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The Rude Boy Story, Built Tough
How a week away from homelessness, a phone call from mom, a corporate firing, and two small American flags became a hit business with the local community.
Rock Bottom Has a Zip Code. Mine Was Dallas, TX.
November 2022. I had one week to find a soft spot under a bridge.
That’s not an exaggeration. My relationship had just imploded. My ex attacked me, called the cops hoping I’d be the one leaving in handcuffs. It didn’t work out the way she planned — she was the one who spent the next two days in jail for domestic abuse and filing a false report. When she got out, she wanted sympathy. The guards were mean. The strip search was demeaning. The bologna sandwiches were stale.
I didn’t have any sympathy to give.
So she cancelled our lease and disappeared. Just like that, I had seven days to figure out where I was going to sleep in Dallas, Texas. I wasn’t panicking — but I was doing the math, and the math wasn’t great.
Then my phone rang. It was my mother.
“I know things are kind of rough with you and B. I just want you to know that you have a place to come if things go south.”
I didn’t hesitate for a second.
“Mom, I’ll see you in a week.”
I arrived in Greenville, North Carolina just before Thanksgiving 2022. I had a duffle bag of clothes, my skills, my tools, and a 30-foot camper to call home. That was everything I needed.
The Job That Was Supposed to Be a Fresh Start
I was hired at John Deere almost immediately after getting to Greenville. Within weeks I’d knocked out a handful of John Deere certifications and earned my Bronze certification on STIHL equipment.
I’ll be straight with you about something: certifications are mostly marketing fluff. A piece of paper tells you someone sat through a class. It doesn’t tell you whether they can actually fix anything. I know people with stacks of credentials much bigger than mine that I wouldn’t let touch a single piece of equipment. The real test is what happens when something’s broken and someone’s depending on you to fix it.
But the certifications make the résumé look good, and the job was steady. For a few months, it felt like the fresh start it was supposed to be.
Then they hired an assistant manager.
Two Months of Hell, One Morning That Broke It
She took an immediate, extreme disliking to me. I still don’t fully understand why. What I do know is that she couldn’t answer the simplest of questions without an attitude. For two months I showed up, kept my head down, and took it.
Then one morning in late February 2023, the three of us — her, my shop manager, and me — were working up an estimate on a big John Deere zero-turn with major mechanical and electrical issues. I said what any experienced mechanic would say:
“I know right off the bat I’m gonna need a half-hour segment for diagnosing the electrical issue.”
She screamed at me. “I know how to do my job! Don’t tell me what segments things go in!”
Two months of it came out all at once. There were f-bombs. There were words I won’t repeat here. It wasn’t my finest moment — but it was a long time coming.
Two days later, a regional manager flew in for a sit-down. He listened to my side of the story. Then he suggested I apologize.
I told him: get her in here to apologize for two months of hell, and I’ll think about apologizing for the one time I snapped.
He looked at me and said four words that changed everything:
“I think you’re extremely rude.”
Then he told me it was best if we parted ways.
I cleaned out my tools, walked over to my scooter, and rode away from John Deere for the last time. Within the next couple of days, a couple of my coworkers delivered all my tools back to me.
The Application I Threw in the Trash
On the drive home, I stopped at a small engine shop to ask about work. Good small engine mechanics are genuinely hard to find — I wasn’t worried about landing somewhere. The owner was ready to hire me on the spot. Just fill out the application.
I brought it home. Got about halfway through.
Then I stopped.
“Fuck this. It’s just gonna happen again.”
I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. I had enough tools to get started. I had the know-how. If I was going to put in this kind of work, it was going to be for myself.
Day Three. Two American Flags. A Sign in the Front Yard.
I didn’t waste any time feeling sorry for myself.
I ordered vinyl letters off Amazon. Found scrap wood out back. Dug up leftover paint. I built the sign by hand — cut it, painted it, lettered it, clear coated it. Then I dug holes in the front yard, set the posts, and planted my flag.
Actually, two flags. Two small American flags, one on each side, because if you’re going to plant a flag you might as well do it right.
Three days after being fired from John Deere, I had a sign in my front yard that said: Small Engine Repair.
The Name
Instead of letting “extremely rude” sting, I turned it into something.
I thought about those classic 1970s and ’80s truck stickers — the Rude Boy character, peeing on a rival brand. Every truck in America had one at some point. Defiant. Irreverent. A little obnoxious. It felt right.
I took the idea to my mother — one of the most artistic people I know. I asked her to redesign the image, based on a doll that had been handmade for me when I was a little boy. She created the very first Rude Boy logo from scratch, out of love, in her spare room.
Rude Boy Small Engine Repair — named after being called rude by a man in a suit, built from scrap wood and Amazon vinyl letters, and given its face by my mother.
That’s the whole story.
Why It Worked From Day One
Work started coming in almost immediately. I was on a busy road with a large landscaping company directly across the street. Word travels fast when someone shows up when they say they will and charges what they said they’d charge.
And I always knew it would work. Not out of arrogance — out of observation. Good, honest small engine repair is genuinely hard to find. Most people have been burned by a shop that kept their equipment for weeks, gave them a surprise bill, or handed it back still broken. I just had to be the opposite of that. Show up. Tell the truth. Do the work. Stand behind it.
That’s not a complicated formula. It’s just rare enough to matter.
From One Week Away from a Bridge to Two-Time Nextdoor Neighborhood Faves Winner
In November 2022 I was sleeping in my mother’s camper, out beside her house, with one week to spare before I had no address at all.
In 2024 and again in 2025, the neighbors of Pitt County voted Rude Boy Small Engine Repair a Nextdoor Neighborhood Faves winner — two years running.
I’m not telling you that to brag. I’m telling you because the distance between those two points is what this business is built on. Grit, honesty, and a complete refusal to be anyone’s punching bag.
The regional manager called me extremely rude.
The community calls me their favorite.
I’ll take it.
Ready to get your equipment fixed by someone who actually gives a damn? See what we repair — or skip straight to scheduling a pickup.
📞 (252) 818-7833 · 📍 2838B Edwards Drive, Simpson, NC · Walk-ins welcome.