By Benjamin Haugh, Owner of All Nation Restoration
When I started All Nation Restoration in Austin, Texas, I committed to doing things differently. After working for a small restoration company where customer service often felt like an afterthought, I knew I wanted more than technical competence I wanted human connection.
Back then, customers would call in with real concerns, only to be met with a cold, dismissive response from the office:
“Sorry, we don’t offer that. Goodbye.”
It didn’t sit right with me. I never forgot how that must’ve made people feel and I vowed I’d never run my business that way.
Over the years, our team has become known for water, fire, and mold remediation, like most companies in the industry. But there’s one thing that sets us apart: If it’s possible, say yes.
That simple internal rule has led us into some wild situations some of them literal trenches. But it’s also what’s built our reputation and grown our company.
One job, in particular, stands out and it happened one freezing January in Bastrop, Texas.
“The Mobile Home From Hell”
The call came from a frustrated landlord. He mentioned something about a sewage leak under a rental mobile home. When I arrived, the place looked totally normal from the outside. Inside, I met a man at his breaking point.
“You’re the fifth contractor I’ve called,” he told me. “Nobody will even give me a quote.”
I figured there had to be more to the story. And there was.
A drain line had detached beneath the subfloor, and the tenants unaware had kept using the plumbing like normal. The result? A full-blown biohazard: insulation soaked in raw sewage, bulging out like water balloons caught in chicken wire under the mobile home. The freezing temperatures only made it worse trapping the waste in place like a grotesque time capsule.
My first reaction? Panic. Every instinct told me to walk away. The insurance had already denied the claim. The work was filthy, hazardous, and nearly impossible to price.
But I remembered that promise I made when I founded this company: If it’s possible, say yes.
So I walked back to my truck not to leave, but to think.
I called a few of my best guys. We talked through safety, gear, morale, and logistics. Then I did something I’d never done before: I built what I now call the “make-me-smile” estimate not from a price book, but from gut instinct. The number had to reflect the cost of the work and the toll it would take on our team. It needed to be honest, sustainable and yes, even a little motivational.
“How Did You Come Up With That?”
I went back inside and gave the landlord the number. He blinked, caught off guard.
“How did you come up with that?” he asked.
I told him straight: “This isn’t based on a playbook. It’s based on what it would take for me and my guys to crawl under that mobile home, every day, covered in sewage, freezing cold, and still feel okay when we go home to our families.”
He nodded, thanked me, and said he needed to talk to his wife.
I left, thinking that was the end of it.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang. “If I give you this job,” he said, “can you promise not to leave me hanging? Can you promise you’ll really do your best?”
I said yes.
He asked me to turn around. When I got back, he handed me a check for half the amount.
What That Job Taught Me
That job turned out to be the biggest one we’d ever taken at the time. It was disgusting, complicated, and exhausting but it moved us forward. It brought in revenue, yes, but more importantly, it cemented our culture.
Sometimes, saying yes is an act of courage not because it’s easy, but because it’s hard. It’s messy. It’s uncertain. It’s inconvenient.
But behind every “yes” is someone who’s been told “no” too many times. Someone who doesn’t need perfection—they just need a path forward.
Before you say “no,” pause. Ask yourself: Can I give this person a way forward? And if the answer is yes, what would it take to say it with your whole heart?
Because that’s where the magic is. That’s where trust is built. That’s where restoration really begins.
Restoring Homes. Rebuilding Lives.
