Monday, August 08, 2011

The Home-Buyer's Chronicles - Part Two

Note to self: Next time you decide to cannonball into the pool of obligation that is house-hunting, make sure that you are not in the midst of your busiest season at work. You'll thank me later.

When we last left our story's hero, he was fending off the advances of women who wanted him for his home-purchasing power*. Since that time, his life has been consumed by meetings. Lots and lots of meetings.

*Raise your hand if you just responded, "Take what you can get."

First, there was a meeting to be preapproved for a loan. As far as meetings go, this one was fairly painless. One simply listens to the bank employee explain things, provides financial information, and then learns what sort of loan he-or-she might be preapproved for. Ah yes, there's also a short period of silent-prayer that one takes part in when the man behind the desk checks one's credit.

Next up, I checked out a house and met with a realtor. Taking full advantage of my multitasking (/lazy) nature, I combined my realtor meet-and-greet with my first home viewing. Did things go well? I'd like to think so. Was the experience endlessly awkward? I can confirm that to be true. You see, when it comes to spur-of-the-moment questions, I'm pretty horrible at generating them. It's for this reason that I'm a horrible reporter, a horrible first date, and a horrible house-hunter. Are there an abundance of questions that one should ask when viewing a potential home for the first time? Absolutely. Did my mind generate any of those questions? Certainly not. Luckily for me, I had backup. Like a rich-beyond-comprehension rapper, I showed up to the house-viewing with a posse in tow: my parents, my brother, and his wife. The realtor may have thought we were a lost tour group at first, but she was soon answering questions from all members of the party. Whew.

Days after checking it out, I decided it would be worthwhile to make an offer on the home. Enter: another meeting. This time around, I had the chance to practice my signature... Plenty of chances to do so, in fact. Like a professional athlete at a trading card show, I jotted the letters that comprise my name endlessly. There were papers to make the offer, papers to seek a warranty, and papers to choose a pest inspector. At some point I went cross-eyed and my signature began to resemble little more than two horizontal lines. I attempted to keep up with all the sheets of paper that the realtor explained as I was signing, but the task proved to be a bit like driving while building a medieval castle out of toothpicks. Can I be certain that I did not sign anything that might donate my first born to the Malevolent Order of Slack-Jawed Yokels? No. No I can't.

Once the seller had my offer, negotiations ensued. He demanded I pay more money. I demanded that a Mercedes come with the home. (I drive a hard bargain.) He demanded that I send chocolate cupcakes every Thursday of the Lenten season. I demanded that a professional wrestler perform a puppet show in the backyard on closing day. The game went back and forth, but eventually a deal was struck. We were in agreement. Once I made the offer official, I'd be that much closer to owning a home. Alas, you know what that meant: more meetings, more signatures. And I'm only just beginning.

1 comment:

little apple tally said...

The suspense is killing me!