Before going off to school I spent the summer working with my dad doing general labor and finish work as a sort of assistant to him on painting and contract jobs. My Dad then was just dad, a guy who protected his 6 kids and made sure they got fed and watered (yes, you're like a plant in the garden in this clan). Looking back on that summer I now know he taught me either on purpose or simply by example how the world works without explaining one thing to me in words, this took 20-some odd years to sink in though I think. My dad, in ~1969 after Vietnam and the Marine Corp, started painting residential and commercial, so by 95 he was pretty expert at that kind of thing. In summer 95 he took a job finishing an entire wing of some mansion in a fancy neighborhood and he asked me once I graduated if I wanted a job for the summer. Yep, its money I'll do it. He put me on all the trim work and said make it look good then grumbled for weeks at me to do it right or go home. As a teenager I shrugged my shoulders as if to say how perfect does this woman need the wood to be for her satisfaction. He'd grumble then show me what another worker had done and would say do it better than that crap (he paid that guy 1.5x more than me too!). Wow, I have to be perfect I guess, so I toiled until no comments (good or bad) were made and he'd come by and finish the wood with a coat of stain then some other finishing touches then the old rich widow would yay or nay the whole room or ask for changes. And boy she'd ask for changes, new trim with different detailed finishes, it was ridiculous, but the lady had time and way too much money on her hands and she paid to have it all done the exact way she wanted in the moment. All silliness to me, but she was paying I guess. All the while me and a few others are working on this den or study or whatever superfluous and excessive space this is called in a monstrous home, my dad was toiling on some kind of masterpiece of a French brushed wall in the entry foyer. Unknown to me and the other workers, he'd been trying to make this area perfect for this old bag, this isn't right, that isn't right blah blah blah. Again, ridiculous. Every 3 or so hours he'd swing by and check on us but I wasn't sure what he was doing from 8-11 or 12-3 or 4-6, but by the end of the day I could tell he was drained. Long story short, Dad didn't complain, he took the hits and dealt with this crap and made that lady happy. By the end of the project everyone got paid well and I think a few guys who went beyond the call got some Christmas bonuses in August and their kids had a good year because my dad was a perfectionist prick so that woman got what she wanted no matter how ridiculous. In the end, my Dad's lesson of nose to the grindstone just get the job done attitude got the kids fed and watered and, at least for me, taught a lesson. Period. Side note, I don't give a hoot what my trim work looks like really as long as it functions as intended. Seems a bit superficial to me now. Dang, is it duck season yet!