Phabulous Phis called me on Friday to let me know he was done and needed to get paid.
You owe me $11,000 he said in his gravelly bikerbaritone.
Will you take a check? I said meekly.
Nah, man, cash is king he said warmly.
Phabulous Phil’s a helluva a nice guy and I wouldn’t ever want to build a house without him. But working with him and his crew is like running with hungry wolves. They’re all lean and mean and tattooed and they work violently and almost feverishly.
It jacks up my testosterone just being around them, but you kinda wanna pay up when it’s time.
So I withdrew the cash in two $6000 increments ’cause if you play with $10,000 or more of YOUR money the Feds get involved.
And don’t even get me started on that.
But the thing is, I never EVER carry cash. Hell, I’ll pay for a cup of coffee with a credit card, just so we rack up air miles for trips we’ll never take and dream dreamy dreams of faraway places we’ll never visit, but hey, that’s just us.
So it was very strange to be carrying around a chunk of 50 dollar bills almost three inches thick.
I was soooo glad to give it to Phabulous Phil’s wonderful little wife Barb this afternoon.
You’re paying in cash? she said.
I smiled, trying to be cooler than I am and said, cash is king, right?
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