One big challenge of running a trade business is finding a balance between not absorbing other people’s sense of urgency and being accessible enough to maintain good faith and trust. In the last few years, I’ve had first-time experiences of being disrespected. Some experiences opened my eyes to how I’d been disrespected in the past but I was too young to realize it. For example, people paying me a year late for a job I did with no down payment. That’s something that happened a lot, but was easy to accept while I had a reliable income working on campus as a student, or at the coffee shop, or for a painting company. I made exceptions for friends here and there, but that became harder to do when money wasn’t coming in as frequently anymore post lock-down. I asked for advice from business owners along the way and stopped listing my materials to the penny on invoices by advice of a bank manager in Beverly. I raised my rates every couple of years by advice from my own clients. I’ve learned a lot in the 14 years I have been doing business under Foxtail Painting. Never once did I have someone tell me I functioned unprofessionally, until recently. And I’m learning that learning never stops. One person’s critique of my work equals one more thing to learn. More recently, I made a decision that I will not accept disrespect. Well, okay, sometimes I let it slide when I’m picking my battles. However, I won’t accept having my livelihood threatened or withheld over a misunderstanding or falling short of someone’s vision, especially when I had the green light along the way.
Lockdown taught me to look at my job as non-essential. Yes, every house is painted and it’s a common trade, but that doesn’t mean decisions made in my work are life or death. But even still, it is my livelihood. It puts food in my pantry and pays for my cats’ vet bills. When someone wants me to redo something for next to nothing and act like I owe them for their indecision, I lose respect for that person. Cause they already showed me they don’t respect me.
This past week, I worked on a project with a 68 year old painter who has been painting longer than I’ve been alive. We were working a commercial job with no AC, after he’d already mentioned to me months ago that he doesn’t do commercial jobs anymore, but he is doing this for a friend. At one point, he stopped in a hallway I was painting and leaned on a door frame to wipe his head of sweat. He then said, “At about 30 or 35 years old, I dropped a lot of clients who were shit.” My ears were open, obviously. “I did it again when I turned 50.” He was shaking his head, and I don’t know what prompted him to say that, but when I sensed he wasn’t going to add to those thoughts, I said, “I am going through a difficult situation with a client right now. It’s not something I’ve experienced before and I thought she was happy with the work. She let me know two months later.” He crouched over a paint can, “And she paid?” “Yes. She wants to start from scratch. I offered my generic paint rate versus my specialty painting rate because she was clearly unhappy, and she said that was unacceptable and I should offer a much lower rate. If I couldn’t do that, she said she won’t have me for future work.” I forgot to mention I’d written multiple estimates to do other projects in her house. Shaking his head and prying open the can, he started to share some of his experiences that went sour with clients. After a false accusation about a cracked window, a woman threatened to tell all of her friends not to hire him if he didn’t pay for the window and he said, “I don’t care what your friends think. Here’s cash for the window. I’m done here.” He left the job unfinished and took no pay for what he had done so far because he knew he didn’t break the window and he doesn’t want to work with people who treat him that way. He told me I should feel empowered with the way I handled my situation.
Later that same day, my new painter friend whipped around a corner and said, “These folks are asking me to paint this whole ceiling by the end of the day cause they’re hanging up fixtures tonight. Sheesh.” He was moving faster than I ever saw him go. He ended up needing to stay an hour later than his usual workday to fulfill their wishes, standing on a ladder and brushing and rolling out new wooden panels, which were installed just hours before, with BIN primer (that stuff drips all over the place) muttering to himself “My wife was supposed to pick me up before the shop closes.” “This damn primer.” Let me remind you, no AC. He was going to be getting picked up by his wife on her way home from work so he could collect his car from an auto body shop, but that was now not going to happen. It was an inconvenience placed on him because of this surprise urgency that erupted after lunch.
I gave him a ride to his car. The next morning, we walked onto the site and he says, “The fucking fixtures aren’t even hung. I got pressure to do all of that for this.” As soon as the person who gave him the pressure walked on site, she said, “Hiii” and laughed, “What’s that look for?” I’m listening from another room. He says, “I got all of that pressure and stayed late to paint this ceiling.” I could feel my ears getting warm and my breath changed. I felt awkward for both of them. She said, “Yes, they are actually coming in shortly to hang everything.” “But you said they were coming last night.” “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry we pressured you.” A few moments later, he passed by a corner and passed me. I said, “I’m learning from you. I appreciate your approach.” He gave me a nod and said, “Sometimes you make some friends, sometimes you don’t.”
Thursday the 25th was 17 years since grandpop Nenno died. I drove to a coffee shop before work that morning and as I left the lot, I realized I was leaving through the entrance. “Going out the goes-into” I laughed to myself. That’s something grandpop always used to say.
Friday the 26th marked 2 years on T.
Comments
Post a Comment