What does a million dollars look like?

"Happy Monday, Carol!" exclaimed the voice that was waaay too chipper for a Monday morning. "Whatcha been doing?

Well, lets see. I've been wrangling with the insurance company because a woman using the breakdown lane as a travel lane side-swiped me. I've been running a fever, and I'm anxiously awaiting the results of some lab tests because I'm afraid my 17 year old cat is dying.

"Haven't been doing much, Ray," I lied. "And you?"

"Well we're finally breaking some ground on the new organization..." he describes, as my guard goes up. I wait till he pauses.

"Ray, I'm not really interested in changing jobs right now," I explained.

"We don't have a job to offer you my friend, I wish we were that far along. But I was wondering if you'd be in to doing some process-improvement consulting?"

Hmm...Demming cycles. It's nothing that competes with my current industry. Nothing that would interfere with my work, or my training, and nothing on weeks when I'm on call...and likely wouldn't be a lot of work at all because Ray still only has three employees even though he's been at this for 6 years.

There was a part of me that said "Why the heck do need me?" but I be quiet.

There was one caveat.

"In order to be an independent contractor in the building where we are located, you must have a million-dollar geneal liability coverage.

Oh great. No its not that expensive, but what a PITA...especially for an individual like me.

"I'll fedex you some stuff," Ray promised.

"I'll believe that when I see it," I mumbled.

I received three Fedex envelopes in the mail a few days later. One was a draft of a statement of work. Another was a kitschy insurance policy, complete with a certificate done in fine green looping lines that said $1,000,000 in the center. The third was a request to join the business consortium that Ray belongs to. I'm guessing its an entrepreneur's group, but I really don't know. Some group of miscellaneous Americans and Canadians that do heaven-knows-what. The membership fee was pricey...but membership just happens to come with a million-dollar liability policy.Ray isn't known for being a shyster but...sheesh...how convenient to have these policies close at hand.

Today, I called Ray back up. "You're putting me on here," I sighed

Ray chuckled, telling me that if he was an insurance salesman, he'd probably be in nicer digs than the co-lo. He's got a point there. He then explained, it wasn't his rules, it was the big parent corporation that owned the space where they have their co-lo.

Ray nodded, and explained the bigger picture. It was a project that Ray had been hoping to land for over a year. "I don't need you to do the project, Carol, I don't even need you to do all of what I'll hand you. If you can't do it you can't do it. But I was hoping you might have some time to help me a little." I grinned. I love working with Ray. In addition to being friendly, he's amazingly intelligent and loves to have people pick his brains.

We agreed to meet at Starbucks. I handed him the boring, black and white paperwork for his consortium. Small type on the last page described the details of the insurance policy...which looked almost like an afterthought.

"So why did you pick me, Ray?" I asked, the curiosity getting to me. He put a hand on my shoulder in a friendly manner.

"You know why I like you, Carol, you know your stuff, you work hard, you get things done, you don't need a babysitter." Ray smiled.

After being in the corporate world for 15 years, isn't that a given? "You could say that about a lot of people you know, Ray. Good, smart, hard-working people."

Ray bent down towards my ear and whispered "Yeah, but you work nights..."

Aha! The truth comes out!

"At least you were honest," I chuckled.

Ray guffawed....and...spit...coffee...out...of...somewhere on his head, and got half of it on me. A couple people stared and...we tried to shuffle out nonchalantly. Ray mentioned something about his wife and dry cleaning, but it was right then that we realized that the consortium paperwork got drowned in coffee.

What does a million dollars look like? Mocha brown stains on white paper with blurred black ink.

A possible part=time gig. A rekindled professional friendship, several good laughs, and a coffee stain as a badge of honor.

I left for my car with a grin on my face, the cool air biting against my wet sleeves.

I roll my sleeves back, turn up the heat, and the iPod, and head for home.

There just aren't enough days with experiences like this.