No millionaires in my story, only teenage potheads.
My stepson, a pretty decent player, had trouble remembering the courtesy of wiping down someone's guitar after playing it.
His chowderhead buddies and their cheapo crap guitars knew to be careful on the occasion they got to play any of my stuff, but as soon as they were on to their next adventure there was nothing orderly left behind. Nothing but a faint adolescent aroma, empty wrappers and soda cans, and dirty dishes everywhere.
As stern as the missus might be with them on their next meeting, I was the one who finally had a lasting effect on them.
"Do me a favor? Next time you play my guitars, can you wait until afterwards to eat peanut butter?"
Blank stares from his buddies, but the boy knew EXACTLY what I meant.
He later conveyed my sentiments to his buddies more clearly, and we finally reached an understanding regarding another man's gear.
I swear to God, my ES-335 would feel like someone smeared peanut butter down the backside of the neck...