I am a burned-out former copywriter navigating a brutal, AI-driven job market. My mom is a retired financial analyst who used to work for the government. So, what do two supposedly sane women do if they want to stay productive and earn money in this lousy economy?
Start a small business, that’s what.
When the barangay moved its offices to our village, we saw an opportunity. We partnered with Mom’s friend, who owns a house near the village gate and just around the corner from the barangay hall. In that house, we established a small shop that offers photocopying and printing services, as well as afternoon merienda.
I manned the photocopying and printing side of the business. I also did basic graphic design on Canva for customers when needed. Mom cooked merienda with her friend/our landlady, and the landlady did food deliveries herself.
Our major challenge for the first couple of months was visibility. Even with our big tarpaulin signages, customers couldn’t easily see us because we put up the shop inside the house. Then, the landlady stumbled upon an opportunity to sell shoes from warehouse overflows.
There was a lot of foot traffic at the shop – just not for our business. The landlady’s shoes were an instant neighborhood hit and attracted people from nearby villages. It drowned our own little print shop because customers would go there to get something photocopied or printed, get distracted by shoes, then forget about the photocopying entirely.
So Mom entered into a new arrangement with the landlady: we’d convert half her garage into a little niche for our shop. The landlady readily agreed because the space we were occupying inside the house was too big for us, and she needed storage for her shoes.
The 2m x 3m niche took an agonizing three weeks to build. The contractor we hired was meticulous, sure – too meticulous. We had planned to reopen at our new location mid-October but ended up moving on Halloween Eve.
Yesterday, November 2nd, was our first official day in the new space. It was hectic. We were correct in our assessment that visibility was a problem; we saw an uptick in the volume of print and photocopying jobs. The rise wasn’t spectacular, but it’s enough to justify the move.
Then, there’s the food. The landlady divested from us to focus on her shoes business, so she stopped helping Mom with cooking and deliveries. I ended up doing the deliveries myself because, of course, I won’t let my mother do it herself along with the cooking.
Food delivery is an interesting experience for an introverted freelance writer who typically spends her day holed up in her home office/bedroom. I grew up in this village and, except for the five years I was married, I lived here most of my life. And yet, I had never explored our village and never knew the neighbors who aren’t friends with my parents – until now. I was surprised to find that some of these neighbors knew who I was. It was eye-opening to see that each street in our village had its own character.
There are three things I love most about this business of ours.
One, it keeps me too busy to wallow in despair about the challenges of the current job market. I’d like to think that I was, and still am, a decent copywriter, but the competition out there is stiff. I’m too burned out to compete more aggressively.
Two, it gives me space to recover my voice. Copywriting for clients requires you to become immersed in voices that aren’t yours. When it’s slow at the shop, I write, just write, whatever I want.
Three, it’s an opportunity to work with my mother. She’s my best friend, my travel buddy, my ride-or-die, my solid rock and firm foundation. She has always wanted to start her own small business, and this is my way of supporting her.
The economy is lousy and the job market is terrible. This enterprise may not earn much (yet), but it’s something. Mom and I are building on it every single day. It’s something we’re both proud of.
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