Oh, my pretties. The stories I will tell you. The things I’ll be able to spill, once this is all over and done. The tales with which I’ll be able to regale anyone who might be thinking about trying to sell a couple of houses and buy a new one… well, it’ll make you go home and kiss the floor in gratitude, I’m sure.
But right now, a good portion of it will have to wait. Fingers are crossed and prayers are being said and once we are all settled in and I am no longer waiting for the sky to fall—assuming that point ever comes, that is—I will say more.
For right now, I can tell you two things: First, We are not buying Second Choice House. Second, I think the lady who owns it should seek professional help.
My own hubris astounds me, sometimes. After my prolonged dance with the soap-dish-breaking Lowballs I truly believed I had weathered the worst that real estate transactions had to offer. What could be stranger, I reasoned, than people who keep coming back to your house, insulting it, making ridiculous offers, and coming back again?
Oh, little did I know.
So here’s what happened with the Second Choice House. It’s funny, really. I mean, as soon as I stopped banging my head on the desk and took a few moments to eat a bag of cookies, I could really start to see the humor in it.
We made an offer. They countered. We countered. They asked for a day to think about it. They took the FULL DAY and then said they needed to “sleep on it.” That was all the information we had at that time.
It turns out that during the day of thinking about it, the owner of the house realized that we’d been talking about closing in JUNE, not JULY. And to hear the tale (via two realtors and then Otto), she apparently freaked out when she figured this out. She spent the day looking for a new place with her realtor and threw a gigantic hissy fit and then said she’d have a decision in the morning. Oooooookay.
Morning came (today) and we were told that the owner called her realtor, very apologetic, embarrassed at having misunderstood the time frame and having potentially wasted our time, taking full blame for things having dragged out over several days, but reiterating that she just didn’t think she could be moved in time, so no.
It might be worth mentioning here, that of the twenty or so houses we’ve looked at, this one held the absolute greatest amount of STUFF per square inch. This was the House of Knickknacks, for sure. I understand why she felt trepidation about getting packed in just a few weeks. And apparently she’s (recently) divorced and that’s why the house is being sold, and I can certainly sympathize that she must find all of this overwhelming.
Not that any of that stopped me from calling her some choice names when the call came this morning, of course. Ahem.
Anyway, Otto and I were on to Plan B, or perhaps more accurately, Plan Q or thereabouts, and by this time I had really eaten QUITE A LOT of cookies, when Otto called and asked me if I wanted to hear a funny story. I said sure, because I am in dire need of funny stories right now.
Given that our negotiations on Second Choice House were relatively smooth where pricing was concerned, with the sticking point seeming to be the closing date, Otto’s realtor took the liberty of asking the listing realtor to find out when the owner WOULD be willing to close, in case we could do some rearranging here and close later.
It seems that the listing realtor conveyed this query in a phone message to the homeowner. The very same homeowner who had, some hours earlier, apologized profusely for all of the confusion and her inability to go along with the proposed deal.
Upon receiving this message, the homeowner did not return the realtor’s phone call. No. Instead, she elected to drive to the realtor’s office and scream at the two administrative workers who were available (as the realtor was out at the time) about how YOU PEOPLE SHOULD BE ASHAMED FOR TRYING TO FORCE ME OUT OF MY HOME! This apparently continued until one of the berated personnel asked her if she understood what the “FOR SALE” sign in her yard meant.
The listing realtor conveyed this story to Otto’s realtor, who shared it with him.
Otto then asked his realtor if it would be okay to drive over there just one more time, so that he could scribble NOT REALLY on a piece of paper and affix it to her FOR SALE sign. His realtor did not agree to abet him in this plan, but didn’t exactly think it was a bad idea.
Aaaaaaand suddenly, not getting that house doesn’t seem so bad at all.