Mr. Big (mouth)

I left a lucrative career in the food service industry for the opportunity to start up my own company, in this adventure, a contracting/construction business in northwest Ohio.

I mean I started this company from the ground up.

Not far removed from my pool shark days of Las Vegas, I went to a local tavern and ended up shooting nine-ball with a few kids that all looked in their twenties. The next thing you know, I had hired my first three drones.

Not particularly skilled, but very appreciative for the job, so in turn they were very loyal to me. I taught them how to paint, which is pretty amazing since I never painted anything before myself.

I did possess the one trait crucial to starting up any painting endeavor: an absolute attention to detail and a perfectionist when it came to the finished product. I told the boys the speed will come as you get more experienced and realize you stand to make bigger paychecks by painting two, not one house a day and so on and so on.

The thing was, I have always been able to talk shit with anyone, and I mean anyone.

So, I had more jobs lined up, and my business partner, the guy who actually had to show up and get crews to do the jobs, was kept hustling all day long.

Needless to say, I was smart enough to compensate him well.

Within six weeks, I had more money than I had time to deposit in the bank.


Mr. Big.

I remember walking out onto my balcony after going through undeposited checks and cash on my desk.

“I’m gonna be the richest Mexican in Ohio!” I remember shouting.

I am eating dinner and pounding down some drinks with a guy named Phil, and I ask what he does for a living.

He is some national this-or-that for a major oil company that you get gas from every day. We start talking and drinking and shooting nine-ball. The next thing you know, after four or five hours of hitting it hard, I am doing a line off the hood of my car with him as he writes out a bid for my company to paint huge gas depositories as well as some exterior factory and smokestack painting.

It was literally the opportunity to make millions.

Yet another missed swing at the plate, but after my meteoric rise, came the inevitable fall.


Despite being a cash machine, fate would have it that I would end up filing bankruptcy on some tax-related matter before actually being flown to Houston to sign the actual contract.

Yes, a swing and a miss, but I had managed to put myself in the position to hit it big.

It would not be my last swing at the plate.

I painted our house in Arizona, but here, I was smart enough to hire a contractor who has our little house looking awesome.

In the meantime, as Mama always said: “Don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t cash.”

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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