it’s been, uh… two years? pt. 1

…oops.

In my defense, it’s been pretty eventful.

March/April 2018

I’m getting REALLY into the furniture thing, especially refinishing, and I’m working (miserably) out of one of the bedrooms in the new apartment. Then this guy I know from furniture stuff contacts me and says he’s opening a store, and he wants me to join and have a refinishing shop in the back in exchange for doing occasional work on his pieces. Uh, YES. So I move in and it’s glorious. The space is amazing, I have so much room (4000 square feet!), and the lighting is basically cheat mode for photography. There’s a second guy involved in this who is a design encyclopedia and I’m learning SO MUCH from him. Shit’s bananas.

And then it’s bananas in a bad way. The main guy has impeccable taste and is a great salesman, but refuses to actually turn this into a business. Please note the mattress leaning against the window. This is because he is living there. The other guy suddenly moves across the country and the whole situation turns into a nightmare.

July 3, 2018

Dude and I get into a(nother) fight over text and he says “If you don’t like it, you can get all your shit and get out.”

So I do.

The next day I spend 100% of my savings to rent possibly the worst workshop in the city, and on July 4 I move in.

It’s terrible and the floor is like a lasagna noodle. but it’s miiiiiiine and nobody’s yelling at me and making me feel like shit all the time.

I start working with Sam, who was and still is wonderful.

He became half assistant, half muse. He never quite embraced the “coming to work most days” thing and only stayed with me until November, but I’m eternally hoping he quits the well-paying actual legal job he started next and returns to laying on furniture and goofing off in the workshop again. Sam, if you’re reading this, photo days are 100% less fun without you. Also I guess I should just text you.

This is serious Real Adult Stuff at this point. I have workshop rent due every month and Sam needs to eat and it’s really stressful. Just like a real grownup! We’ve been in the apartment for months and have done absolutely nothing to it. More months go by and despite being terrified all the time I’m actually making, like… a reasonable amount of money.

I’ve lost a bunch of weight from the stress and I can finally afford a pair of Madewell jeans, so that’s neat!

November 2018

Sam leaves me. Turns out I’m not a great boss. It’s for the best for both of us, but… Shit gets real. As a professional, I can definitively tell you: furniture is HEAVY. Like, extremely. I have this fucking floor to deal with:

Then there’s the fact that the only way to get anything in the building is through a full height loading dock, and I drive a minivan. (Shoutout to my Toyota Sienna squad!) I can’t get things in or out by myself, rolling things on dollies is really risky, I’ve lost my delivery person, and now I have to do all the stripping and sanding myself. The shitty workshop is making everything so much harder and the lack of space is slowing me down a ton–I’m spending as much time tetrising furniture around as I am actually working. I am constantly trying to find another workspace, but there’s nothing within 45 minutes of me that I can afford that’s not even worse. I’m crying all the time and it’s only been six weeks of this.

Enter Steve.

The era of Steve needs it’s whole own post, so that’s gonna be part 2. (Spoiler: it gets bad, then it gets really bad, then it gets a little better.)

Also, hello! I missed you.

Also also, I’m hitting post before I get too nervous so please let me know about any typos?

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