A cabinet installer's whole day comes down to one fight: making square boxes sit perfectly in a room that isn't square. You'll hang uppers, set bases, scribe fillers to crooked walls and adjust doors until every gap matches. This day follows an installer on a kitchen remodel in an occupied house, which is where most of the work is.
You back up to the garage, open each carton and match it to the cabinet drawing the designer sent. You're looking for crushed corners, a wrong door style, a sink base that came in the wrong width. Catching a problem now means the shop can reorder today instead of next week, and it means you don't hang a cabinet the homeowner later points at.
The laser goes up before a single screw goes in. You walk the floor with the laser to find its highest spot, because every base will be shimmed up to that point, never cut down. Then you mark studs, snap a line for the tops of the bases and another for the bottoms of the uppers, and screw a ledger board to the wall so the wall cabinets have something to rest on while you fasten them.
You start in the corner, because that's where the layout is least forgiving. Each upper sits on the ledger, gets clamped to its neighbour, screwed through the face frames, then screwed through the hanging rail into studs. Your helper holds while you check plumb on the door side. When a wall bows, you shim behind the cabinet rather than letting it follow the curve, or the doors will never line up.
This is where the plan breaks. The end wall runs out of square, and the drawing shows a filler that's now too narrow at the top and too wide at the bottom. You scribe it: hold the filler against the wall, trace the wall's shape with a compass, and cut to the line with a jigsaw or track saw, then plane it until the gap disappears. It eats an hour you didn't budget for. It also decides whether this kitchen looks custom or cheap.
Bases go in shimmed to the high-point line, screwed together and to the wall, with the dishwasher opening checked against the appliance spec. Then the part homeowners actually notice: adjusting hinges so door gaps are even, installing pulls with a jig so they're all the same height, fitting toe kick and light rail. Before you leave, you walk the kitchen with the lead or the homeowner, write down what's left, and sweep.
A finish carpenter runs trim through a whole house. You live in kitchens, baths and laundry rooms, and your material arrives already built. That changes the job. You're not cutting joints all day; you're making factory boxes, often from a big-box line or a semi-custom maker, look like they were built for the room.
The skill is in layout and adjustment. Reading the cabinet drawing, knowing the order the pieces go in, spotting a problem the countertop templater will hate, and knowing how far a European hinge will adjust before you need to shim the box. Countertop crews come right after you, and if your bases are out of level or the run is out of line, they'll call your shop about it.
Plenty of installers work as subcontractors, paid by the job or by the box rather than by the hour. That rewards speed, and it punishes callbacks, because you drive back to fix a sagging door for free.
The most common way in. Kitchen showrooms, cabinet dealers and remodeling companies hire helpers to carry, unbox and hold. If you show up on time and learn to read the drawing, you'll be setting bases on your own sooner than you'd think.
Carpenters who are tired of framing in the weather move over because they already own the tools and can find a stud. What they have to learn is patience with adjustment and the habit of protecting finished surfaces.
People who built or finished cabinets in a shop sometimes move to the field. You'll know how the boxes are made, which helps when something needs repair on site, but you'll need to get used to rooms that fight you.
Your knees and back take the hit. Bases mean kneeling all afternoon, uppers mean holding weight overhead, and the heavy stuff never gets lighter. A good helper, a cabinet jack or a set of support props makes a big difference, and the installers who last usually buy them early.
The other drain is other people's mistakes. A designer measured wrong, a plumber left the drain in the way, the electrician moved an outlet into your filler. You'll spend part of most jobs fixing problems you didn't make, and staying calm about it is half the job.
0% of openings are fully remote.
Usually not as an employee of a shop or dealer. If you contract directly with homeowners, many states and cities want a contractor or home improvement license, and some want insurance and a bond. The rules vary by state, so check with your state's contractor licensing board before you take jobs on your own.
As a helper, a tape measure, a pencil, a utility knife, a level and a drill-driver will cover you. Most crews supply the laser, the clamps and the saws until you've shown you'll stick around. Over time, installers build up their own kit: an impact driver, face-frame clamps, a hinge-boring jig, a track saw and a good multi-tool.
Start with a dealer or remodeler. You get a steady supply of kitchens, someone else deals with the homeowner's complaints, and you'll see enough different cabinet lines to learn their quirks. Going independent pays more per job, but only once you're fast, you've got your own tools and insurance, and a few designers trust you enough to send work.
HeroApply applies to them for you, so you can keep doing the job you have.