The Turning Point (Opportunity Lost? Maybe I Never Had "It")...

    One of the first jobs I had when I got out of high school was working in a mobile home factory in Penticton called Moduline Industries. I achieved a modicum of success rather quickly through blood, sweat and tears and was promoted to "lead hand"of my department. Not long afterward there was a job posting for a salaried front office position of service man. The money was good and the job entailed traveling around the province servicing (obviously) the mobile homes while they were under warranty and generally promoting goodwill. It was an awesome job and at 20 years old I was the youngest person ever to have held the position. It was the type of situation that with more hard work the opportunities within in the company were limitless, service manager, general manager--six figure jobs. Moduline had plants throughout the rest of Canada and the States as well--but that would all change.

   After having the job for about 7 months or so the grind of being on the road started to get to me--I started to miss my friends and all the parties and shenanigans they were getting into. It took a little while longer but after some soul searching I decided to resign, lick my wounds and head back to the plant as a factory worker-- but without my previous seniority...smart move.

    At Moduline there were a lot of Portuguese immigrants that had come here and bought small orchards, seven acres or so. They would work at the factory during the day and tend to their orchards after work and on the weekends. They also made their own wine, bread, sausage, grew their own vegetables and some even kept chickens and cows. 

     Around this time I remember having a conversation with a Portugully (as I fondly refered to them-- or Pork and Cheese, they had a great sense of humour) named Zach. He said to me (accent doesn't translate well to blog), "You fuckin' stoopit Canad-yan guy...Portuguese people don't work for money, money work for Portuguese people." I thought, "Yeah, whatever." But part of that statement kind of stung and rang true. As I'm spending all my money partying he's looking at me like I'm some kind of an idiot, which I probably was--in hindsight I think he may have been on to something.

    A visit from my Mom around that time. How hard she tried to tell me to, "Save my money."

     Regrets? Don't get me started...