I’m Ross, and I’m 49 years old. I’ve got a wife named Lydia, two kids who keep growing out of their shoes faster than I can buy new ones, and a mortgage that still feels way too big for a house that’s honestly too small. But it’s ours, and that counts for something.
A few years back, the factory I worked at for over two decades shut down overnight. I mean… literally overnight.
One morning, we clocked in like always, and by afternoon, there were locks on the gates and a single piece of paper taped to the fence that said the company was filing for bankruptcy. Twenty-three years of my life, gone just like that.
I tried to find something else right away. I sent out resumes, knocked on doors, and made phone calls until my voice went hoarse. But at my age, it turns out no one’s hiring for much more than night shifts and minimum wage. The younger guys got picked up fast, but me? I was too old for the good jobs and too proud to sit around doing nothing.