Frustrated with the utter lack of progress on the last few piddly items of the remodel, I sent the contractor a tacky text: Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
He texted back that he was at the hospital with his uncle, but would be by in the afternoon.
Around three o'clock, I lost patience and texted him again: Please come finish my house.
He texted back almost immediately: My uncle died. We were very close.
I? Am such a jerk.