For many things, I’m not. But when it comes to rebuilding Elvis, I’m every bit of that. But isn’t Airstream ownership a form of high maintenance anyway? And to make it worse, I’ve got TWO!
Unlike most of you resto bloggers, I don’t have hands-on know-how to do the work myself. I envy and admire all of you that do. But unlike some who hire out total restorations and say, “Call me when the trailer is ready,” I want a complete understanding of what, how and why. I want to spec most of the equipment, or at least know what is being used. I want particular systems, functionality, upgrades, etc. I want, I want, I want.
Maybe this mentality is rooted in my years as internal consultant for the planning and construction of multi-million dollar surgical facilities. Maybe I’m manifesting some kind of Freudian separation anxiety because Elvis in Virginia seems so far away. Or maybe it’s the control-freak tendencies that are inherent to all anesthesia providers. Regardless, a major award should go to Trailer Buff and the Makels for dealing with this current client.
For starters I bring them a trailer in the worst structural condition ever. For real, Joey says none have ever been as bad as Elvis and they have done many. In October I sat down with Dave and a typed 10 page list because I’m a client that needs to know . . . uhm, know pretty much everything. He spent hours with me patiently fielding questions, listening, explaining, and advising.
This week I hit Dave with some cabinet and casework details and almost too late. The sequence of rebuilding a trailer isn’t quite the same as building a surgical suite. I’m learning this and will be working to make change orders non-existent.
The man is a saint of forbearance in spite of my neediness to design to nth degree. It shouldn’t surprise me when Dave is already way ahead of me on many details. If there is a way to build a better trailer, chances are he has already found it.