Hatchet meet shallow, well-marked grave

Ah, the joys of small town politics.

I do a little work for the little town near me -- a bit of consulting on development issues. Last summer, I was hired to do a feasibility study for additions to the recreation park. The outcomes weren't terribly inspiring, but then neither is the town's budget, nor its willingness to fundraise for anything that isn't a big tractor or snow removal equipment. There was a lot that could have been done, though -- if someone cared.

So, the feasibility study lay somewhere for a year doing nothing -- much like the town council. After so long, apparently they forgot they even received the study. Not one of them would admit to remembering the 2 hour long presentation of the study (complete with multiple copies, a one-sheet, and a power point presentation).

And they sent me a letter demanding I return the money I was paid because I had not done the study. WTF??!!??

So, I spent today bitching at what passes for a mayor. I was very insulted by the insulting wording of the letter, and just a bit more than livid at the accusations contained within. Luckily for me, someone does take minutes of council meetings. I knew the date of the presentation and demanded he look up the minutes. Then I went home and waited for the apology I was owed.

A couple of hours later, the town secretary called to give the weakest apology I've ever heard in my life. It consisted of "Oh, yeah. We found the minutes, and I found a copy of your study. Mayor says he hopes you're not still mad. Hope we can bury the hatchet, eh?"

Oh, sure. It's buried -- in that shallow, well-marked grave.