Where’s the Damn Contractor’s?

Ever try to get some work done around your house or business? Simple stuff, like fixing deck boards, patching a roof, jetting a clogged driveway drain, or finally finishing that mysterious hole in the drywall that’s been staring at you like it knows your secrets?

So you call around. You text. You leave voicemails with the enthusiasm of someone who still believes in humanity. But what do you get back?

Crickets.

Ghosts.

A few “I’ll get back to yous” that age worse than milk in the sun. Or my favorite, when we hang up text me your name, address and job description and I’ll get to it. Meanwhile, a year later you’re still brooming rain water from your garage during every rainstorm!

I’ve got a notepad…. yes, a physical notepad, filled with the names of contractors who vanished like they got drafted into another dimension. They respond to messages, maybe even throw out a quote, but then poof! They’re gone. Or they show up once, sniff around, tell you it’ll be “about $700, give or take,” then hit you with a $2,800 bill for “materials” and “labor” and “uhh… time spent thinking about the job.”

We’ve all seen the commercials: Angie’s List (or whatever it’s called now… Angi? Like it’s trying to sound hip?). It works in bigger cities where reviews flow faster than Jamba Juice in L.A…. but in small towns? It’s as useful as a screen door on a submarine. And it sure as hell doesn’t warn you about the guy who never called back or the one who showed up smelling like last night’s dive bar and used your toilet more than his tools.

But here’s the real twist…

The big contractors?

The “we’ve got trucks and matching shirts” types?

They’re disappearing like Blockbuster in the early 2000’s

And what’s replacing them?

Handymen.

Guys with tools in the back of a dusty pickup, a telephone pole ad that says “No job too big,” and an Instagram full of before-and-after pics that are, let’s say, inspired.

Now listen, I love a good handyman hustle. They fill a gap, especially in small towns where calling a licensed contractor is like trying to book a table at a 5-star restaurant with a McDonald’s gift card.

But here’s the problem:

They’re handy. Not experts.

Need a new door hung? Perfect.

Need your electrical box redone so your breaker doesn’t trip when your wife curls her hair while your son is on a week long Xbox bender? Maybe not so much.

We need a new kind of system. Not Angie’s List 2.0. Not Yelp (because let’s be honest, most Yelp reviews were written during emotional breakdowns). We need a “No-Call, No-Show” database, a place to warn your fellow neighbors and friends before they waste a week waiting for someone who never intended to show up.

Contractor Ghosted You? Add ’em. Got quoted one price, then got hit with a “surprise?” Add ’em. Handyman rewired your house and now Alexa only speaks in Morse code? Add. Them.

We’re not here to bash the blue-collar heroes who actually do show up and do it right. We’re here to call out the ones who treat your time, money, and patience like they’re optional.

Until then, I’ll keep updating my little black notepad of contractor shame.

And if you’re in my area and you are “handy” I have some projects that need attending too! Show up, finish the job and stay out of my little black book!

Driveway Drain: Clogged from a neighbor’s pine tree. Called a plumber. Explained the issue clearly. He agreed to come take a look… never showed up.

Basement Bulkhead: Needs torn out and rebuilt. Plumbing and ductwork inside need repair and rerouting. I reached out to several contractors and even sent photos. Not a single one followed up.

Back Deck to Four-Season Room: Contacted multiple contractors to either repair or tear down the existing deck and convert it into a four-season room. One showed up and seemed interested. Said he’d email a quote and contract. That was two years ago. After three follow-up messages with no response, I gave up.

Follansbee Needs Leaders, Not an Internet Comment War

I jumped on social media today just to check the local election results in my old hometown, Follansbee, West Virginia. You know, a quiet little spot that’s seen generations of my family dedicate themselves to public service. We’ve had city council members, city managers… you name it. I even clocked a few years working for the city myself.

So yeah, I’ve got some skin in the game. And from what I saw during my time there, and from listening to those who stayed in the trenches…. I can tell you one thing for sure: Follansbee has been crying out for an overhaul for years.

Mismanaged funds. Overpaid department heads coasting through their gigs. A leadership culture where “best interest of the city” seems to be an afterthought. Watching the city slip year after year has been tough. Especially the police department. Follansbee sits right between Steubenville, OH and Weirton, WV…. just 30 minutes north of Wheeling. And guess what all three have in common? Crime and a serious drug problem. Meanwhile, Follansbee’s law enforcement seems underfunded and underprepared for the chaos that often spills into town.

But as disappointing as that is… what I saw today was worse.

I couldn’t even find the damn election results.

Instead? Just a scroll-fest of childish name-calling, online tantrums, and enough keyboard courage to fill a high school cafeteria. Seriously, grown adults throwing digital fists like it’s recess. “Idiot.” “Asshole.” And even worse.

Let me ask this: Would you say that to someone’s face at the gas station? At the post office? Or is your bravery only broadband-deep?

Listen, Follansbee needs change. I’m hopeful the new council members and mayor are ready to do what needs to be done and I genuinely believe they are. But change doesn’t just come from the top. It comes from us. From how we act, how we speak, and how we treat each other, even when we disagree.

And maybe, just maybe, if some of these digital tough guys tried acting like actual neighbors instead of internet trolls, we could get something real done.

Here’s to hoping.

How High School Sports Kill Dreams: A Personal Play-by-Play

There’s an epidemic quietly killing sports dreams—and it starts the minute talented young athletes enter high school. It’s not a lack of love for the game. It’s not burnout. It’s not even TikTok (shocking, I know). It’s favoritism. Politics. And coaching that wouldn’t pass Little League certification.

Let me break it down from personal experience.

Years ago, my son joined a rec baseball team in our hometown. He showed up to every single practice, worked his tail off, and played the game with heart. You know what he got in return? A permanent spot on the bench. Why? Because he didn’t share a last name with the coach or attend the right cookouts.

Meanwhile, the coach’s kid—barely present at practice because of another team—waltzed into games like he was the next Derek Jeter. And this wasn’t a one-time thing. Every team was run by a parent-coach clique who picked rosters like they were drafting for a family reunion.

So, we bounced.

My son went on to try out for a large organizational travel team—and he made it. This wasn’t your average weekend warrior crew. This was baseball boot camp with a pro-level polish. Organized practices. Professional drills. Matching uniforms. Players knew their roles. Coaches actually coached. And the kids? They played their hearts out—for each other.

He thrived.

But then came high school—and a choice I didn’t agree with. He left travel ball to play for his school. Why? He wanted to play with his friends. He still trained in Pittsburgh with top-tier instructors (you want credentials? Check out csidesports.com—these guys don’t mess around).

But apparently, high school coaches weren’t interested in credentials. He was told to ditch professional training and report to winter workouts in the school gym—because “we know better.” Right.

From there, it all unraveled.

Practice was chaos. There was no structure. No development. One kid showed up in dress pants, other players were all mis-matched wearing a hodgepodge of gear. Game days looked like a circus—one coach in a black cap, the other in red. No warmups. No consistency. No accountability.

Meanwhile, cocky, underqualified players got starting spots thanks to their parents’ connections. My son, who had the skill, drive, and work ethic, was pushed aside.

Then came the injury—he broke his arm diving for a ball, and just like that, his season was over.

But worse than that? His love for the game was gone. High school baseball killed it. It crushed a dream.

And here’s the real tragedy: This kid wasn’t just good—he was special. DIII and DI coaches saw it. He was training with college athletes at 13. He had a path. A future. A shot at an education and a chance to play at the next level.

But all that potential? Pushed out by politics, poor coaching, and a system that rewards who you know over what you can do.

My son isn’t alone.

This story plays out in every town, every year. Talented athletes walk away—not because they gave up, but because the system gave up on them.

It’s time we start talking about it.

Because sports should be about hustle, heart, and hard work. Not who your parents are, who’s on the school board or who attends your backyard BBQ’s.

Privilege Isn’t a Personality: The Entitlement Epidemic

Let’s talk about something that makes the room go cold real quick; entitlement. Not confidence. Not ambition. I’m talking about that smug, nose-in-the-air energy you feel from folks who believe they were born into the VIP section of life because mommy and daddy had a fat portfolio.

You’ve seen it. Hell, if you work in food service, retail, healthcare, or literally any job that requires human interaction, you’ve felt the sting of someone looking at you like you’re a footnote in their fabulous little world. All because they come from money.

So here’s the question: Do you feel privileged because you come from money?

Because some people don’t just feel privileged, they feel entitled. To pick first. First class. First bite. And first attention. And if they don’t get it? Cue the meltdown. It’s giving “I’d like to speak to the manager” energy… only with a black AmEx and the belief that rules are for peasants. I have a place for your black AmEx!

And it’s not just about service, it’s about worth. There’s this underlying attitude that money = superiority. That if you’re struggling or working hard, it must mean you didn’t work smart. That you’re somehow lesser because your family tree doesn’t come with a trust fund and a country club membership.

Here’s the tea: Money doesn’t make you better. It just makes you louder in a world where too many people are still being silenced.

Entitlement is learned, not earned. And if you think your bank account gives you a moral high ground, then babe, you’re bankrupt where it really counts.

Let’s redefine what deserves respect: Kindness. Work ethic. Empathy. Accountability. The stuff that can’t be wired, inherited, or faked with a Gucci belt.

So take it back a notch and calm down. Your money doesn’t impress me. It doesn’t buy character! It doesn’t earn respect.

And it sure as hell doesn’t get you ahead of the line.

Because around here?

We don’t serve egos, we serve people!!

New World, No Grit?

Owning my own bar and restaurant has opened my eyes to a lot of things I used to take for granted.

Back in the day, when I clocked in as a bartender, the first thing I’d do? Check my inventory. What’s stocked, what’s running low? End of every shift, I’d clean, restock, and leave a detailed list of beers and liquors that needed attention. That was just standard. No one had to ask.

Now that I own the place? Half the staff strolls in like it’s their living room. No sense of urgency, no instinct to go above and beyond. Just clock in, stay in their lane, and peace out.

Did we lose something from the ’90s to now? Where’s the grit? The gusto? The pride in being a grinder? Where’s that “I’m here to crush it and make this place better” energy?

I’m not talking about working yourself to the bone, I’m talking about caring. About showing up with heart, hustle, and some damn initiative and not your own personal agenda?

It’s not that hard: look around, anticipate, and take action. That’s how you grow. That’s how you win.

But in today’s new world of workers, that mindset feels like a dying art.

And I’ll be real, I just don’t get it.

So here’s the question: Can we fix it? Is there hope?

Are there still people out there who want it, who want to learn, level up, and build something better? Are there people who believe in showing up on time, stepping up, and actually giving a damn?

Because if you’re one of them, one of the few left who takes pride in showing up and showing out, then I’m looking for you.

We used to chase shifts. Now I’m chasing people to do the shift.

If you want a gold star for doing the bare minimum, you’re in the wrong place!

Bad Luck or Bad Business?

Lately, we’ve been knee deep in what I can only describe as a streak of epic bad luck, or maybe it’s just plain bad business. Either way, the universe has been testing our patience, one broken product and clueless company at a time.

Let’s start with Vizio.

We bought a brand new TV. Two months in? Dead. Just gone. So, we reach out to Vizio, who kindly send out a repairman. He shows up, scratches his head, pokes around a bit, and then shrugs, completely stumped. No fix.

Next step? Vizio asks for photos of the broken TV so they can send a replacement. Fine. We do it. They send a new TV. We unpack it, set it up, plug it in…

And surprise! The new TV doesn’t work either.

So we call Vizio again and start the whole dance over. This time, they say another replacement is coming. Weeks pass—nothing shows up. I check the tracking… canceled. Why? Because they said they didn’t receive photos of the TV powered on.

Pause for dramatic effect.

How do I take a photo of a screen that won’t power on? I sent pictures. I explained it in detail—multiple times. Two days later, they call again asking for (you guessed it) photos of the TV turned on. Seriously, what the actual fuck?

How many times can I explain:

IT. DOES. NOT. TURN. ON.

It’s like talking to a wall. A wall that’s wearing a headset and reading from a script.

Now let’s talk about Bob’s Discount Furniture.

We bought a chaise sleeper couch a while back. Our dog decided to go full beast mode on the sleeper part and tore it up. No problem, right? We call Bob’s to see if we can just buy the pop-up sleeper portion. They say yes. We order it. We wait.

Delivery day comes, and the guys show up… with the wrong part. Instead of the sleeper section, we get a pop-up storage section. Okay, mistakes happen. We call Bob’s again. They promise to fix it.

Second delivery comes—same mistake. Another storage section.

We’re now on round three, back on hold with Bob’s, only to be told that we can’t buy just the sleeper part anymore. According to them, it’s connected to an arm section. Which is hilarious, because the sleeper piece on our couch? 100% not attached to either arm. I’ve sent pictures, descriptions—everything short of a carrier pigeon.

So what is it?

Is this just a run of bad luck? Or is it a slow death by customer service incompetence?

Honestly, I’m leaning toward the latter. The number of hoops we’ve jumped through just to get basic issues resolved is exhausting. But after the third, fourth, fifth time this kind of thing happens, you start to wonder:

Is this bad luck following us around like a shadow?

Or is the world just overloaded with companies who don’t give a damn?

Either way, one thing’s for sure:

Bad shit really does happen to good people.

New policy: If your company can’t make it right, I’m done doing business with you. Period.

But here’s the twist—I’m also done wasting my time trying to get rid of your broken, busted, useless products.

Instead?

I’m grabbing the scissors, saws or whatever is needed.

Cutting that crap into tiny, satisfying little pieces.

Boxing it up.

And sending it straight to your corporate headquarters with a note that says:

“Here’s your customer service in physical form. Enjoy.”

Because if you can’t fix it, you can damn well keep it.

Busted Back, Broken System: How WV PEIA Turned My Medical Emergency Into a Bureaucratic Nightmare

Imagine living with a herniated disc, two annular tears, nerve pain that shoots down your leg like fire, and a foot so numb it might as well not exist. Now imagine being told the surgery you need won’t be covered—not because it’s unnecessary, not because the doctor isn’t qualified, but because the treatment is 40 minutes away in a different state.

When your spine breaks down, you expect your insurance to step up. Instead, PEIA stepped aside and left me hanging—literally.

Welcome to my life with WV PEIA insurance.

I didn’t twist my ankle or pull a muscle. I’ve got a herniated disc at L4-L5, a bulging disc at L3-L4 with desiccation (that means the disc is drying out and crumbling), and two annular tears. The nerves in my lower back are so compressed I get numbness and burning sensations down my right leg. My foot? Useless. I can barely walk. Work? Out of the question. Exercise? Forget it.

The pain is constant. The frustration? Even worse.

I Did Everything Right—and Still Got Denied

I followed the rules.

I did physical therapy—even when it made things worse.

Multiple times, the disc shifted during PT and left me stuck on the table for hours, unable to move.

I tried cortisone injections. Nothing helped.

Eventually, the doctors ordered an MRI.

But instead of imaging my lumbar spine, where the pain actually was, they ordered an MRI of my thoracic spine—the wrong body part.

When I flagged the mistake, the insurance company told me I’d be responsible for the bill unless the doctor admitted fault. Spoiler alert: he didn’t.

Insert failed treatment here.

Hope in Pittsburgh—Then, a Kick in the Gut

I finally found a specialist in Pittsburgh—just 40 minutes from my home in West Virginia. A real doctor. One who listened, ordered the correct MRI, and confirmed what I already knew: I needed surgery.

A couple nerve block injections got me through the worst of the days, but we were finally at the step that could actually fix me.

And that’s when PEIA dropped the hammer.

They told me I’d be responsible for $85,000 of the surgery costs.

Why?

Because even though the doctor is in-network, he’s out-of-state.

And apparently, that’s all it takes for PEIA to slash your coverage and pretend your deductible doesn’t exist.

So not only would they cover less, but they refused to apply anything I’d already paid toward my deductible—because it wasn’t in West Virginia.

I genuinely believe that might be illegal. And I intend to find out.

The Appeal Games: Rules Followed, Denied Anyway

I appealed. The hospital appealed. We met every criteria:

Proximity: My specialist is 40 minutes away. The PEIA-recommended providers? 2+ hours. Failed Local Treatment: My previous doctor ordered the wrong MRI, and all treatment attempts failed. Established Relationship: I’d been working with my Pittsburgh doctor for months. He was recommended by someone I trust.

All of it? Denied.

So we appealed again.

And were denied again.

Meanwhile, PEIA starts advertising a new perk—if you live in southern WV, you can now go to Cincinnati, Ohio for care.

That’s even farther than Pittsburgh for many people!

But if you’re in the northern panhandle, like me? You’re not allowed to go 30–45 minutes across the state line for excellent care.

Make it make sense. You can’t. Because it doesn’t.

The Truth About PEIA

Let’s call it what it is: garbage insurance.

PEIA isn’t designed to help patients—it’s designed to save money by denying care.

They put up red tape, hide behind technicalities, and leave patients like me in chronic pain, unable to work, and drowning in bills.

And I know I’m not the only one.

So here’s the deal:

If PEIA has denied your surgery…

If they’ve forced you to pay for their mistakes…

If they’ve told you “no” when you did everything right…

I want to hear your story.

Send it to me. Comment. Share this post. Whatever it takes.

It’s time to hold this system accountable. Because no one should have to fight this hard just to get their life back.

Addiction, Inflated Arrests, and Problems Unsolved

Recently, I’ve been seeing and hearing people complain about some local drug busts.

The Complaint:

Why do police arrest the buyers, people with legitimate addiction problems, but not the big dealers?

This is a question I’ve asked for years. Even back when I was a police officer, I never fully understood why law enforcement avoided going after the big dealers.

The worst part? When a city puts out its arrest numbers, the general public only sees “47 drug busts this month.”

But what does that really mean?

That’s 47 arrests of addicts. Teachers. City workers. Lawyers. Blue-collar people who have a real problem.

Sure, some deserve to be arrested, but many of these people simply made a mistake or are trapped in addiction, and no one is helping them. Meanwhile, the real peddlers, the ones making the money and fueling the cycle, remain on the streets.

Inflated arrest numbers might look good on paper, but they don’t solve the real problem.

My Perspective: From Both Sides

I speak from experience.

As a former officer, I saw the numbers and the lack of quality arrests.

As an addict, I understand the dangers and consequences of addiction firsthand.

Many people don’t know this about me, but I’m okay talking about it now. I never thought I was a problem. My bills were always paid, my family taken care of and I always woke up and went to work. People like this don’t have problems right?

I was introduced to cocaine in the early ‘90s. It started as something I used off and on. Just for special occasions. Over time, I realized I was the problem. It wasn’t the drug.

I liked it. I wanted it.

Then I became a police officer. Problem solved, right?

Wrong.

I did my best to stay away, but there were times I slipped up. Years later, when I started making more money than I ever expected, I quickly realized that I could afford more of it. And I indulged more often.

I thought I was living it up.

The Wake-Up Call

Then I came across an article about an NHL player.

Being a Boston sports fan, I was always familiar with Jimmy Hayes. I knew he had passed away, but I didn’t know how or why.

Then I read the letter his brother, Kevin Hayes, wrote to him after his death.

🔗 Kevin Hayes’ Letter to Jimmy

This woke me the fuck up.

It scared the shit out of me.

I didn’t want my family, my friends, or anyone writing a letter to me after I was gone.

It doesn’t take much fentanyl to kill you instantly. And how can you be sure it’s not laced in your product?

You can’t.

And by the time you realize it, it’s too late.

The Battle to Get Clean

That day, I tried to stop.

• Clean and sober for one month.

• Three months.

• Six days.

• Failing.

I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to continue.

It was too easy to get.

It was too easy to use.

Then I remembered: I’d get arrested.

And the dealers would continue to thrive.

I didn’t want to be an inflated arrest number. More importantly, I didn’t want to be dead.

Choosing a Different Path

This is when fear and embarrassment kicked in.

• What would my family think of me?

• What would my friends and community think of me?

I thought about seeking help. I looked into NA meetings.

What I found instead was an online support group, a place where we could talk, meet, and help each other. We exchanged numbers and used this tool to reach out when the urge hit.

That was Step One.

Then came the hard part:

Cutting out the people who made using too easy.

Going through my phone and deleting every contact associated with the drug.

Digging deep inside myself, taking charge of who I am, and choosing discipline over destruction.

I’ve gone to bed trembling some nights because I wanted to get my hands on a gram or two. But I stayed strong.

I reread Kevin Hayes’ letter to his brother, again and again.

10 Months Clean. No Going Back.

I am clean.

I have zero desire to ever use again.

And as of December 24, 2024, I have cut out alcohol completely as well.

This was my choice.

And it has led me to a healthier, happier life.

The Hard Truth

It’s not always possible.

It’s definitely not easy.

But it is 100% doable.

Especially if you surround yourself with supportive friends and family.

And sometimes, it doesn’t hurt to scare the absolute shit out of yourself.

I never became part of the inflated arrest numbers.

I beat my addiction, but I will always be labeled an addict.

And I will spend the rest of my life saying NO.

Final Thoughts

• The system is broken. Big dealers stay free while blue-collar workers become statistics.

• Help is limited. It’s not often offered, and law enforcement isn’t always on your side.

• Recovery is possible. But going it alone is often a losing battle.

If you’re struggling, I’m here.

I’ll listen.

I’ll help.

I’ll walk with you.

Because I’ve been there.

Let Downs: Commercials vs. Real Life

We’ve all seen them, countless commercials that suck us into a product or service with perfect visuals and happy actors.

Companies spend thousands, if not millions, crafting these ads, using professional lighting, scripted interactions, and carefully chosen actors to sell us a dream. But what happens when you actually buy in? Too often, real life doesn’t match the commercial. Let’s break down a few examples.

Chipotle: Fresh, Friendly, and… Fake?

Watch the commercial here.

Chipotle markets itself as a place where food is prepared fresh daily by smiling, friendly staff. The ad makes you crave guacamole and a burrito bowl on the spot.

But step into a real Chipotle, and reality hits. The employees? Not so cheerful. The freshness? Questionable. The experience? Usually rushed, sometimes rude, and rarely as inviting as the commercial made it seem.

Leaf Filter: Fix Everything… or Nothing?

Watch their pitch here.

This one I have personal experience with. The actors in this ad should win awards for how well they sell it. They promise a solution for clogged gutters, debris, and even damaged downspouts.

So, I called. And what did I get? A third-party installer who barely seemed to care about the job. These guys have their own businesses and side gigs, so they rush through the work and cut corners. And when issues pop up? Good luck getting someone to come back and fix them. Leaf Filter the product might work, but the service is nothing like what the commercial promises.

Window World: Stand on Your Windows? Cool. But Install Them Right First.

Check out the ad here.

The commercial is all about professionalism, clean-cut installers in branded shirts, carefully installing high-quality windows. It looks like a smooth, easy process.

Now, in real life? The salesperson shows up with a long-winded pitch about how strong their windows are (yes, we get it, you can stand on them). But I don’t care about that. I care about a fair price, a professional install, and a crew that actually knows what they’re doing. Instead, you often get a team that looks like they just rolled out of bed, and when they mess up the install, it takes weeks to get a new crew out to fix it.

Do These Actors Ever Buy What They Sell?

I sometimes wonder; do the actors in these commercials ever try the products they promote? Do they ever go out to eat at the places they hype up? If they did, would they still smile the way they do on screen?

There should be stricter rules for advertising, making companies deliver on what they promise. Or maybe, more customers should start playing these commercials back for the companies, asking, “Where’s this experience? Because this isn’t what I got.”

Until then, the best we can do is call out the nonsense when we see it.

Expectation and Comparison: My Downfall

It took me a long time to get where I am in life. Along the way, I’ve worked in construction, painting, window installation, law enforcement, and several different positions in restaurants and bars. I’ve worn many hats, but no matter the job, I approached my work the same way, PREPARED, PROACTIVE, and ACCOUNTABLE.

How I Work….

I’ve always believed in showing up early, at least 30 minutes before my shift. Not just physically, but mentally. I walked in knowing what needed to be done, rarely needing a boss or supervisor to tell me.

As a police officer, my first task was reading reports from the previous shifts, understanding what happened overnight, and knowing where my attention was needed. By the time I was out on patrol, I had a plan.

In the restaurant world, it was no different. I’d check stock, ensure everything was ready for service, and take inventory of beer and liquor before the shift even started. That way, I knew exactly what I had, what I was short on, and how to adapt.

No one had to push me to do these things. I took initiative because I believed that’s how a job should be done. And one thing you would never catch me doing, was standing away playing on my phone. If you wanted to keep your job, you did your job.

The Letdown…..

And this is where my frustration begins, expectation and comparison.

I expect others to work the way I do. To show up early. To take charge of their responsibilities. To know the job they applied for. To be aware of the products they’re selling. To function as a team.

And time and time again, I am disappointed.

Very few people seem willing to take ownership of their work. They clock in at the last possible minute, do the bare minimum, and wait to be told what to do. I struggle with this because it goes against everything I believe in. I don’t understand how someone can walk into a job unprepared, unconcerned, and unwilling to improve.

I feel handcuffed in my own business because I don’t know how to fix these issues. I’ve read the books, listened to the experts. I know I’m a strong leader and a damn good business owner. But when it comes to management? That’s where I fail, because too many employees don’t listen or respect the standards I set.

The Bigger Problem…

Normally, when someone underperforms, you replace them. But what happens when no one else is applying?

That’s my reality. If I got rid of every negative, unmotivated, or underperforming employee, I wouldn’t have enough staff to run the business. I’m stuck choosing between keeping subpar workers or being too short-staffed to function.

The Questions I Can’t Answer…

So how do you build a business with employees who actually care? How do you find people who want to show up and put in the work? More importantly, how do I stop comparing myself to others and expecting them to operate at my level?

I don’t have the answers. Maybe I never will. But unless I make some drastic changes, either in my expectations or in my life, I’ll stay caught in this cycle of frustration, disappointment, and the constant feeling of being stuck.