By definition, you cannot choose your own parents. Still some people have more luck than others, and I definitely drew the short straw here.
I was born in 1969, and my parents were a young couple who had a common interest of having an easy life without any obligations.
After changing a few jobs within year or so, they found their dream job - a newly-built small mountain hotel needed staff. The work at the hotel involved a three-month high season during the summer, 10 days of work around New Year, and eight and a half months of low/dead season. The salary was reflecting these facts, but unfortunately they were people without ambitions, and their only goal in life was to live it as easily as possible. Half of the time I was with my grandparents at their village, and the other half I was wandering in the forest with parents barely remembering that they have a kid. As every kid, I was growing up with many questions that needed answers, but my parents were ignoring each and every of my question as if I was invisible. So the time with my grandparents was to get some questions answered. The other half of my time, at the mountain, I was finding answers by myself.
When I became 6 and was able to read, my father instructed me how to handle the heating system of the hotel, so that I could replace him when he was busy. Heating was working only during the 10 days during the winter, when the hotel had visitors, and of course my dad was very busy playing cards and drinking with the male guests.
One day I was skiing outside and decided to go back in the hotel to get warm. When I approached the building, I saw steam going out from a pipe on the roof, creating a scary noise - this pipe was releasing the pressure when the steam boiler was out of control. I rushed inside the building, straight to the restaurant where my dad was playing cards, and I tried to get his attention. Here is the place to say that I never managed to achieve this task during my whole childhood. My dad was so busy with the card game, so I decided not to lose time on this and rather solve the problem myself.
The heating system of the building was located in the basement, and the floor of the boiler room was four meters lower than the rest of the basement. The steam boiler was an extremely large horizontal cylinder, and opening the door to the boiler room, you would face a huge and deep room, with that large steam boiler filling the room space. Then you would have to go down a narrow and steep metal stairs and go around the boiler to access the control panel. The heating was running on diesel fuel, with a burner attached to the boiler. The control panel was simple: water pump ON/OFF, burner ON/OFF, temperature and pressure measure scales.
When I opened the door, I saw something surrealistic: the room was full of thick mix of smoke and vapor, and the large steam boiler was shaking, threatening to explode any moment. I froze for a second - to stop this ticking bomb, I had to go down in that abyss of smoke and blindly go around the shaking steam boiler. The other option was to give another try on intercepting the poker game upstairs. Even a 7-year old knew the odds, so I found my way down in the smoky abyss. There wasn't much space between the boiler and the wall, so I had to stick to the wall not to touch the boiler. Although it had some kind of insulation, the feeling was like I was entering an oven. The mix of carbon gases in the room was irritating my eyes, and the only reason it did not make me cough was the fact that probably, out of stress, I forgot to breathe. These few meters around the boiler seemed endless. The boiler was shaking so much that it seemed alive, causing the floor and the whole sector of the building to tremor. I managed to reach the control panel and blindly found the knob of the burner. Once I felt it with my fingers, I made sure it is the right side knob, by sensing the left side one - the one of the circulating pump. I knew that pressing the wrong knob will make the situation worse, not only for me, but for all the people in the building. The sound of the burning process stopped instantly, followed by the dimming sound of the loud air supply ventilator of the burner, thus making the terrible sound of the shaking boiler even scarier. I quickly found my way back, through the not-so-children-friendly metal stairs. Before I managed to close the door, I realized that the frequency and the intensity of the shaking were slowly calming down. I went up to find a very different world - kids playing loudly "catch me if you can" in the corridor, men playing cards, women watching TV in the lobby, and none of these happy and relaxed people having an idea that they just missed a close call.
Living with irresponsible parents taught me how bad, useless, and even dangerous such people are, and made me very intolerant to irresponsibility, and any people that tend to carry it with them. Also, I know how bad it is when you cannot rely on others, and how awful it is when you have to wait for help or getting your questions answered. Having tough childhood always makes a huge imprint on one's life. But now you know why I believe that my customers deserve a swift response to their questions. I literally hate when something happens slowly, as just the thought of "slow" revives the wardrobe skeletons in the memory of my poor childhood.
Now, do you need help or have any questions related to your hosting service? Feel free to ask my colleagues at SureSupport: they are the dream heroes of my childhood.