Boise clients are the final boss of tolerances.

Actually, that's the same thing.

Woke up to a dead smoker at 3 AM once, pit temp reading 90 degrees. Nearly had a heart attack trying to get the fire going again before the meat went bad. That cold, greasy feeling in your gut when you think you just wasted a whole weekend and sixty bucks on meat is the worst. Managed to save it, but those were the longest two hours of my life staring at that thermometer.

Back in Texas, a weighted string saved my fence.

Paint choices really do show where people draw their imaginary property lines. It's your door, your call, and that's the end of it. Hope he gets used to the sunshine.