Waterproofing is a religion here. Everything else is decoration on top of it.
We check the subfloor around the toilet and tub first — that's where the previous guy's sins live. Soft spots, old leaks, mystery caulk archaeology: we find it in the walkthrough so the quote covers reality, not fantasy.
Tile, backer, tub, vanity — out. We're looking at the framing and subfloor with our own eyes before anything new goes in. If there's rot, it gets cut out and sistered, not covered up like a bad haircut.
Tub-to-shower conversions, moving drains, adding niches (yes, you want a niche — where else does the shampoo live?), blocking for grab bars whether you need them now or in twenty years. Fan vented to the outside, not the attic — venting a fan into the attic is how you grow a mold farm.
Cement board or foam board, seams taped and sealed, then a full waterproof membrane on every wet wall and the pan. Shower floors slope 1/4 inch per foot to the drain — measured, not eyeballed. We flood-test pans before tile. If it can't hold water for 24 hours as a bathtub, it doesn't get to be a shower.
Layout planned so cuts are even at both ends, leveled lines, spacers, and zero lippage — run your hand across our walls, it's glass. Grout sealed, movement joints caulked (corners get caulk, not grout — grout in corners cracks, and cracked corners are for other crews).
Vanity set level, faucets and shower trim installed, toilet set with a new wax ring and bolted like it's going to outlive us all. Glass measured after tile. Then the punch-list walkthrough: bring a flashlight, try to win. Nobody has.
The full anatomy of a bathroom job — every layer, including the ones you'll never see.
Waterproofed like a submarine, tiled like a showroom, quoted like an honest man wrote it. Because one did.
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