Updating the Manse #2 - Meeting the Consultant

I watched her drive past the house.  It was twenty minutes before our appointment, and I was catching up on Facebook, sitting at the desk, watching the world go by.  It's a small slice of the world outside my front window; our neighborhood leads nowhere, just back out to the main artery.  The cars driving past are neighbors or vendors, for the most part.

A white cross-over proceeding slowly, pausing for house numbers, stands out.  When that car sped up after passing our address on the mail box, I knew that our consultant was going to hang out in the cul de sac at the bottom of the hill.  When that car drove back and parked in the driveway nineteen minutes later, I fitted a smug smile on my face and opened the door.

I'm my own personal neighborhood watch.

Lugging two cases-on-wheels and a purse, she struggled with the garden gate, then turned with a smile.  That was a great first impression; it felt as if she really was glad to meet me.  She's smart and neat and (obviously) prompt, with a firm handshake and a business card in my hand before we said anything further.

She wants me to know how to find her, and how to pay for items at the Container Store itself.  My project will be charged as a whole; discounts applied after certain thresholds are met. I have a loyalty promotion and a refund of the consultation fee coming my way; before we looked or chose or measured she wanted to be sure that I had the information I would need at the end.

It was a very comforting way to begin.

TBG gave her the grand tour of his closet.  He wants drawers, not shelves or baskets.  He doesn't need a lot of hanging rods, but there are many many ways to configure the containing of the infinite variety of exercise outfits he owns.  There are long bike shorts and short bike shorts and padded bike shorts and those without any support at all.  His socks are all white, but they are of varying heights and softness.  His upper body is covered in tank tops and sleeveless tees and short sleeved and long sleeved cotton and wick-away shirts.

Each segment of each segment deserves its own storage space. That's a lot of storage space.

The laundry room took more thought.  I was prepared to remove the built in cabinetry and start from scratch.  I'd re-purpose the cabinets to the garage, clearing clutter from the floor space. I was enjoying the prospect of finally solving the storage conundrum created by a house with no basement and no attic.

The consultant begged to differ.  Why would remove beautiful built-ins?  They add to resale ("Did I mention I'm never moving again?"  "Well, your heirs will have to deal with it. Think of them.") value.  It's intuitively less expensive to add shelving and baskets on wheels, and it saves a whole lot of work.  I'm not sure that the existing space can accommodate what I want, but that's why The Container Store has designers on staff.

Apparently, my consultant is my project manager.  There's a design team which will develop the preliminary plans.  There's a construction crew - trained at headquarters - to do the custom install.  There's a contractor do do the measuring of our slanted corners and tight spaces.  If I get confused, I have the consultant's card.

And now, we wait.