In retrospect, it might not have been the smartest decision I’d ever made. The nausea I’d thought was overwhelming dread turned out to be the stomach flu. However, when I finally quit puking three days later, I couldn’t even bring myself to regret my choice. I’d finally discovered my true calling.
I’d always loved working with my hands; it had been ingrained in me at a young age. My parents hadn’t been rich by any means, but they hadn’t been destitute, either. My dad had a series of mental health issues, but even in his darkest hours, he could’ve been found locked in his shop, repairing something. He’d been a firm believer that you used everything until you couldn’t possibly use it anymore. My parents’ microwave had to have been at least twenty years old, but my father had refused to replace it. He’d fixed that thing on a daily basis for almost five years. The amount of money he’d spent on parts and the time researching how to make the repairs was insane. But, as far as he’d been concerned, you didn’t throw anything away ever.
Even after he died, it was a lesson I applied to my adult life as well. So, faced with my newfound unemployment, I tried to figure out some way to put to use my love for graphic design and my experience in repairing and repurposing. I came up with the dream of opening an upcycle furniture store.
One month after I’d quit my job, I opened rePURPOSEd.
I had exactly one piece to show people when I opened the doors. I also had exactly one customer that first month. I just couldn’t gamble on the time and money it took to make a piece that may or may not sell. I did, after all, have to eat. And buy smokes.
Luckily, creativity wasn’t a problem for me, so I developed a plan. I closed the store for a week and settled behind my laptop. Over those five days, hopped up on coffee and cigarettes, I designed over a hundred unique pieces. I had a college buddy help me with the website, and by the following week, Virtually rePURPOSEd was born.
And it exploded.
Suddenly, I had orders flooding in from all around the world. They were far more than I’d have ever been able to fulfill on my own, so I hired two unbelievably talented carpenters, Shane and Travis, to breathe life into my designs. They were a godsend, but they were also expensive as fuck. The first month they were employed at the shop, I had to sign over half of my savings account in order to pay them. But, with my designs and their craftsmanship, we had no problem moving furniture for a hefty profit.
Shane and Travis eventually took over running the physical store, and my time was mostly spent designing on the computer or at the shop behind my house, building whatever project was calling to me at the time.
On this particular day, it was an old claw-foot bathtub I’d found at a thrift shop and was determined to convert into an art-deco loveseat—a project that would easily sell for over ten thousand dollars.
So, while I knew that Ryan could afford it, I couldn’t afford to give him my usual friends and family discount—free.
“Forty grand,” I lied so he’d drop the topic.
“Jesus Christ. That’s it. Next time we go out, you’re paying for drinks. I’m not buying the poor-struggling-artist angle anymore.”
I snuffed my cigarette out in my overflowing ashtray. “Don’t even try that bullshit. How many times have you accidentally-on-purpose left your wallet home in the last month?” I mocked his voice as I slid my safety glasses back on. “‘It’s in my other suit, Sam. I swear.’”
“One time. That happened one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.”
“One time my ass,” I said as I picked my angle grinder up, preparing to get back to work. “Did you need something?”
“Actually, I need a big favor.”
I motioned for him to fill in the blank.
“Okay. First off, my mom wants you to come to dinner tonight as a thank-you for making Morgan that bookshelf.”
I eyed him even more warily. He knew as well as I did that eating his mom’s cooking wasn’t exactly a hardship. “Okaaay,” I drawled suspiciously.
“And secondly, I need you to come fix the drawer on my filing cabinet,” he rushed out in embarrassment.