Moving Story (2002) - Part III

We found it!
After months of searching and miles of driving, we finally found the house of our dreams. Okay, we found a house that didn't give us wake-up-screaming-in-the-middle-of-the-night, cold-sweat nightmares. I'm not about to split hairs. The house was in a small outcropping of new construction in what we considered a desirable town. And thanks to the high tax rate, our new monthly tax payment alone will equal our current Principle, Interest, Taxes and Insurance, which the sadists in the mortgage biz facetiously refer to as "PITI" - though they seldom show any.

When I first walked through the builder's model, I noticed a large flock of home-buying vultures circling overhead. Just the sight of them gave me shills… er .. chills. So keeping in mind the age-old adage that "he who hesitates has time to make an objective, informed decision", I quickly signed the contract. This immediately set two imposing wheels in motion: Attorney Review and Options Selection. This instant stress had a strange chemical effect on my brain as the voices in my head became more boisterous than normal. They changed from TV golf commentators – hey, self, let's go out and shoot pool tonight. to a busload of elementary school kids - ÑÚýCct???+?¤???! Like any good school bus driver, I ignored them and popped a xanax.

Choosing all the decorative and structural options is the fun part – or so you would think. But I'm a typical guy. When it comes to shopping, I can't be bothered. "Whatever" is my typical response when asked an opinion. Considering some of the responses I've been known to give, "whatever" is the lesser of my evil-tongued replies. Granted, over the years I have learned the right and wrong things to say while shopping with my wife. I'm not completely clueless. It's just that nowadays, I'm never sure if I'm thinking it or actually saying it.
"Honey, do these pants make me look fat?"
"No, dear, the salt & vinegar potato chips make you look fat."
Ooops. I thought I thought that. And believe it or not, that's the wrong thing to say – I have the scars to prove it.

But whether it's shopping for clothes, shopping for food or shopping for a house, it should be quick and painless. After all, somewhere there's a ballgame on, or a show with power tools or, perhaps, another Gladiator rerun.
Someday we'll all be able to drive into a development site, pull the car up to a speaker and place our house order into the clown's nose:
"Welcome to Fuzzy Knolls Development, may I take your order please?"..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
"Yeah, I'll take the Mördö model with a three car garage, morning room and, uh, Berber carpet in the basement."
"Would you like to super-size that?"
"Sure, why not."
"That'll be four-hundred and fifty thousand. Please drive around aimlessly mulling your huge mortgage payment."

Someday, maybe. But for now, I decided to eliminate those factors that may confuse and prolong the cusomization process – namely Lois. I go alone to consider an endless combination of options and add-ons: Lengthen the family room, widen the family room, raise the basement ceiling, add a third car garage. Do I want crocodiles in the moat, or just piranha? Too many decisions. I fumble through swatches and samples. Carpet swatches, curtain swatches, tile samples, cabinet samples, brick samples, siding samples – swatches of samples, samples of swatches - you name it. And I don't know why I bother thumbing through them at all. Every time I pause and consider the potential of a piece of wood or slab of stone, Sarah, a.k.a. Silicone Sarah Salesbabe, makes a face like she fell head first into a septic tank. I soon found myself checking with her for approval. What a coincidence that the samples she likes are also the most expensive! She must have very good taste.

Finally, after countless minutes of mixing and matching samples, I had completely personalized our home from top to bottom – into model 1274A.
"Can I go now?" or don't you like the colors we chose for the master bath?
"Yes, and remember, we need your forty-five thousand dollar down payment by Tuesday."
"Oh, right.", I said nonchalantly, trying to sound like a guy who didn't have to borrow most of the money from his mommy.
"No problem." Hope you don't mind it all in loose change!
"Goodbye…" in-over-your-head homebuyer, "Michael." I know she was thinking that.
That over with, it was now off to the attorney's. At least he's on my side...
Attorney Review is a three day festival where your lawyer looks over the contract and tries his darnedest to put the kibosh on the deal. During this time I pay him $200 an hour, giving him the right to repeatedly ask me, "Did you actually read this?" and "Are you stupid or something?" My pat answers to those questions are "no" and "I guess so", respectively.
"Did you read this first clause?", he asks me as I walk in the door, without so much as a how-do-you-do, a glass of water or After Eight Mint.
You're the attorney. That's why they call it attorney review, not knucklehead review. "No, what's it say?"
"Paragraph 1: The seller and/or seller's representatives, friends and relatives have the right to enter the property at any time after closing to perform neurological, digestive and/or reproductive testing on buyer"
"Um, I requested that one." Although I never said anything about seller's representatives! Some nerve!
"Are you.." stupid or something? "sure about this?"
We've already established that. "Yes."
"Alright, skip that one. Paragraph six: Seller may substitute building material of equal or lesser value without notifying buyer."
Hey, pretty shrewd. "So I can end up with a tin shack with a corrugated roof? How do they get away with that."
"They get…" dummies like you "people to sign without reading."
"I see."
"Did you know there's a sewer easement on your property?"
Easement-schmeasement "So, like, I can't build a shed in the back yard?"
"The easement runs through your living room."
"Oh, that explains the manhole." Shoot, I bet Lois 10 bucks it was a decorative floor pendant.
"This contract is filled with heavy-handed language…" so I'm not going to let you buy this house and if you argue the point I'll boggle your mind with legalese and make you feel stupid so just do as I say and nobody gets hurt. "so I'd advise against going through with this purchase"
But…" But I tried to think of something intelligent to say, but as you can see, failed miserably.
But nothing! Write a letter stating that due to the overwhelming number of non-negotiable items in the contract, you're canceling it and want your deposit returned immediately." And don't be a wimp about it or they'll string you along from now till doomsday and you won't have the funds to pay my bill.
"But…" Darn, drew a blank again. Oh-fer-two..
"But what?" I have a three o'clock tee time so let's wrap this up, huh?"Never mind." I can see you're in a hurry to get somewhere.
"Fax me a copy of the letter."
"Of course." I wouldn't expect YOU to actually have to do something for your money. "Goodbye" you humorless, dream shattering, stuffed-shirt.
"Goodbye…" dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks "Michael"

I felt like I'd just gone thru the meat grinder… not one of those old cast iron crank ones like my mother had, but a Cuisinart. One where the blades whir at really high RPMs so the victim has no idea what just hit it. We had put all we had in what we thought was a filet mignon of a house, only to find it was Spam. Granted, a processed meat metaphor may be a stretch, but I'm not thinking clearly at the moment. You get the idea.

Now not only weren't we getting our custom built model 1274A, but I had to face Silicone Sarah and try to get my money back. "How inferior could the building materials be?", I thought. "And what's so bad about a sewer line in my living room?" If anyone could rationalize this into an okay deal, it was me. After all, I managed to convince myself that the new Mustang Cobra was a sensible commuting car because I could get to work faster and that buying a 19 inch flat screen computer monitor to play video games would pay for itself in the long run with the money I saved on optometry bills.

I arrived home to find my wife Lois sorting through pool supplies in the garage.
"Bad news." I said.
"The liquor store's out of Merlot again?"
"The house deal's off. The lawyer put the kibosh on it."
"Oh well, It's probably for our own good. There'll be other houses."
Wow, she's taking this better than I am.
"If you need me, I'll be out back. I'm going to shock the pool."
"Oh? Going skinny dipping?"
Oops. Wrong thing to say