We all choose our paths, and those choices come with trade-offs. For me, I went from a career in law enforcement to running a restaurant. Both demanded complete dedication. Both swallowed my time whole. Neither left much room for what people call “living life to the fullest.”
Then, of course, life piles on extras. Maybe you start a family, get a dog, or just try to hold it all together day by day. Suddenly, travel and vacations don’t just feel hard, they feel impossible.
And yet, some people do it. They hop on planes, check off bucket list destinations, and come home with suntans and hundreds of social media posts. Honestly? I have no idea how. Because even if you carve out the time, there’s always the looming question: Can you even afford it?
That’s where career choice bites you. I chose service. I chose careers where the money doesn’t exactly overflow. There were no massive bonuses, profit-sharing perks, or cushy work-from-home jobs with commissions. Just honest work. Long hours. Small margins. And a paycheck that keeps the lights on.
If I walked away today, just dropped it all to finally live, I’d have about $40,000 to my name. That doesn’t buy freedom. That doesn’t buy a retirement. That barely buys breathing room.
So instead of booking flights to see the places I’ve dreamed about, I keep imagining. Instead of crossing items off the bucket list, I keep the list in my head, tucked away between late nights and early mornings.
This is the life I chose. The one that pays the bills but also steals the years. And sometimes, when I’m up at night, I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d picked differently. If I’d chosen a path that gave me not just a paycheck, but freedom.
Because deep down, don’t we all deserve to live more than we work?
Working in chaos? That’s supposed to be fun. Embrace the suck, find your rhythm, and grind it out. Me? I love it. When I first started out, I fed off the energy of the people around me. The pace, the noise, the hustle…. it fueled me.
But today’s workforce? Man, it feels different. Too many can’t (or won’t) handle the grind. My energy is up, I’m ready to roll, but I look around and see folks ducking out, dragging their feet, or worse, glued to their phones.
Here’s the deal: I don’t ask for much. I don’t expect perfection. What I do expect is your full effort while you’re on the clock. Not texting. Not scrolling Facebook. Not hiding out in the walk-in cooler like it’s a safehouse from reality. Your presence is demanded five days a week…
For the few hours you’re here, I’m asking for one thing: give me your 100%. Respect the job. Respect the team. Respect yourself.
Adequate help, that’s it. Not superhuman. Not perfection. Just show up, give your best, and make the grind easier instead of harder. Because when everyone’s locked in? That chaos becomes rhythm. And that rhythm? That’s where the magic happens.
Let’s be real for a second, our patio is ok. It’s got sturdy tables, comfy chairs, big umbrellas with our logo, and a front-row seat to a beautiful West Virginia backdrop. But here’s the hard truth… nice isn’t enough.
Right now, our patio is like that friend who has all the right clothes but never gets invited to the party because they just stand in the corner sipping water. It’s clean, it’s ready, but it’s missing that spark…. in all seriousness it’s a corner of the parking lot and the vibe isn’t really hitting! The thing that makes people want to be here, laugh here, and post about it online, doesn’t really exist YET!
So, why isn’t it working?
1. There’s No “Scene” (Open to Suggestions)
People are drawn to energy. A packed patio makes more people want to sit outside. An empty one… not so much. If there’s no live music, no games, (we had games, the kids broke them all) no conversation flowing, it’s easy for folks to just choose the table inside.
2. We’re Not Creating FOMO
Social media should be showing people what they’re missing. If the only thing they see online is a picture of an empty table, they’ll assume it’s quiet and skip it.
3. The Experience Doesn’t Feel Different
If eating outside feels exactly the same as eating inside (just with more sunlight), people will pick comfort over heat, wind, or bugs. The patio has to offer something special.
How We’re Going to Change That( Or at least attempt change)
Alright, enough with the diagnosis…. here’s the cure.
Step 1: Make It Look Alive
String lights, colorful flowers, maybe a firepit when the nights cool down. Outdoor games like ring toss (again) or giant Jenga to keep the atmosphere casual and fun. We want people driving by to see action and think, “What’s going on over there?”
Step 2: Social Media FOMO
We’ll start posting videos of laughter, clinking glasses, and sizzling food coming straight off the grill. Not stock photos — real people, real fun. We’ll tag locals, drop event invites, and make sure every picture says, You should be here.
Step 3: Partner Up
Local breweries & distilleries for some tap take overs and tastings could help.
The Goal
We want Basil’s patio to be the place people think of first when the weather is good. A space where locals know they’ll see friends, hear music, and get a great meal with a side of fresh air.
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.
Oh boy… you got time? Because my resume reads like a game of “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego,” except it’s just me, a regular guy who never met a job he couldn’t tackle.
It all started right around my 15th birthday, when I got my first real gig at the local movie theater. I kicked things off as an usher, you know, the guy with the flashlight and the fake sense of authority. Then moved up to ticket taker, and eventually made my way up to the projection booth. Yep, back when we still ran reels, not playlists. I was the guy behind the curtain, keeping the magic rolling.
After a few years living that cinema life, I dove into the chlorine-soaked world of the local pool. First gig: general maintenance. Translation? I mowed grass, took out trash, and cleaned up the swampy mess that was the pool house. But after a few summers of paying my dues, I landed the coveted role — night maintenance. Midnight to 8am. No supervisors, no nagging… just a few hours of real work followed by a whole lot of goofing off. The dream job of every teenage degenerate.
But it wasn’t all cannonballs and ghost stories. We were responsible for keeping the pool running, and sometimes that meant diving headfirst (literally) into some real problems. Broken filters. Flooded pump rooms. Teenage mischief we didn’t even want to know about.
Then came the construction phase. I bounced between local companies, hammer in hand, building houses, fixing roofs, learning the hard way that gravity always wins. Eventually, I ended up in South Florida working for Sasser Glass, installing plate glass windows and pretty much anything that could shatter and ruin your day.
Back home again, I slung pizzas as a delivery guy and worked the door as a bouncer at a local bar. Think pizza by day, chokeholds by night. Then I moved back south to Hilton Head and worked with Double J Painting , mostly condos and fancy plantation builds. I picked up a side hustle as a bar back and line cook at a local wing joint. Because apparently, I’m allergic to free time and latex! Hence the real threat to a painter!
Back in my hometown (again, you sensing a theme here?), I returned to that same bar and stepped into the kitchen. Cooked for a few years before sliding behind the bar and eventually becoming the head bartender. Not long after that, I made the leap: I bought the place.
Almost forgot, during this time I also worked the tree service world, shoutout to Valley Tree Service, a gig I somehow forgot but my back definitely remembers. Climbing trees, cutting limbs, wrestling brush piles, all while slinging drinks at night. Nothing says “double life” like chainsaws by day, cocktails by moonlight. That job gave me a new respect for gravity, ropes, and not pissing off angry wasps at thirty feet.
From slinging drinks to signing paychecks , eight years as a bar owner. Wild ride. Then, plot twist: I swapped out the cocktail shaker for a badge and joined my hometown police department. Spent 12 years in law enforcement, learning a whole new set of life lessons, some hard, some heartbreaking, all unforgettable.
After that, I made my way to the neighboring city’s wastewater treatment plant as a plant operator (yes, it’s exactly as glamorous as it sounds). A couple years there, then a pivot into the icy trenches of a massive distribution center, working as an order filler in their deep freezers. Cold. Miserable. Character-building.
Eventually, the universe whispered (or maybe screamed), “Get back to what you love,” and I found myself right where I belong — back in the restaurant and bar world. This time, as an owner again. And this time, I came back with wisdom, scars, and a very long list of “what not to do.”
The Moral of the Resume?
I’ve worked a lot of jobs. Worn a lot of hats. Taken a few hard knocks and a few lucky breaks. But every stop along the way added something to the man I am today. Whether it was serving popcorn or serving warrants, flipping burgers or flipping bar tabs and rappelling pine trees— each chapter taught me something.
So yeah, maybe my path wasn’t linear. But damn, it’s been mine. And that’s what makes the story worth telling.
Coda is now 15 months old. When he was a puppy, he went through basic obedience training. Sit, stay, down, yada yada yada… Sure, basic obedience is a great foundation, but it doesn’t teach your dog how to behave in public or what to do with that pent-up energy—or exhaustion energy.
Over the past few months, Coda has developed some habits that make him a challenging shepherd to handle. Enter my secret weapon: a good friend who trains dogs. Unfortunately, he’s booked solid and busy with his other job—protecting and serving.
He did recommend a trainer for Coda. We’ve had one session so far and have seen good results already.
Mostly, dog training is all about training the people to know how to properly handle their pets.
If you have a dog and are in need of serious help, I highly suggest Maximum Potential Dog Training and Say It Once Dog Training.
Both are exceptional and will help create a well-behaved and awesomely trained dog for you!
If you want to build a bond with your pet that will last a lifetime, then I’d suggest having your pet properly trained.
Out of the five GSDs I’ve had over the years—all great dogs—Coda is by far the smartest! Well-bred, very good temperament, and excellent everywhere you’d expect a large dog to be.
I was trying to train on my own, watching videos and reading blogs. Ultimately, I needed to seek help. Not because Coda wasn’t learning, but because I needed to be trained myself.
🐕 Maximum Potential Dog Training
Founded by Police K-9 Handler Rob Cook, Maximum Potential Dog Training offers obedience training and rehabilitation services. They specialize in pet dog obedience training and behavior modification for anxiety, reactivity, fear, and aggression issues in Ohio, West Virginia, and Western Pennsylvania. Their approach builds confidence not only in the dog but also in you, the owner, making daily life with your dog easier.
Say It Once Dog Training tailors their lessons specifically to you and your dog’s needs. They pride themselves on not just being the best dog training company but, more importantly, the best human trainers as well. Their philosophy is that dog training should not be a cookie-cutter, one-size-fits-all approach. They focus on ensuring that you, the owner, have the tools, confidence, and understanding to have a well-behaved dog.
Training isn’t just about teaching your dog—it’s about learning how to communicate effectively with your furry friend. With the right guidance, both you and your pets are on the path to a harmonious and joyful partnership.
We’ve all been there, sifting through resumes, hoping to spot that unicorn candidate with the golden combination: years of experience, the perfect background, and ideas that sound amazing in an interview. And yeah, we thought we struck gold recently at Basil’s. This new hire had the resume of a seasoned pro. During the interview? Nailed it! Said all the right things, dropped some impressive suggestions for improving kitchen flow, we were sold.
But two weeks in?
Didn’t know cook times.
Couldn’t keep up with the pace.
And the KDS? Might as well have been written in a foreign language.
It’s a brutal reminder that experience doesn’t equal talent. What looks good on paper can completely fall apart when the heat gets turned up—literally.
Smart Isn’t Always the Right Fit
This brings us to a key idea from First, Break All the Rules: “Great managers don’t hire based on experience”, they hire based on talent. That’s the natural ability to thrive in a role, not just survive. And sometimes, the most capable people on paper can completely miss the mark in real world performance.
Intelligence and charm in an interview don’t mean someone has the hustle, adaptability, or instinct to work a Friday night rush in a slammed kitchen. Especially not ours.
Why Managers Keep Chasing Experience
It’s easy to fall into the trap of experience-based hiring. It feels safe. Like checking a box:
“10 years on the line? Great!”
“Managed a team of 20? Perfect!”
But what that doesn’t tell you is how they handle pressure, how they communicate under stress, or whether they even care enough to grow.
The Real Cost of the Wrong Hire
A bad hire doesn’t just waste time, it kills momentum. It drains your team. Your best employees have to pick up the slack. Morale dips. Trust fades. And your customers? They feel it too.
So What Do You Hire For?
First, Break All the Rules lays it out:
• Hire for talent, not experience. You can teach cook times. You can’t teach work ethic.
• Trust your gut on behaviors, not buzzwords.
• Look for people who fit the role’s demands naturally.
Breaking Free from the Resume Mirage
At Basil’s, we’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) that a perfect resume doesn’t mean a perfect employee. The right hire is someone who has the natural wiring to succeed in the role—not just someone who talks a good game.
And the truth is, the best people for the job aren’t always the most polished on paper. Sometimes they’re just the ones who show up, ask the right questions, and figure it out fast because they care.
It’s not that people don’t understand what needs to be done, it’s that they genuinely don’t care. That’s the part that breaks you.
Today, I shared a quote from Tim Walton, the classic story of Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody. I posted it with hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, my team would read it and get it. That they’d finally realize that if everybody did something, then everything would always get done.
But guess what? That didn’t happen.
Because today, I had to replace the damn ketchup bag-in-the-box because Nobody thought it was their job. At the end of the night, while they clocked out without a second thought, I was re-mopping the kitchen, putting away food left out to rot, and sweeping garbage from under the sink.
I’m not talking about once in a while. I’m talking daily battles with apathy.
And honestly? I’m tired.
I’m tired of covering shifts.
Tired of doing other people’s jobs while still doing my own.
Tired of explaining the same basic things over and over.
Tired of begging people to give a damn about the place that gives them a paycheck.
I used to care, deeply about what others needed, how I could help, how to be the kind of boss people respected. But lately? That care is running on fumes.
I don’t know if I want to fire everyone and start fresh or just walk away and do something else entirely. Because no matter what, I’ll be fine. Better than fine.
Why?
Because I’m a worker. A leader. A fighter. I recognize what needs to be done and I do it, without waiting to be asked, without clock-watching, without making excuses. I’m not afraid to fail, to learn, to hustle. You won’t ever catch me watching my boss clean up my mess.
Too many people today want the title, the paycheck, the perks, but they don’t want to show up. They talk a big game, but when it’s time to do something, they vanish like a Snapchat.
And that’s the root of it, isn’t it?
The gap between talk and action. The canyon between “that’s not my job” and “how can I help?” That canyon is killing businesses, killing culture, and burning out people like me who still believe in showing up and doing the damn work. My family is here day in and day out doing it all and putting in the hours waiting to see who will step up and help or who will sit down and quit!
But here’s the thing, I’m not quitting. I’m just getting louder.
So if you’re reading this and it stings a little? Good. Maybe it should.
Do better.
I’m curious—how have you handled moments when you felt like nobody cared? Share your thoughts in the comments, or reach out if you’ve got advice for a fellow business owner navigating these challenges.
Watching the news this week, I saw extensive coverage of the California wildfires. Among the stories were several famous actors and musicians sharing their losses and asking for help. It made me wonder: unless there’s been major mismanagement of their funds, how does someone with their resources not have the means to rebuild?
Where’s the coverage for the countless regular, blue-collar people who’ve also lost everything?
I own a business, and back in 2017, we expanded with a $150,000 remodel. It wasn’t easy, but we made it work without going to other businesses or individuals to ask for donations. That’s why I struggle to understand when businesses seek monetary help for repairs, remodels, or upgrades.
The same goes for travel sports. My son played travel baseball for eight years. We traveled all over the East Coast, South, and Midwest, spending thousands of dollars on equipment, clothing, and hotels. It was a worthwhile investment that provided him with exposure and opportunities, but it wasn’t cheap. We made sacrifices to afford it, and while it wasn’t always easy, we never asked others for help.
I don’t understand the countless families who rely on donations or fundraisers to cover the costs of travel sports. If you can’t afford it, maybe it’s not the right fit. Unless there’s a significant issue like a health problem or an emergency, I struggle to see why asking for personal financial help is necessary.
For example, I need back surgery. Without insurance, the $90,000 price tag is completely out of reach for me. But instead of creating a GoFundMe or seeking donations, I’ve chosen to live with the pain and do the best I can. That’s just how I was raised, to find a way forward without burdening others, especially when I don’t know their struggles or financial situations.
Maybe it’s just me, hence the title, “Things I’ll Never Understand”, but I can’t imagine asking others for monetary help unless it’s an absolute necessity.
Work hard, buy what you need, and enjoy the occasional splurge when you can. Ask for help only when it’s truly needed. Otherwise, live within your means and make it work.
This post reflects my personal opinions and experiences. I understand that everyone’s circumstances are different, and I don’t intend to judge or criticize those who choose to seek help in ways that work for them. My perspective is shaped by my values and upbringing, and I respect that others may approach these situations differently.
I’m just one in a giant sea of others who bust their asses and work because:
A. We like to
B. We need to
But when is enough, enough? Like many of you out there, I’ve put in my time. I’ve worked from the age of sixteen to current age of 51.
I’ve had them all, from movie cinema ticket taker to roofer and sewer plant operator. I woke up angry, sick and hung over but still went to work. I didn’t want to, but I had to. Other than my career as a police officer, I’ve always been drawn to and attracted to the food and beverage industry.
As an officer, I went from rookie with terrible days off and no summer vacations to good days off and several weeks vacation whenever I wanted them. It may have sucked in the beginning, but you put in your time and you respect the seniority.
Same goes for the restaurant world. I’ve done every job imaginable in a restaurant and bar. I still love it and I still want to do it, but when I decided to open this business, I never believed I would be back down at the bottom of the seniority barrel.
I thought ownership would consist of chatting with customers, having a drink with some friends. Taking my wife out for a weekend dinner or having nights off to relax.
This is miles away from all actuality. Instead, I have to cover shifts, and do multiple people’s jobs on multiple different nights.
Reliability has become a thing of the past. Getting everyone to show up to work, and even more difficult, get the ones who show up to do all the necessary work is not always an easy task.
They say,
“to achieve true reliability, you must have true reliability professionals leading your efforts.”
Maybe I am at fault for the downfall or the death of reliability. Sure, I possess real-world experiences and I have certificates and a professional reputation of success, but what is it that I truly need to get the best out of the people I hire?
This question may never be answered, all I do know is, you don’t want to do it, I’ll do it! You don’t want to come in, I’ll be there. You don’t want to learn, I already know it.
But the truth is, this isn’t sustainable. Just like the police force where you earn your seniority, in the restaurant world, there has to be a moment when you can lean on your team, just as they lean on you. Maybe I expected ownership to be easier or more relaxed, but I also expected the people I hired to share my work ethic. The reality, though, is different.
I’ve come to realize that true reliability starts with accountability (TOPIC OF LAST BLOG) both from me and those surrounding me. It’s about teaching, guiding, and leading by example, but also knowing when to step back and let others rise to the occasion. After all, I can’t always be the one picking up the slack. It’s a lesson I’m still learning, but I believe it’s a crucial one for anyone in this industry or any industry for that matter.
Reliability isn’t just about showing up; it’s about being present, engaged and accountable. It’s about building a team that not only respects the work, but respects each other and the efforts that got us here.
Hard Lessons & Honest Thoughts 