Hey Mister Pinstripes, Those Work Boots and Sweatsocks Have Your Name on Them

We can never know what a new step in life will bring, but if anyone had told me ten years ago that I would be working as a mechanic and the manager of three gas stations at the age of 57, I would have said “Imposible!”

But I would have been wrong.

Four years ago, at the age of 53, I left behind 27 years as a corporate executive in finance and put on overalls.

The story began ten years ago when my daughter married a self-described grease-monkey - a young blue collar man who happened to have plenty of ambition. We were as different as it was possible to be; he called me Mister Suit Pinstripes and referred to himself as the Grease Monkey. Shortly after they married, he bought the garage where he worked and started plans to buy others.

During those years, he would tell me about his business plans and offer to have me join him. I thanked him politely, after I realised he was serious, and completely dismissed the idea that I, a white collar executive with a degree in business and a three piece pinstriped suit, would ever consider joining the blue collar ranks.

But life has a way of delivering curve balls. During those same years, serious illness was taking its toll on our insurance and my wife had to leave her job. My son-in-law offered excellent benefits. Meanwhile, the handwriting was on the wall at my job, as profits were falling. The stress was increasing even as my insurance was cut back. Finally, I was told that I would have three months before I would be downsized.

As I searched for another job, I realized that the offer my son-in-law made would have potential benefits that might provide security for many years. He was successful and making money. He had offered me part owership in his business. The job would require that I work on-site and learn the business. In other words, I would have to become a mechanic. To use his words: a Grease Monkey.

That I would never do.

Why? It was purely a matter of image. Or, to put it another way, of pride and self-importance, I no longer enjoyed my position in corporate finance the way I did when I was young. But I was a white-collar executive and I identified completely with the status, appearance, prestige and persona associated with that.

So I waited.

Finally, after many more months of resisting, I received a series of bills in the mail and realized I couuld not go on like this. I stopped by my son-in-law’s garage after work and asked him if his offer was still open.

He said nothing, but grinned and produced a pair of coveralls and work boots.