Compare with: The family man

Chris Vinyard, 24
Like Battoa, Chris Vinyard, a 24-year-old music publicist living in Clinton Hill, makes $28,000 a year. But unlike the fraught father, Vinyard’s most important priority is making an entry-level salary stretch to finance his social calendar. When he moved to New York straight out of college (he’s down with NYC, sealing his affection with a month-old tattoo of downtown Manhattan), the Chicago native took on two jobs—on top of interning at the PR agency that eventually hired him. “I had to work over 60 hours a week just to pay rent,” says Vinyard of his time slaving at a juice bar, interning and passing pigs-in-a-blanket at corporate events. Even now, having been hired full-time, he still picks up catering shifts on the weekends for pocket money. “Passing champagne at Saks Fifth Avenue on a Saturday morning while hungover is horrible,” he says. The side job can earn him $100 for only five hours of work, which is more than a third of his weekly take-home.
Vinyard is young and single, and his monthly expenses reflect a man who knows how to live large on a lean budget. He pays only $500 a month for a room in a spacious house he shares with four roommates (the members of Tigercity, a band he represents); he “borrows” an Internet connection from neighbors; he still wears clothes from college, refreshing jeans and shirts at Christmastime. (Contrary to many NYC transplants, Vinyard’s parents help only minimally, which he is especially proud of.) And he typically eats out once every two weeks, mostly burritos and mostly on Fridays. Amy’s chili and eggs serve as his cuisine of choice. “It sounds unnutritional and gross, but I really can’t do anything else beside that.”
At work, Vinyard tries not to buy lunch, because of the expense, and subsists on a couple of bucks’ worth of fruit. Outside of a mean hypoglycemia-induced headache, skipping meals does have a level of practicality. “Not eating during the day gets you buzzed faster,” he claims, while sipping a second Stella at LES rock retreat Cakeshop (TONY paid).
Due to the nature of his job (scouting new bands to represent; kicking it at industry events), Vinyard goes out a lot—he calculates that in April, he saw a show on 23 of 30 days. But to maintain that pace on such little cash, he relies on his secret weapon: the brown bag. “If you’re going out on a Saturday night and have to wait for the train, why not grab a 24-ounce Corona or a Sparks for the ride in?” he suggests, cautioning that cops often case the Lorimer and Metropolitan subway stations for public intoxication. “On occasion I will pack a flask, but I find that to be pretty dangerous to my health. It’s funny how you can end up passed out at the F train stop in Coney Island when you’ve been nipping all night.”
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