Atomictumor

After only three prematurely aborted forays into the seedy world of residential interior design, I have come to the conclusion that it just ain’t for me.

The first job I had was with an overly permissive client who appeared at the outset to have virtually unlimited cash to put into a renovation.  As time went on and we pushed him to secure the money, the more difficult it became to contact him.  After we had picked out furniture and hired a general contractor, he changed all his contact numbers and email addresses and moved.  To Maryland.

The second job I had was really a commercial endeavor, not residential, but it was with a small business owner.  We were to turn her recently purchased meat-packing plant into a corporate HQ and bottling facility.  After some miscommunication, I was squeezed out by a fellow designer.  She and I have since patched up our relationship.

This last ex-job though… whew.  An elderly home-owner contacted one of my teachers asking for a student designer.  I called dibs and got the lady’s phone number.  After consulting with my teacher, I settled on an hourly wage for myself.  To say my client balked would be doing it an injustice.  She actually laughed when I told her.  She suggested a price that was half what I was asking.  Since she was elderly, I acquiesced.  I went to her home (in hoity-toity Farragut) once to “interview” and look around at what I’d be dealing with.  The room she wanted to redo was really quite nice, and I told her that I’d like to leave most of it alone, and just rearrange furniture and purchase some new pieces.
I went out to her home a second time to take pictures, measurements and to match colors.  After I was done, she casually told me that she has been in contact with a professional designer and that, if the designer’s prices are right (twice over what I initially asked for, easily), she’ll be giving the other woman the job.

“But don’t worry, we’ll save something for you to do.”

Excuse me?

I was hired.  I was given a job, an hourly wage was agreed upon, I’ve begun considering changes and have put time into planning, worrying and consulting with my teacher.  And you call to tell me, “Don’t do anything between now and the next time I call you, because I’ll be consulting with the professional designer next week”?

So I’ve decided to be pro-active and call her and turn down the left-overs that she’s saving for me.

Edit:  She just called me to tell me she’s going with the experienced designer.  She did say that she’d give me a call when she needed another room done, but I politely told her not to bother.

Being civil very well might be the hardest part of my line of work.

I discovered that I’m still a comic book geek.

I started really liking “The Office” (the American version, that is.  The british one still isn’t funny).

I concluded that climbing up into the attic to run the home theater wire up there isn’t ever going to happen.

I got cut on the hand by one of the demon cats.

I read books to Pigpen, and talked dorky with MastaG.

I bought a pair of corduroys, and am wearing them now.

I slept in (until 8).

I watched the leaves not change color.

I lamented the passing of summer (again), and regretted the coming of winter (cuz its all my fault.  Or Demeters.  Whoever).

I cleaned up the house, and kept it clean for 3 days.

I watched GAC make the new banner, and then forgot to put it up.

I realized that I love (like?) my family more as I get older, and that the farm isn’t a bad place to spend a weekend.

I argued the points of good beer with Philistines like Nodbob and Dustifer, who, much like Daco, prefer Budwater.  What worked against me was that the good beer was a 30 minute drive, but the bleah beer was 15 minutes.  Guess which one won?

I remembered why I liked my job, and got a handle on why I’ve had a hard time living with myself lately (its because I’m a dick, evidently, but its OK.)

I fell in love with my wife again for the 3652nd day, and married her for the 2nd time.

I thought to myself how nice it is to have friends (both real and imagined).

I got drunk.

I got hung over.

I swore off heavy drinking.

I returned home to two of my favorite records scratched up by the cats, and then forgot my badge to get into work this morning necessitating a sleepy trip back home.

I still have a smile on my face, and life is so good.  Vacations are great!