A short while ago chronologically but a lifetime ago in construction/economy years, I was called to a meeting by a new client who wanted to redesign her living room fireplace.
Back in the day of Nouveau Richism I had watched her house spring up from the expensive dirt of Atherton and had spent some time with the builder/developer talking about the subtleties of using the correct scale and natural materials to get the best results from his "spec" construction. I didn't get the job and watched as enormous pre-cast moldings were applied willy-nilly to every window, door surround and Look-at-Me orifice of the McMansion. No surprise then, that the living room fireplace was an over-sized cement horror story poised a foot and a half off the ground, on a sarcophagus-inspired raised hearth.
The proud owner of this Hollywood version of a European Stately Home on Steroids had furnished in the most opulent "I saw it in an Hotel and copied it" style which I had ample time to study whilst waiting for half an hour for Madame to be available, even though she was the one who had asked that I meet at 9 am on a Saturday morning, at her convenience. I didn't give up and leave right away as I had already been there once, at her request, when she had stood me up completely.
This day was full of distractions of gardeners, caterers and tent erection companies needing directions to be ready for an event she was hosting that evening. Minions milling about everywhere and Ms. Asian Trophy Wife was really just waking up and still in her robe. Poor thing probably had a late night the night before.
I used my time wisely. I took measurements and prepared my portfolio to be viewed and had several ideas to put forth that would turn an eyesore into an asset.
When the lady of the house finally deigned to join me she graciously said "Hello" from the doorway, as she walked towards me. That was swiftly followed by the words 'Oh, you pooped behind the couch!". "No, I did not!" I replied.
It turned out that one of her miniature-something dogs hadn't received the memo about not pooping in the living room, (White carpet, as I'm sure you guessed). The client was all set to have our little tete a tete next to a pile of designer dog turds. I bowed out. I claimed I could tell how busy she was and we should reschedule at a time when I might have her full attention.
It's the only time I have ever not shown up for a scheduled meeting. Deliberately and on purpose. I think if I had gone and been treated as badly a third time, I might have been unable to resist taking a lead from the dog's bag of tricks.