While contemplating the topic of communication for my next blog entry, a distressed call from a client in New York City provided the perfect opening. The reloading of the rebuilt pantry in their Vermont ski home caused some shelving to collapse, leaking vinegar under the brand new floor.
Simple communication could have avoided the calamity entirely, or at least minimized the trauma to a woman already disrupted by a $20,000 price tag for a leaky dishwasher. Had I communicated better, the decision would have been hers. Lacking that, the responsibility is entirely mine, and on her post-construction report to the insurance company, the client is likely to erase "beautiful" and underscore "shoddy."
Too easily, the relations of client and carpenter swing on subtle phrases and shifts of body. Immediately, I was understanding from all manner of their communication that this repair needed to be timely and efficient, completed within a definite period to allow them to return to New York. No matter the stresses on our part, the clients communicated clearly their need to finish.
Then was the time to address issues of distance from shop to job (it was not our usual stomping grounds) and winter road conditions. The normal renovation unknowns were also in play: how easily would things come apart; how available were materials; how much coffee to keep the work going forward would equally require trips to the bathroom. Lastly, the drop cloths and protective poly needed to be set up and taken down each day so they could eat.
It is difficult to communicate these "ifs, buts and wells" to a new client without creating doubt and distrust. In those first moments as strangers about to become housemates, much needs to be established, yet the language best used is not at all clear. Your green might be their red, but you are both optimistically opening your cans of paint and spreading the color. There is trust that it will all come to a good conclusion.
Along the way, things happen and the language is invented. The client sees the carpenter works diligently and learns a little about the wife and kids. A few cups of coffee offered goes a long way to win the carpenter's interest in making that next cut a little tighter.
The carpenter becomes comfortable enough to request that cars be moved to store material in the garage. In conversation, the clients reveal their reasons that work cannot continue in their absense, so with a little more understanding, the carpenter pushes harder to finish. Good communication negotiates that the baseboard can be left for later, but the pantry must be restocked.
On the last day, shelf uprights made offsite were delivered to be installed. I discovered then that without warning me, my trusty cabinet maker had used a more standard sized hole, and the older clips for adjustable shelving would not hold. Too far and too little time to go back for the right clips, I "cleverly" wrapped tape on each, pushed down hard to prove holding strength, and proudly proceeded to clean up, confident the right clips could be inserted when work resumed, but in the meantime, the clients had their pantry.
My failure, then, was to not communicate to the clients my slight of clips in hand, but to tell them, instead, to load up: all was back in place. My understanding and wish to meet their needs superceeded the proper cautionary tale, the confession, and probable disappointment. No matter how well the rest of the job has gone, the one failure to inform and advise taints the entire project.
Things happen, but they can always be managed if you trust the process, stick to the rules, and chose quality over speed. Communicate, communicate, communicate. Only then is there a hope of meeting the client in the middle with the room successfully painted the color of their choice.
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