My 2 Cents on Salary

Money, that’s what I want. And if you, my dear reader, happen to be an engineering student, then chances are favorable to suggest that money is what you are after as well, whether consciously or otherwise. Let us not kid ourselves by postulating the notion that our attendance in the world’s largest engineering co-op program was the result of a mere accident (unless you’re Asian and your parents forced you into it).

Now that we have that pickle cleared up and out of the way, let’s talk dollars and dimes, or in the case of an engineer, seven-figure paychecks.

According to the government of Canada, the average annual salary of an unattached individual in 2009 was $31,500. Fortunately, this figure includes everyone with degrees ranging from Medieval Literature to Antarctic Linguistic Studies from institutions not dissimilar to Wilfred Laurier University. Rest assured, you can still earn more than this even if you’re an Arts undergrad at the University of Waterloo.

The more relevant figure of $72,000 (the mean salary of a licensed engineer in Canada) strikes a bit closer to our ideals, though not by much. Dear reader, do not be disheartened, for the mean is not a good measure, especially if the variance covers a wide range. The figure that we should really waste time focusing upon in an attempt to reassure ourselves (as opposed to actually working during co-op, which I cleverly appear to do) is the amount that a UW engineering alumni makes annually. However, this information is a closely guarded secret of the university, and has never been released before. Despite this, it is not hard for one to imagine that this was done out of respect for other universities, as to spare them of any sort of embarrassment that may transpire.

If you are still reading this despite my blatantly banal attempts at humour at the expense of others, then you’ll be disappointed to find out that it was a mere set up to get you to read, and for that I apologize. Though it is with little doubt that a sizable portion of those narcissistic beliefs are embedded in a most pervasive manner in the psyches of Waterloo engineering undergrads. The fact that engineering is one of the few professions not widely affected by the recent recession does little to humble our ego. For what else is better than the sweet taste of schadenfreude found within the innocuous despair of our peers when they complain of a jobless summer? To that effect however, lies a guilty pleasure that is experienced not exclusively by engineering undergrads, but is rather a blemish on the human condition itself.

Allow me to make a detour.

The fine establishment of Chainsaw in uptown Waterloo (known for its perverse talent of mutilating your favorite songs on karaoke nights) had proved to be surprisingly enlightening during the drunken hours of one particular weekend. The encounter had me find two ladies in their late-twenties sitting at our table upon my return from the unsightly urine-ridden washroom. It turns out that they were University of Waterloo grads (of the liberal arts variety) of some time ago. Amongst the small talk was a question thrown out by me, inquiring whether they were content in their life after graduating. One misinterpretation led to another within the intoxicated dialogue, and I was soon filled with the knowledge of their personal financial situation.

As it turned out, they both made roughly the same amount each year, where one was working as a mentor for blind children, and the other worked as a front desk receptionist. However, there was a stark contrast to the level of happiness in what they tell me. The lady who works with blind children tells me that she thoroughly enjoys her job despite the amount that it pays. No doubt, such a job would have provided her with a profound sense of fulfillment when her blind pupils gain the ability to read braille as a result of her effort. The lady who worked as a receptionist hated her job to the core.

So there you have it ladies and gentlemen, a completely unscientific study about why you should stop worrying how much you will make, and start finding out where your life’s true passion lies. Despite the cliched nature of this story, the message is worth repeating. It is also in part a confession of the mild sense of solitude that this writer is currently experiencing despite getting paid an obscene amount for the bare skills he possess while working in the United States. In short, the numbers don’t mean much: do what makes you happy.