meant…”
Fila Dude: “You know what? I don’t care what you think.”
John: (no words–just a shot to my ribs)
Fila Dude: “I’m not trying to be mean.” (Editor’s note: yes he was) “We just don’t really care what middle class white guys in suits think. You aren’t our target market.”
Me: “Good point.”
Note: I should have thought of something clever to reply at this point. Had I mentioned some awesome design tips, maybe I’d be working at Fila right now, focused on the task of bringing to market the Fila AverageJoe instead of writing this blog. Call it the fickle wind of fate that I couldn’t find any carefully crafted quip to retort. Or, call it too much beer.
