Destiny: The Online Gaming World

Back in 2014, a game called Destiny was brought to life.

At the time, I looked at it as just another third-person shooter. I wasn’t sure it was going to pull me away from the Call of Duty world, and honestly, I wasn’t expecting much. I figured I’d give it a shot, play for a few hours, and eventually move on.

Yeah… that didn’t happen.

After several hours of playing, I found myself diving deeper and deeper into the world of Destiny. What started as a video game quickly became something much more than that.

It became a lifestyle.

Destiny wasn’t just about shooting aliens, completing missions, or chasing better weapons and armor. It was about the people you met along the way. Online play created an entirely different kind of social world, a place where friends and complete strangers could come together, fight alongside each other, screw around, talk about life, and somehow become friends.

And here I am, all these years later, still playing.

I’m still finding things in this game that I somehow never knew existed. That’s one of the crazy things about the Destiny universe. It’s enormous. There are always new things to discover, new challenges to tackle, and some ridiculously complicated quest that makes you wonder who at Bungie decided that sleep was optional.

But the gameplay isn’t really the reason I keep coming back.

The people are.

My real-world life is pretty simple these days. I leave my house, go to work, come home, walk my dog, take care of whatever needs taken care of, and do it all again the next day.

What I don’t have anymore is something I think a lot of adults quietly miss:

Camaraderie.

The kind where you can just sit around with friends. Talk about absolutely nothing. Talk about everything. Laugh until you’re crying. Bust each other’s balls. Tell stories. Complain about life. Celebrate the good stuff. And sometimes just exist in the same room without needing a reason.

Life has a funny way of taking that away from you.

People get older. Jobs get demanding. Relationships change. Families grow. Everyone gets busy. Before you realize it, those regular gatherings with friends become occasional phone calls, random text messages, or the classic, “We really need to get together sometime.”

And somehow, “sometime” becomes six months. Then a year. Then never.

That’s where Destiny found me.

Every night, I know there is a group of people waiting on the other side of that screen. People I’ve never physically met. People who live in different places, have completely different lives, and yet somehow became my friends.

Real friends.

We log on, play together, and talk.

Sometimes we’re actually accomplishing something in the game. Other times we’re probably doing something completely unnecessary and wasting an embarrassing amount of time. But that’s not really the point.

The point is that we’re together.

And that’s something I didn’t realize I was missing until I found it.

I turned to a video game and an online fictional universe and somehow found something that real life hasn’t given me in a long time: friendship.

There’s something pretty damn interesting about that.

We tend to think of friendships as something that requires proximity. You have to live near someone. You have to go somewhere together. You have to sit across a table or stand around a bar.

But Destiny taught me that friendship doesn’t necessarily care about geography.

It cares about connection.

Somewhere along the way, a bunch of strangers became people I look forward to seeing every night. We might be sitting in different states, different cities, or even different countries, but for a few hours every night, we’re all in the same place.

The Tower. The Dungeon. The Lost Sector.

And sometimes, apparently, arguing over who screwed up the raid.

Again. (GarageBaz)

Destiny has given me something I didn’t know I needed.

It’s given me a place to go.

Not because I’m trying to escape reality, but because I found people there who make reality a little less lonely.

And maybe that’s the strangest part of all.

A fictional world built around Vex, Cabal, Fallen, Guardians, guns, explosions, and an immortal resurrecting companion ghost somehow became one of the most real social experiences in my life.

So yeah, I play Destiny every night.

I play for the game.

But I keep coming back for the friendships.

Because in the real world, friendship sometimes seems to fade away faster than a Destiny 3 server idea.

“Eyes Up Guardian”

Road Rage: How Stupid Turns Dangerous

Sometimes the asshole in traffic isn’t the guy getting angry. Sometimes it’s the guy who caused the problem in the first place.

This morning started like any other morning. I was driving toward the exit where I would enter the highway when I noticed a vehicle approaching a stop sign from a nearby parking lot.

I saw him. He saw me. And then, despite the fact that I was clearly approaching and already had the right of way, he decided to pull directly into my path. I had already started slowing because I saw what was coming. That probably prevented this from becoming a completely different story. I had to brake hard enough that I nearly came to a stop to avoid hitting him.

I didn’t honk. I didn’t chase him down. I didn’t pull alongside him and start screaming. I simply continued driving.

We eventually reached the next intersection and caught a red light. I was in the straight-through lane. He was beside me in the left-turn lane. I looked over at him and shook my head.

Not exactly my finest moment. It was a simple gesture. A look that basically said, “Dude… what the hell were you thinking?”

Apparently, that was enough. He looked over and asked, “Do you have a problem?” I answered honestly. “Yes. You cut me off and you’re driving like an idiot.” And then came the sentence that changed the temperature of the entire intersection:

“If you have a problem, do something about it.” He repeated it.

I didn’t move. I didn’t get out of my vehicle. I just looked at him and shook my head again.

Then he made the threat: “I’ll shoot your ass, boy.” Now, I’ll be completely honest.

That pissed me off. I responded with something along the lines of, “Pull your gun, asshole, and I’ll beat the living shit out of you.” Was that the smartest response? Nope.

Was it the response I gave? Absolutely. And that’s where this story could have gone horribly wrong.

Fortunately, it didn’t. He never produced a weapon. He never got out of his vehicle. In fact, when I responded, he ran the red light and took off. I continued on my way.

Angry? Absolutely. But calm. And somewhere between that intersection and the highway, I started thinking:

What the hell is wrong with people? Because here’s the thing. This entire situation could have been avoided.

Every single second of it. If that driver had simply stayed at the stop sign another few seconds, none of this happens. If he had waited for traffic to clear, none of this happens. If I had simply ignored him at the red light, none of this happens. If he had ignored my head shake, none of this happens. If either one of us had decided that being right wasn’t worth engaging in, none of this happens.

That’s the problem with road rage. People think road rage is the guy screaming, honking, following someone, getting out of his car or waving his middle finger like he’s trying to flag down a helicopter.

But road rage doesn’t always start there. Sometimes it starts with one stupid decision. One failure to yield. One unsafe lane change. One person looking at their phone instead of the road. One driver who thinks their schedule is more important than everybody else’s.

Then someone reacts. And someone reacts to that reaction. And suddenly two complete strangers are willing to risk their lives over something that started because somebody couldn’t wait five damn seconds.

Have you ever heard of SIPDE?

Years ago, I learned a driving method called SIPDE. It stands for:

Scan.
Identify.
Predict.
Decide.
Execute.

It’s a simple concept.

Scan your surroundings for potential problems.

Identify the hazards.

Predict what those hazards might do.

Decide what you’re going to do to avoid the problem.

Execute the maneuver.

That’s it.

You’re constantly looking ahead, recognizing potential problems and making decisions before those problems become emergencies. And honestly, I wonder how many people actually know this exists. Because sometimes when I’m driving, it sure feels like nobody does.

People stare at their phones. They blow through stop signs. They pull out in front of traffic. They change lanes without looking. They ride bumpers. They speed up when someone tries to merge. They refuse to let someone over because apparently allowing another vehicle into their lane would cause their entire bloodline to lose honor.

And then they’re shocked when something goes wrong.

Put the damn phone down.

Pay attention. Look ahead. Slow down. Leave yourself some room. And when somebody else screws up? Don’t make their bad decision your bad decision.

That’s probably the biggest lesson I took from this morning. I knew that driver was going to pull out in front of me before he did it. I was already slowing down. I anticipated his mistake and avoided the collision.

That’s SIPDE. Where I screwed up was the next part.

I engaged. The head shake was unnecessary. The eye contact was unnecessary. And once he started talking, I should have simply ignored him.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: I’m human. And I have a pretty low tolerance for people who act like assholes and then expect everyone else to pretend they aren’t being assholes.

Sometimes I think people need to be told they’re being an asshole. Unfortunately, there’s a time and place for that. A traffic light isn’t it. Because you have no idea who you’re dealing with.

That guy this morning threatened to shoot me. He didn’t pull a gun. He didn’t act on the threat. He drove away.

But what if he had? What if I had gotten out of my vehicle? What if he had produced a weapon? What if there had been a passenger in his vehicle? What if one stupid decision had turned into two families getting a phone call that morning?

That’s the part people don’t think about. Consequences.

Some people seem to have absolutely no concept of them. Everybody has somewhere to go. Everybody has somewhere they’re supposed to be. Everybody has deadlines, appointments, jobs, families and problems.

You’re not the only person on the road whose life matters. And driving is a privilege, not a license to put everyone else in danger because you’re impatient, distracted or convinced that your destination is somehow more important than theirs.

So here’s my challenge. Next time somebody cuts you off, don’t chase them. Don’t block them. Don’t slam on your brakes to prove a point. Don’t get out of your vehicle. Don’t turn a bad driver into a dangerous encounter.

Scan. Identify. Predict. Decide. Execute.

And if someone does something stupid? Take a breath. Let them go. Because you know what?

Being right isn’t worth dying over. And neither is proving that the guy in the other car is an asshole.

Trust me. This morning, I already knew he was.

WHO WATCHES THE WATCHMEN?

When the people we trust become the people we fear

There are some stories you never get used to hearing. Over the years, we’ve all heard them.

The police officer who abuses the very people he swore to protect.

The teacher or coach who sexually assaults a student entrusted to their care.

The hidden cameras discovered in girls’ locker rooms, bathrooms, medical offices, or other places where people should be able to expect privacy.

And every single one of those stories has something in common:

These are places where we are supposed to feel safe.

These are people we are supposed to trust.

Parents send their children to school believing the adults in that building are there to educate, protect, and guide them. We trust police officers with our safety. We trust doctors and medical professionals with our privacy and our bodies.

That trust isn’t a privilege. It’s a responsibility.

And when someone abuses that responsibility, the damage goes far beyond the individual victim. It damages the trust everyone else has placed in that institution.

So I have to ask:

How the hell do these people get into these positions in the first place?

Are some of them simply that good at lying? Are they that good at manipulating background checks, coworkers, supervisors, friends, and families?

Or are there warning signs that people noticed but chose to ignore?

Because that’s where this conversation gets uncomfortable. A predator doesn’t always walk into a job wearing a neon sign that says I’m a predator.

Sometimes they’re charming. Sometimes they’re respected. Sometimes they’re the person everyone says is “such a great guy.” Sometimes they’ve been around for years.

And sometimes somebody had a bad feeling about them and didn’t say anything.

That’s where we have to do better.

No adult in a position of authority should EVER look at a child as an opportunity for sexual gratification. There is no excuse. There is no gray area. There is no “mistake.”

A child is a child. An adult is an adult.

And the adult is responsible for maintaining that boundary… every single time.

I also believe institutions have a responsibility to continuously evaluate the people they put in positions of authority.

A background check when someone is hired shouldn’t be the end of the conversation. People change. Circumstances change. Warning signs can appear years after someone gets the job.

And when those warning signs appear, someone needs to pay attention.

If your gut is telling you something isn’t right, don’t automatically dismiss it.

If coworkers are talking, listen. If students are reporting uncomfortable behavior, listen. If parents are raising concerns, listen.

If multiple people are independently saying the same thing about the same person, maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop asking why everyone is complaining and start asking what they’re complaining about.

Because “we didn’t know” isn’t always good enough. Sometimes people didn’t know. And sometimes people didn’t want to know.

There’s a huge difference.

One bad person can destroy decades of trust in an institution. One corrupt officer can make an entire community question law enforcement.

One predator in a school can make parents question whether they can safely send their children to school.

One person abusing a position of authority can make thousands of people wonder:

“Who can I trust?”

That’s the part that bothers me the most.

Parents shouldn’t have to wonder whether the teacher, coach, officer, doctor, counselor, or administrator standing in front of their child is someone they need to protect their child from.

Children shouldn’t have to become experts at recognizing dangerous adults.

That’s our job. And when children speak up, we have an obligation to listen.

When victims speak up, we have an obligation to listen. When employees speak up, we have an obligation to investigate.

And when evidence proves someone abused a position of trust, there needs to be real accountability.

Not a quiet transfer. Not a slap on the wrist. Not “let’s keep this internal.” Not protecting the reputation of the institution while the victim is left carrying the consequences.

Protect the victim. Remove the predator. Follow the evidence. Enforce the law.

It’s really not that complicated.

And yes, I believe people who deliberately prey on children or abuse positions of authority deserve some of the harshest consequences the justice system can legally impose.

Because there are certain lines you don’t cross.

Hurting a child is one of them.

We can’t eliminate every bad person from every profession. But we can build better systems. We can conduct better screening. We can create environments where people aren’t afraid to report suspicious behavior.

We can stop dismissing uncomfortable complaints simply because the person being accused is popular, powerful, respected, or has been around forever.

And most importantly, we can stop confusing loyalty with silence.

Because protecting a person who is hurting others isn’t loyalty.

It’s complicity. Ignorance might be bliss. But when it comes to protecting children, ignorance isn’t an excuse.

Pay attention. Ask questions. Trust your instincts. Listen when people speak.

And if you see something wrong, say something.

Because the people who need protection the most should never have to wonder whether the people standing beside them are the ones they need protection from.

Our children deserve better.

And frankly?

So does everyone who has ever placed their trust in an institution that promised to keep them safe.

If you or anyone you know has been exposed to sexual assault or abuse you can call or text:

https://rainn.org

WHAT HAPPENED TO SOCIAL MEDIA?

The Bullshit We’ve All Agree To

There was a time when social media was actually… well, social.

Crazy concept, I know.

Back when Facebook first became a thing, people actually used it to keep up with people.

You’d open your feed and see pictures of your kids. Your family. Your friends. Somebody’s vacation. A birthday party. A night out. Maybe your buddy standing next to a fish he caught that was definitely much smaller than the fish he claimed it was.

It was fun.

If somebody moved away, you could still keep up with them. You could see their new house, their kids growing up, their vacations, their lives.

It was basically a giant digital family album where everybody got to peek into everybody else’s lives.

And then…We fucked it up.

Today, open Facebook and start scrolling.

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Within the first hundred videos, you’re going to encounter approximately 47 people who have suddenly become experts in constitutional law, criminal procedure and police tactics because they watched a traffic stop on their phone.

You know the ones. There’s a police officer standing on the side of the road, dealing with somebody who just got pulled over, and some guy sitting in his basement is narrating the entire thing.

“You see right there? That’s an unlawful stop. Officer has no jurisdiction. He can’t do that. That’s a violation of your Fourth Amendment rights.”

Buddy… You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.

But apparently you’ve watched enough YouTube videos to become the Supreme Court.

Then, just when you’ve recovered from that stupidity, along comes the cooking expert. And apparently we’re all chefs now.

“Today I’m going to show you how to make AMAZING barbecue ribs in the crock pot!”

No. No you’re not.

You’re going to put ribs in a crock pot, drown them in barbecue sauce, cook them until they’re the consistency of a rubber band and then tell everyone you’ve discovered the secret to authentic barbecue.

You have not.

Then come the fake doorbell-camera videos. Oh, for fuck’s sake!

Apparently every neighborhood in America now has a Ring camera recording elaborate Hollywood productions where somebody’s pretending to steal a package, confront a neighbor, get caught trespassing, rescue a puppy, fight an Amazon driver or discover a raccoon operating a forklift.

And somehow everyone is standing there with perfect lighting, perfect camera angles and crystal-clear audio.

Sure. Totally real.

Nothing suspicious about that whatsoever.

At some point, social media stopped being about sharing your life and became about manufacturing content.

And that’s the part I don’t understand. When did everybody decide they needed to become an entertainer?

What happened to going to work?

Seriously. Did I miss a memo?

Did somebody send out a mass email saying, “Hey everyone, good news! Nobody has to have a job anymore. Just film yourself arguing with strangers, make fake videos and explain traffic stops you don’t understand. Apparently there’s money in it.”

And the really crazy part is…

There actually is. People have figured out that attention can be monetized.

The more ridiculous the content, the more people watch. The more people watch, the more money you can make.

So now we’re incentivizing people to become progressively more ridiculous because apparently being normal doesn’t generate enough clicks.

And that’s how we got here. We didn’t just build a technology that connects people.

We built a machine that rewards bullshit.

And then there’s Marketplace. Sweet Jesus…

Facebook Marketplace used to be a place where you could actually find things people were selling.

Now you’ll find an item photographed with what appears to be a 100-year-old Polaroid camera with the lens covered in bacon grease.

“Excellent condition. $400 firm.” You can’t even tell what the fucking thing is.

Is that a lawn mower?

A washing machine?

A motorcycle?

A deceased relative?

Who knows.

And for every two legitimate items listed, there seem to be a hundred profiles of mysteriously single women who apparently live three miles away, are looking for a good man and somehow ended up posting their dating profile under USED FURNITURE.

I’m just trying to buy a fucking table. Leave me alone, Susan.

And here’s the part that really bothers me.

We were told technology was supposed to make our lives better.

Faster. Easier. More connected. And in some ways, it absolutely has.

But somewhere along the way, we traded away an enormous amount of our privacy for convenience.

Our phones know where we go.

Our apps know what we search for.

Our devices listen for commands.

Our televisions know what we watch.

Our cars know where we’ve been.

And every time we scroll, click, search, watch or pause on something, we’re feeding another little piece of ourselves into the machine.

And what do we do with all this incredible technology?

We scroll. And scroll. And scroll.

And somehow, after three hours of watching a guy explain why a police officer doesn’t know the law, a woman making crock-pot ribs and a fake video of a guy getting attacked by a raccoon…

we’re somehow dumber than when we started.

That’s progress, apparently. Maybe I’m just getting old.

Maybe I’m becoming that guy who remembers when people actually called each other instead of sending a thumbs-up emoji.

Maybe I’m just nostalgic for a time when people took pictures because they wanted to remember something, rather than because they wanted strangers to watch it.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I rarely even use Facebook anymore.

I’ll still post for my business. I’ll share my blogs. I’ll keep up with people I actually care about.

But I don’t want to spend my evening watching manufactured bullshit designed by an algorithm to keep my thumb moving.

I don’t want to be angry. I don’t want to be manipulated.

And I sure as hell don’t need some guy named FreedomPatriot1776 explaining constitutional law to me from the passenger seat of his Ford F-150.

I just want to see what my friends are doing.

Show me your vacation. Show me your kids. Show me the ridiculous dinner you cooked.

Tell me about the concert you went to. Post a picture of the mountain you climbed. Tell me about something that actually happened.

Be fucking human.

Because somewhere along the way, social media stopped being about people sharing their lives… and became millions of people desperately trying to convince the rest of us that their fake little life is worth watching.

And honestly? I hate it here.

Place Your Orders, Pay Your Bills & Pray Somebody Loads the Truck

There is something happening in the food and beverage industry that I don’t think enough people are talking about.

The supply chain isn’t just struggling. In some places, accountability has damn near disappeared.

Now before somebody from a distribution company gets their feelings hurt, let me be clear: I understand the world we’re working in.

COVID changed the workforce. Inflation changed pricing. Labor shortages changed operations. Food shortages happened. Transportation became more difficult. Finding good employees became harder. Keeping good employees became even harder.

And small-business owners felt every bit of it.

We still do. I’ve owned and operated a restaurant through all of this. I understand that sometimes a product isn’t available. I understand that a truck can break down. I understand that somebody can call off. I understand that mistakes happen.

What I don’t understand is how the mistakes keep happening with seemingly no accountability.

The Distributor Missed. Guess Who Gets Blamed?

Here’s a scenario that happens far more often than it should.

We place an order. We order the ground beef. We order the specialty IPA. We order the wings. We order the produce.

We do our part. Then the truck arrives.

And guess what’s missing? The ground beef. Or the beer. Or half the damn order. $7800 worth of food. And only $3000 worth shows up!

Maybe it wasn’t loaded. Maybe it was out of stock. Maybe somebody entered the order incorrectly. Maybe the warehouse screwed it up. Maybe nobody knows what happened.

And honestly, sometimes we don’t even get a particularly useful explanation.

But here’s the problem:

The customer doesn’t care whose fault it was.

And I understand that. If you walk into my restaurant and I advertise a particular burger, beer, wing flavor or special and I don’t have it, you’re disappointed.

You should be. But here’s the part customers don’t always see:

It isn’t necessarily the restaurant that failed to provide it.

We ordered it. We paid for it. We were told it was coming.

And somebody simply didn’t put it on the truck. Yet I’m the person standing there apologizing. I’m the person explaining why we don’t have it.

I’m the person watching a customer walk out because we couldn’t provide what they wanted. And I’m the person who still has to pay the vendor bills.

Because Apparently the Money Always Gets Loaded

This is where my frustration really starts. If a small business doesn’t have a product to sell because a distributor failed to deliver it, does the distributor lose revenue?

Not at all!

They still expect payment. They still expect invoices paid on time. They still expect us to meet our obligations.

And don’t misunderstand me, I believe businesses should pay their bills. If you owe somebody money, you should pay them.

But there seems to be an incredibly convenient one-way expectation of accountability.

We are expected to be accountable for everything.

Our customers expect us to have the products. Our employees expect us to have the hours. Our landlords expect the rent.

The government expects the taxes. Our vendors expect payment. Our customers expect quality. And our distributors expect orders.

But who holds the distributor accountable when they consistently fail to provide the products we ordered?

Because apparently the answer is:

“Well, we’ll try to do better next week.”

Fantastic. I’ll just tell my customers that.

“Sorry about your dinner. The warehouse is working on it.” I’m sure that’ll go over beautifully.

The Revolving Door

And then there’s the staffing issue.

I understand it. The people working in these industries today aren’t necessarily responsible for creating the labor environment they’re working in.

But at some point, someone has to own the result.

A sales rep doesn’t call. A new rep shows up and doesn’t know the account.

A manager doesn’t return the call. An order doesn’t get entered correctly. A product becomes unavailable and nobody tells you until the truck arrives.

A new product launches and somehow the restaurant doesn’t know about it. A vendor stops by once every six weeks, if that, and asks if you need anything, and disappears again.

Meanwhile, there are customers asking us: “Why don’t you have this?”

Because we didn’t know it existed. Or because it wasn’t available. Or because nobody bothered to tell us. Or because we ordered it and someone didn’t load it.

And we’re the ones who look incompetent.

That’s the part that pisses me off.

Because I’ve spent a lifetime in the food and beverage business trying to do this correctly.

There are people in this industry who have spent decades learning products, building relationships, understanding restaurants and helping operators succeed. And when someone comes into the industry with zero ownership, zero communication and zero urgency, they don’t just make their company look bad.

They make the rest of us look bad.

Not Every Vendor Is the Problem

And here’s where I want to give credit where credit is due.

There are vendors and distributors who absolutely get it. You know the ones. The reps who actually call. The ones who stop in. The ones who know what you’re selling.

The ones who tell you about a new product before you hear about it from a customer.

The ones who say: “Hey, I noticed you’re selling a lot of this. We’ve got something new coming in that I think you’d like.”

Those people are valuable.

That’s what a vendor relationship is supposed to be.

It’s supposed to be a relationship. Not:“Here’s your invoice. See you next week.”

Your success should matter to the people selling you the products that make your business successful.

Because here’s a crazy concept: If I make money, I buy more from you.

If my restaurant grows, your sales grow. If I add products, your sales grow. If I open another location, your sales grow.

My success is literally part of your business model. So why wouldn’t you want me to succeed?

So What Do We Do About It?

Here’s the uncomfortable answer:

We vote with our wallets.

I’ve completely stopped ordering from some vendors. Call it a boycott if you want. I call it business.

If a company consistently can’t provide what I need, consistently can’t communicate, consistently makes mistakes and consistently expects me to absorb the consequences of those mistakes, eventually I have to make a decision.

It’s not personal. It’s business.

There are other companies willing to earn my money. And that’s really the only leverage a small business has.

We can’t force a giant distributor to care about our profit margin. We can’t force a warehouse employee to load our order correctly.

We can’t force a sales rep to return a phone call. We can’t force corporate executives to understand what happens on the other end of their supply chain.

But we can choose where we spend our money.

And maybe that’s where accountability begins.

The Customer Doesn’t See the Broken Chain

This might be the biggest problem of all.

The customer sees the restaurant. They don’t see the distributor. They don’t see the warehouse. They don’t see the order confirmation. They don’t see the missing pallet. They don’t see the email we sent. They don’t see the phone calls. They don’t see the employee who didn’t load the truck.

They see an empty shelf. They see “86’d.” They see “Sorry, we’re out.”

And they blame the establishment. Sometimes that’s fair. Sometimes it absolutely isn’t. Because the restaurant can only sell what it has. And we can only sell what somebody actually delivers.

You can’t cook what isn’t in the building.

The Food & Beverage Industry Deserves Better

I’m not asking for perfection. Mistakes happen. People screw up. Trucks break down. Products go out of stock. Employees call off.

That’s life. What I’m asking for is accountability and communication.

Tell me you screwed up. Tell me the product isn’t coming. Tell me before the truck gets here. Give me an alternative.

Have a backup plan. Know my business. Know what I sell. Know what I normally order.

And for God’s sake, if you know something isn’t going to be available, don’t make me find out from the delivery driver.

We’re all trying to survive the same post-COVID business environment.

Small businesses are fighting rising costs, labor shortages, inflation, regulations, insurance, taxes and customers who are already paying more for less.

We don’t need our vendors making the job harder than it already is.

Because when you consistently fail to deliver the products we’ve ordered, you’re not just inconveniencing us.

You’re costing us sales.

You’re disappointing our customers. You’re damaging our reputation. And you’re making us look like we don’t know what we’re doing.

Eventually, we have a choice. We find another vendor. So here’s the new business model:

Place your orders. Pay your bills. Hope somebody competent loads the truck.

And if they don’t? Well…

there’s always another vendor willing to take your money.

Maybe that’s the accountability we’ve been missing all along.

Maybe We’re the Idiots for Following the Rules

Congress is full of ID-10t’s

Let’s sit down for a minute.

Forget Democrats. Forget Republicans.

Forget red states, blue states, left, right, MAGA, progressive, conservative, liberal, libertarian, independent and whatever political flavor of the week we’ve invented since breakfast.

I want to talk about something I think almost everyone can agree on:

Our government has become absolutely fucking ridiculous.

And before somebody gets their political underwear in a bind, I’m not talking about one party.

I’m talking about the entire damn circus. Watch five minutes of a congressional hearing.

Just five.

Watch grown adults, elected to represent hundreds of thousands or millions of Americans, interrupt each other, insult each other, belittle each other, grandstand for the cameras and act like middle-schoolers fighting over whose turn it is to use the basketball.

This is supposed to be the most powerful legislative body on Earth.

And sometimes it looks less like Congress and more like a Jerry Springer episode.

We elect these people to solve problems.

Instead, they spend an extraordinary amount of time arguing about whose problem is more important, who gets credit for fixing it and who can blame the other side when nothing gets fixed.

And then we wonder why Americans are pissed off.

Meanwhile, Back in the Real World…

Let’s look at something particularly entertaining:

Things that are legal.

Alcohol? Legal. Tobacco? Legal. Firearms? Legal.

Cannabis? Well…

Apparently we need a flowchart.

Alcohol is an intoxicating substance that can cause addiction, impaired driving, liver disease, cardiovascular problems, cancer and an enormous amount of social harm.

And yet we have an entire industry built around producing it, selling it, taxing it and consuming it.

Nobody walks into a liquor store and says:

“I’m sorry, sir. Before I sell you this bottle of bourbon, I need to determine whether you have a qualifying medical condition.”

Or better yet…

“I’m sorry sir, can you fill this form out, and if your beat your wife or kids, I cannot sell this rum to you”

No.

You show your ID. You pay your money. You leave.

Simple. Tobacco? Same basic idea.

We know what cigarettes can do to people. The government knows. The manufacturers know.

Consumers know. It’s legal, regulated, taxed and sold.

Firearms? Also legal.

But we’ve built an enormous regulatory framework around them.

Federal Firearms Licensees have to navigate federal regulations, recordkeeping requirements, background checks and an ever-changing collection of rules and procedures.

And then there’s the National Firearms Act world.

Suppressors are a perfect example. A suppressor isn’t some magical James Bond murder tube.

It’s an accessory designed to reduce the sound and muzzle blast of a firearm.

And for decades, the federal government treated acquiring one like you were applying for permission to launch a nuclear submarine.

Now, to be fair, the law has changed. The federal tax on most NFA firearms, including suppressors, was reduced to $0 in 2026. The ATF still maintains the registration and approval framework, however. ATF’s NFA tax information

And that’s my point.

Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?

Why does the person who is already willing to follow the law have to navigate the maze?

And Then There’s Question 21(e)

Here’s another little gem.

Walk into a federally licensed gun store and fill out an ATF Form 4473.

Question 21(e) asks whether you’re an unlawful user of, or addicted to, marijuana or another controlled substance.

The ATF specifically warns that marijuana remains illegal under federal law even if your state has legalized it for medical or recreational use. ATF Form 4473

So think about the contradiction.

Your state can say: “Medical cannabis is legal.”

Federal law can simultaneously say: “Marijuana is federally illegal.”

And federal firearms law can then potentially say: “If you’re an unlawful user, you may be prohibited from possessing a firearm.”

I’m not arguing that someone should handle a firearm while impaired.

Of course not. I’m asking a much simpler question:

Why are we creating laws that treat a lawful state medical-cannabis patient fundamentally differently from someone who legally consumes alcohol?

If the concern is impairment, regulate impairment.

If the concern is addiction, address addiction.

If the concern is criminal behavior, punish criminal behavior.

But if someone is otherwise a law-abiding citizen, why should the government’s answer depend on whether their legally permitted intoxicant came in a bottle or came from a plant?

That’s not a question about Democrats or Republicans.

That’s a question about whether our laws actually make sense together.

Now Let’s Talk Cannabis

Here’s where things get really interesting.

Cannabis. Medical cannabis. Recreational cannabis. Hemp-derived THC. Delta-8. Delta-9. THCA. CBD.

Different names. Different laws. Different states. Different regulations. Different interpretations.

Same damn plant.

Now, I’m not suggesting cannabis has zero risks.

It doesn’t. Neither does alcohol. Neither does tobacco. Neither do prescription medications.

Hell, Tylenol can kill you if you abuse it.

The question isn’t whether something has risk. The question should be:

What is a rational way to regulate that risk?

Because right now? Rational isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind.

Medical Marijuana vs. Recreational Marijuana

In West Virginia, medical cannabis is legal under a regulated state program.

A patient has to meet the state’s requirements, obtain certification, get an identification card and purchase through the regulated system.

And here’s where the average person starts scratching their head.

The plant doesn’t magically transform into a different plant because you have a medical card.

THC doesn’t look at your driver’s license and say: “Oh shit, he’s a patient. Better change molecular structure.”

It’s still cannabis. The difference is the legal framework surrounding its use.

And that brings us to the current federal insanity.

The Farm Bill That Isn’t Really Just About Farms

The 2018 Farm Bill created the federal distinction between hemp and marijuana based on a 0.3% delta-9 THC threshold.

And somebody eventually realized:

“Wait a minute… We can make intoxicating products from hemp while staying within the language of the law.”

And the hemp-derived cannabinoid industry exploded.

Now Congress wants to change the rules.

Beginning November 12, 2026, the federal definition of hemp changes dramatically.

Instead of looking only at delta-9 THC, the new law uses total THC, including THCA, and it excludes certain synthesized cannabinoids and imposes a 0.4 milligram per-container limit on certain finished hemp-derived cannabinoid products.

Read that again. 0.4 milligrams.

That’s not a typo. And that could have enormous consequences for the hemp-derived THC products currently sitting on shelves across America.

Including beverages. Including products consumers can currently purchase legally in many states.

The government isn’t simply saying: “Let’s regulate these products.”

It’s potentially redefining a huge portion of the existing market right out of the legal definition of hemp.

And here’s the kicker:

Congress still hasn’t gotten its own damn house in order.

The Senate Agriculture Committee attempted to advance the 2026 Farm Bill on August 6.

It failed. The vote was 10–11.

Democrats objected primarily over provisions involving SNAP and state responsibility for food-assistance costs, while Republicans argued that continued delay was hurting farmers and rural communities.

So while Americans are trying to figure out what the hell they’re going to be allowed to buy in November…

Congress is arguing with Congress.

Again.

And This Is Where I Start Getting Pissed Off

I’m not asking the government to disappear. I’m asking it to make fucking sense.

If cannabis is dangerous enough that it needs regulation?

Fine. Regulate it.

If THC beverages need age restrictions?

Fine. Require ID.

If manufacturers need laboratory testing?

Fine. Test the products.

If products need accurate dosage information?

Absolutely. Put the milligrams on the damn label.

If manufacturers need to meet safety and manufacturing standards?

Great. Establish them.

If driving while impaired is dangerous? Punish impaired driving.

If selling intoxicating products to children is dangerous? Make that illegal.

But build a regulatory system that actually reflects the product you’re regulating.

Don’t create a legal gray area, allow an industry to develop, let millions of consumers purchase the products, let legitimate businesses sell them, collect the taxes… and then suddenly decide:

“Well, actually, we don’t like this anymore.”

That’s not governance. That’s legislative whiplash.

And businesses are the ones left holding the bag.

Here’s My Biggest Problem With All of This

The people who follow the rules are the easiest people in America to regulate.

Think about that. The guy who owns the restaurant?

Easy to regulate.

Health inspections. Liquor licenses. Payroll taxes. Sales tax. Workers’ compensation. Insurance. Food safety. Business licenses. Fire inspections.

You name it. The guy who owns a gun shop? Easy to regulate.

The farmer? Easy to regulate.

The licensed cannabis business? Easy to regulate.

The tobacco retailer? Easy to regulate.

The liquor store? Easy to regulate.

Because we know where they are.

We know their names.

We know their businesses.

We know their addresses.

We know what they’re selling.

We know they’re trying to stay legal.

And we know they’ll answer the phone when the government calls.

Meanwhile…

Criminals don’t give a shit.

They don’t file the paperwork. They don’t apply for the permit. They don’t submit the background check. They don’t pay the licensing fee. They don’t wait for approval. They don’t hire an attorney to interpret the latest regulatory change. They don’t sit through a three-hour compliance seminar.

They just… sell the shit.

That’s the uncomfortable part nobody wants to talk about.

Every time government makes the legal pathway harder, more expensive, more confusing and more restrictive, it creates an opportunity for the illegal market.

And then government responds to the illegal market by creating more regulations for the legal market.

It’s a beautiful little circle. A bureaucratic ouroboros.

We’re regulating ourselves into oblivion while the people we’re supposedly trying to stop are standing outside the regulatory fence laughing their asses off.

Maybe We’re Asking the Wrong Question

Instead of: “How do we stop people from having this?”

Maybe we should be asking: “How do we make the legal option safer, simpler and more attractive than the illegal option?”

That’s how you win.

Make legal products:

  • Tested.
  • Labeled.
  • Age restricted.
  • Taxed reasonably.
  • Manufactured safely.
  • Sold by legitimate businesses.
  • Easy to understand.
  • Easy to regulate.

And then go after the people actually committing crimes.

Hmmm? Common sense actually makes sense!

At least I think it does.

Maybe it’s buried somewhere in the Congressional basement next to the bipartisan cooperation.

And Before Someone Says It…

No. I’m not advocating that people start buying illegal guns.

I’m not telling people to start buying drugs from the lady living behind Mugsy’s.

I’m not suggesting we all return to the glory days of back-alley bootlegging.

Although, judging by the way things are going, I’m starting to understand why bootlegging existed in the first place.

When government makes the legal path ridiculous enough, eventually people stop asking:

“What are the rules?”

And start asking:

“Why the hell am I following them?”

That’s a dangerous place for a government to push its citizens.

Because laws only work when people believe the laws are legitimate, rational and worth following.

You cannot regulate your way into respect. You have to earn it.

We The People

This isn’t about Democrats. It isn’t about Republicans.

It isn’t about Trump. Or any other president.

It isn’t about marijuana. It isn’t about guns. It isn’t about alcohol. It isn’t about tobacco.

Those are merely the examples.

The real problem is the machine.

A government that takes forever to solve problems.

A government that can’t seem to agree on basic legislation.

A government where politicians spend more time attacking each other than solving problems.

A government that creates regulations nobody understands.

A government that changes those regulations before businesses have figured out the last ones.

A government that makes the honest citizen jump through hoops while criminals ignore the hoops entirely.

And then everybody wonders why Americans are becoming increasingly cynical.

We’re not stupid. We’re watching. We’re paying attention. We’re paying the taxes. We’re filling out the forms. We’re getting the licenses. We’re standing in line. We’re waiting for approvals. We’re following the rules.

And eventually, somebody is going to look around and ask the question that I think millions of Americans are already asking:

“When did doing everything right become the hardest damn option?”

Maybe that’s the conversation we should be having.

Not left versus right. Not red versus blue. Not Democrat versus Republican.

Government versus common sense.

Because if the people who follow the law are continually punished with more cost, more paperwork, more restrictions and more uncertainty… while the people who break the law simply ignore everything…

we shouldn’t be shocked when people lose faith in the system.

We should be asking ourselves why we built a system that makes them want to.

Maybe the problem isn’t that Americans don’t respect the law anymore.

Maybe the problem is that our government has forgotten what the law is supposed to accomplish in the first place.

And that, my friends… is one hell of a thought.

Route 22: Construction Without End?

If you live anywhere around the Steubenville/Weirton area, you already know the drill.

Construction barrels. More construction barrels. Lane reductions. Traffic backups.

And, of course, Route 22.

At this point, the orange barrels along Route 22 east and westbound near the Veterans Memorial Bridge have become so common that I’m surprised they haven’t been given names and invited to the local Christmas parade.

For those of us who own businesses in the area, however, it’s not quite as funny.

We are heading into our 13th year in business, and during those thirteen years, we’ve experienced firsthand the effects of major traffic delays and the difficulty of getting people from Ohio into West Virginia, and back again.

Customers don’t always want to fight thirty minutes of construction traffic just to grab dinner.

Employees don’t always want to deal with it. Suppliers don’t love it.

And businesses certainly don’t benefit from having one of the area’s major transportation routes repeatedly torn apart.

Here’s where I start asking questions.

I’m not an engineer. I’m not a concrete specialist.

I don’t pretend to know the exact specifications required to build or repair a major interstate roadway.

But I am a business owner who has been watching the same general stretches of roadway get torn up, repaired, and then seemingly need attention again anywhere from ten months to a few years later.

And eventually, you have to ask:

What the hell is going on?

Are the materials being used actually appropriate for the job? Are the concrete mixtures being properly designed?

Is the underlying roadway being prepared correctly? Are contractors being held accountable when repairs don’t last?

Are we simply dealing with an extraordinarily difficult stretch of roadway?

Or, and here’s where the conspiracy-theory part of my brain starts having fun, is there something bigger going on?

Planned Obsolescence?

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic… or is it???

Just think about the concept.

If something is built to last a limited amount of time, it guarantees another repair, another contract, another round of construction and, ultimately, another bill.

I’m not saying that’s what’s happening.

I’m asking whether anyone is actually looking at the long-term performance of these projects and asking why we’re repeatedly spending money on the same pieces of road.

Because if a roadway repair is supposed to last decades and we’re seeing significant problems within a couple of years, shouldn’t somebody be asking some very uncomfortable questions? For example, the most recent roadway project is going on four months. In the past few days we assumed it was finished up… not so fast my friends! A section of the newly poured concrete roadway is already breaking up!

Pretty quick for planned obsolescence.

But maybe it’s a cost-cutting technique. Maybe cheaper materials are being used. Maybe the problem is the installation. Maybe the problem is drainage or the underlying structure. Maybe it’s simply the nature of the terrain and traffic this roadway handles.

There could be perfectly legitimate engineering explanations.

But here’s the thing:

The public shouldn’t have to guess.

When taxpayers see the same roadway repeatedly under construction, they deserve an explanation.

How long was the repair expected to last? What was the original engineering specification? Who performed the work? What materials were used? Was the project inspected? Did it meet the expected lifespan?

And if it didn’t, who is responsible for fixing it?

Those aren’t unreasonable questions. They’re accountability questions.

Because at some point, “construction happens” stops being an explanation.

We’re talking about a major transportation artery connecting communities, businesses and people on both sides of the Ohio River. When that artery is continually restricted, everyone feels it.

Businesses feel it.

Workers feel it.

Families feel it.

Emergency services feel it.

And the people paying for all of it certainly feel it.

So maybe it’s time for someone to start looking beyond the next construction project and start looking at the history of the previous ones.

How many times has this same stretch been repaired? How much has been spent? How long did each repair actually last?

And most importantly:

Why?

I’m not claiming there’s some secret master plan to keep Route 22 permanently surrounded by orange barrels. But the facts are definitely there.

But after thirteen years of watching the same story play out, I’m damn sure willing to ask the question.

Because if we’re going to keep tearing up the road, we should at least be building something that stays fixed.

Otherwise, maybe the barrels aren’t the temporary part of the project.

Maybe they’re the project.

T-W-A! TEACHERS WITH ATTITUDE!

Straight offa summa break, crazy-ass teacher named Basil,

Back in the building, giving kids a hassle!

Chalk in the hand, got a plan in the brain,

Thirty little monsters finna test our game.

T-W-A, yeah, we came to teach,

Got a lesson plan and a coffee in reach.

You thought last year was rough? HELL NAH.

Took six weeks off—now we’re back on the block!

Verse 1: Mrs. Basil Mrs. Basil walk in, everybody get quiet,

Principal talkin’—she don’t wanna hear the riot.

“Welcome back, staff!” Yeah, save that speech,

Got seventeen emails and a bar job at three.

Iced coffee on deck, clipboard in the other,

Been teachin’ so long I can smell line trouble!

Kid says, “I forgot.” She says, “Ain’t that cute?”

“Forgot your homework? NOW FORGET YOUR EXCUSE.”

She don’t gotta scream, she don’t gotta yell,

One silent glare sends a kid straight to hell.

Classroom commander, the queen of the hall,

When Basil starts talkin’, hear a pin drop and fall.

Hook Straight offa summa break, crazy-ass teacher named Basil,

Back in the building, giving kids a hassle!

Chalk in the hand, got a plan in the brain,

Thirty little monsters finna test our game.

Verse 2: Shauna Muz Shauna Muz slide in, cool as can be,

But don’t mistake calm for leniency.

Shades on her face, got the playlist low,

Walks through the hallway like she owns the show.

“Good morning, class.” Everybody: “Hey!”

“Where’s your assignment?” Silence… “Okay.”

Don’t need a megaphone, don’t need a fight,

One raised eyebrow puts the room back right.

Smooth with the tongue, lethal with the pen,

Writes a little note: “See me after ten.”

That’s when you know your whole day went wrong,

Shauna got patience—BUT IT AIN’T THAT LONG!

Verse 3: Stacy NiN Stacy NiN coming through, screaming out “MOVE!”

First bell rings and she’s locked in the groove.

Attendance? Checked. Lesson? Ready.

Coffee intake? CRITICAL AND STEADY.

Student says, “Can I go?” “Where?” “To the head.”

“You were just at your locker!” “Now sit down instead.”

She knows every trick, every loophole and game,

Knows which kid is innocent and who is to blame.

You can run, you can hide, try to flash that grin,

You ain’t slippin’ nothing past Stacy NiN.

Chant Break Who’s got the lesson plan? WE DO! WE DO!

Who’s got the coffee? WE DO! WE DO!

Who’s running this hallway? WE DO! WE DO!

Who’s counting down Friday? WE DO! WE DO!

Five more days! Four more days! Three more days!

WE AIN’T GETTING PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS!

Verse 4: Danielle C Danielle C steps in, red pen blazin’,

Grammar on the board got the whole class shakin’.

“Your sentence makes no sense.” Kid says, “What?”

She says, “EXACTLY. NOW CLOSE YOUR MOUTH SHUT.”

Commas in the corner, punctuation on patrol,

She’ll diagram a clause till it loses its soul.

Essay comes back lookin’ like a crime scene,

Red ink bleeding everywhere, sharp and mean.

Underneath the red marks, building up minds,

Ruthless perfectionist one line at a time!

Verse 5: Beagle Then Beagle walks in… OH, HERE WE GO!

Nobody knows what Beagle’s gonna show!

Could be teachin’, dancin’, or clearin’ a desk,

Yellin’ “WHO TOOK MY COFFEE? THIS IS NOT A TEST!”

Beagle’s got energy nobody contains,

Blowin’ through the room like a freight train!

Kids start laughin’, desk starts shakin’,

Principal in the doorway: “What are we makin’?”

Beagle just grins: “Educational engagement!”

Principal walks away: “I need a career replacement.”

Outro Straight offa summa break!

T-W-A! TEACHERS WITH ATTITUDE!

Mrs. Basil! (BOSS!)

Shauna Muz! (SMOOTH!)

Stacy NiN! (ENFORCER!)

Danielle C! (RED PEN!)

Beagle! (WHAT THE HELL?!)

We got lesson plans! ATTITUDES!

We got coffee cups! ATTITUDES!

Thirty kids askin’: “IS THIS GONNA BE ON THE TEST?”

…YES.

(Bell rings again)

Summer’s over. The copies are made. The pencils are sharp. And somewhere in the hallway, a 4th Grader just whimpered: “I think I have Mrs. Basil.” Welcome back.

Straight Offa Summa Break

T.W.A. Teachers With Attitude

THE BELL RINGS

Ayo…Summer’s over. Lock the doors. Hide the coffee. ’Cause the teachers are back.

T-W-A!

TEACHERS WITH ATTITUDES!

Straight offa summa break,
Back in the building, ain’t nobody safe.
Chalk in the hand, got a plan in the brain, thirty little monsters gonna test our game.

T-W-A, yeah, we came to teach,
Got a lesson plan and a coffee in reach.
You thought last year was rough?

HELL NAH.

We took six weeks off

[VERSE 1 — MRS. BASIL]

Mrs. Basil walk in, everybody get quiet,
Principal talkin’—she don’t wanna hear the riot.
“Welcome back, staff!” Yeah, save that speech,
I’ve got seventeen emails and a bar job at three.

Iced offee on deck, clipboard in the other, been teaching so long I can smell trouble coming.

Kid says, “I forgot.” She says, “That’s cute.” “Forgot your homework?”

“NOW FORGET YOUR EXCUSE.”

She don’t yell.
She don’t scream.
She just gives that look

And destroys your dream.

Classroom commander, queen of the hall, When Mrs. Basil speaks

YOU WONT HEAR A SQUEAK.

Straight offa summa break,
Back in the building, ain’t nobody safe.
Chalk in the hand, got a plan in the brain, thirty little monsters gonna test our game.

T-W-A, yeah, we came to teach,
Got a lesson plan and a coffee in reach.
You thought last year was rough?

HELL NAH.

We took six weeks off

[VERSE 2 – SHAUNA MUZ]

Shauna Muz slide in, cool as can be,
But don’t mistake calm for leniency.
She got the shades on, got the playlist low, walks through the hallway like she owns the show.

“Good morning, kids.”

Everybody: “Hey!”

“Where’s your assignment?”

Silence… “Okay.”

She don’t need a megaphone, don’t need a fight, one raised eyebrow and the room gets right. Smooth with the words, deadly with the pen, writes one little note…

“See me after ten.”

That’s when you know your whole day went wrong,
Shauna got patience—

BUT IT AIN’T THAT LONG.

[VERSE 3 — STACY NiN]

Stacy NiN coming through like,

MOVE!

First bell rings and she’s already in groove. Attendance? Checked. Lesson? Ready. Coffee? CRITICAL.

Student says, “Can I go?”

“Where?” “To the bathroom.” “You were just there.”

“AND NOW YOU’RE STAYING.”

She knows every trick, every loophole, every game,
Knows which kid is innocent, and which one’s to blame.

You can run, you can hide,
You can try that grin, But Stacy NiN already knows…

“I’ve seen this before, kid.”

Who’s got the lesson plan?

WE DO! WE DO!

Who’s got the coffee?

WE DO! WE DO!

Who’s running this hallway?

WE DO! WE DO!

Who’s counting down Friday?

WE DO! WE DO!

Five more days!

Four more days!

Three more days!

WE AIN’T GETTING PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS!

[VERSE 4 — DANIELLE C]

Danielle C steps in with the red pen blazing, grammar on the board and the whole class shaking.
“Your sentence makes no sense.”

Kid says, “What?”

She says… “THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT.”

Commas in the corner, punctuation on patrol, She’ll diagram a sentence till it loses its soul. Essay comes back looking like modern art, Every red mark saying,

“TRY AGAIN, SMART.”

But underneath all that terrifying correction, she’s building little minds with ruthless perfection.

So when that student finally gets it right?

She smiles…

Then assigns another paragraph that night.

[VERSE 5 — BEAGLE]

Then Beagle walks in…

OH, HERE WE GO.

Nobody knows what Beagle’s gonna do.

Could be teaching. Could be dancing. Could be standing on a desk yelling…

“WHO TOOK MY COFFEE?!”

Beagle’s got energy nobody can contain,
Walks into the classroom like a hurricane. Kids start laughing, teacher starts yelling, Principal’s in the doorway

“What the hell is happening?”

Beagle just grins: “Educational engagement.”

Principal walks away.

“I DON’T GET PAID ENOUGH.”

[FINAL HOOK — ALL]

Straight offa summa break,
Back in the building, ain’t nobody safe.
Bell rings loud, hear the whole school shake,
T-W-A

WE’RE WIDE AWAKE!

Mrs. Basil!

BOSS!

Shauna Muz!

SMOOTH!

Stacy NiN!

ENFORCER!

Danielle C!

RED PEN!

Beagle!

WHAT THE HELL?!

T-W-A!

TEACHERS WITH ATTITUDES!

We got lesson plans!

ATTITUDES!

We got coffee cups!

ATTITUDES!

We got thirty kids asking,

“IS THIS GONNA BE ON THE TEST?”

…

YES.

[OUTRO]

Summer break’s over. The bell has rung. The pencils are sharpened. The copies are made. The teachers have entered the building. And somewhere… Some poor kid just whispered:

“I think I have Mrs. Basil’s class.”

WELCOME BACK TO SCHOOL.

What the Actual Fuck Are We Insuring?

Can we talk about insurance for a minute?

Health insurance.
Vehicle insurance.
Homeowners insurance.

I know I’ve kicked this rock several times over the years, but I just cannot make any of this shit make sense. We are told insurance is necessary. In some cases, it’s legally required. We pay for it month after month, year after year, decade after decade. And when you actually need it? Well… that’s when the fun begins. You file a claim, and suddenly your rates go up. Maybe they decide you’re too expensive to insure. Maybe they drop you altogether. Maybe they find some tiny little exclusion buried somewhere in the policy that basically says, “Yeah, technically this isn’t covered.” So what exactly the hell have we been paying for?

Let’s talk about your house.

You buy homeowners insurance because, obviously, your home is probably the single largest investment you’ll ever make. You live on top of a hill. Flood insurance? Not exactly at the top of your priority list. Why would it be? You’re on a damn hill. Then something happens that nobody anticipated. Over the years, somebody alters drainage. Someone fills in an area that was never supposed to be filled. A drainage ditch disappears. A sewer or stormwater pipe gets blocked, clogged or overwhelmed. Then Mother Nature decides she’s had enough and dumps several days of absolutely biblical rain on the area. Water comes rushing through. And then raw sewage backs up into your home. You call your insurance company. And they tell you: “Sorry. That’s not covered.” Wait. What the actual fuck?!

I insured my house. I didn’t insure it against only the disasters that were convenient for you to insure. And this is where insurance starts feeling less like protection and more like a monthly subscription to the possibility of protection.

Health insurance isn’t much better.

We pay enormous amounts of money for health insurance because we’re told we need it. Then you actually need it and suddenly there are deductibles. Copays. Coinsurance. Out-of-network charges. Out-of-network denials. Prior authorizations. Coverage limits. Denied procedures. Denied medications. And that wonderful little phrase: “That’s not medically necessary.”

Apparently the people who have never met you, never examined you and aren’t the ones living in your body get to decide what is medically necessary. You can have insurance and still be terrified to get sick. How the hell did we decide that was normal?

And don’t forget the car. You have to insure your vehicle.

You pay every month. You drive responsibly. Then some idiot runs into you. You weren’t at fault. You did everything right. You call your insurance company. And somewhere down the road, you discover your rates have increased anyway. Because apparently getting hit by someone else’s stupidity is now a subscription upgrade. And heaven forbid you actually use your insurance a few times. Suddenly you’re a “risk.” Funny how that works.

Here’s the part that really bothers me.

Insurance companies aren’t charities. They’re businesses. Their job is to make money. I understand that. But somewhere along the way, we’ve created a system where ordinary people are required to participate in these systems while the companies providing them have every financial incentive to minimize what they pay out. We pay them to assume risk. They make money by managing that risk. And when the risk actually shows up? Suddenly everybody starts looking for the exit. That’s the part I have trouble swallowing.

So here’s my crazy idea.

What if we stopped giving so much of our money to insurance companies in the first place? What if people could put that money into their own accounts? Your money. Your savings. Your emergency fund. Your house account. Your medical account. Your vehicle account. Instead of sending thousands of dollars every year to corporations whose primary obligation is to their shareholders, maybe people could build their own financial safety net. Now, before somebody screams, “But what happens when your house burns down?!” That’s where catastrophic insurance could make sense. Maybe insurance should actually be insurance. Cover the catastrophic stuff that could financially destroy you. Not every little thing. Not a system so complicated that you need a lawyer to figure out whether you’re covered. And maybe government could regulate the hell out of the industry without trying to design every aspect of our lives.

Because here’s another problem: We have politicians making decisions about industries they often know absolutely nothing about. Then corporations lobby those politicians. Money changes hands. Rules get written. Companies adapt. Consumers pay. And somehow we’re all supposed to pretend this is the best system humanity could possibly come up with. Come on. We’re capable of landing robots on Mars. We can probably figure out a better way to pay for a fucking doctor’s visit.

I’m not saying I have the perfect answer.

I don’t. Maybe completely eliminating insurance companies isn’t realistic. Maybe some things absolutely require risk pooling. Maybe catastrophic insurance is the answer. Maybe healthcare needs an entirely different model. Maybe we need a combination of personal savings, catastrophic coverage and government regulation. I don’t know. But I do know this:

Something is fundamentally wrong when people spend thousands upon thousands of dollars protecting themselves from financial disaster and can still be financially destroyed when disaster actually happens. That’s not security. That’s anxiety with a monthly premium. And somewhere along the way, we accepted this as normal. Maybe that’s the part we should be questioning. Because I’m getting pretty damn tired of being told: “Don’t worry. You’re insured.”

Only to discover that the thing I’m worried about is the one thing my insurance doesn’t cover. So yeah… I’m ready to kick this rock again.

What do you think? Would you rather keep paying insurance companies for the promise of protection, or would you rather put more of that money into your own pocket and be responsible for protecting yourself? Maybe I’m completely nuts. But right now? “You’re covered… except for that” isn’t exactly making me feel covered.