"If you half-ass it, that half-ass will be all over town and whenever anyone asks who did that to her car, she'll give them your name."

Friend got in a fender-bender my sophomore year. Knew I worked on cars; she asked me if I could "bang out the dent" so that she could put her turn signal back on, make the headlight point forward, etc. I said I totally could; she dropped the car off on a Friday, expecting to pick it up on a Monday. By Saturday noon the fender was in the correct physical dimensions, but a long way from "looking good." I was ready to put a fork in it but my dad dropped that particular truth-bomb on me. Ended up spending the entire weekend getting the fender on a '78 Nova paint-ready. But you know what? I was the acknowledged king of bodywork. By the time junior year rolled around my classmates were bidding on me joining their auto shop team for the final and midterm.

It didn't really stick until my grandfather had these guys come by and offer him a hell of a deal on an asphalt driveway. The coupling between the motor and the hammer on their tamper had broken; they wanted to know if I could weld it back together (we had pretty much a full metal shop at my grandparents' house). I observed that it had already been done badly once and that any repair I exacted would not only not last long, it would be of questionable utility and also look like crap. They were cool with it - hook us up we'll give you twenty bucks.

My grandfather pointed out that were I to repair it, I'd be blamed when it broke and badmouthed by anyone who saw it. I didn't end up welding the coupling. They were mad, but they came back the next day and finished the job with a horribly-welded kludge the likes of which I never would have perpetrated on a piece of equipment. When I asked them who they got to fix it they said

"some idiot."

I never half-assed anything ever again. Not that I did much before but boy howdy did I have a sterling set of principles behind the decision.

The experience colored my life in other ways; they were interesting folx and I ended up hanging out with them a little. They suggested I come with them and join their merry traveling lifestyle - wouldn't let up, in fact. It was odd; they showed up with a truck full of asphalt one day, did the front of the driveway, then worked out a deal with my grandfather to do the rest of the driveway for $5000 and his old motor home. When grass started poking up through the asphalt a week later they were long gone, of course; apparently this is a thing.

I don't have many prejudices; I fuckin' hate Tinkers. "Hey, come join us! Hey fix our shit! Hey, fuck the guys who fix our shit! Hey, let's rip off your 80-year-old grandfather before we kidnap you!" Important note - there was no respect for me in there, no respect for my grandfather, and they totally would have stolen my grandfather's motorhome and $5k AND steal me from my family without a second thought. Suffice it to say I had a hard time with The Riches.

One of my finest moments was when I was washing dishes and my wife was sewing and we heard honking. My wife opened the door and two toothless dudes in a road truck pointed at our driveway and observed that it was pretty rough; they had some asphalt left over from a job "just up the street" and would we like a deal?

My wife said "I already have a Tinkers' driveway, why would I want another?"

She said they glared at her and left. I was so proud.