Moving In
Yesterday, Berta and I took a day off work to finalize the purchase of our new home.
We dropped off Abby at school/camp around 8am, then waited around at Manhatten Bagel until 9:15 before our walkthrough of the house at 9:30.
When we arrived at the house, the previous owner had three cars parked in the driveway and a ton of crap still sitting in the garage. Judy, our realtor, drove up shortly after we arrived, and we headed toward the house.
The seller followed us aroudn the house as we looked to make sure everything was still in working order. He would not stop talking. Judy told him, “I’ve done a few of these, I can probably manage on my own,” meaning, “go finish moving,” but he didn’t take the hint. I thought she was going to blow a gasket with all of this jabbering. I was irritated, but I figure that’s easy enough to do that I’ve built up a tolerance for my own irritation.
Apparently, he had some kind of family crisis overnight with his son being manhandled by his ex’s new boyfriend, and he hadn’t had any sleep, nor enough time to move, nor any luck getting a new moving van, since their original van wasn’t large enough to hold everything.
Anyway, aside from the garage and the refrigerator still containing stuff, the house seemed in working order. So we departed for our 10:30 signing of the papers. With about 45 minutes to kill, we stopped at Target and wandered around looking at various things in a weird “no place better to be” sort of pre-mortgage limbo.