Is Your Business Enhanced with Each Job?

Oops, I did it again. (Apologies to Ms. Spears, perhaps the only one she’s gotten in awhile.) But I – well, “we” since my wife is an accomplice – bought another project. It’s an old, dilapidated, run-down house, exactly the condition we like. Seems to be a theme with me: “HEY LOOK! There’s a project where I’ll need contractors in my work life AND nonexistent spare time! I’ll take it!”

Basically, I take all the money I earn from contractors and then give it right back to contractors. It’s one big circle of love. Or is it a slow moving drain?

The Realtor, attempting encouragement of said house, “Adams, you could do part of it and just leave the rest as it is.” This is like saying, “Michelangelo, if you get tired of doing that ceiling, you could just sheet rock over the rest of it.”

In an attempt to appear prudent, we hired a real architect and a real contractor.

Electrical – Complete rewiring. The old box had been painted shut in the 80’s, apparently just after the wiring was “upgraded” by Medusa’s hair stylist. It looked like a nest of light green snakes. Some switches in the house worked; I think a few of them were merely decorative to cover up the fist holes.

Plumbing – There were two bathrooms, sort of. One of the toilets was dated 1965, and worked, but it’s “per flush” volume was enough to cause area lakes to shift slightly. The other one swayed like a drunken Frat boy, and was about as presentable. My wife looked at each plumbing item and labeled them all with the technical term: “Gross”.

HVAC – Far as I could tell, there wasn’t an “H”, “V”, “A” or “C” worth keeping. Some contraption had been installed about 2” beneath the deck, whereupon its hot humid blower had rotted a 3 foot hole in the deck. One peek under the house revealed “ductwork” apparently engineered by Dr. Seuss of “Whoville Air Conditioning.” It had more kinkiness and joints than a backstage Hip Hop party.

Roofing – The most amazing thing: It didn’t leak, but it gave you that false sense of confidence of wearing, say, paper pants in a windstorm. Things could go bad wrong, quickly. You’ve heard of 20-year shingles? These were the slightly less reliable 90 minute version.

Aside from this, the house was perfect. So, why’d we do this project? Three reasons, only one of them makes any sense at all….

Item 1: Insanity in the face of a historical artifact. Item 2: Hoping to make what house flippers call a “profit” to fund a kitchen renovation at our “real” house. Since my wife and I timed this perfectly, we’ve invented a new term called “House Floppers”, where profit exists only in theory right before you buy it. Then there was Item 3.

The house is a 1,700 foot, late Victorian cottage, probably a 1920’s build date which makes it one of the oldest on this calm cul-de-sac across from a small but well-regarded college. It’s also about 300 feet from my city’s oldest Country Club. Property values – even in this “Chicken Little Real Estate” market – have remained healthy.

So we jumped in, blithely disregarding that item known as “logic”. Couple notes from the files - -
Plumbing – They did an awesome job. This was a well-respected company (not a one-horse sub like we’d expected) and it showed. They came when they said, did their work neatly, and got out of there. Very fair. I’d call ‘em for my home, no doubt. You think they knew about my kitchen renovation?

Electrical – Not so good. He was cheap, but we “paid” for expensive in many ways. One example: he made way too many return trips, each causing a Domino effect delay in the process. He’d walk right past dead outlets, never suggesting he replace them. The problem is his cheap subconscious: “If it sounds like I’m ‘selling’ they won’t like me.” My subconscious to his: “Oh shut up – be a pro and suggest what you know is correct and let me decide.” He had two minor flirts with dementia. First, he put the plug for the microwave/stove vent IN FRONT OF THE VENT. This makes access mighty difficult. Second, he mounted the doorbell chime SIDEWAYS. My 14-year old daughter didn’t even know what it was and asked me, “Why is that thing mounted sideways?”

If this person were our city’s only electrician, demand for candles would skyrocket. I wonder if he knows there are other electricians in town. Nah, he’s blaming his woes on the economy.

HVAC – This is the same company that did the plumbing. They did a great job, but unwisely failed to ask me if I wanted a higher SEER option on the original quote. Probably figured I’d be romanced by the low bid (understandable in the circumstances, but offering an upsell “option” is wise.) Had a refrigerant leak, they came and swapped out compressors instantly, no hassle. I’d call ‘em again. In fact, I already did.

Roofing – We went ahead and bit the asphalt bullet on this one. Just ripped the old one off and started over. Good thing too. Decking was a bigger sponge than Arsenio Hall’s entourage. Now it’s level, sound, firm, warranted, and a boost to buyer’s confidence. Plus, I hate complainers, and didn’t want to hear some buyer boo-hooing about the roof later. I’d use him again. Oh wait, already did.

One costly upgrade: My wife wanted Cedar Shakes on the front porch of the house. It looked great but added about $2grand to the $7,600 quote. My cheap gene over-reacted to her decision in a somewhat notable fashion. (More later.)

Finally, after roughly 700 contractors had done their work, the house was about 90% complete, and a prospect peered through the window with the very same Realtor® who sold us the house. They call me, locate the key, and go through the house with the cell phone on. I hear gasps of excitement about the hardwood floors, the refinished mantles, gorgeous ceramic tile work, and good paint colors.

After a few minutes of questions, the phone is handed to the purchaser who has been through the house and tells me “it’s just what I’m looking for.”

He wants to just look at it from the outside, “Oh my gosh!” he exclaims, which I thought meant he saw a cloud of termites emerge from the chimney. “Look at the cedar shakes over the porch. They make this house the best looking one on the street.” Forty minutes later, he makes a thoroughly acceptable offer.

And I make a thoroughly sheepish apology to my wife. (Guys, do this about 4 times a year, whether you need to or not. On second thought, you need to.)

Laughably, there won’t be any profit on this house, other than lessons learned and the “joy” of resurrecting an old house. We spent about $90,000 in renovation, and I figure about $40,000 of that was spent among 6 contractors I’ll never use again. The painter was over-exposed to solvents; the tile guy had one speed, known as “idle”; the cabinet guys had the collective IQ of a stapler. And so it went. Unbeknownst to them, their business suffers with each job. Think that through. Word of mouth does have a reverse feature.

Yet the others proved themselves to be worthy of the term “contractor”. Their business is enhanced with each job. How about yours?

For those worthy of the Contractor title, I’d like you to have a poster for your workplace. It’s called “The Contractors Code of Profession” and you can go grab yours here, under one condition – You promise to read it through, and if you agree, display it to remind you of your true work. And if you want to be a standout from the competition, get a sample of our custom newsletter here.

Take Nothing For Granted

Woe is me. Seems my last editorial about a laparoscopy which was really a “colonoscopy” but who cares?) didn’t go over that well with some of the more “delicate” readers, one of whom simply wrote “GROSS!” on her re-faxed copy. How’d I know it was from a female? Because guys think burping and making noises with their armpits is hilarious; we don’t gauge gross…. we ARE gross!

Thus my apologies for mentioning the word “spleen” in an editorial. So today, in an effort to seek editorial “balance” we’re going to talk about ingrown toenails. JUST KIDDING.
Today, we’re going to talk about family stuff. (There’s a marketing lesson in case you were wondering.)

I’m a father of two teenagers. A few years back, they both thought I contained all the knowledge in the universe and could uproot trees bare-handed. I was protector, professor, and pro-wrestler in one package.

My, how times have changed.

Now they look at me in amazement if I can complete an actual sentence. I’ve determined that they see the world divided into two camps —

1. Teenagers = Cool beyond description, smarter than all other humanoids; highly adept and thoroughly relevant.
2. Parents = None of the above.

Almost as painful in print as at dinner. Yet, they cannot argue the following point: We’ve been teenagers.

We’ve been equally sure as we were ‘un’; equal parts child and adult, madly flip-flopping like a decked mackerel on any of a thousand points. We escaped into our music, our hair, our clothes, and whatever gadgets, authors, or movements supported our call to independence. We failed to see the irony that we were “being different” all together. Silly us. And then there were drugs.

Our contrarian, thrill-seeking, independent rebellion couldn’t be more “individualized” than taking our own personal vacation from reality. Yet what was once fringe element is now mainstream. And then there was sex.

What was once shameful and stigmatized, now called courageous and bold. What once was cleaned-up pornography in the brown wrapper behind the gruff man at the convenience store is now two clicks away from anywhere. (Such as wherever they are right this second.) Oh, and it’s not cleaned up. And then there were my children. And your children.

Time Together, Time Alone

This summer, I decided to take a week off every month. (Some may recall that I took off every Friday and Monday last summer. Just experimenting here. Next year I’m contemplating taking a month off every week.)

In June, we took a real-live, old-fashioned, “Are We There Yet” car trip through various states. In each state, I did what all of you do to commemorate the visit: Flailing my arm in the back seat area while driving to swat the first person I could reach, proclaiming, “YOU’RE BOTH WRONG BECAUSE YOU’RE DRIVING ME INSANE.” This of course was said in a loving sort of way. Ah yes, car trips.

We learned far more about each other than we did about geography.

In July, I took my daughter to JH Ranch (http://www.jhranch.com/) for a week, as I did with my son last year. This is a Christian-based adventure camp, where dumb dads help figure out different strategies with their children, or have “fun” dangling 60 feet in the air suspended by wires, or raft down a river screaming “PLEASE DO NOT HIT THAT ROCK”. Stuff like that.

The staff is remarkably well-trained, safe and courteous. They cook, clean, guide and care-take all summer with a service attitude that’d rival a 5 star resort. This is made more remarkable by two little facts: 1) They’re college-age students and 2) They’re 90% volunteer. Translation: No pay. They work for smiles and a higher calling. If they actually represented the majority youth of America, then America’s youth is just fine. Yet if they only serve as examples to my children, that’s great too.

This trip was of life long value. So you may be asking….

Did I buy a “camp experience”? A Christian experience? Did I buy rafting, tower climbing, rock jumping, and learning to sleep in an un-air conditioned cabin with 9 other dads? Yes, some of all. But mostly, I bought time with my little girl.

We got time alone, and time together. This is in precious, rare supply while at home. I’m usually doing the Dagwood Bumstead off to work; she’s doing whatever 14 year-olds do that don’t involve Dad. During this week, we found out that each of us are people, bred of the stock they call family, unified through a gift as miraculous as it is taken for granted. Its called time. We enjoyed each other’s company enough to make more time to be together.

My advice: Take nothing for granted. The time you get with your children and anyone else you consider “valuable” is a gift we don’t get to re-wrap and open again. Some of you are into grandchildren, and that message is truer than ever.

Relationships CAN’T flourish through reduced contact. Even dumb ol’ dads know this.

QUESTIONS to consider:

Who are you NOT in contact with enough? What can you do to change that right now?
Do you think your customers KNOW you’re their contractor? If ‘no’, is this because you don’t contact them? How can you change that?