Let me save you a detour I've already taken.
When I started with this I did the obvious thing. Pulled every roofing permit for one town, built a tidy list of twenty-five, and rang a roofer to tell him I'd found twenty-five homeowners who needed a roof.
He let me get all the way to the end. Then he asked me one question.
“Who do you think pulled those permits?”
He did. Every roofer does — it's part of the job, normally three or four days before the crew turns up. So by the time a roofing permit reaches the public record, the contract's signed, the deposit has cleared and the shingles are on a truck somewhere.
I had spent two weeks assembling a list of jobs my customer's competitors had already won.
Not my finest fortnight.
But he didn't hang up. That's the part I keep thinking about. He waited long enough for it to land, and then he said something that turned out to be the entire business.
“The roof's gone.
But nobody's done the gutters.”
Gutters come off on nearly every tear-off. Somebody has to put them back, and it isn't him — different trade, different crew, different invoice. And right at that moment there's staging up the side of the house, which means it will never be cheaper to do than in the next three weeks.
That homeowner is about to need a gutter contractor. Nobody has told a gutter contractor.
So then I started counting properly, and it got faintly ridiculous.
The insulation guy — a tear-off with decking replacement means somebody's been up in that attic and seen exactly what's in it. The solar installer — a brand new architectural roof is precisely what solar wants, and installers pay real attention to a house that just got one. The HVAC guy — attic ventilation gets reassessed during a reroof and it's routinely undersized.
One roof. Four other trades. One of them had been hired.
Then do it for every other permit type and the same shape appears every time. Solar needs an electrician, and not as a nice-to-have — the array physically cannot be energised without an interconnect. A kitchen remodel gets pulled by a general contractor, which means the electrical and plumbing subs aren't named on that paperwork at all and in plenty of cases haven't been chosen yet.
Every project throws off work. Only the first job gets a name on the form.
The awkward part is doing that reading at any kind of scale. "Solar array on existing roof system as per plan" has to become "this house needs an electrician, here's why, and here's how confident I am" — for every permit, in every town, all week, without a human sitting there doing it. That's not a filter you can build with a dropdown. That's the actual product.
And here's the bit that took longest to sink in, because it's the exact opposite of what I assumed on that first call.
The contractor already named on the permit stopped being bad news.
A name on that paperwork means the project is real. Funded. Permitted. Starting in days. It is the single best qualifier available anywhere — somebody with money has committed, in writing, at a government office, and the trades that follow behind him haven't been hired by anybody.
Which means the roofer I embarrassed myself in front of wasn't a wasted call after all. He was just the wrong customer for that particular list — and the right customer for the three lists sitting inside it.
You're not selling the job on the permit. You're selling the four it drags behind it.