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Thank You, Greg
On the Humble Kindness of a Small-Town Harley-Davidson Enthusiast
January
I started my fourth semester of college full of confidence. I was closing in on the end of my sophomore year, and was confident the summer ahead would prove to be a formative chapter in my professional life.
I had aced my economics, statistics, marketing management, and accounting courses the previous year. I was practically guaranteed a prestigious internship at a multinational company — exactly the kind of opportunity that would push me towards a bright professional future.
May
Straight A’s.
We threw a wild send-off for our seniors. Music,wild stories, reflections on life, relationships, career dreams. Our shared house overflowed with joy, nostalgia, and more than a little ahem, recreational activity.
Still buzzing at half past 3 I lay in bed and remembered to schedule an email to Buildings and Grounds — the department that maintained the school’s dorms. I had accepted a job as a painter for the summer. The email was to confirm with Greg, the supervisor.
Not exactly the internship I’d dreamed of — but it was honest work. It paid well enough, came with free housing, and left me with afternoons free to keep applying to…
