Permit Me

Permit achieved.

[PICTURE OF PERMIT TO COME]

After a Kafaesque process, they signed. I went down to the city to view firsthand the machinations of this secret bureaucratic cabal in person. the office where all the decisions are made about what is built and how in the entire city of Los Angeles is an absolutely featureless room with 6 empty desks arranged in kneewall cubicles. Scotch-taped to the wall above each is a single sheet of white paper with a single number, handwritten, to denote each station. there is absolutely nothing else on the walls. Nothing. Rein. Nada. Nil. Zilch. Not a sign. Not a poster. Not a picture of a house.  Nothing. you could perform open heart surgery in this room.

Presumably, the sterility of decor removes all possible distraction for the plan checkers whose job it is to get endlessly lost in a repeating feedback loop of inane regulations and code requirements. If they had a touchstone to remind them of the real world outside this austere room, presumably, they would not be able to so completely, quickly, and repeatedly lose sight of the big picture of what you are trying to accomplish.

Each time they touch your plans, they immediately go down the rabbit hole and through the looking glass in a ribbon of linearity, going from point to point down some supernatural checklist that only they can navigate, until they hit a bump in the road, and no matter how many times you have explained, clarified, and agreed to the resolution to that bump, they stop dead as if frozen deer, panicking lest some lag bolt or flashing has been tragically misplace, dooming the entire project to imminent destruction.

At one point today, the über-boss was looking at our plans and describing how, because of current setback requirements, the "addition" to my house (which, I remind you, involves simply adding a wall to enclose already existing space within my already existing foundation footprint) would now have one wall that must angle five degrees in order to set it back 5" from the property line. This would be in the middle of my bedroom. And after ten minutes of explaining the reasons for this, and us trying to explain the inanity of this, he says that's the way it has to be "unless, of course, you have the signatures of your neighbors," which, of course, we had ten days ago and had shown them twice. Shown a third time, he says, "Oh, well why are we talking about this? I'll sign." and we are done.

Next up: Sweaty men on the property...if, of course, I can get my builder to draft a contract. but that's another story.