Why I Hate Commission Work

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One of my earlier Roorkhee chairs. Before they became all-consuming.

“The way to succeed, in bookbinding, was to get out of it.”

— David Pearson, English librarian

For eight years, most of my income came from building furniture commissions for (mostly) wealthy customers.¹

My customers were always nice. I got paid on time. I was never stiffed, cheated or treated poorly. And I had enough work that I could refer good business to other shops.

And yet, I hated commissions. I felt like an ingrate for hating the work, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.

One day I looked at my commission book (it was actually a clipboard with notes on each project), and I decided to stop taking new work. I worked like hell to finish up the projects in that clipboard. Then I threw it away.²

What was my problem?

OK, the answer to that is probably a book. How about instead: “Please crap out a brief summary of your beef with commission work.”

Before I answer (and before you post a comment) remember this: All the following problems are entirely my fault.

Most of my agony with this piece was getting the grain to match all the way up the sides and back. Did the customer notice? No clue. But he sold the piece (ouch).

The Customer was Always in my Head

When I built a piece, I couldn’t make myself happy. I was too worried about the customer’s expectations and their budget. Example: I was building a case with seven dovetailed drawers. The customer opted for router-made dovetails, and the price of the piece was based on that.

When it came time to make the drawers, I couldn’t do it. I had access to a Keller dovetail jig (the only dovetail jig I don’t hate), but I thought the joints would look cheesy compared to hand-cut dovetails. I was already late in delivering the piece, so I wasn’t brave enough to ask for more money.

I punted. I cut the tails by hand and routed the pins using plywood templates I’d made. I ate the extra labor charges. Which put me further behind in delivering the project and reduced my hourly rate for the job. It was a lose-lose decision. I lost money, and I still wasn’t happy with the way the dovetails looked.

Whenever I was at the bench, it felt like the customer was standing with me, watching the work. “Is this good enough?” I’d constantly ask myself. “Probably not,” I’d answer. And so I would nitpick myself into oblivion. I’d refinish a piece a couple times if I felt the need to.

I was trying to please someone I couldn’t see who had a huge say in my work.

There were no “happy accidents” when things went to crap. Just the need to do it over again until it pleased the invisible asshole staring at me across the bench.

I wish I could say that the upside to this problem was that I became a better woodworker. It didn’t feel that way. I was just worried and terrified all the time. And that’s not a good mental state for growth.

I Became Weirdly Consumed by Money

I enjoy working hard. I enjoy physical labor. And I’ve never made life decisions that were guided by pure money.³ But the more commission work I did, the more I gravitated to jobs that had higher margins, instead of pursuing work that paid less but was more interesting.

Again, as stated above: all my fault.

Example: I had the patterns for Roorkhee chairs worked out to the old groat. I had a good stock of latigo leather and a huge pile of 8/4 old mahogany that I’d purchased at poplar prices. So every Roorkhee chair I built was a damn-good payday. I could build a pair of them in two days, ship them flat in a tube that could go anywhere in the world via UPS, and make ridiculous money.

So I was always up to make Roorkhee chairs. That is, until I made 100 of them or so. All identical.

I wanted to learn to hand-stitch the leather for the backrest, but in my mind that was a waste of time and money. Better to just take the money for a riveted backrest and smile.

When I realized I was doing this, it kicked off another kick of self-loathing.

But the third problem was the worst.

Today, if I want to make a chair arm that looks like a currywurst, you can’t stop me.

I Couldn’t Pursue New Designs I Loved

One of my strengths as a newspaper reporter was that I loved working “general assignment.” That meant that I wrote about whatever the city desk needed that day. Trailer fire? I miss the burning plastic smell of a good trailer fire. Unusual liquor-store murder trial in a remote county? I’m your huckleberry! A lady just called to say her dog was in love with her neighbor’s duck? Give me her phone number!

I like to learn new things and go places I haven’t been.

When my editor promoted me to beat reporter, I did such a poor job (unintentionally, I assure you) that they kicked me back to general assignment – a job I then did alongside the summer intern who refused to wear socks.