We Couldn't Take it Anymore

 

We Couldn’t Take it Anymore

We couldn’t take it anymore.  Get up, go to work, come home. Angry bosses, demanding clients, and long hours. Office work was the same old thing, over and over.  Sometimes I wondered why I did it.   My wife hated it too.  Something had to change. 

Tired of working for morons, we decided we’d start our own business and be self-employed.  The quickest way to get our own business was to purchase a franchise.  We chose the simplest type, a small restaurant in a famous nationwide chain.  It was a simple, plug-and-play system. At first, we were so proud to be independent that we didn’t mind the long hours.  Then we began getting late food deliveries, mistaken orders, broken equipment, and employee turnover.  The franchiser complained about our low profit margin, and customers gave us bad reviews.  We found ourselves back in the same old rut: angry bosses, demanding customers, and long hours.

We couldn’t take it anymore.  We sold our franchise and moved to the country.  We bought an old farm, planted corn, and raised chickens and cows.  We thought a quiet country life would be easy, but we had to work from dawn to dusk to get by.  The cows got worms, the eggs were small, and the corn got blight.  Buyers and suppliers complained incessantly.  Same old, same old.  We couldn’t take it anymore. 

The only way to avoid angry, impatient people was to find a business where people would leave us alone, so we bought a septic tank suction truck.  I drove to clients’ homes and my wife answered the phones.  Our clients were never home when I arrived because they couldn’t stand to watch, and no one called the office because they didn’t even want to talk about it.  We were like lepers.  We always had plenty of work because no one else wanted to do it.  We worked easy hours and never got a complaint.  People left us alone and paid whatever we asked.  For the first time in our lives, we didn’t mind taking people’s shit.