I’m still holding down retail until the next corporate opportunity finally breaks through. My trek continues at the local liquor store, now as a permanent part‑time Associate, navigating a world where every minute is tracked, breaks are timed by law, and micromanagement is a sport. And yes, I’m a cashier again.
Shopping carts? Still collecting them. The regulars? They now call me by name. And I know theirs too.
Humbling doesn’t even begin to cover it. At this point, I’m just… numb.
And yet, somehow, it keeps getting more surreal.
THE UNEXPECTED “BENEFITS” OF RETAIL
On the bright side, I’ve dropped over twenty pounds in the last several months. Turns out running around helping customers, lifting cases with purpose, and being on my feet all day is its own fitness program.
I literally weigh what Elvis did in his prime late ’60s, early ’70s. Six feet tall, 165–175 pounds. That’s me. Elvis without the voice.
I haven’t been at this weight since high school. I even tightened my belt two notches. Forget Ozempic if you want to lose weight, get a retail job. I even Googled whether this kind of weight loss was normal.
It is.
So maybe this is my own ’69 Comeback Special.
CASH, TIPS, AND A HIT TO THE EGO
I’ve moved from seasonal temp to permanent part‑time and now I’m learning cashiering again. I didn’t realize how many people still use cash. Counting change came back fast i.e. muscle memory from another lifetime.
But when an older gentleman tipped me five dollars for loading his Cadillac with booze, it hit me hard. I wanted to scream:
“I was a corporate executive. This is insulting.”
I didn’t, of course. I politely said it wasn’t necessary via store policy and all, but he insisted. And suddenly, I was five dollars richer and five layers more humbled.
A WALK, A LIQUOR BAG, AND A LOW POINT
Yesterday, after my shift, I didn’t have a car available and had over an hour to kill. The sun was out (“sun’s out, guns out,”) though apparently that phrase is banned in the store handbook, so I decided to walk to the park.
To complete the look, I bought something and carried a liquor bag with me. I kept my coat zipped to hide the embroidered store logo. I didn’t want to advertise what felt like the lowest point in my life.
I avoided the sidewalk, cutting through parking lots so fewer people would see me. The cops drove by and looked right at me. I was sure they’d stop and question me. I must’ve looked suspicious.
They didn’t.
I reached the park and sat on a bench, liquor bag in hand, back turned to the playground. The sound of kids laughing took me back to when my wife and I brought our own kids there. It feels like a lifetime ago. Time changes everything.
Now I’m just an older guy on a bench, underemployed, wondering how much lower this can go.
Until…
A group of teenagers yelled, “Sir! Do you want two dollars?”
They thought I was homeless.
And honestly? For a split second, I almost took it.
I laughed it off and said no thanks, but wow that one stung.
FINDING HUMOR IN THE FIRE
When you’re going through job loss and clawing your way back, you have to find humor in everything. Even when it feels like the flames of hell are burning through the park bench beneath you.
But here’s the thing: beneath all the embarrassment, the humility, the absurdity… I feel something shifting.
Something building.
THE FOUNDATION BEFORE THE ELEVATION
I’ve heard it said that when God is preparing to elevate you, He often starts with a season of intense preparation, isolation, pruning, silence. A deep digging of the foundation before the rise.
And I feel that. In my soul, I feel that.
This season is not punishment. It’s preparation.
My elevation is coming.
And when it does, I’m going to do exactly what Elvis did in ’69:
Play the hell out of it.
Rock on.
