By Benjamin Haugh, Founder of All Nation Restoration

I’ve spent my entire career passionate maybe a little too passionate at times about the remediation industry. Whether it’s water, fire, mold, tight house syndrome, or HVAC systems, I’ve always been the guy who leans way in. I’ve earned certifications from the IICRC, developed new formulas, taught classes to other contractors, and experimented with techniques to improve our work. It’s not just a job it’s a craft, and I’ve tried to master every detail.

That intensity has served me well. But early in my journey with All Nation Restoration, it also taught me one of the most important lessons of my career.

The Call That Came Close to Midnight

I was probably around 20 years old when I got the call. It was late maybe 10:30 or 11 p.m. on a weeknight and a couple in downtown Austin had just experienced a catastrophic dishwasher failure. The appliance had been leaking for a while, but that night, the dam finally broke. Their kitchen, dining room, office, and downstairs bedroom were flooded.

By the time I arrived, it was nearing midnight. The house sat on a beautiful lot not far from campus. You could tell it had stories behind it one of those places anyone would be proud to call home.

Armed with a moisture meter in one hand, a box of gear in the other, and a business card tucked between my lips, I marched up the walk full of adrenaline. Tired? No way. I was fired up and ready to solve their problem.

The Ramble

The door opened, and a kind couple in their late 60s welcomed me in.

And that’s when the monologue began.

I launched straight into it:

“This is what we’ll do.”                 

“This is how long it will take.”

“This is what your insurance will cover.”

“There may be mold—so we’ll need containment.”

“Cross contamination is a risk.”

“Let me explain mycotoxins.”

“Here’s how mold colonizes and spreads…”

And on and on and on I went. They were gracious. They nodded. They listened. But I was moving so fast, caught up in my enthusiasm, that I never gave them space to speak.

Until finally, in a soft voice, the man interrupted me.

“Thank you, Ben. Do you think we could just get started tonight? I don’t mean the containment and baseboards and all, just maybe suck up the water and put in a couple of those ‘DU ’machines you mentioned, so we can talk more in the morning. My wife and I usually go to bed much earlier.”

He smiled warmly. “By the way, I really love your enthusiasm and you’re mostly right about the mold stuff.”

Mostly right?

I blinked.

Trying not to show my confusion, I gave a half-laugh and asked, “Oh really?”

He looked down, then back up, still smiling. “Oh, nothing really. I’d just love to talk more tomorrow. I have a PhD and I teach at UT. My field is mold, fungus, and their impact on the human body.”

I stood there, wanting to shrink into the hardwood floor. I’d just given a 30-minute speech about mold to a guy who teaches mold for a living.

“Yes sir,” I said. “That would be awesome. I’d love to learn more.”

He nodded, still smiling. “That’s awesome. But first, can we get the water up?”

The Real Lesson

As I brought in the hoses and set up the equipment, I started reflecting on what had just happened. I was embarrassed, sure. But more than that, I was humbled.

And that humility stayed with me.

Looking back now, I can say this moment shaped me as a business owner, a technician, and a person. Here’s what I learned:

• Don’t assume you’re the authority no matter how much you know.

• Excitement is great, but it should be paired with consideration.

• Let people talk. Don’t capitalize on someone else’s time without offering them space.

• And most importantly, find the humor in being human.

That night, I showed up thinking I had all the answers. But I left with something better: a reminder that real connection comes from listening.

Restoring homes. Rebuilding lives.