The Playground Inspector

There's a new playground near me. My son and I went on a Friday afternoon.

Pure NYC vibrancy. Kids running around, splash pad in full effect, coquito carts doing business on the periphery.

And this guy. Hovering around with a little smile, watching everything.

The New Yorker in me is half too busy, half curious to chat when he approaches.

"How's it going?" he says. His work boots give him away before he asks what I think of the layout, the equipment choices.

I can see he wants to tell me something, so I let him.

He's the general contractor. He and his crew built this place.

It opened three weeks ago. But here he is on a Friday afternoon - not on a victory lap, though maybe a bit - checking in. Seeing how people actually use what they made. Whether anything needs adjusting (turns out a gate has a minor kink). Talking to the real people who'll live with his work long after the permits are filed and invoices paid.

Most of us don't do this. We ship the project and move on. Launch the product and chase the next deadline. Publish the piece and forget it exists.

He understands something most of us forget: the real test isn't the day you finish building. It's three weeks later, when a four-year-old discovers your handrail makes the perfect balance beam, or when you notice parents instinctively cluster near the bench you positioned just so.

There's something almost radical about this - a craftsman returning not to fix what's broken, but to understand what's working. To see his creation through other people's eyes and let that inform whatever he builds next.

In our hurry to produce and move on, we miss the feedback loop that makes us better. We optimize for output instead of outcome, for shipping instead of serving.

But here's Jafar. Forty years in NYC, fifteen in construction. Still showing up to watch his work breathe.