My entire professional career, every sacrifice I had made, had all been leading up to this moment. My boss, Mr. Vic, sat behind a picture of his muscular daughter.
He said, "Are you ready for the big news? They want to make you a partner, Jack!"
"They want you to be a full-fledged partner." He said, "We're talking six figures, company car. You just have to relocate to Winston-Salem."
"What's wrong?" He asked.
Deep in the concrete annals of Dorton Arena, during a hotly contested minor-league hockey game between our beloved Raleigh ICECAPS and their division rivals, the dreaded Winston-Salem THUNDERBIRDS, we waited in a line out in front of the men's bathroom.
This was some line.
Curiously, the line snaked across a narrow corridor, which faced directly into the opposing teams' locker room. There were the dreaded Winston-Salem THUNDERBIRDS.
A man behind us yelled, "THUNDERBIRDS SUCK DONKEY DICK!"
I never forgot that.
I said to Vic, "I need a few days to think it over. I'll make a decision by the weekend."
I would think it over, but in my mind, I already knew.