Contractor MIA

If I called you and said, "hey, I have an 8,000 dollar check for you," I'm guessing you'd come right over.  Well I called our contractor on Tuesday and told him just that.  I haven't heard a thing.  Even his unpredictable band of subs has been consistent enough not to show up for three days straight.  So this morning I called and left a profanity-laced voicemail.  But before I could launch the word "hole", I stood dumbstruck silent at the end of "ass".  What hit me was this;  his family was going to Minneapolis this week to visit relatives and pick up our Ikea kitchen cabinets.  You know, because Denver, supposedly the new silicon hub and home to the most educated population in the country, is less cutting edge than Minnesota.  Heck, even Utah has an Ikea.  If we don't get one of those Swedish wonders of self assembly then I want three more wives and my own compound.  They can't have everything. 

But my point is this...THEY WENT TO MINNEAPOLIS, THE PLACE WHERE THE BRIDGE COLLAPSED and now I haven't heard anything from our contractor in four days.  Nothing.  Not even eight grand could get him to call me  (Although I have been told that by some that they wouldn't call me "for a million dollars!")  Maybe I'm just thinking too much.   And feeling pretty bad about leaving that nasty voicemail. 

Yet if he's OK then I may kill him. 

 

Pictured above:  Mass burial for dying dreams.