Everyone is selling something. Food, products, what you could look like, what you could be, antiaging miracles, a different version of who they are or who they want you to believe they are, a bright future, a new beginning, blah blah blah, the list is endless, all in the name of side hustle.
Today a very aggressive asshat in a Fowler Electric van rode my ass in heavy traffic, then passed suddenly cutting me off at a stoplight. He was very lucky I didn’t ram my heavy steel bumper into his ass and push him into next year. My dash cams caught it all, so I decided to send the footage to his employer who was not at all happy. I let them know that not only would I never use their company, that their rep could discontinue coming to my workplace and that I would share my experiences with others. No, I didn’t go around bitching about them, I simply said I would to push them to sell a better attitude to their employee, this paragraph is about as far as I am willing to waste energy on.
Today a coworker was sitting in his car in the park talking to a friend at lunch when a couple suddenly took a photo of his business magnet on the side of his vehicle. He laughed at first then decided they needed his business card, so he tried following on foot until they got into their car and drove away, so he got into his and followed. Lucky for him, a train blocked the intersection, so he was able to pull up beside them and offered his card. Also lucky for him, they found his pursuit amusing and laughed while taking the card. He was selling his services.
The little farmer’s market on Hwy 211 usually sells me lovely strawberries, watermelons, and cantaloupes this time of year but someone has lost their mind if they think a watermelon is worth $13, their food hustle is out of control.
I’ve mentally bought tips, tricks, how- to what not- to- dos, online without spending money but it has cost me a lot of brain cells and I’ve noticed lately that many of my social media selling friends have disappeared from my news feed, most likely because the algorithm has decided I wasn’t buying and replaced them with fun pet videos or garden tips.
It isn’t that I dislike selling, on the contrary, if a friend can make money with a side hustle, I encourage doing it and I’ll even share your information, but chances are, I won’t spend money on it. No particular reason, I’ve reached the age where I am drowning in stuff and I don’t need more, I’ve found things that work so I stick with them, and truthfully, newer isn’t always better. I am a creature of habit and shiny things don’t always call my name. I’d rather my pocket jingle with cash.
Myself, I would like a 30ish hour a week hustle that gives me just enough cash to facilitate some fun and pay a few bills while providing me with the luxury of time off to enjoy that cash. In the US we work, work, work, work and get very little enjoyment time, it is a backwards life quality issue.
There is an old black fellow about 80ish that hangs outside of the Dollar Tree with a table covered in little bags of roasted peanuts. He always has a smile and always offers a bag. His sign says if you can please do and there is a little jar on the table that says thank you. If you don’t, he still gives you the peanuts or a lollypop. When I asked why he is here, he said this is my smile hustle. Smile Hustle. I like that, it sounds so much more pleasant, so I always do.
The social hustle is one that gets me every time. I genuinely like most people and I never form an opinion based on what I have heard or read, instead I let the person tell me who they are by the way the behave. Once I’ve discovered that you are an asshat or a dramatic, smiling and remaining interested becomes that social hustle and it takes loads of effort. I spend great energy trying to be nice when I think someone isn’t worth it. But if I like you, I’ll be a great friend that you can always count on when you need something. The social hustle requires fake smiles, patience, time which could be spent doing something enjoyable, sometimes money, and most time far too much energy.
The political hustle is another form of torture. Yesterday, a man, mid 70s, white hair and glasses wearing a Stop the Steal t-shirt came into the office looking for the Republican Party headquarters, he didn’t know that they had moved 10 years ago. He drove all the way here from Raleigh to spend time with them and to share his latest side hustle, he wasn’t pushy and didn’t try to change my political opinion, but he did try to sell me a t-shirt. He had a piece of paper pinned to his shirt that read T-shirts $10, smile required. I politely declined to purchase one. They were blue and the front read MAGA FJB and it was a photo of Trump giving the thumbs up, the back was a hysterical photo which was a blended photo of Biden and a Monkey with huge ears that said America does not need this pox. Along with his funny shirt, he told covid jokes and made me laugh. So, to thank him for the laughs, I Googled the place he was looking for and gave him directions. I didn’t mind his political hustle because it was sort of subtle. Many however, are not subtle, they shove you into their projected opinions and I really wish it was legal to run them over with my 80.
My cat has a different hustle. She doesn’t really care if I pet her or not, she cares that I feed her and do it on time. She has a death hustle. Every few weeks, she hunts some poor creature in order to present me with a gift, I assume of appreciation for being well fed and comfortably housed. Skip a meal or be late to dinner and she’ll slice you with those needle-like claws, or bitch slap you if you are close enough. Yesterday, she walked out of the barn to greet me with a dead vole in her mouth, dropped it to the ground at my feet, placed her front right paw on it and raised the left and gave a screaming war cry that was a big freaky. She confirmed that I had seen her prey then turned and walked to the barn for dinner. That death hustle made me run to the barn, I wasn’t being late for dinner, I didn’t want to be next.
The favorite part of my every day is homecoming. Each day as I unlock my door, my sweet old dog, Cruiser, is there wiggling his butt, carrying his dog, waiting to make me happy. That is his love hustle. Even on days when his nose is bloody from nasal cancer, and he has no energy, he still makes the painful effort to greet me with his favorite toy in a concentrated effort to bring me happiness. When he goes, my home will become just a house. That love hustle is the only reason I rush home every day, the commute to work isn’t bad but people are frustrating and rude. That little moment of love with that wiggly greeting is the best hustle ever, with it, he wins my adoring love and all the attention he demands, I buy it every time.
I am ready to turn my hustle off for the day and just chill.
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