Sometimes you just want to scream!

I am, at this moment, 300 miles from home, attempting to finalize a kitchen layout with a customer. This is after three weeks of exchanging information via e-mail, faxes, phone calls, etc. So at this point we are supposed to have a pretty good idea of how everything is going to be. But the "actual layout" is still to be decided and we wanted to work that out right there in the room so we could mock things up and really get a feel for how the space was going to work.

I start by saying, "The first thing we need to do is to place all of the appliances, then we can drop in the casework around them.” So we do that. Then we spend the next five hours working out the rest of the kitchen. We are on the last side of the massive island when the lady says, “Oh, and I have this oven I want to use. And I want a microwave drawer and a warming oven.” So bingo …

Three major appliances have to be incorporated into this design which pretty much dumps the whole day into the tank. Then she says, “I have a list of all the appliances I want. Let me go get it.” Then she spends an hour rummaging through boxes of papers looking for this list I had asked for at the outset. Her husband looked ready to cry. It seems that this is "business as usual" for this project, which is already almost a year behind and 40 percent over budget. So I guess I can take some comfort in the thought that I'm not the only one. I figured this was God's way of testing my resolve not to smoke.

Today, I'm spending another day trying to get this nailed down. If I hear the word "French" (as in "Oh that looks very French" or "They are all doing French now") one more time, I'm gonna scream!

D.D.