My father's a contractor. Occasionally, I'd go on jobs with him during the summer and help clean up here and there and awkwardly dance to the bachata music his workers would blast on the radio. I had a great time on those job-sites, especially watching some of the more skilled professionals.
The painters were incredible. Some of them were so efficient that the tarps they laid down were mere formalities. Others could lay a foundation or erect a first story frame with such precision and alacrity, it looked as natural as breathing to them. My favorite thing to watch, though, were the power-washings.
There was something about seeing a formerly grime and soot-covered surface baptized and emerge clean again.