The first in a long line of menial jobs I held was scanning documents and sending letters for an actuarial business in Oxford. I toiled from nine to five in a barren, overflow office feeding incomprehensible paperwork into a scanner; ending the day by printing and posting letters.

There was nothing to alleviate the monotony, and had there been, I wouldn't have used it. The prospect of being distracted and making a mistake was not a good one.

My overlord was a fiend for quality and — despite being the boss of the whole business — would visit my shabby chambers periodically to make sure the work was up to snuff.

What qualified as a mistake? If a postage stamp was not equidistant from the top and side edges of the envelope at 5mm (+/- 1mm was probably tolerable) I would have to re-do it. This boggled my tiny mind. Wouldn’t the envelopes get bent in the mail anyway? Would anyone notice?

The point, he explained, was that if quality matters anywhere it matters everywhere. Start making concessions and you'll never stop, but if you never allow quality to slip anywhere, you'll never have to worry about it slipping in the wrong places.

Two decades later I remain grateful for the lesson. Oh, and if I ever mail you anything, look at where the postage stamp is...

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