Plans: A Fable

Fitzpatrick-I’ll share with you a delightful, cozy nightmare about not following plans, so everyone will understand why I and so many designers have a metaphorical drafting scale up our rear ends about the issue.

First, designers and architects spend a lot of time drawing plans; or their draftspeople do. A set of plans is the time-honored (think DaVinci, Palladio) and industry-standard method for conveying the visual specifications of a project to a number of people for the duration of the job, and after, without the designer physically talking to each one of the entities involved in completing it.

• The plans communicate to the client what we agreed upon and how their space will look.
• They communicate to the general contractor the scope of the work for a bid and guide its execution.
• They do the same for the general contractor’s sub-contractors, if she has them.
• They also communicate to the governing building body for compliance with codes and issuance of permits, and to anyone who seeks, in later years, to comprehend what was done to a space.

In other words, we ain’t drawing 'em for fun.

I can’t tell you how many general- and subcontractors I’ve run into over the course of my career who simply refuse to read plans. I don’t mean they simply skim them or read carelessly; I mean they expect me to stop my workday, drive out to a jobsite and verbally review a job with them because:

1. they can’t be bothered,
2. they never learned to read plans, even though it’s an integral part of doing business in the trades,
3. they’re approaching middle age and are so in denial that they refuse to wear reading glasses in public. I’m not kidding.

The best story involved a small but intricate bathroom remodel a few years ago, where I’d spent about twelve-hours drawing the tile pattern to be executed, a copy of which had been attached to the client’s contract as an addendum. I was having surgery the week the tile was set, and my boss, who was the general contractor on the project, didn’t check his subcontractor, a superb craftsman, but—a middle-aged guy who

1. couldn’t be bothered to read plans,
2. because I’m not sure if he knew how, and
3. was also too vain to wear reading glasses.

The plans had a BIG note on one of the sheets with an arrow leading to the pattern. It called out that the points of the floor tiles were to meet the points of the wall tiles at the floor and wall joint, and that the whole pattern was to begin with a twelve-by-twelve, placed at a 45-degree angle centered on the oil-rubbed bronze wall faucet which fed a custom-granite wall-mounted sink. Yes, it was an intricate little gem-of-a-room.

I went out the following week, as the tile was being grouted. The wall tile on the wainscot was correct, but the installer had decided to center the floor tiles on the doorway. Apparently, he just thought it looked best. Thus, forever more, when you walk into the tiny room, you see this great pattern—that doesn’t match up where the wall meets the floor. When I photographed the job, I put a pair of reed spa slippers over the offending intersection to hide the glaring mistake.

The client rolled with it and didn’t want to hold up the job to have it redone. If it was my bathroom, I would have demanded that the floor be replaced, with the installer providing the additional labor and material to fix it so it looked like the one I paid for in my contract. (The likely result being that he would have walked off the job and I’d be stuck getting a new installer. You really can’t win in these situations).

But the piece de resistance was the shower. It was only three-foot-by three foot, so I specified that the soap and shampoo shelves be recessed into the wall to the right of the faucets, on the same wall as the door. That way, if the client had less than photo-quality shampoo bottles and sundries (as most of us do), they wouldn’t be immediately visible upon entering the room.

Our guys, working under the general contractor, had also decided that the plans were just silly little pictures they didn’t need to review. They never framed for the shelves, and since the tile man didn’t read, he tiled right over the area. (My boss insisted it was because I’d called the shelves “inset” and not “recessed.” Whatever dude, as we say out here in California. The drawings said “SHELVES” of some kind, and no one called to clarify. Because they weren't READING THE PLANS).

So the tile guy, being a nice thoughtful human being in every other capacity except READING THE PLANS, decided that that shower needed a soap dish. So he took it upon himself to supply and install one; a bright white wall-mounted pre-made ceramic soap dish—smack dab in the middle of a shower of terracotta tiles, in a room with terracotta walls and terracotta ceilings, in which I had gone to the lengths of ordering terracotta light switches (with oil-rubbed bronze switch plates, mind you). Even the lever on the toilet and its water supply outlet were custom-ordered oil-rubbed bronze. In other words, THERE WASN’T A SPECK OF WHITE IN THE ENTIRE ROOM.

These shelves were redone, according to THE PLANS, costing time and material and profit from the job.

On the next project that season, a kitchen, the same tile setter, Mr. Plans?We-Don’t-Need-No-Stinking-Plans was back on the job. And I was there too, explaining the entire backsplash pattern to him, verbally. But karma did act quickly. Not a single tile on the entire 20 lineal feet of backsplash was a full piece.

So, READ THE DAMN PLANS. And have a lovely evening.

Points for the Designer

Koontz - I'm going to back-up just a half step from my previous post to comment on "The Plan".

You can only be brave enough to make changes in a plan when you have a plan to start with. Probably the worst remodeling projects begin with the knowledge that you don't like something and so you proceed to demolish it without a plan in place as to what you do want. This is the Neanderthal effect in action. Without a specific plan to implement, you'll spend too much time and way too much money getting the space back to a liveable state. I'm guilty of this in my own home-where I haven't had a floor material in my office for lo on four years...but I would never go into a client's home without concrete plans.

If you know you can't live with something, but you don't know the options or you haven't developed your tastes enough to know what you want to replace it with-you find the designer who can help you develop your style. Or for a bigger project, the architect who can create the plan that is structurally sound.

Jodi mentioned the "alchemical effect", which is a perfect word to describe the changes that often come about because of others' input. These are typically changes you want to avoid. They are often based on whims, as Jodi mentioned, brought about by the magazine article or the relatives who say you just have to have this or that. If you didn't have them in your plan to start with, chances are you never felt the need for them until someone else said you should.

I can't control the traffic through a jobsite when I'm off-site, but my partner and I try to discourage tours of a job by the clients' friends while we're on site. Everyone feels the need to put in their two-cents and I don't want to go to the work of talking a client out of these kinds of whims. I remind them how long we've spent working on "the plan" and why they don't need two dishwashers, and that their priority was cabinet space, which obviously would now be significantly reduced.

And although many changes can be made in the field, be aware that some cannot because they have to do with structural changes. Even I am not so bold as to effect those without prior approval from my building department and usually an engineer.

One of the significant changes on the coastal property I mentioned in my last post was the change in location of the fireplace. The architect centered it in the second floor diagonal corner of the livingroom. The area with the best view of the ocean. An obvious mistake that the client didn't realize until it was about to be built. The client wanted to keep the view, move the fireplace all the way across the room and have mitred glass installed where the fireplace was to go. I would guess that change cost the client an extra $20,000.,and that probably didn't include the cost of the new windows she wanted. It meant re-drawing plans, engineering fees for structural issues, time out for re-submitting to the building department, (and new fees), and as with any changes made "in the process", higher fees from the work crew to implement the new design.

That's an example of a plan change that shouldn't have happened, because the architect should have known that with an ocean property, you'd want to keep the ocean view-nobody's that jaded are they?

Most of the time, the changes that I'm confronted with on jobs are not related to sudden whims on either the clients' part or on mine-they come about because of unexpected discoveries. For instance, we did a remodel on a kitchen in an older home and the farther we went, the more we discovered we were putting back what had originally been there. Or the changes come about because of the "sense" of the space, something that often only comes about as the project moves forward.

In my current project we've ripped out the living room windows to install French doors leading out to the patio. It's a lovely change in the feel of the room, and because the windows were slightly larger than the doors that went in, we have an equal open space next to the doors. A friend of ours who walks her dog by the house each day finally stopped in and her first remark was to ask what kind of side lights we were going to put in next to the doors. Well, that wasn't in our original plan, but it was a good idea and our client agreed, so now we're adding side windows instead of wall to that space. (Okay, one of the rare examples of someones' two-cents being good...)

Another good example is a kitchen where the plan was to demolish two kitchen walls; one that separated the diningroom from the kitchen and one that separated the side area of the kitchen where the back door and wash area are located. That area had been opened up by a previous owner, but they only removed part of the wall and the client wanted it all out. This client also though had a very complicated idea to remove an adjacent bathroom in order to create a type of "mud room" entrance to the kitchen. (She was from back east, and though we don't typically need or have mud rooms in our area, it was a connection for her that she wanted to replicate). By the time we tore out the diningroom wall, we realized and the client agreed that the kitchen felt large enough now to install pocket doors where the wall used to be separating the kitchen and wash area, and the client got both her wishes fulfilled without demolishing her second bathroom.

So there's not sticking to the plan-but making changes that benefit the client and the house, and making the whole project more than it might have been-and not always in the sense of money...both my side light client and the pocket door client pretty much ended up even when credits and charges were calculated for the specific changes, and the pocket-door client actually saved a bundle by not needing us to accomplish the next stage of her re-design.

Good rule of thumb-be flexible to ideas and then pick an architect, a designer and a contractor who are all willing to be flexible, and you'll have the best of all their talents, both before and during the project.

Plan-what plan?

Koontz - I love it when Jodi and I diverge! My instinctive response is, "Lordy, designers of course are 'wed to the plan', cause it's their plan!". I stick by my statement. Don't get too wed to the plan.

Yes, you can see your project in living color and three dimensional drawings. We have auto-cad and plenty of fancy programs that allegedly give you a real-life view of the plan. The programs are cool and fun to play with, but the reality is that design comes down to how the space "feels", not just how it looks, not just how the dimensions work. I think all of these wonderful programs are better at showing you what won't work, than necessarily showing you what will. I insert that kitchen island you're dying to have and when you see it in 3-D, you realize that the room is really to small to accomodate it. You're going to spend all your time walking around this bloody thing, and it just doesn't suit the space. And I can show you how the room will look with that wall gone, but until you're in the new space, you don't know how it makes you feel. It might turn out that it's too open for you, it makes you feel exposed and vulnerable. Or you might find that it's so liberating, now you want that other damn wall gone too! You only really know that by inserting yourself into the room. At this point I can give you a "virtual reality tour", but I lack the capability of inserting you and your emotions into my program. I expect that makes me a bit more of an old-fashioned carpenter, oh wait, I believe Jodi called it "Neanderthal", yikes! (If you didn't know it before, you may recognize that Jodi and I have a few years in between us...), I'm okay with that, though I do prefer the term old-fashioned. I'd rather get ten samples of paint to put on the wall than plug it into my program, because I think the program lacks the essential ingredient of the client.

Jodi's right about a couple of things; yes, we pulled permits for specific things and specific locations, but as the contractor on-site, I know I have the latitude with nearly all of my inspectors to make on site changes/adjustments. In the remodeling world, my inspectors are more concerned with the methods of achieving something than they are with the literal blueprint. In fact, I've only once had an inspector ask to see the drawings on a jobsite-though I'm required to have them on site and technically they are suppose to go over them. New inspectors who haven't had a career in building themselves and therefore are more book-trained than experience-trained are the inspectors who will balk at changes. If I'm lucky, I'll be retired around the same time my inspectors are though, so I'm not too worried about that issue.

Change orders, another of Jodi's points, are definitely part of all projects. With my business, we typically have anywhere from 2 to 6 change orders or additional work orders on a job. Not a big deal, as I tell clients. We can do anything, it just takes money.

I visited with a woman this last week who had an extensive remodel/addition on her property at the coast. Nine months working with the architect, and nine months to complete construction. From our casual conversation, she listed at least ten significant changes that occured on the project mid stream. Her contractor had the same attitude as my partner and I; "sure we can make that change". My next line is that it just takes money, her contractors next line was, "cha-ching", as in hear the cash register ring.

Impressively, this client's architect came to view the finished project and was impressed with the changes made, rather than miffed. When I remarked on being surprised at the architects' attitude, she said her contractor was pleasantly surprised too. Architects, to the contractors' view, are often more "wed" to the plan than the clients are, but the architect is not going to be living in the space. So I say-change things if you want to! It's up to your contractor to clear the road for you and it's easy enough to adjust a plan with the city building department-at least on a single-residence remodel. That's the least of the problems..."cha-ching".