…it probably is!

As Medford & I made our way to the Cyber Café for our meeting of our fellow Codgers, we were enjoying the 52ºF St. Paul morning. The expected high for today (a March heat-wave) under a partly cloudy sky is 72ºF!  We also enjoyed listening to the chorus of song-birds and their spring repertoire of “come hither” verses.

We were all at our table. The one in front, by the plate-glass window, where we can (and often do) observe passers by, and make our comments (always pro-social), enjoying our (January Edition) porcelain, not China (but made in China) Codger Collectible™ Mugs (have I mentioned the spiffy March Edition is still available?) full of hot organically & shade-grown, Fair Trade, French Roast coffee, when Harold, the (now completely) retired barber looked our way and asked: “Do you guys remember the proposal you made last spring to rehab my son’s garage?”

“Sure do,” answered Medford, “that was our last contracting job before we hung up our hammer and saw the light—and retired.”

“We made two proposals,” I added, “one for your boy, and one for his next door neighbor. As I recall, because the work was too extensive for us, we were going to sub-contract the work.”

“That’s right,” said Medford, “both garages were beyond rehabilitation, lots of rotted wood, and the concrete floors had to be replaced. Both in our opinion, could not be saved, but had to come down and be rebuilt.”

“Your son accepted our proposal,” I said, placing my mug back on the table, “but the neighbor accepted a significantly lower bid from ‘Smith’s Classic Restorations’ they worked the neighborhoods pretty hard in the spring.”

“Smith’s did not build a new garage,” Harold continued, “they insisted it could be rehabbed. Have you seen it?”

“Not since last fall,” Med answered, “it looked pretty good, I was surprised.”

“On Saturday,” Harold said with a hint of a smile, “the repaired floor gave out, frost, I suspect, and now the door won’t open—the whole thing shifted about an inch or two. M’boy says the neighbor is beside himself—the garage has to come down now. Tried calling Smith’s all weekend—they don’t seem interested in returning his calls.”

“Guess we’ll have to walk by there on our way back today.” Medford said, also with a hint of a smile.

“The guy was a little smug when his garage was ‘done’ while our guys were still framing your son’s,” I added, “I guess you do get what you pay for.”

“Sometimes less,” Carl piped up, “sometimes less.”

NOTE: “Smith’s Classic Restorations” is not the real name of the company involved.