“Every morning, my phone Rings at 5:47 am”

Frank DeMartino has been in construction for thirty-one years. He’s built hospitals, casinos, a minor league baseball stadium. Nothing prepared him for this.

“First day on the job, I get a call before sunrise. It’s him. He says the lobby columns aren’t thick enough. I tell him we haven’t poured them yet. He says good, make them thicker. I ask how thick. He says ‘presidential.’ I’m still not sure what that means, but we added eight inches.”

The Chandelier Situation

DeMartino removes his hardhat and rubs his temples when I ask about the chandeliers.

“We installed a chandelier. Beautiful piece, eighteen feet across, custom crystal from Austria. Gorgeous. He walks in, looks up, and goes ‘too small.’ I explain it’s the largest one the manufacturer makes. He says ‘then get two and stack them.’ I tell him that’s not how chandeliers work. He tells me that’s not how winners talk.”

They stacked them.

“The Walls Need to Look Rich”

“One Tuesday he calls me and says the walls need to look richer. I ask if he wants different paint, different material. He says no, he wants them to ‘feel like money when you look at them.’ I hired a color psychologist. I didn’t know that was a job until that week. She recommended a slightly warmer cream. He approved it. Then he called it his idea in a press release.”

The Bathroom That Launched a Thousand Change Orders

DeMartino pulls out a worn notebook, flipping to a page covered in scratched-out numbers.

“The men’s room. First, the faucets had to be gold. Fine. Then the soap dispensers had to be gold. Okay. Then he wanted the soap itself to be gold-colored. We found a supplier. Then he wanted it to smell like ‘success and a little bit of leather.’ That took three weeks. Then he wanted the mirrors to be ‘more flattering.’ I don’t know how to build a flattering mirror. I’m a contractor. We ended up tilting them two degrees downward. He said it took ten pounds off him. We did every mirror in the building.”

The Elevator Incident

“He wanted the elevator to play a different song for every floor. Not different genres. Different songs specifically selected by him for each floor. The ballroom level plays ‘My Way.’ The conference level plays ‘Eye of the Tiger.’ The service level plays nothing because, and I’m quoting here, ‘nobody important goes there.'”

The Carpet Conspiracy

DeMartino laughs for the first time in our conversation, though it’s the laugh of a man who has seen too much.

“He rejected fourteen carpet samples. Fourteen. Each one was ‘close but not powerful enough.’ I finally asked him what a powerful carpet looks like. He walked me to his office, pointed at the floor, and said ‘like that.’ It was the same carpet. Same manufacturer, same color, same batch number. I ordered it again, said it was a different one called ‘Executive Monarch.’ He approved it immediately.”

“I’ve Aged Ten Years”

As our interview wraps up, DeMartino looks out the window at the half-finished ballroom, its scaffolding draped in plastic sheeting that, yes, appears to be gold-tinted.

“My wife says I talk in my sleep now. Apparently last week I shouted ‘the sconces are fine’ at 3 AM. I have four months left on this contract. I’m thinking about retirement. Maybe a cabin somewhere. No gold. No chandeliers. Just wood and silence.”

He pauses.

“He called this morning, by the way. Wants to know if we can make the exit signs classier. The exit signs. I told him they’re regulated by the fire marshal. He asked if I could get the fire marshal on the phone.”

DeMartino’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, sighs, and excuses himself.

“He wants to talk about the ceiling height again.”