The Saga...
It’s been a complete saga.
First the offer. 10 thousand less than listing price. “Rich” couple from fu-fu area buying it for their “servants.” Fine. That was 27 days ago. We said no. Already have an offer for top dollar. But they are paying cash. So what? Still no. Why would I eat 10 thousand dollars? Not that hungry.
A few days pass. Nothing. Buyer is out of the country. No word. Then contact. We need to make our home a mother-daughter “legally.” Apartment in back is now a problem for the “buyer.” For us it would mean our taxes would sky rocket. No signed contract, no. Sorry.
A few days pass. Home inspector comes. Then nothing. A few days pass. Nothing. Buyer is out of the country again. Is he out of this world or out of the country? I asked our realtor. I just quit my job last year working for a major cable co. and the owner flew all over this world. TV went on. He’s full of BS. He’s stalling.
A few more days pass. Lower the price by 10 thousand dollars again. The “buyer” says. Our realtor says we should by 5 not 10. We do. But we say there must be a signed contract by Friday 5pm or we aren’t playing anymore. Poop or get off the pot I told our Realtor. I wonder if she told the “buyer” that. I hope so. I think he’s an ass.
Friday 10am. Our attorney calls and says we need a copy of the deed for the contract. Before it can be signed. David rushes from work to some town office and gets it. Barely makes it back before his pager goes off for an emergency C-Section. I’m too busy calling 911 at my internship because my 10:15am intake has the DT’s. He was starting to die right in front of my eyes.
The “buyer” says he’ll agree to the 5 thousand dollar reduction in price. I hope so. I’m glad. As of 2pm we didn’t know why the hell we dropped the price to begin with. Friday 5pm. No signed contract. The phone rings. It’s our realtor. The “buyer” wants to come over to the house tomorrow at 10am to have another look. This is the third showing. First him and wifey pooh in their “S” class, then the servants, now the “buyer” again. Why? No one knows. I do. They do. They just don’t want to say it and I don’t want to either.
Sure, David says while rushing into the ER again. I couldn’t be reached.
Hours later and I call the realtor. We’re done. We’re cooked. We reject the offer. No more games. It’s Friday 9pm and we still don’t have a contract. Now the “buyer” wants to come over and tear the house to shreds then make another offer. He’s not coming here to give us a hug. He’s coming here looking to knock another 5 grand off the house.
We just officially – no I just officially – unsold our home. But it wasn’t sold. Or was it? I hate second guessing decisions. It’s a game to him. That’s what the realtor said. It’s a game to him. It’s only a game I said if we play too. It’s no fun playing a game alone. I choose not to play. I’m taking my toys and going home.
Now what? If he calls our bluff there’s no sense in house hunting anymore. We’re done. We’re cooked. We’ll rent where we’re moving.
It’s a funny feeling taking control. It feels good to cut the strings but it hurts. Being a puppet – a desperate puppet – isn’t fun. But it sure as hell is scary.
First the offer. 10 thousand less than listing price. “Rich” couple from fu-fu area buying it for their “servants.” Fine. That was 27 days ago. We said no. Already have an offer for top dollar. But they are paying cash. So what? Still no. Why would I eat 10 thousand dollars? Not that hungry.
A few days pass. Nothing. Buyer is out of the country. No word. Then contact. We need to make our home a mother-daughter “legally.” Apartment in back is now a problem for the “buyer.” For us it would mean our taxes would sky rocket. No signed contract, no. Sorry.
A few days pass. Home inspector comes. Then nothing. A few days pass. Nothing. Buyer is out of the country again. Is he out of this world or out of the country? I asked our realtor. I just quit my job last year working for a major cable co. and the owner flew all over this world. TV went on. He’s full of BS. He’s stalling.
A few more days pass. Lower the price by 10 thousand dollars again. The “buyer” says. Our realtor says we should by 5 not 10. We do. But we say there must be a signed contract by Friday 5pm or we aren’t playing anymore. Poop or get off the pot I told our Realtor. I wonder if she told the “buyer” that. I hope so. I think he’s an ass.
Friday 10am. Our attorney calls and says we need a copy of the deed for the contract. Before it can be signed. David rushes from work to some town office and gets it. Barely makes it back before his pager goes off for an emergency C-Section. I’m too busy calling 911 at my internship because my 10:15am intake has the DT’s. He was starting to die right in front of my eyes.
The “buyer” says he’ll agree to the 5 thousand dollar reduction in price. I hope so. I’m glad. As of 2pm we didn’t know why the hell we dropped the price to begin with. Friday 5pm. No signed contract. The phone rings. It’s our realtor. The “buyer” wants to come over to the house tomorrow at 10am to have another look. This is the third showing. First him and wifey pooh in their “S” class, then the servants, now the “buyer” again. Why? No one knows. I do. They do. They just don’t want to say it and I don’t want to either.
Sure, David says while rushing into the ER again. I couldn’t be reached.
Hours later and I call the realtor. We’re done. We’re cooked. We reject the offer. No more games. It’s Friday 9pm and we still don’t have a contract. Now the “buyer” wants to come over and tear the house to shreds then make another offer. He’s not coming here to give us a hug. He’s coming here looking to knock another 5 grand off the house.
We just officially – no I just officially – unsold our home. But it wasn’t sold. Or was it? I hate second guessing decisions. It’s a game to him. That’s what the realtor said. It’s a game to him. It’s only a game I said if we play too. It’s no fun playing a game alone. I choose not to play. I’m taking my toys and going home.
Now what? If he calls our bluff there’s no sense in house hunting anymore. We’re done. We’re cooked. We’ll rent where we’re moving.
It’s a funny feeling taking control. It feels good to cut the strings but it hurts. Being a puppet – a desperate puppet – isn’t fun. But it sure as hell is scary.
posted by Mike at 9:39 PM
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