When All Is Lost

The Deep End #6

What must it feel like to lose everything? The idea is hard to fathom. Define everything. To some, it may mean the loss of a job. To others it could mean the loss of a life partner, a parent, a brother, a friend. What are the repercussions of this loss? When ‘all is lost’, is everything really gone?

It could be.

Everything could mean anything. The loss of a job could mean the loss of your home, your belongings. Life as you know it would disappear. The same could be said of the loss of a person. Suddenly the shoulder you had to cry on, the hand that reaches to pick you up when you’re down could be gone forever in the blink of an eye. Leaving you on the ground cold and alone.

It’s a horrifying feeling. In both cases. One may say that the loss of a job pales in comparison to the loss of a person. But if losing your job means losing everything you know and love, it could lead to a devastating and bleak future.

The problem is, in this world, you have to spend to survive. And to spend, you need to work.

It’s easy to point the finger at “rich” people. Those who clear over two hundred thousand dollars a year and seem to live comfortably by the standards of others. These individuals have nice homes, fancy cars, and their kids go to great schools.

Some people do not feel bad for the people who fit this criteria. I am not one of them.

This country runs off people who keep their mouths shut and do the unthinkable. Wake up every day and go to work without complaint. Not because they want to, but because they need to. Otherwise, they lose everything. I think those people deserve a little empathy now and then.

Sure, you can argue that some live above their means. You shouldn’t be incurring debts that you can’t pay back in case of an emergency. Plain and simple. But it isn’t always that easy. Tell yourself that the next time you get a twenty dollar breakfast burrito while your credit card bill still isn’t 100% paid off.

When you reach a certain threshold of financial success, there are expectations that come along with it. You enter a different realm. Sometimes you need to act the part. Not only that, but if you were bringing in some serious dough, wouldn’t you want to send your kid to a better school? Have them live in a nicer home than you did? If the answer is no, then you can stop reading this now and go back to knitting sweaters with some BS propaganda stitched on the front of it.

The reason I bring this up is this. I used to work in a very lucrative industry. I made a modest income, but my boss had a salary reaching just over five hundred K if you included his yearly bonus, which was always high. Some guys on my level threw daggers at the rest of us on a near hourly basis, trying to get ahead and prove to the company that they were worthy of being in the boss’ position. Needless to say, it wasn’t for me. I got the hell out of there with whatever hair I still had, even if it was only a couple of tufts.

Work wasn’t all bad. Well, yes it was. But the people made it better. In the boiling toxic waste were a few genuinely great guys that I still keep in touch with to this day. It’s hard to build strong relationships with coworkers. Unless you find yourself in a job that puts every ounce of your sanity to the test. When you’re left in a burning pit and told to claw out of it, all while some people try to kick at your fingers and make you fall down, there are guys that try to pick you up and help you keep going. It’s kind of like going to war. Maybe. Except death isn’t by bullet or bomb, but high blood pressure and stress brewing for forty years.

We gave our lives for the cause. Literally. Twelve to sixteen hour days were a regular occurrence. The work day officially started at seven, but if you weren’t there by 5:30AM you might as well hand in your resignation letter on Day 1. Sometimes we put in twenty days straight without a day off. All while the only guy making over a hundred thousand a year was the head honcho.

Until there was a new opening. I had already left by then, but friends I kept in touch with kept me in the loop.

The backstabbers had gone. Thankfully their kind never last anywhere. They tend to just trickle from job to job until everyone realizes who’s poisoning the well and they’re forced to move on.

So, one guy got promoted. I was happy for him and his family. He gave everything he had to get this promotion. After years of service, and long treacherous days through Hell, he made it. Given his own high-rise construction project to build in Downtown Brooklyn. With a salary sitting over four hundred thousand, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Of course, the hours didn’t get any better. They only got worse.

His three kids were put into better schools, and a better house. He saw them a lot less, but that was the sacrifice he made by taking the money to help them.

The position was his, for a few years. Until it wasn’t.

He messed up big time and got shit canned. Suddenly that stream of income disappeared. The well dried up. The hole in the lawn where the For-Sale sign was dug into still doesn’t even have grass growing. How is he going to cover the bills now? Mortgage, car payments, kids’ school, and their mouths to feed.

It’s a horrifying thing to think of and it really upset me to hear. He’s a good guy and I can’t even begin to imagine the torture he must be going through while he tries to pick up the pieces. Most people won’t feel bad. They’ll say he should have managed his money better. But is that fair?