Old dogs teaching new tricks.

In the apartment complex that we lived in, all of the buildings had three floors.

The first one could be considered the basement since half of it was below grade level with windows that allowed peering out directly over the cut grass. The second floor was just that, nothing spectacular. Those on the third floor had the best view of the landscaping, everyone coming and going on the streets, and the parking lots below.

We lived on the third floor.

Sure is quiet around here

All in all, it was a pretty nice place, albeit full of people who seemed more likely to tuck out of sight when they saw you than actually speak to you.

It got to the point where on more than one occasion I would ask a neighbor how they were without actually caring because they weren’t going to respond regardless.

Almost small talk, but even smaller.

The laundry room was located two floors below. After a few weeks, it was easy to determine most people’s clothes-washing schedules. I felt like I had more confidence than most in the building and didn’t have an issue periodically checking here and there to see if the machines were empty.

I caught on early to the fact that if I moved too quickly down the stairs in my typical Disney movie skipping manner, I’d scare the locals and they’d scatter like mice. I learned to slow the skip to a careful and more nonchalant finish as I rounded the corner and headed down the final half set of stairs.

My dance partner

Each step being carpeted lent to my silent arrival and the nowhere-to-run look of the woman in 2B. I say 2B, I have no clue what her apartment number was.

Our entire relationship consisted of us meeting face to face in the entryway of the laundry room upon my successful stalking to see who I could surprise when I realized that I’d been wearing the same t-shirt for more than a day.

There I was with a basket full of dirty clothes and she’d freak out like I was some gangbanger looking to follow her back to her apartment to see where she hid her kids.

Timid was an understatement.

She and I often danced in the doorway right on the cusp between what was dirty and clean. Sometimes I’d quickly anticipate her left veer as she faced me and I’d go to my right to sneak in just one more Dirty Dancing moment together. It all happened in a matter of a second or two and then she was gone until next week.

I could never pin down her washing schedule. I really had no schedule of my own. I can only assume that she was also busy trying to pin down mine to avoid our awkward dance lessons or having to come in contact with another human being in general.

The fire down below

The apartment immediately across from where the washers and dryers did everyone’s deeds wasn’t exactly quiet before the piano man moved in.

For the two or three years that we lived there, it had three different tenants.

The first ones were there when we arrived. I don’t recall very much about them other than having to weave my way around boxes and furniture as they loaded the rental truck on the day that they moved out.

I remember slightly more detail about the tenants that followed.

They must have moved in while I wasn’t looking and definitely in between wash cycles. I also have to assume that they had some heavy furniture that required constant rearranging based on the grunting and groaning that could be heard from outside the door as I tossed another sock in the dryer to try to chase after its match.

I first realized that someone had moved in when I heard what I thought was a girl by herself doing all of the heavy lifting. Within moments it was clear that she’d had all the help that she needed. Whatever piece of furniture they were moving had to be heavy. I could tell right away that they were doing it all wrong.

Initially, I wasn’t sure if we had a wife-beater on our hands. It took a minute for me to conclude that this particular event wasn’t a one-sided boxing match and was indeed a cohesiveness between them on furniture Feng Shui.

Between her uh-uh-uh noises that followed every time he’d smack the heavy object, it was painfully obvious that neither understood the concept of one, two, three, push. Instead, he’d smack, she’d make another uh sound. Lather, rinse, repeat. There was no working together with those two.

After a few minutes, you could tell that she was doing most of the work and he was quickly giving up as her primal groans grew louder moments before they finally got whatever it was in its appropriate place.

Both clearly satisfied with the achievement and the object’s new location, an uncomfortable quiet fell upon the hallway.

I quickly glanced around to see if anyone else witnessed the couple who wouldn’t soon be hired by any local moving company.

No? Just me?

Carry on.

Over the course of their stay, she seemed to be the more vocal one. He was kind of a big guy who didn’t say much. Then again, aside from the sparring and moving sessions that they regularly had behind closed doors I rarely caught more than a glimpse of either of them.

They moved out the same way they moved in, without me being aware of it.

Stepping aside

It was laundry day when they were carefully navigating the upright piano through the building’s back door and down the half-flight of stairs into Mike Tyson and Robin Givens’ old apartment.

Being a musician, I welcomed knowing that there would be another melody-minded tenant below me. I do a little tickling of the ivories myself, but nothing crazy, or at least not while anyone is watching.

My knowledge of those in the building was limited.

It was basically the lady who preferred not to get her groove on with me or anyone else in secluded places, a guy with the same name as me down the hall, and Punch and Judy who had just moved out and were no longer an option to hang out nearby.

I was in hopes that new-old-guy might present more of a friendly face.

Figuring that I’d only be in the way, I let them do their thing. I postponed my linen chores and just let my dance partner do her thing of separating the whites from the colors that day.

The following morning as I was on my way out for a walk I heard something in the stairwell below. I want to say that it was music, but it was more like a first grader who’d just come home from their first piano lesson and was being forced to practice.

It turns out that Mozart, he wasn’t.

I never once got to speak to him. While I was having my coffee and taking advantage of my third-floor views of the ants marching, I would catch him as he stepped out each weekday morning. He’d return a couple of hours later and it began again.

He was pretty elusive and definitely on a mission of sorts.

Whenever I was in the hallway or stairwell the missed notes and inconsistencies caused me to start to wonder if I had Tourette’s. Thankfully no one witnessed the squeamish looks on my face or my combined eye and mouth twitches as I realized he and I weren’t going to be bandmates anytime soon.

This routine went on for eight hours a day, every single day.

The turning point

I continued my morning ritual of crow’s nest observations while sipping from my coffee mug.

The hours upon hours of listening to what seemed like him repeating the first three pages of book number one on how to play piano had me starting to draw some conclusions. I’ll never know if those conclusions were correct as he moved out exactly one year later.

I came to the assumption, however correct or incorrect it may have been, that this elderly gentleman had recently lost his wife. By all accounts, he was at least seventy-five years old if not older.

He now lived alone, that was clear. It was also clear that for his entire life, he had always wanted to learn to play the piano. No one invests that much time into something that isn’t a life-long dream.

It was apparent that he now had the time to pursue this passion. I’ve never witnessed such dedication by anyone in my life, even to this day.

I’m fairly certain that his morning jaunts were for daily piano lessons which he continued to build on once he returned home.

For eight hours a day, seven days a week, his practice soon graduated into rehearsal. In a single year, he went from the most elementary piano student to a musician who I would have a hard time telling was even the same person who moved in such a short time ago.

His playing just prior to his moving out became something that I would sit in the stairwell and listen to thoroughly enjoying in those final few months of his tenancy. So much so that I’d walk a little slower down to the laundry room and even spend a few more minutes just across the hall from the closed door of the man who had become an amazing concert pianist in an unbelievably short amount of time.

It was inspiring.

He was simply fantastic.

Lessons learned

We moved out shortly thereafter and bid farewell to the place that was home for a short time.

In the years that have followed since then, I’ve made sure to do some things a bit differently.

I politely say hello if given the chance. If I’m not given the chance, I try to make the opportunity.

I take a moment to acknowledge someone’s persistence and perseverance. I hope that somewhere along the line a kind word or reassurance from me helps to positively enhance someone’s life.

Lastly, I realize that it’s never too late to pursue anything in life. The pursuit may take a different path than we initially thought, but going after something that has always been a dream is so very important.

After all, we all only have so much time here. We should all try out new tricks.

How I risked everything and ended up much better off

I walked out on my job thirteen years ago with no savings, no plan, and nothing but a middle finger for who had just become my previous employer.

When something isn’t good for you, it won’t become good for you. You can try to shape it or make the best of it and even pretend for a while that it’s not toxic for you. It will eventually either blow up requiring you to figure out how to put your pieces back together or remain as a part of your life leaving you feeling like nothing but a hollow shell each time you have to encounter it or think about encountering it.

As difficult as the decision that you know you need to make is, you’ll be a better person for cutting whatever this thing is out of your life sooner than later.

I know this from experience.

I asked for a salary increase

My job was the Director of Technology for multiple locations, one of which happened to be 2000 miles away from my office.

I spent that last year saving my employer over $100k. I had been working for less than my position should have paid based on what it was and my experience. I also took on far more work than I had been doing for the past three years for them.

When I crafted my email for a salary increase and included the detail of my cost savings along with the amount I was requesting and why, I got no response.

Nothing.

The Chief Financial Officer that I’d emailed had an office that was directly above me on the second floor. I had also cc’d the General Manager whose office was right across from that of the CFO. Each morning, they both walked right by my office as they entered the building.

Still, not a word.

Two weeks later, The CFO had asked if I planned on sticking around, as in, not quitting. I mentioned that I hadn’t received any reply to my email and voila- a meeting was scheduled the next day.

Signs that things weren’t about to go my way

When I walked into the conference room, my seat at the head of the table was clearly reserved as the CFO and the Operations Manager each sat respectively on each side of where the printed copy of my email had been placed.

I can only assume that the Ops Manager was there as a witness. They’d already fired the HR Director and the CFO was now acting as that person as well.

The conversation started. It was agreed that I had indeed done everything that I said that I’d done in the email and that I was asking for a fair salary amount. This was instantly followed up by being told that it wasn’t going to happen.

The CFO told me that I made a good salary, saying that they knew this because it was exactly what their salary was.

Hmm.

There was clearly no changing anyone’s mind and I quietly retreated.

Gut punch, anyone?

A day or so later, I had a discussion with the GM in his office noting my displeasure with the decision. I was assured that we’d discuss it more to see what could be done once I returned from my planned vacation that I was about to leave for.

On a sunny afternoon the next week at the beach cottage I was renting with my family, an email notification went off on my phone. It was from the business phone system that I supported as part of my job and included an attachment with someone’s voicemail that they’d left.

This wasn’t a normal thing. Voicemails usually went directly to whoever the extension was assigned and showed up as a blinking light on their desk phone.

In this case, the person dialed an extension that hadn’t been assigned. Those voicemails came directly to me as they were normally spam. It was part of my job to make sure they were addressed accordingly and if needed get them to the intended recipient.

This one wasn’t spam.

As I clicked on the attachment and it began to play I recognized the voice. The person identified themselves as the GM that I had just spoken to the previous week. The one that I worked with on a daily basis.

They had left a message that was intended for the person overseeing the property 2000 miles away that said the following (I’m leaving their names out because they don’t matter):

Hey so and so, this is so and so (the GM). I understand that you’ve been having some issues. We’ve been having some problems with Sean and are going to be replacing him in the very near future and hopefully, we’ll get your issues sorted out.

I hadn’t been informed of any issues and later found out that there actually were none. The Admin Assistant was my contact and verified the same. The person overseeing things at that location needed help with their email and left a message for the GM rather than touching base with me.

So much for enjoying vacation.

Make a mental note of this- I got a call the following evening from a tech recruiter regarding a job opportunity. I got these calls pretty regularly and the jobs were never even remotely close by.

It was a game for me. They asked what I would need for a rate and I threw out some ridiculous amount while basically hanging up the call and knowing I’d never hear from them again because of it. I did the same with this one.

Liar, liar, pants on…

I was back at work on Monday with my recently acquired knowledge. Some wouldn’t be so cordial under the circumstances, but I just smiled at everyone and said hello in passing.

My scheduled GM meeting wasn’t until later in the week. I already knew how this was going to go down, but the GM was about to not know what hit him.

The meeting started off with the usual post-vacation formalities; the GM asking me how the trip was, me wanting to tell him to go fuck himself. You know, standard stuff.

My understanding was that this was to be a discussion about ticking my salary up a bit. Instead, it began with his concern over how much I had on my plate and that he’d like to bring in a technology consulting firm to help me out with things.

Well sure I had a lot on my plate. They’d laid off my top tech assistant just a couple of months prior.

Laid off. It means fired. These days, people don’t come back after being laid off.

I bit my tongue in regard to the additional choice words that were now at the forefront of my mouth.

I cut right to the chase and asked if I was being replaced.

I was assured that it wasn’t the case and the reason for bringing them in was reiterated. I then asked point blank if I was going to be fired.

The manner in which he gave the exact opposite of a yes with such conviction was impressive, especially for someone in the position he was about to find himself in. Any aspiring liar would have picked up a thing or two had they been a fly on the wall.

3…2…1…ignition…

Without another word, I placed my phone on his desk. It was already cued up. A touch of a button and the show was about to begin.

The look on his face, as he listened to his own words, was absolutely fucking priceless.

Even though I’d had the previous few days to consider how screwed I was about to be in regard to my employment status, I still wasn’t as fucked as he was at that moment. The term balls-deep was in full swing for the entire length of the message followed by the 10–15 seconds afterward as I watched him try to compose himself.

Resorting quickly to a prim and proper shoulders-back stance, his voice trembled a bit as he asked how I obtained this message.

I’m the IT guy, that’s how. It’s my job. You dialed a wrong number and gave it to me, bitch.

Okay fine, I left the bitch part out.

I asked if he cared to rephrase his answer to my last question.

New plan in town. I was to spend the next six weeks assisting the new tech firm in how I did things. At the end of that time, I’d get a good chunk of cash and then I’d be replaced…fired…laid off, or whatever it’s called.

Six weeks? Who came up with that arbitrary period of time? Probably someone who had absolutely no technical knowledge of what I actually did or was responsible for, like the phone system.

I asked what would happen if I didn’t agree to the deal.

Different plan in town. I was told that as my boss, he’d instruct me to do exactly what the previous plan was. There would be no extra cash and once the knowledge transfer was completed he’d see what opportunities were available to me at that time.

I requested a few days to think about it.

He gave me five. Not business days, five days. The weekend wasn’t going to be much fun.

Let the overthinking begin

I had a mortgage and a family at home that included two young children. I had just taken on a new car payment that went along with the other car payment, ironically over vacation. I had no savings at the time. The work that I did in the area where I lived wasn’t easy to come by and neither was my current salary. We couldn’t live on my wife’s salary alone.

It had been a few years since I actively toured as a musician. Even though I’d played a few significant shows over the past couple of years, I had no intention of going back on the road at that time.

Each of these facts accounted for the very little sleep that I managed to get as I pondered my two options.

The thought of training someone to do my job didn’t sound fun. Knowing that it was a means to an end even with a portion of my salary in a one-lump sum combined with a closed door to wrap it all up didn’t help.

The promised dog biscuit for rolling over wasn’t chump change, either. It was a sizeable amount that could have very well become the savings that I was missing. That is, if I were to still have my job along with it, which wasn’t part of option A.

Option B didn’t sound much better. Being forced to train the same people in the same time frame without knowing what would be waiting for me at the other end of this drain pipe didn’t exactly have me ready to hand over my trade secrets.

There was no right answer. By this time, it was clear to me that the only value that I had to my employer was the fact that I had the keys to how they did business. Once I handed those over, I’d have none.

I was about to become a hollow shell.

Soul searching solely

As I struggled with the decision, I made a trip to my office over the weekend.

I knew that no one would be in the building. Regardless of what I chose, I figured that I’d lose my space to the new guys on day one. Not knowing or caring where I’d end up, I took all of my personal belongings home.

Tuesday was to be decision day. I didn’t go in on Monday morning. My plan was to take it as an extra day to ponder my future. I received a call from the GM telling me that if I didn’t show up I’d be fired immediately.

Shell.

As I got ready for work the next morning at home there was no discussion. I recall it being pretty quiet.

Just as I was walking out the door my wife asked me what I was going to do. I remember looking back at her with one foot out the door telling her that I had absolutely no idea.

My thoughts hadn’t changed during the drive which took just under an hour. I almost felt numb. I hadn’t made a decision.

I’d been made to feel useless and unnecessary. I had poured my heart and soul into what I did. This was the same job that I’d taken a call from on one Christmas morning because of an issue that lasted from 8 am to 1 pm. If you have kids, you know what happens around that hour of the morning on that particular holiday.

It was a job that had made me lose track of priorities. It had taken more from me than it ever gave me. It was about to try to take even more.

Option C

I walked up the same stairs to the same office that I did on the day of the infamous voice memo performance. This time, no formalities, only a single question.

The GM asked me what I was going to do.

I took a deep breath and said, “I quit.”

Completely blindsided, he responded, “You quit? When? In 6 weeks, in 2 weeks, now??”

The complete sense of calm that came over me when I uttered those two words instantly released the tightness in my chest and allowed my soul to breathe again. So much so, that the next word out of my mouth came with ease.

“Now.”

Yep, they were fucked and I didn’t care. Truthfully, at least for the moment and the foreseeable future, so was I. Strangely, I didn’t care about that either.

The role of the universe

I spent two weeks on unemployment that would later be contested. I still had no clue what I was going to do next.

Remember the call that I received while on vacation regarding the job opportunity? Guess who called back?

I asked them if we were talking about the same position. She went over the details and the location. It wasn’t exactly close, but it was doable. Turns out, it was the same position, and the same recruiter.

I asked if she remembered the rate that I had given. She confirmed the ridiculous amount that I had told her, which also happened to be more than double my previous salary.

I started my new job in a place with a pretty amazing team three weeks after that final meeting with the GM. Three weeks after I refused to be degraded, humiliated, and completely devalued. Three weeks after financially risking everything for not only myself but for my family as well.

Three weeks after slamming that door shut.

Just three weeks later, everything was fine. Everything was fixed.

I continued to dial in my technology career and had multiple clients while working remotely from my home office for years in my flannels and a t-shirt while earning nearly 4x what my salary was at that previous position that I walked out on.

Today

As I dive more into my writing career, it’s those moments in my life that help keep me pointed in the direction that I want to go.

It’s no longer about how much money I can make or being the director of anything.

It’s about sharing my stories, being a voice for those that are better at things other than writing and trying to do it all in a way that allows people to hear me speak through the words that I choose.

Quitting that job the way that I did was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. The doors that it opened up for me have been enormous.

I never thought of myself as much of a risk taker until I started to look back on that and some other decisions that I’ve made. As it turns out, big risk taker over here.

Big.

I’ve been in the music industry for over 35 years and have experienced failure, success, and everything in between, including unwelcome competition.

The 1980s saw a flood of DJs needing to scratch their record player‘s itch and spin over from dance clubs into more of the wedding scene than ever before. Because of this, bands lost gigs that paid pretty well compared to the local club scene. Decades later, for those planning weddings, having a DJ vs. a live band is definitely a decision at the top of the list.

Now, Freelance Writers are the live band and ChatGPT is the DJ.

Everywhere I read, Freelance Writers are freaking out about not being needed any longer because AI can do what they do. The thing is, it can, and it can’t.

I’m biased. I prefer live music. The funny thing is, one of my best friends is a DJ and a pretty good one at that. He actually (gulp) was the DJ at my wedding. He was also my best man, so I had a little control over the music selection as he sat next to me.

Still, a polished wedding band is hard to beat. The trouble is, they’re hard to find and if you are able to get them, they’re usually expensive.

Oooh, this is sounding more and more like a good Freelance Writer who knows what they’re worth! I like it.

Yes, it’s true, some people will hire their friend’s garage band to play at the reception and the performance can be…lackluster, at best. Maybe they got them cheap, maybe someone owed someone a favor, or maybe all of the DJs were booked. Who knows?

But, if that’s the case, why not just plug in some speakers and create a playlist? Well, here’s some more DJ-ChatGPT-Freelance comparative talk for you-

It wasn’t hard to find some content on a wedding DJ site showing exactly what I mean…

Can you DIY your own wedding DJ set?

“Most people think that they don’t need to hire a DJ to play at their wedding receptions and that they can do just as good a job just using their iPods or laptops. However, DJs are not simply glorified music players. They actually do a lot more than that.”

Let’s change just a few words…

Can you DIY your own ChatGPT content?

“Most people think that they don’t need to hire a Freelance Writer to generate their AI content and that they can do just as good a job just using their iPhones or laptops. However, Freelance Writers are not simply glorified AI content generators. They actually do a lot more than that.”

Or, can you even imagine, this one? (oh the nerve)…

Can’t I just use ChatGPT to create all of my content?

“Most people think that they don’t need to hire a Freelance Writer to write their content and that they can do just as good a job just using ChatGPT. However, Freelance Writers are not simply content generators. They actually do a lot more than that.”

Just like DJs, ChatGPT isn’t going anywhere, and neither are live bands or Freelance Writers. Keep in mind, the availability of talent is never the complete deciding factor on who gets hired.

• Some clients have a tight budget and can’t afford a good Freelance Writer or seasoned wedding band.
• Others can afford whatever they want and still choose the DJ or have ChatGPT whip up their next blog post or article and leave it at that.
• Those that like a human touch find a way to incorporate both- they have a DJ at the reception and a fun, local live band to wrap things up.

There’s room for everybody at the party.

You do you. Just be sure to let everyone know you’re doing it. Realize that no matter how good of a Freelance Writer or live band you are, nothing can overcome a tight budget or bad taste in music.

The all-to-familiar DJ at the wedding reception- where else can you go from Sweet Home Alabama’ing it right into Earth, Wind & Fire’s 1978 hit “September?” I have to admit, I like that second one, and now I’ll be hearing it in my head for the rest of the day…

…two..three…Do you remember?