About

My story

I grew up poor in the Midwest.

As a teenager, I also lived in Anchorage, Alaska. I dropped out of high school and entered the workforce early, because that was the reality in front of me. There wasn’t a roadmap—just the expectation that you figure things out as you go.

Work became the constant.

Not because it was stable, but because it was necessary.

I started in warehouse work in my late teens and twenties, working returns for a large U.S. musical instrument retailer. I spent years as a technician working on guitars, amplifiers, and audio equipment of all kinds.

From there, I moved through different kinds of work.

Call center representative. Fraud specialist. Tax preparation. IT roles. Seasonal technical work.

Now I work as a Seasonal QA Analyst.

Different jobs, different environments—but the same underlying reality: you work, you adapt, and you keep moving because you have to.

Over time, I learned a lot of skills.

But I also learned something else.

Stability is not guaranteed, no matter how hard you work or how long you stay in one place.

Where I am now

My current job is seasonal, and recently my season was shortened from 10 months to 6 months.

On paper, that may not look like a major change.

In reality, it changes everything.

Less income. Less stability. Less room for error.

I used to feel like I had reached a kind of middle-class stability at certain points in my life.

Now I find myself back in a position I didn’t expect to be in again—trying to rebuild, trying to stay ahead, trying to keep things from falling apart.

And I won’t pretend it doesn’t worry me.

I’m concerned about housing. I’m concerned about stability. I’m concerned about what happens if things continue in the same direction.

Why I created this

The Exploited Worker 138 isn’t a career advice site.

It’s not a business brand. It’s not a motivational project. It’s not here to sell a system or a promise.

It exists because I wanted a place to talk honestly about things a lot of people are quietly dealing with:

• job loss and layoffs
• reduced hours and unstable work
• unemployment and financial pressure
• AI and automation changing work
• burnout and uncertainty
• starting over later in life

Some of this comes from my own experience. Some of it comes from watching what’s happening around a lot of workers right now.

The Name

The name The Exploited Worker 138 comes from a mix of personal experience and influence from punk music and culture.

I’ve been influenced by a lot of punk bands over the years—not just one or two. Punk has always felt like it speaks more honestly about work, systems, and frustration than most mainstream conversations about those things.

The “Exploited Worker” part of the name comes directly from that feeling. It reflects how work can feel when you spend years giving your time, energy, and effort to jobs that often treat you as replaceable. It’s not just a reference—it’s a lived experience.

The “138” comes from the Misfits song “We Are 138.” In that context, the number becomes a symbol of identity being reduced to something less personal. A number instead of a name.

That idea connects strongly to how modern work environments can feel.

Employees are often tracked, measured, categorized, and reduced to performance metrics, IDs, or roles. In job applications and corporate systems, people can start to feel less like individuals and more like entries in a database.

The Exploited Worker 138 reflects that tension.

It’s not just a name. It’s a statement about how it feels when people become numbers in systems that are supposed to be built around people.

What this is really about

People trying to work.

People trying to survive.

People trying to rebuild when life doesn’t follow the path they were told it would.

People dealing with uncertainty that doesn’t always get talked about out loud.