My dad has worked as an HVAC technician since before I was born.
He met my mother while he worked for the only HVAC company in our town then, and she’d called about the HVAC unit in her house when she moved to town for a teaching position at the local high school.
I won’t go into details about their romance but he’s always been her air quality hero because she never struggled to get help with indoor comfort despite living in a house that needed frequent Ac repair. When they finally built our home, my dad made sure that it got equipped with the best air conditioning system on the market. By then, he already had his own business and was running a home services program around several neighborhoods. Moving away from home meant that the resident HVAC professional got a new challenge to tackle. He needed to make sure that the house I was moving into had a working air conditioner and that there was no dead animal in the ductwork. I found that suggestion wild but I have since learned that animals do get in there and I just grew up HVAC privileged. Apart from helping me move all my things to a town three hours away from home, Dad had gone two days earlier to ensure that he did what I thought would be quick HVAC maintenance and change of the Ac filter. We should have known he needed two days because he planned to have the air duct blown and cleaned out of any dirt and contaminant that would make me sick. He argued that the previous residents might have had pests and other hobbies that would remain trapped in the ducts, and I’d be breathing the same air. I had nothing to complain about because it was all free.