I’m nervous to send you this message. Maybe you’re not real, and my friend is messing with me. He’d get a kick out of that.

I debated hitting send for thirty minutes. A glass of whiskey later, here we are. Close to pleading for help. I’m sure I sound like a lunatic, and for that, I apologize. I’m not always like this, I promise.

Thanks,

JD

The email is referencing my super private, super secret company, RB’s Companions, founded thanks to the American education system being wildly expensive and borderline unaffordable. The debt I, like many students, amassed over the course of my undergraduate education and law school tenure was demoralizing. I almost fainted when I saw the amount of my loans; the number had far too many zeros while my bank account had far too few. How the hell do people outright pay a number that high without any assistance?

Between what I owed for seven years of school, living expenses, and a meager starting salary, I discovered I needed to figure out a plan to help with my finances and start searching for a supplemental income so I could afford to eat dinner.

I found a part-time job on the weekends out of law school, quickly learning it hardly earned me enough money to cover the gas it took to drive to and from the clothing store.

Joining an MLM pyramid scheme and selling products to people I haven’t talked to since high school was out, and I didn’t want to sell an organ.

Running out of ideas and close to panicking, a friend from law school invited me to attend a banquet with him to cheer me up. Little did I know dinner in a crowded conference room would be what changed my life.

“You’re an awesome date,” Matthew exclaimed over champagne. It wasn’t flirtatious—he was gay—and while we didn’t share a romantic attraction, we enjoyed each other immensely.

“Is it because I know how to sit quietly on your arm and smile real pretty?”

“Stop!” he laughed, bumping my shoulder. “I’m serious! You’re great at holding conversations, and, no matter who you talk to, you’re genuinely interested in learning about them. I don’t know how you fake it so well. If I have to hear one more story about that woman in the hat’s taxidermy collection, I might saw my ears off a la Vincent van Gogh.”

“Wow. That’s extremely aggressive,” I joked with a chuckle. “I don’t know; I’ve always enjoyed talking to other people. Learning their stories and history. It comes naturally, I guess.”

“Have you ever considered doing something like this on the side? In addition to the soul-sucking path of corporate America?”

“What do you mean? I love my job.”