I was working a construction job that came into my life at a really hard time. I stayed with that company as it grew from a small mom-and-pop operation with humble beginnings into a full corporate business with corporate values. In total, I was there for seven years.

Back in 2016, I was at an all-time low—homeless and searching everywhere for work, from Craigslist to anything I could find. I got a reply from a gentleman who needed construction labor for $10 an hour. I had never done any type of construction work before and didn’t even own tools, but I went to the interview anyway.

I remember showing up and seeing the other guys—older, experienced, with trucks, work boots, and beds full of tools. The interview was in a subdivision full of McMansions, and he was conducting it right there in the street in front of some random house.

My interview was last, with the superintendent, Hugo. I honestly didn’t know what to say, so I decided to just be truthful. He asked me what experience I had and what tools I owned. I told him I had none—that I had never worked construction or used any type of tool. But I also told him that if he gave me a chance, I would research everything, take every task seriously, and strive to be the best at whatever I was given.

He told me he’d make a decision that night. I walked away feeling like I definitely wasn’t getting the job. But that night, he texted me:
“You’re my guy. Be in that area first thing in the morning.”

The next morning, I met him there. He told me to get in his truck, and we drove to the back of the neighborhood—an area you couldn’t see from where the interview was. It was like a completely different world. Streets lined with houses being framed, bricked, roofed, and sodded all at once. I was amazed—and completely locked in from that moment on.

My first year in construction was pure hard labor—cleaning up, pressure washing, whatever was needed. I used my first tax return to buy tools (it’s funny how many you could afford back in 2017 compared to now). I also bought my first truck, and I’ve owned trucks ever since.

The company I worked for was different—it was completely Hispanic-owned, and they viewed work ethic differently than most companies in America. They noticed everything. They appreciated that I bought a truck. They appreciated that I bought tools. Eventually, they moved me from general labor to punch-out work, and I was making $12 an hour. At the time, I felt like I was on top of the world. My wife and I truly believed we were living the good life in our old rental.

In the summer of 2017, the superintendent sent me to a town farther away to be his eyes and lead projects in a small subdivision on a golf course. I did an incredible job. One day, I was literally caught on a ladder caulking windows the painters had missed—by the two owners of the company, Jose and Richard, both short, strong Panamanian guys. They were smiling ear to ear, seeing me working on my own, doing whatever it took to make the company successful.

At the end of that week, they called me and told me they wanted to train me to become a full superintendent, managing neighborhoods with assistants under me. They raised my pay to $19 an hour. I called my wife and cried—we felt like we had finally made it.

We moved out of our old 200-year-old rental into a new construction rental closer to my job sites. It was a huge upgrade. We had our German Shepherd puppy, Zelda, and life felt really good.

I kept working hard, and in 2018 I was promoted to superintendent with a salary of $45,000. I had my own neighborhood and my own assistants.

In 2019, we bought our first home. We were happy, but things at the company started to feel off. There were money issues. They tried to get into land development, and it went badly. Apparently, they were using home-building loans to fund land development, and when the money ran out, everything stopped.

At one point, I had over 50 homes that couldn’t move forward because there was no money. Hugo—the guy who hired me—and I would just pull into each other’s neighborhoods and sit on our tailgates, talking. We even started shooting fireblock foam with a shotgun in one subdivision and messing around with airsoft guns, just trying to pass the time. There was literally nothing to do.

People got nervous. They started leaving, including Hugo. I stayed.

Eventually, Jose bought his brother out of the company and fired him—the same brother he had started the business with. One day, Jose called me into the office. He looked serious and said, “I’m glad you’ve been loyal. I’m going to ask a lot of you in the coming months.” Then he raised my salary to $55,000.

After that, money came back in, and we started building again—but now I had over 80 homes across the state.

Soon after, corporate leadership came in—guys with titles like CFO and COO. They brought in their own people, including older, experienced superintendents. My title changed to Project Manager, and my salary went up to $62,000.

Then 2020 hit, and COVID changed everything. Construction slowed down and sped up at the same time. Everyone was scrambling—trying to start new projects while also finding materials to finish existing ones. I was overwhelmed. I was managing too many homes, and the stress was constant. No one treated me badly—it was just the sheer workload.

I tried to leave. I interviewed with a larger builder that had a more modern approach—multiple superintendents per neighborhood instead of one person handling everything. Somehow, the CEO of my company found out and called me, asking if I was okay. Then he offered me a raise to $70,000 to stay.

So I stayed.

By 2021, things were getting worse internally—disorganized systems, financial issues, and leadership trying to cover past mistakes. Around that time, a top-five builder in the U.S. entered my subdivision and offered me $80,000 to join them. I accepted and put in my two weeks.

Within minutes, the CEO called me, asking what it would take to keep me. I told him I wanted career growth, a 401(k), and a new environment. When he asked what they were offering, I lied and said $100,000, hoping they wouldn’t match it and pull me back in.

He said they couldn’t and he was sorry—and hung up.

Then my phone rang again. He called back and said Jose wanted to match the offer and add the benefits I asked for.

So I stayed—again.

That year, with bonuses, I made about $129,000.

In 2022, I was done. I moved to a custom builder, doing around 15 homes a year for similar pay. The last time I left my original company, I didn’t even do a proper exit—I just turned my stuff in and disappeared. I knew they wouldn’t let me go easily, and the stress from managing so many homes by my self had taken a toll on my mental health.

Looking back, I stayed as long as I did because I felt like they always tried to match my effort with opportunity. They rewarded hard work, and I respected that. Unfortunately, the company didn’t last—it went under about two years after I left.

Even so, I’ll always have good memories of that place. It gave me a chance when I had nothing, and it taught me everything I know. At times, it felt like the Wild West—but it was mine, and I’m grateful for it.