-
The Smallest Trash Can, the Heaviest Moment
Job searching just hit a one‑year anniversary for me after a full year of being unemployed or underemployed.
I’m still working part‑time in retail because it’s the only thing, I’ve been able to get. And it’s not just stocking shelves, helping customers, or running a register. It’s everything right down to hauling out the trash.
Fifteen cans at the end of the day. Nine hours of giving everything I had. And somehow, I missed one. Fourteen out of fifteen.
The store manager called me up to the front to let me know. The can was small, half‑full of paper. But the moment hit harder than it should have. I felt just as small.
It became a new low point. For a second, I wanted to climb into the dumpster with that last forgotten can and disappear.
I won’t forget how that felt not ever.
-
STILL ROCKING RETAIL AND WAITING FOR MY NEXT ACT
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.
-
I Almost Survived Dry January… and I Don’t Even Participate
I almost made it through Dry January and not because I stopped drinking or participate.
No, no. This is about something far more dramatic:
The liquor store is a ghost town.
I’m talking tumbleweeds rolling past the tequila aisle.
Crickets echoing off the bourbon shelves.
Me, standing there like the last survivor in a post‑apocalyptic world of glass bottles and silence.
The only people coming in are the die‑hard regulars the “bottle‑a‑day” crowd and the “three‑cases‑a‑week” champions. God bless them. They’re the only thing keeping the lights on.But the worst?
The Dry January Warriors marching in proudly asking:
“Where’s your non‑alcoholic section? I’m doing Dry January!”
Congratulations.
Here’s your medal.
And here’s a reminder for anyone interacting with someone who works in the liquor industry:
No one cares.
NO ONE.
And let’s be honest when you remove the alcohol from wine, it becomes…
JUICE.
It’s JUICE with a marketing budget.
A $14.99 bottle of grape juice wearing a tuxedo.Drink water. It’s cheaper.
Meanwhile, I’m standing there watching the clock like it owes me money.
Facing the same bottles I face every day.
They stare back at me with the same labels, the same fonts, the same promises of “notes of oak and vanilla.”
I swear one of them winked at me out of boredom.
Customers vanish every January with the best intentions and good for them. Truly. Abstinence is great for your health.But for those of us in the trenches?
It’s slow.
It’s dull.
It’s retail purgatory.My “temporary” stockman job quietly morphed into a “more permanent part‑time” situation. So here I am, still grinding, still searching for that next corporate role, still enduring the job market like it’s an Olympic sport.
I showed up today.
I’ll show up tomorrow.
That’s the victory.
But let me tell you I almost snapped when they had me cleaning individual shelves.
Every bottle off.
Every shelf tag audited.
On a Sunday.
A SUNDAY.
When I should’ve been sitting on the couch watching football like a normal American.
It was almost my breaking point.
I almost lost my schitt’s.
I almost staged a one‑man walkout.
This can’t be happening to me, I thought.
But it is.
And somehow… I’m still here.Side Note From the Trenches
And while we’re on the subject of Dry January… I have a question.
A sincere one.
A scientific one.
If you’re doing Dry January, does it still count when you’re chugging THC and CBD drinks like they’re holy water?
Because let me tell you the real rush this month isn’t toward sobriety. It’s toward the “alternative beverages” aisle. Those cans are flying off the shelves like they’re the last lifeboats on the Titanic.
People aren’t drinking less.
They’re just… pivoting.
And the store knows it.
How do I know?
Because we suddenly have more chips in inventory than a Vegas casino.
Salt & vinegar, jalapeño, kettle‑cooked, flavors‑so‑fancy‑they‑sound‑tax‑deductible. You name it, we’ve got it.
It’s like someone in corporate said, “If they’re not drinking, they’re definitely snacking.”
Dry January has turned into High January, Munchie January, and Justifying‑My‑Choices January all at once.
I’m not judging.
I’m just observing the ecosystem.
And from where I’m standing stocking shelves, dodging NA warriors, and watching THC seltzers disappear by the case and I can confidently say:
Abstinence has many… interpretations.Bring on February!
Rock on.
Aging ROCKSTAR, Alcohol alternatives, CBD drinks, Consumer psychology, Corporate to retail, Customer behavior, Dry January, Funny retail stories, January trends, Job search journey, Liquor industry, Liquor store life, NA beverages, Non‑alcoholic drinks, Retail burnout, Retail humor, Stockman stories, THC drinks, Working in retail -
Marketing: “They Live”
I continue my unexpected second act as a stockboy and no, a stockman at a liquor store. And if there’s one thing that jumps out at me every shift, it’s this:
The liquor industry has become a full‑blown marketing circus.
After decades in corporate America, I thought I’d seen every branding gimmick imaginable. But stepping into this world has been like walking into a funhouse of labels, names, and “creative” product positioning. Beer, wine, and spirits used to be simple. Now they’re… something else entirely.
Take blue curaçao, for example. It used to just be blue curaçao. Now it’s morphed into a product with a name so bold I can’t even type it without censoring it. Let’s just say a customer asked me for a bottle of Incognito… something, but couldn’t bring himself to say the full name.
So what did I do? I yelled across the store loudly asking if we carried INCÓGNITO PORNSTAR.
Not my finest moment.
The poor guy turned beet red and held up his phone like a shield, showing me the label. Turns out it was real, and we had just sold the last bottle the day before. To the alleged victim, my apologies.
Moments like that remind me how simple things used to be.
Then there was the older gentleman who proudly asked for Ménage à Trois at full volume. I guided him to the wine and exited the scene before he could ask for anything else.
And the woman searching for Cockburn’s Port? She couldn’t bring herself to say the name, so she flashed her phone at me like she was showing evidence in a courtroom. The bottle was literally right in front of us. I pointed. She blushed. We moved on.
It’s just port wine… right? How different can one port be from another? (That’s a question for the marketing department, not me.)
But the one that really stopped me was Gay Agenda Beer. I turned around and found myself staring at a can featuring a man with a hairy chest lounging confidently on a pool chair. I have no issue with anyone’s identity, but I’m still not convinced that a shirtless guy on my beer can make it taste better.
Call me old‑school, but I prefer flavor over theatrics.
And honestly? The Germans still make better beer anyway. Just like Hooters doesn’t necessarily make better chicken wings. Sometimes the marketing is louder than the product.
Quality vs. marketing. It’s a battle as old as commerce.
As I learn my way around the store yes, even the infamous Pornstar Cocktails give you two shots in the can. I find myself thinking more about what actually drives people to buy what they buy. Is it taste? Habit? Identity? Or are we all just being played by clever labels and loud branding? What did I just get two shots of?
I’m a stockman living in a corporate world, watching consumer psychology unfold one bottle at a time.
Are we choosing… or being chosen?
Rock on.
-
Taken
For those of you trying to hack into my account from Singapore.
You don’t remember me?
-
“Workplace Tinder: Invisible in the Numbers, Swiped Left in the Job Market”
Invisible in the Numbers
The government will release new labor statistics this week. But here’s the truth: I won’t be counted.On paper, I’m employed. In reality, I’m underemployed, temporary, and hanging on by a thread. My current gig as a holiday liquor stockman ends January 1st. Minimum wage. Seasonal. Disposable.
So when the numbers come out, they won’t tell my story—or the story of countless others like me.
I DO NOT EXIST.
Life in the Liquor Store
Funny thing is, the liquor store feels like the happiest place on earth. The employees smile, the customers smile, even the bottles seem to sparkle as I line them up perfectly on the shelves.My previous post took me to the Liquor Store: FULL CIRCLE — From Corporate America to Stockboy Swagger
Maybe it’s my wife’s influence—she stages our home so precisely that you can’t sit on the sofa without disturbing the karate‑chopped pillows. I catch myself doing the same thing with beer cases and whiskey bottles, aligning them so neatly that I almost don’t want anyone to buy them.
But I digress.
Job Searching: A Bad Relationship
Looking for work feels like dating gone wrong.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
I recently spent over a month in what felt like a relationship with a company. Third‑party recruiters, company recruiters, multiple onsite and video interviews, endless assessments—nine tests in total (some timed). I made it to the fourth round.
The recruiters cheered me on, full of pep talks and promises. Was it authentic? Probably not. But I let myself believe it. I poured everything into preparing, showing up professional, authentic, and ready. I even bought a new shirt for that fourth interview, convinced the offer was coming.The Loyalty I Was Chasing
I wanted this company not just because I need a job, but because I heard they were loyal to their employees. That mattered to me.I’ve spent years giving loyalty to organizations that treated me like a number—skipping vacations, working late, treating the company like it was my own. And still, I was disposable.
Was it my age? My salary? Something else? I’ll never know.
The Swipe Left
After all that effort, all I got was an automated rejection email.I had already planned my commute, picked out new office clothes, and imagined the grind ahead. And then—nothing.
Like Tinder, the company swiped left.
TinderBye‑bye, Miss American Pie.
Moving On
The rejection stung. It still does.I even wrote a personal letter to the owner, expressing regret that I wouldn’t be part of something special. I’ve never done that before. I didn’t get a response, but didn’t expect one either.
But here’s the thing: I keep showing up. Every day.
This blog is my way of moving forward. My way of saying I exist—even if the statistics don’t count me.
Rock on.
-
FULL CIRCLE — From Corporate America to Stockboy Swagger
There’s a scene in the 1991 movie Career Opportunities that sums up my career life right now.
No, not the part with the horse.
It’s the moment when Jim, the main character, talks with Josie. They converse:
“I set my sights on something and go for it. Like janitor?”
“It’s a beginning, no it’s an end.”
That line hit me like a spotlight. Because here I am, decades later, living my own version of that exchange.
Side note: Jim was working at a Target store in the movie that no longer exists. Similar to how 1,800 jobs no longer exist for the same company as of late in 2025.
Coming Full Circle
I just came FULL CIRCLE. My very first job was as a stockboy at a local liquor store, scrubbing toilets and stacking shelves for $3.50 an hour. In the movie, Jim was making $4.44 as a janitor. Different numbers, same grind.
Fast forward to 2025: after my “job elimination” in corporate America, I’m back in retail, earning minimum wage at a local liquor store. Does it cover my expenses? NO. Not even close. But it gives me something priceless — purpose, humility, and a chance to learn new skills.
Magic in the Mundane
In my first week, an older gentleman showed me a magic trick. Eyes closed, he walked straight to the bottom shelf and grabbed his favorite vodka. No hesitation, no help needed. Graceful. Smiling. Happy.
Another customer wanted a smaller bottle of liquor. She only saw the big ones. I guided her to the right section, pointed out the last two bottles, and she grabbed them both. She joked about hiding one from her partner later. That moment reminded me: selling isn’t about pushing products — it’s about helping people feel seen.
And then there was the lady who sheepishly told me she knew where everything was. I admired her confidence. Me? I’m still learning the maze of brands and labels. Back in the day, it was simple: keg, beer, wine. Now? Every bottle has a flashy name, every label screams marketing. The industry escalated, and I’m catching up.
Humbling Moments
Yesterday, a man asked me to get him a cart from across the store. I sprinted, delivered, and wished him a great weekend. He barely noticed. I felt small.
And yet, that humility is the lesson. Not long ago, I was leading global teams, managing multimillion-dollar accounts, and ensuring the delivery of billions of data records. Now I’m sprinting for carts.
It’s humbling. It’s grounding. It’s real.
It’s an end.
Ego vs. Reality
At times, stocking shelves feels like cleaning toilets all over again — only with bigger explosions. My ego whispers: This is beneath you. But reality shouts louder: This is shaping you.
God is humbling me. Rock bottom? Maybe. But even here, there are sparks of light. My boss high-fived me after my first week, praising my hustle. My trainer was impressed. I hadn’t heard positive affirmation in months. That moment mattered.
IT’S A BEGINNING.
Life Imitates Art
Back to Career Opportunities: Jim took the job nobody wanted… and got the girl everybody did.
Me? I already got the girl years ago. Now I just need the job. Another job. A better job. But for now, being a stockboy is strangely fun. Lifting, loading, helping customers — it burns energy and builds resilience.
And here’s the truth: I’m not just a stockboy.
I AM STOCKMAN.
Rock on!!!
-
Money Pit 2025
Here is a summary of my job search in 2025.
I am the bathtub.
I still keep showing up.
Rock on!
-
Employment Shutdown
No you didn’t.
Yes I did.
No.
Yes.
I.
Did.
I once posted about my side hustle scrapping metal. Thought it’d be a quirky little gig on the side. Then life came along, flipped the table, and said, “Surprise! It’s your full-time job now.” Seven months deep into unemployment and here we are.
Does it pay the bills? Look at you, thinking life plays fair.
Not even close. But hey, there’s a weird satisfaction in not tossing a can into the trash after paying for garbage pickup and renting the recycling bin like I’m some kind of eco-landlord.
Anyway, I hit a new personal milestone. Saw a crushed aluminum can in a parking lot. It was just sitting there. Alone. Vulnerable. Practically whispering, “Take me.”
So I did. Parked next to it. Scooped it up. Discreet, like a raccoon in business casual.
Sure, germs. But it felt like finding a lucky penny—except instead of luck, it came with a side of public shame and a scrap value of approximately zero.
Still got it, though. Because I’m committed. And that can? That was my win for the day.
Still showing up!
Rock on!
-
Good Jeans or Slacks?
It’s Been a While… But I’m Still Showing Up
It’s been a minute since I last posted—and even longer since I suited up for an onsite interview. But this week, I did just that. Tie, jacket, the whole deal. And you know what? It felt good to step back into that space.
Reflecting on my journey, I’m reminded of how unpredictable and amazing this ride can be. My last role came from a hiring manager who had my resume sitting on his desk for over a year. One call with him, one with the recruiter, and boom—offer on the table. I countered, they accepted, and life was good.
That company had been my dream job for years. I’d applied more times than I could count. And when it finally happened, it felt like destiny. But dreams evolve, and now it’s time to chase new ones.
Before that, I landed a role through a simple phone conversation—no video, no onsite—just a real, human connection. It’s wild how much the job search landscape has changed since then. These days, it’s a full-time job just to find a job.
As I hit the six-month mark of unemployment (9/20/25), I’ve taken a moment to pause and reflect. It’s not a milestone I ever wanted to reach, but it’s part of my story now. I’ve faced more rejections than I care to count—well over 50%—and yes, I’ve officially joined the long-term unemployment club.
But here’s the thing: I’m still here. Still showing up. Still believing.
Ghosting happens. “Overqualified” and “too seasoned” are phrases I’ve heard more than once. But I know who I am. I know what I bring. And I know the right opportunity is out there.
Most of my interviews have come from my own hustle—not my network. And while I haven’t landed my next role yet, I’m staying focused: networking first, targeting companies I believe in, interviewing, and training like crazy to stay sharp and relevant.
This week, I wore a suit. I walked into that interview with confidence. It’s been a while—but it felt right.
Staying positive isn’t always easy. But I keep showing up. That’s the key. I truly believe that every closed door brings me one step closer to the right one opening.
To anyone else out there searching: keep showing up. You’re not alone.
Someone who lost their job around the same time I did reached out to me recently, feeling overwhelmed. I told them:
“You’re not alone in this, and everything will be okay. I know the job market feels brutal right now, and it’s exhausting to keep putting yourself out there without seeing results. But your resilience is powerful. Every application, every interview, every moment you show up—it matters.”
“Keep showing up. Even when it feels pointless. Even when the silence is deafening. You’re doing the hard work, and that counts more than you know. The right opportunity is out there, and it’s going to find you. You’ve got grit, heart, and a whole lot of strength—and that’s exactly what gets people through times like these.”
So, here’s to six months of persistence. Here’s to growth, grit, and grace.
Now it’s time.
Rock on!
Donations welcome as job searches can take awhile…
Make a monthly donation
Make a yearly donation
Choose an amount
Or enter a custom amount
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.