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I finished up strong and then yielded the floor to him.

“Adam, I’m not gonna lie to you, bruh. That’s the first time I’ve heard that speech. Free, huh? Wow. Yeah, that’s definitely a first. That’s serious. But that won’t even be necessary. I like your attitude. You’re hired.”

Just like that. For a moment, I thought I was sitting across the desk from Donald Trump and I had just won The Apprentice. It was exhilarating. That speech—that cocky, unrehearsed, yet ever-so-eloquent speech—unearthed my identity, which I seemed to have been struggling to find during my first ten days in Charleston.

And the most intriguing thing? I didn’t even plan it like that! Phil Coleman did. Sure, I would have gotten a job eventually, and I would have fought just as hard to achieve what I had set out to achieve, but my Phil Coleman-esque speech gave me a jump start when I needed it most.

Curtis asked me a series of questions regarding my availability and moving experience.

“I mean, to be honest, Curt, I’ve moved my parents about five times, but that’s about it.”

“That’s cool,” he said. “We’ll train you.”

“But!” I added, hoping to compensate for my lack of experience. “The good thing is that my hours of availability are infinite. When you need me, I’ll be here.”

Curtis also inquired about my driving ability. Could I drive a stick? Had I ever driven a moving truck before? Commercial Drivers Licenses were not required to drive the trucks at Fast Company, but some experience driving a truck of that size was recommended. While my pops had, in fact, taught me how to drive a stick when I was in high school, I was going to have to brush up on my truck driving abilities.

So, we went for a test drive. And let me tell you, I took that poor man for the ride of his life. I should have charged him admission. While his facial expressions remained somewhat calm, I know he was shaking in his skivvies. At least I was. Initially, I was most anxious about turning the corners in the big moving truck, but my nemesis turned out to be the stick shift, which was way different from my pop’s ’95 Ford Escort hatchback. The gears were tighter and the clutch was looser. And since it didn’t come with a guide on top of the knob to show which gear was which, I ended up finding first gear by way of elimination after backing into the chain link fence surrounding Fast Company’s parking lot.

I tried to fill the fifteen-minute ride with idle small talk, but that just threw me even more off track. I didn’t have the mental stamina to drive that truck and talk about anything beyond sports and the beautiful weather. Thankfully, Curt’s phone rang twice, and very thankfully, he decided it would be a good time to start answering it. But I still wasn’t feeling like I had impressed him enough that he wouldn’t renege on hiring me. The way I had that truck convulsing back and forth as we cruised the back neighborhoods around the airport, I thought our conversation at the end of the test drive would revolve around my need to come back for a few driving lessons before I began my new career as a mover.

But I was wrong. After all was said and done, I had apparently done all right. “All right” meaning Curtis stuck out his hand and told me that I could start on Monday morning.

“I’m going to send you out with Sammy, though,” he said. “He’s one of the only ones that knows how to drive this truck, so I’ll let him teach you.”

I was pumped. I pulled the string that served as the door handle, and we headed into the office to take care of the paperwork.

In hindsight, I now realize that my test drive with truck No. 2 was a setup of sorts. Everybody pissed and moaned about driving truck No. 2. As I would later find out, one guy, who was one of the few that knew how to drive a stick, had even quit when they continued to send him out in truck No. 2 despite his repeated requests to be assigned to another truck once in a while. Maybe Curtis saw me as somebody that he could finally stick on truck No. 2, but I didn’t care. Put me in whatever truck you want and send me wherever you want.