So the Boss calls me at eight this morning, when I'm sitting at my desk, almost awake.
"Michael, we have a problem."
The concrete pour on one of our job sites has to be put off from Wednesday until Thursday. ("Are you okay?" he asks me, as I start hyperventilating.)
He's going into all kinds of details about why this is happening, details that go right over my head as I'm thinking about how to tell the landlords that their new tenant can't move in because I can't move out. Wondering how much it would cost to hire a moving company. Trying to decide whether to tell him that according to the radio it's going to rain all week anyway, so ain't nobody doin' nothin'.
After about five more minutes of densely packed explanation, during which all contingencies are discussed (I know this only because every sentence seems to start with If...), he says, "So it looks like we won't be able to get there to help you move until Thursday afternoon or early evening."
What? Did I miss something? That's still Thursday, isn't it? So what's the problem if they can't come at nine in the morning. I can sleep in and finish my packing, instead of having it all done by Wednesday night. I work better later in the day anyway. Plus I'll have all day to move the things I don't want these guys to handle.
So it's only going to be a few hours later than planned.
Why didn't you just say that in the first place?
Now I'm trying to catch my breath and restart my heart. "No problem," I tell him. "I just appreciate the help."