TWITTER: @sirbacon123

11 January 2010

"Are You A Drug Dealer?"

I have accomplished a tremendous amount in my 25 years in the working world. So when I was handed my pink slip, instead of a gold watch, I wasn’t really concerned about finding another job.

I didn’t expect it to be easy, but I certainly didn’t think I would be sitting here 13 months later with the job title, Unemployed.

Neither did my 80-year old mom.

“Are you a Drug Dealer?”, she said.


“There must be a reason why you are not getting any offers.”

“Are you involved with bad people? Gambling? Have you done anything that might’ve destroyed your reputation?”

No. No. And no.

For the record, I am not dealing drugs -- never have, never will. I don’t do drugs. I do enjoy a Corona Light with a lime from time-to-time, but that’s about it.

What I am guilty of, is spending nearly 60% of my life, working sixty hours a week.

Like many other Americans, now out of work, working from early A to late P was all worth it -- we were building a career.

Or so I thought.

I have no regrets about all of the time that I was putting into my career -- even if it meant missing dinner with the family or not attending a school function with the kids.

Don’t get me wrong, there is a lot more to my life than the 12-14 hours a day I put into my career for the last 25 years.

I have a wife, who loves me, three children, who adore me and most of all, a spirit for life that hasn’t departed me..... yet.

In fact, I have truly enjoyed and embraced the opportunity to re-introduce myself to my family.

I enjoy grocery shopping.

I enjoy making dinner.

I even enjoy doing the dishes.

Of course, at some point soon, I will need to enjoy bringing home a real paycheck, but that’s a blog for another day.

For now, I am just trying to make sense of my situation and quite frankly, it just doesn’t add up.

I understand the recession.

I understand that thousands and thousands of jobs have been eliminated.

I just don’t understand why the good guys are losing.... and neither does my mom.

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