Vigilante
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This is a long, rambling story I wanted to share with you after I was troubled by something I saw the other night. It's almost written as a short story. If you don't like a little introspection, or are reading for a business plan, skip this thread. Someone out there needed to hear this message, and I hope it gets in the hands of the people that needed to read this. Many of us might see ourselves through the eyes of the main character below. - Vigilante
I stopped in with my kid a few nights ago to a local sub sandwich shop, and the sad story written there is etched in my mind. In a combination of thankfulness and helpfulness, I pour out the story here like retelling of a dream. Only, this wasn’t a dream, but a glimpse into the desperate eyes of thousands of people across the United States. The forgotten ones, the failures of capitalism. The working class.
You can find my perception judgmental, until you realize that the story also marks the beginning of my story. I was this guy. Dropping out of school, I was working in retail. Young and not wise enough to realize the deck was stacked against me, I bucked the odds. Through a combination of tenacity and reinvention, I broke the mold. However, I can give you a glimpse into the life I saw a few nights ago, and give you eyes to see through the hands and into the heart and mind of the clerk, the salesperson, the forgotten ones.
I pulled into the sandwich shop, needing to get my kid a sandwich. Having spent the afternoon at an amusement park and her private swimming lessons, if I brought her fuel tank back on “empty” I would be answering to her mother. A ham and cheese better than nothing, we pulled my paid-for vehicle into the lot and went into the store. We ordered some food, and settled into a booth that she would spend the next fifteen minutes using as a jungle gym. She’s the kid that you hate sitting at the table next to.
It was then that I saw him, the 21 year old mirror image of me. Only, he was probably 48. Dressed in a cheap suit and tie, name tag slung around his neck like a noose, he was on a 29 minute escape from his evening shift at the mens clothing store a few doors down the mall. His suit was a little rumpled, which was probably OK as a quick scan of the parking lot indicated there probably were no customers to notice that night anyway. His eyes showed that he was a million miles away.
He was on about minute 10 of his 29 minute escape, an unpaid half hour that extended his required scheduled time by the same 29 minutes. You get a half hour break plus two fifteen minute breaks for every eight hours you work in the United States. A half hour isn’t really enough time to do anything, and most nights the time is spent sitting in the break room, watching the clock and wishing you were anywhere else. It's just enough time for you to settle in to your resentment of your job, and then the bell rings or the whistle blows and you are right back where you started from.
This wasn’t his first job, and likely wouldn’t be his last. A series of choices and setbacks had led him to this sandwich shop that night. He turned it over in his head, over and over and over again. When he left the clothing shop for his "break" his 24 year old boss told him to make sure he was back on time this time. As if there were another time that he hadn’t been. F*cker.
He looked at the clock on his 4th generation iPhone, and with 19 minutes left, his mind slipped away into another mindless game of Tetris. He set his personal high score last week, in what was probably his millionth game. High score. The occasion passed with nothing more than a quick flash on the screen, and then he was back folding shirts again.
His dinner that night cost him more than he made for the last hour. He had a base pay of $12 plus commission, but with no customers in the shop, there was no commission. Add to that he was required to take a half hour unpaid, and his sandwich cost him more than he made after taxes for nearly two hours.
The Tetris helped him forget. It helped him forget that his son's tuition was due tomorrow. He felt dead. He felt trapped. When he allowed himself to think about it, he couldn’t breathe. His ability to pretend it wasn’t happening ended when the credit card was declined, and then they started calling. Not sure what he was supposed to tell them. He put their number on ignore, but knew that was only going to make it all worse.
He looked at the clock as he drifted away into another game. 9 minutes left.
They told him tonight they were cutting his hours back to one hour less than full time. He’d have even less. He didn’t have anything to say. Where else would he go? When he took this job, he told himself it was just temporary. But last week turned into yesterday, which turned into today. And now he had to go home, and tell his wife he just got a pay cut.
6 minutes.
It was easier to just not think about it. Three more hours of standing around a store with no customers. It made no sense to him. He got mad. He thought about the fact that his time was worth so little to them that they would just have him stand around, folding shirts and paying him less than a sandwich. Last month, they changed the commission plan so that even the sales he did were subtracted from his “salary” before he got any commission. Tonight, though, that wouldn’t matter.
4 minutes.
He would almost rather be there than at home.
3 minutes. He slumped down in his chair. He didn’t want to be there. The sandwich made him sick, as the stress turned into a knot in his stomach. He started another game, and then realized he had to get back. Back to what? Back to nothing. Back to his time clock. He had to rush back to be on time to stand around.
He crumpled up his salary in the form of a sandwich wrapper, and headed towards the door. Making a left, he was the only one headed to the clothing store from the parking lot. He’d watch the clock roll towards 9PM, knowing his wife was likely to be asleep when he got home.
And tomorrow, it would start all over again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This forum gets dozens of thousands of hits per week. Many of them are people just like this guy, looking for something that can help them. Something that can encourage them. Something that can teach them. Maybe… maybe that guy is you.
These people are all around us. Capitalism requires it. There are more of them than there are of us. Most of them will never break out. Most of them will never find a way. Some won’t do it because they can’t, some won’t do it because they won’t. Some won’t do it because they think it is game over.
The guy in the sandwich shop reminded me of me. I was him. I fought like hell and found a way, but absent that I once wore his suit. Many of us did.
It’s not enough for you to take everything from this forum and use it for your own gain. It’s not enough for you to read the Millionaire Fast Lane, the Four Hour Work Week, start your business, and live happily ever after. Your life will still be devoid of meaning until you figure out how to reach people with scale and bring them with you.
Look deeply into the eyes of the clothing store clerk in the sandwich shop. At a minimum, lets realize that he deserves compassion. He may never make it. He may never find it. He may always live from day to day eating those shitty sandwiches. Showing you shirts. Folding shirts. And you and I? We look past him. We wonder why he's such an a**hole at the clothing store.
KAK left the forum. He then came back to reach more people in scale. MJ DeMarco could have just walked away, and never written the Millionaire Fast Lane.
I taught some classes last fall. Most of the people sitting in the class were in various stages of being that guy in the sandwich shop. I haven’t reached enough of them yet. We’re not all called to be teachers. Some can give back through philanthropy. Some can give back through teaching. Others through works or other ways of effecting people, either individually or in scale.
Not sure why I spent the time telling you all this, other than the realization that had my life taken some different turns, I could have been that guy in the sandwich shop. That guy is here. Reading this post. Rather than step around them when they find us, maybe we should do a better job here at the forum of helping them find a way.
What will your legacy look like?
I stopped in with my kid a few nights ago to a local sub sandwich shop, and the sad story written there is etched in my mind. In a combination of thankfulness and helpfulness, I pour out the story here like retelling of a dream. Only, this wasn’t a dream, but a glimpse into the desperate eyes of thousands of people across the United States. The forgotten ones, the failures of capitalism. The working class.
You can find my perception judgmental, until you realize that the story also marks the beginning of my story. I was this guy. Dropping out of school, I was working in retail. Young and not wise enough to realize the deck was stacked against me, I bucked the odds. Through a combination of tenacity and reinvention, I broke the mold. However, I can give you a glimpse into the life I saw a few nights ago, and give you eyes to see through the hands and into the heart and mind of the clerk, the salesperson, the forgotten ones.
I pulled into the sandwich shop, needing to get my kid a sandwich. Having spent the afternoon at an amusement park and her private swimming lessons, if I brought her fuel tank back on “empty” I would be answering to her mother. A ham and cheese better than nothing, we pulled my paid-for vehicle into the lot and went into the store. We ordered some food, and settled into a booth that she would spend the next fifteen minutes using as a jungle gym. She’s the kid that you hate sitting at the table next to.
It was then that I saw him, the 21 year old mirror image of me. Only, he was probably 48. Dressed in a cheap suit and tie, name tag slung around his neck like a noose, he was on a 29 minute escape from his evening shift at the mens clothing store a few doors down the mall. His suit was a little rumpled, which was probably OK as a quick scan of the parking lot indicated there probably were no customers to notice that night anyway. His eyes showed that he was a million miles away.
He was on about minute 10 of his 29 minute escape, an unpaid half hour that extended his required scheduled time by the same 29 minutes. You get a half hour break plus two fifteen minute breaks for every eight hours you work in the United States. A half hour isn’t really enough time to do anything, and most nights the time is spent sitting in the break room, watching the clock and wishing you were anywhere else. It's just enough time for you to settle in to your resentment of your job, and then the bell rings or the whistle blows and you are right back where you started from.
This wasn’t his first job, and likely wouldn’t be his last. A series of choices and setbacks had led him to this sandwich shop that night. He turned it over in his head, over and over and over again. When he left the clothing shop for his "break" his 24 year old boss told him to make sure he was back on time this time. As if there were another time that he hadn’t been. F*cker.
He looked at the clock on his 4th generation iPhone, and with 19 minutes left, his mind slipped away into another mindless game of Tetris. He set his personal high score last week, in what was probably his millionth game. High score. The occasion passed with nothing more than a quick flash on the screen, and then he was back folding shirts again.
His dinner that night cost him more than he made for the last hour. He had a base pay of $12 plus commission, but with no customers in the shop, there was no commission. Add to that he was required to take a half hour unpaid, and his sandwich cost him more than he made after taxes for nearly two hours.
The Tetris helped him forget. It helped him forget that his son's tuition was due tomorrow. He felt dead. He felt trapped. When he allowed himself to think about it, he couldn’t breathe. His ability to pretend it wasn’t happening ended when the credit card was declined, and then they started calling. Not sure what he was supposed to tell them. He put their number on ignore, but knew that was only going to make it all worse.
He looked at the clock as he drifted away into another game. 9 minutes left.
They told him tonight they were cutting his hours back to one hour less than full time. He’d have even less. He didn’t have anything to say. Where else would he go? When he took this job, he told himself it was just temporary. But last week turned into yesterday, which turned into today. And now he had to go home, and tell his wife he just got a pay cut.
6 minutes.
It was easier to just not think about it. Three more hours of standing around a store with no customers. It made no sense to him. He got mad. He thought about the fact that his time was worth so little to them that they would just have him stand around, folding shirts and paying him less than a sandwich. Last month, they changed the commission plan so that even the sales he did were subtracted from his “salary” before he got any commission. Tonight, though, that wouldn’t matter.
4 minutes.
He would almost rather be there than at home.
3 minutes. He slumped down in his chair. He didn’t want to be there. The sandwich made him sick, as the stress turned into a knot in his stomach. He started another game, and then realized he had to get back. Back to what? Back to nothing. Back to his time clock. He had to rush back to be on time to stand around.
He crumpled up his salary in the form of a sandwich wrapper, and headed towards the door. Making a left, he was the only one headed to the clothing store from the parking lot. He’d watch the clock roll towards 9PM, knowing his wife was likely to be asleep when he got home.
And tomorrow, it would start all over again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This forum gets dozens of thousands of hits per week. Many of them are people just like this guy, looking for something that can help them. Something that can encourage them. Something that can teach them. Maybe… maybe that guy is you.
These people are all around us. Capitalism requires it. There are more of them than there are of us. Most of them will never break out. Most of them will never find a way. Some won’t do it because they can’t, some won’t do it because they won’t. Some won’t do it because they think it is game over.
The guy in the sandwich shop reminded me of me. I was him. I fought like hell and found a way, but absent that I once wore his suit. Many of us did.
It’s not enough for you to take everything from this forum and use it for your own gain. It’s not enough for you to read the Millionaire Fast Lane, the Four Hour Work Week, start your business, and live happily ever after. Your life will still be devoid of meaning until you figure out how to reach people with scale and bring them with you.
Look deeply into the eyes of the clothing store clerk in the sandwich shop. At a minimum, lets realize that he deserves compassion. He may never make it. He may never find it. He may always live from day to day eating those shitty sandwiches. Showing you shirts. Folding shirts. And you and I? We look past him. We wonder why he's such an a**hole at the clothing store.
KAK left the forum. He then came back to reach more people in scale. MJ DeMarco could have just walked away, and never written the Millionaire Fast Lane.
I taught some classes last fall. Most of the people sitting in the class were in various stages of being that guy in the sandwich shop. I haven’t reached enough of them yet. We’re not all called to be teachers. Some can give back through philanthropy. Some can give back through teaching. Others through works or other ways of effecting people, either individually or in scale.
Not sure why I spent the time telling you all this, other than the realization that had my life taken some different turns, I could have been that guy in the sandwich shop. That guy is here. Reading this post. Rather than step around them when they find us, maybe we should do a better job here at the forum of helping them find a way.
What will your legacy look like?
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