When I finished up my certification training to become an HVAC repair technician, I had to build my resume and also save up for my certification as a state-recognized contractor. Figuring I could kill two birds with one stone, I decided to move to this coastal town commonly seen as a tourist trap by the rest of the state. Not to mince words, it was like a college town without the college – lots of parties, drinking on the beach, and a lot of retail and food service workers that developed a strong contempt for tourism. In my case, I found a beachfront resort that needed an on-call service technician. I had no family in town, and they offered me a bunk to crash in during my shifts, so it seemed perfect to me. I figured I would only get one or two calls a night at most, to rooms where people didn’t know their A/C system was shut off via power switch. That notion was quickly put to bed on my first night, when I had a service call around midnight. I came to the room where the call was placed, and I could smell something burning – not on fire, but like an electrical burn. After knocking on the door, I was let into the room by a couple of very drunk college kids, laughing as they pointed at the room air conditioner in the corner, dumping smoke into the room. “It was like that when we got here”, one of the kids said as I scrambled to shut power off to the air conditioning unit. I could easily tell that a cup of beer had been dumped on it, as the air conditioning unit stunk like booze and an empty red plastic cup was laying on the ground beside it. After shutting power off, I told the boys I would come back with my full tool set to fix it. I used the opportunity to let the resort management know of what happened, and to make sure they’re held accountable for their neglect!