I remember when I met Tim L. I went to Floor and Décor that morning with the remnants of last night lingering in the taste in my mouth and the headache. Joel and myself arrived at the same time and we disputed who would teach the installation class. It seemed like I was winning until a customer flagged down Joel. At that exact moment, my manager asked me who was teaching the class, and no amount of excuses would excuse me from that duty.

Usually I enjoyed teaching the class. I’d brush the dirt off my shirt and prepare thirty minutes prior to. I’d grab all my supplies and mentally answer any question I’d figure I’d face. But today was different. I didn’t grab any of my tools. I was focused more on my hangover and my three hours of sleep rather than the group of customers in front of me. But I’d never let them see that. Never show your full hand.

The audience was the usual eclectic mix. There was always that one guy who already knew everything and stood ready with questions that only served to challenge what I knew. There was the couple that didn’t speak English and only served to make the class more difficult than it should have been. There was the couple who was more focused on trying to keep their kid clean while he/she was finding any way to rub their body along a dusty as all hell surface.

Then there was Tim L.

Tim dressed like he knew a little more than everyone else. I think I remember shorts and possibly a North Face pullover. At least that’s what I remember. He wore a Brooklyn Dodgers cap. I started the class with my usual routine and the slight rush of speaking to a group of people served to wake me up and help forget the pounding in my head and the bitterness that ruled my stomach. Early on Tim asked if he could video the class. It was an odd request and I simply said sure.

And like usual, I taught the class. The questions weren’t too bad, and the class went smoothly enough for me to forget about last night completely. The last questions floated around and the class dispersed. But the yuppie in the dodgers cap hung around.

He had a few extra questions and I answered them like I always would. He said he just moved to the Woodlands from New York. The kicker came when he asked me what I knew about electrical work. I told him nothing, but like as was true with most things, I told him that I was willing to learn. Well, he said, I work for a company that programs large scale lighting systems and we’re interested in people that can speak and teach people like you can. He said something along those lines at least. I was immediately interested. I could tell he was serious, and I’d been looking for a change of pace. He went on to describe the job, saying that it involved travel across the U.S. and was a rapidly growing field. Part of me thought it could be bullshit. Part of me knew it was too good to be true. We started to stray from the topic at hand, and the topic at hand at one point was cycling, and then it was politics, and then it was books, and then it was Ayn Rand. We chatted for almost an hour and exchanged information. I didn’t think much of it.

I started to think more of it when we started to transmit emails back and forth. I thought even further of it when I started emailing another member of the company. Months passed and many emails were sent.  The reality of it all hit when I was sitting in the Detroit airport asking myself exactly what I was doing. My conscience replied with “You’re about to be interviewed for the best opportunity you’ve ever had.”

I interviewed with Tim S. at a bar that served the best turkey Rueben possibly in the United States. I’d put money on that fact.

And now here I am in a Akron, Ohio hotel room.