I’ve been unemployed since 1991, having been fired from my last job as a sales rep after being told by the owner, my boss, that I was “incapable of selling an air conditioner in Miami in July”. With sales figures to support his tirade, I was in no position to argue as I gladly thanked him, shook his hand, and walked out the door, never looking back with regrets. Finally, I was free to chase a shadowy dream I had been having for a few years. . .something about being a real estate investor. Working for myself, from home, (can’t beat the coffee or the commute!), wearing shorts and sandals. . .or less, (hey, I am The Naked Investor, after all!).
Now, 20 plus years later, with scars from mistakes and success from making deals, I’m in my Happy Place. Working when I want, hiding from my wife when she has a To-Do list in her hand, yelling at the TV when my NY Giants are losing another football game, all while sipping an adult beverage or two. . .and why not? Alcohol is a preservative. How else am I supposed to keep my boyish figure and youthful good looks?