We all remember the first days, right? The first day of school. The first time you hit a home run to win a championship game. The first time you sold something. The first time you fell in love. The first time you saw your children born.
These are the moments that shape us, the milestones we carry with us. I’ve experienced all of them, and looking back, I realize those firsts were great accomplishments—memories I truly cherish.
But how many of us remember the first days of work?
In corporate America, first days happen often. You get fired for missing quotas. Quotas. Just thinking about that word made the hair on my neck stand up. Or maybe you leave for a better-paying job, a possible promotion, or just a chance at something different. But most of the time, it’s about money.
You always have one foot in the door, just enough to keep your job. But the other foot? It’s always outside, scanning for the next opportunity. Because in this world, either scenario is possible. You could be climbing the ladder or getting kicked off it.
You always have to be ready.
Just in case.
Right?
My first day at Z-Band was different. It wasn’t like anything I had experienced before.
At eight years old, I had a dream—to work in publications. I wanted to be part of the big names: Gannett, McClatchy, Lee Enterprises. I started at the bottom and worked my way up, climbing the ladder until I became an executive for several properties. But the industry was ruthless.
I bounced from one company to another. One day, you were part of one publication; the next, you were under a new corporation with new rules, new policies, and new procedures. The only certainty was uncertainty.
In my final years in publishing, I saw the collapse coming. The margins were tighter than a man on a tightrope with one leg. Retention was a losing battle—like trying to hold back a dam that had already burst. Print was dying. The internet had taken over. And no matter what we did, customers weren’t coming back. The publications hadn’t been ready for the shift, and by the time they reacted, it was too late.
I had lived through many first days at new jobs, but I was tired of that world. I needed out. I wanted stability, security, and a place where I could build something lasting.
But stepping into a new industry wasn’t easy. It meant starting over. It meant proving myself all over again.
After years of uncertainty, doubt had become part of my DNA. I couldn’t shake it off easily. I walked into Z-Band with one foot in and one foot out—not because I wanted to leave, but because survival demanded it.
I told myself I had three years, at best, before I’d be moving on again.
Funny.
Coming from a man who was unemployed, desperate for a job, and needing to provide for his family—and that was my mindset.
But what I was walking into wasn’t the usual first day.
It was something entirely different.
I drove to Carlisle, taking in the scenery. It was a beautiful summer day, the kind that makes you think anything is possible. As I drove, I started setting goals in my head—30 days, 60 days, 90 days. The first three months would determine whether they kept me or not, and I wanted to make a good impression.
I pulled into the Z-Band parking lot.
And there he was again—the old man in his imaginary seat, leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, as if nothing had changed.
He looked up, smirked, and gave a slight nod, acknowledging my presence.
I parked, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car. I was wearing a dark suit, a crisp blue tie, ready for the day.
The old man stood, his face worn by years of experience, his eyes sharp.
He extended his hand.
“John?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Welcome aboard. I’m going to be your trainer and your resource for any questions you have.”
That caught me off guard.
“Wow, that’s great,” I said. “Thank you—”
He interrupted.
“Bill. Bill Donmoyer. I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner.”
I smiled.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bill. I’m looking forward to you teaching me everything you know.”
Bill laughed.
Not a casual laugh. Not a polite one.
It was the kind of knowing laugh that came from years of experience. The kind that said, “You have no idea what you’re in for.”
“Looking forward to it as well,” he said.
But in time, I would impress Bill.
And that was no easy task—because Bill Donmoyer was a tough man to impress.
Bill escorted me into the building, and before I could take in my surroundings, I heard a voice call out.
“Hello, Mr. Rinaldo.”
I turned.
Dick Snyder.
“Hello, sir!” I said.
Dick smirked and waved a hand.
“No need for ‘sir.’ Just Dick.”
“Yes, Dick.”
He nodded approvingly.
“Also,” Dick said, eyeing my suit, “we don’t do that here. We threw out corporate suits years ago. This place isn’t about appearances—it’s about results. Wear something comfortable. Business casual.”
I nodded.
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Bill walked into his office, and Dick pointed to it.
“That’s Bill’s office. If you have any technical questions, he’s the guy to see. He’ll spend time teaching you everything we do, so learn as much as you can.”
“Yes, Dick.”
Dick led me down the hall, introducing me to the staff. Everyone was welcoming, easy to talk to. It wasn’t the cold, corporate atmosphere I had known. This was different.
We walked into a room where two men stood waiting.
Dick gestured.
“These are the other owners—Bob Stine and Earl Hennenhoefer.”
Earl had a firm handshake, a straight-to-the-point attitude. Bob was more relaxed, observing, taking in everything without saying much.
They welcomed me, exchanged pleasantries.
It felt… natural.
Finally, we ended the tour at an empty office.
“And, John,” Dick said, gesturing to the desk, “this is your office. I’m right across from you.”
I nodded, taking it in.
This was some welcome.
Most places I had worked, you got a quick handshake, a rundown from HR, and a desk to sit at. That was it. No introductions. No effort. Just a silent message: figure it out yourself.
People kept their distance. They always saw the new guy as temporary, someone who might not last. No one wanted to waste time on someone who could be gone in six months.
But this place felt different.
Here, they weren’t just handing me a desk. They were bringing me in.
A place of my own.
A fresh start.
The morning moved fast. Brenda, the office manager, came in with the paperwork. I signed the usual forms. HR. Policies. The things that come with any first day.
Hours passed in a blur of introductions, signatures, and handshakes.
Then, for the first time that day, I sat at my desk, staring at the blank screen of my computer.
For the first time in a long time, I let out a deep breath.
I had a job.
It wasn’t permanent.
Nothing ever is.
But it was something.
And that meant I could breathe.
At least for now.
And maybe—just maybe—this time would be different.
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Book Description:
A father. Three kids. No job. Nowhere to turn—except forward.
In the wake of the 2008 economic crash, a newly divorced, unemployed father finds himself at rock bottom. With three children to care for and his finances in ruins, he must fight against rejection, uncertainty, and the weight of failure to find work and rebuild his life.
This book is more than just a story about sales—it’s a story about resilience, persistence, and survival. It’s about knocking on doors, making one more call, and refusing to give up when the world keeps saying no.
Told with raw honesty and grit, this book takes readers on a journey of struggle, determination, and hope—showing that sometimes, the hardest pitches aren’t made in boardrooms, but in life itself.
Because success isn’t given. It’s earned.
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