How it goes...

“You’re FIRED!!!”

My boss screamed at me as he was frothing at his mouth. This concluded my last argument with him, one of many that had occurred after I moved 3,000 miles to Southern California from my predictable superiors in Boston.

The three months leading up to this moment are not terribly interesting, at least not to me, which is why I am going to leave them out. That and I do not want to give the asshole the ratification of appearing in my story. He’s a pimple on the ass of my life, not a character in my story.

None the less, I was now jobless, with very little money, no work connections, and no possible connections period besides the people that had given me unsubstantiated promises while drinking heavily.

The one thing I did have was my friend that I met in Nicaragua. Basically all we had was the same empty bank account and aversion towards making assholes piles of money while they kicked dirt in our face every chance they had.


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My trip to Nicaragua with my aforementioned friend, the one that was also broke, that could travel on a shoestring budget as well as anyone I had ever met, and one that I had diluted myself into thinking I could get rich quick with working side jobs. Well he was my connection to everything here. Social life, job opportunities, girls, etc...

Seven years ago I arrived in San Juan Del Sur the day before Valentines Day. I was unaware of the upcoming holiday, having no girlfriend, or prospect of a girlfriend it was not relevant in my mind.

But I was in a party town with dozens of hostels filled to the brim, bottles of rum being sold for $6 and a can of beer 50 cents, so I was in the right town.

Valentines day morning a Norwegian woman walked up to me in the hostel and asked ‘What are you doing tonight?”

“No plans.”

“You go out with my girlfriends?…They’re right there.” She pointed to a picnic table where two girls covered their face in embarrassment. It did not matter. They both were fit, and foreign. My two most important prerequisites for attraction.

“Im in!”

“Good…Meet here at 730.”

I came back that night two faint skinned, frizzy hair Oslo residents. They were here for six months as nursing students studying diseases(or something like that) in Nicaragua. They spent most of their time studying and doing research, so tonight was a big night out for them.

With them was Marcel, from Victoria, British Colombia. The four of us hit it off. Seamlessly sliding in and out of conversations with one another for hours as we drank bottle after bottle of rum before we went off into town to drink on a roof deck bar. There we finally split off.

I took Hannah to the dance floor. She was the taller and curvier of the two, with brown frizzy hair, and an small smile that never left her face. I spun her around, pressed my body against hers at every opportune moment, and snuck in a few kisses.

After both of us had satisfied one another with kissing in public we set off for our hostel. Marcel and Julia, a former ballet dancer with frizzy dark brown hair, were down by the bathrooms waiting for us.

Marcel and I let the girls walk a few strides ahead of us while we could not believe how fortunate our luck had been that day.

We had girls, cheap drinks, a cheap bed and our best years ahead of us. Our bond was made through chasing women in third world countries. And now we look to firm it up in a more competitive, expensive first world.


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Not that long ago I was working in Burlington, Massachusetts doing the same thing I do now. Being an Assistant Superintendent on a multi-family apartment complex. There too we had four superintendents and the responsibilities were so spread out that a nine hour day felt like nineteen.

I asked my boss for different responsibilities.
They never came.

I asked for a different project.
It never came.

I asked for a different type of job inside the company.
It never came.

So eventually I marched into the Vice President of Operations office full of gusto. I had fully convinced myself that I was trending into a downward spiral and needed to do something to wake up my brain. BE BOLD, I told myself. BE CRAZY, I told myself.

I mean someday I would be dead.

The VP was a very nice man. To nice. Always seemed like a pussy to me, asking me abut my feelings. Wanting to know where I wanted to end up in the company. Very nice, very nice.

That was what brought on cold feet. Maybe I should not do this i though. Quit a good job. Risk my security. I mean I was in heavy debt. Thousands of dollars to capital one, MEFA, Chase, and a half dozen other collection agencies that were focused on keeping me working. Keep my good credit score. Oh god what would I do without my good credit score!

“Boss, I’m done. I quit. I can not bear the thought of driving here one more day and go through the motions. I feel like a fool trying to generate ambition where there is none. I need to leave this job and do something that will stimulate me back into a clear view of the world. Im done boss, I got to quit.”

“Oh Tommy, you are a brave man. Not a lot of people would do what you are willing to do.” Very nice. Such a pussy. “I wish you luck.”

Fuck, I guess they did not need me. Overstaffing projects is the norm here, and I guess this is why. People’s brains turn to mush and they self-destruct or quit.

Either way I am packing up my apartment and getting out of Boston, and buying a one-way ticket to Nicaragua.

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So here we are today, both in San Diego, trying to figure out a way to make a life while being broke, and still judged to be outcasts by the older generations. Only now it is slightly more embarrassing with us being in our early 30’s and having nothing to show for outlives except travel stories and the illusions that we are cool.

I still have enough to make rent, at least for a few months. He slips through airbnbs talking about selling his motorcycle to by a van he can turn into his home and eventually drive to South America in. I am a little less ambitious on that front, not wanting to have to drive that far after learning my lesson doing a couple cross country road trips from Boston to Southern California, he has not had the pain of those road trips yet. The glitz only shines when its done, and you’re sitting in a bar telling your friends about the “this one night…”

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We do not chase girls anymore either, or at least he does not(girlfriend), I do. Or try. What I call trying at least.

I have one girl, 32 from back home, a friend of a friend, nice bum but no tits and hard to tell if she is interested in me. We have fooled around a few times, but I left a big gap in my correspondence with her (two weeks) and now she avoids me. Answers my texts and calls, but cannot get pined down for a date. I fucked it up, she liked me, made it obvious and I got distracted, just like everything else in my life.

Another girl, 24, from the town next to where I grew up and a close family friend to my uncle, is on my radar. But only on my radar, I am not on hers. She responds to my messages, but not my calls. Says she wants to meet, but slips out the back door when we are in the same bar. Not promising.

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Life is fun, stressful, scary, annoying, exciting, boring, and therapeutic when you’re broke. The most important thing it is though is freeing, freeing of the feeling that you need something, anything.

Not being nervous about being jobless and penniless is empowering and it can turn a sad life around. Knowing that the only thing you need is air is the most important thing a man can learn. No job, or amount of money can keep your head above water mentally. The worst times of my life have been the moments when I felt trapped by a job, and tortured by a boss.

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Keeping my life like this maintains it as fast and fresh, but will it get old?