One body shop I worked at for about a month was called "Baron Von Freier". It as mostly run by the Baron, a short, fuzzy bearded guy who smoked a pipe. The bowl of the pipe was usually resting deep inside his beard and I was always waiting for the day when his face caught fire.
He didn't use body filler (or "bondo") to fix dents. He used lead, like the old days, and I truly enjoyed watching him work as this is a lost art form.
We reworked bath-tub bodied Porches, got a Ferrari or two, Alfa Romeos, a Bentley. However, the Baron was a little off.
There is dust in a body shop. The Baron was bald. The dust had settled on the sweat on his bald head, and in the evening the sweat would dry and the dust would still be there, in a pattern of sorts. This pattern never changed. The dust was never removed. He did not bathe in the month that I was there, and believe me, I checked out his "dust pattern" every day.
His son would come in around 11, read a magazine or two and leave about 3. Did no work. The Baron and I could not get the through put necessary to pay all the bills, so he was taking money out of savings to pay me. This made him angry.
One day he told me to hit the road. But I was set to hitch-hike cross country and was ready.