Last Call

I have nap envy. 

The Margarita Transaction almost didn't get this far. Last week, my loan officer was making vague comments that suggested I call the Vatican for canonization, or perhaps the Justice Department and get a sworn statement. The loan officer had done his very best and wasn't sure how this would reflect his Final Judgement. Either way, my clients weren't showing a cut and dry case that they qualified for the home that was supposed to close last week. The loan officer was now in the middle of this and had the dubious honor of getting an underwriter to agree to give my clients a loan. Or, perhaps call someone legally and have my clients' background scrutinized. I don't know. I didn't ask.

Anyway, three (yes, three) underwriters later, there has been loan approval! In fact, we went from, "I am not sure what to tell you" to "guess what, we close on Thursday," which was news to all of us.

In addition to all of these shenanigans, the sellers were being the sellers. I might have mentioned this guy? A retired engineer, he knows more about real estate than everyone else in the universe. He relies solely on Zillow because the Internet is always true. He insults his agent and calls me whenever he wants to and leaves painfully long messages that I don't bother listening to.

I should have taken a picture of all the junk in
front of the car and behind me. Because this
photo makes the garage look downright sparse. 

There was also this minor matter that I have strep throat and have been in bed sleeping for the past five days, so I haven't truly cared about baseball, much less any of the above.

Except, Wednesday. And I only cared on Wednesday  because I found out Wednesday afternoon we close Thursday. And, that means a final walk-through had to be conducted. In all fairness, everyone found out Wednesday afternoon we close Thursday, but that shouldn't have been an issue. We were supposed to close last week. The seller allegedly had moved out. Right?

So we had a final walk-through yesterday. The players for the first five minutes of our walk-through were Mr. and Mrs. Buyer, several of their children, myself and Marty--who only came along because I am too sick to drive. Then the seller came. First, he walked right up to Marty, patted him on the back and started talking like they were buddies. Marty said something about remembering they had worked together once (they had, actually) and suddenly it dawned on Mr. Seller he wasn't talking to Mr. Buyer, which in itself is funny, because Mr. Seller followed Mr. Buyer around for an hour the first time they were in the house so you think he might remember him. So, without any sort of pleasantries, Mr. Seller walked away from Marty looking for Mrs. Buyer. He then zeroed in on me.

Now, I am not feeling well. In fact, I was sort of propped up against the wall when he walked in. (did I mention the seller wasn't supposed to be there at ALL? This was the BUYERS' walk-through) He extended his hand and when I didn't extend mine for sanitary reasons, he grabbed it anyway, giving me his best his-mother-taught-him-right smile with a, "How are you Mrs. Buyer?" When he found out I was the agent he had been leaving countless messages for, he again rudely walked away in search of his true victim. And that was probably best, because by then I was ready for a nap.

When Mr. Seller finally found who he was looking for, he announced to all of us that there had been some mistake. We weren't closing on Thursday. We were closing Friday. Why? Because he said so. And he controls the Universe.

So sorry I didn't take a picture of the real ginger-bread house.
This one is cuter. And plus, another car. 

Unfortunately, that's not what the loan documents say, so too bad. I tried to explain it to him, also I took a moment to tell him that anything left at the house would belong to the buyers so he might want to use this time to get the rest of his belongings out. Like the 1964 1/2 Mustang in the garage. It would be a shame if that got left at the house. And perhaps he could load up the 'Stang with all of the other odds and ends (vacuum, do-dads, 18 year old gingerbread house, cleaning supplies, refrigerator that was now in the back yard instead of the kitchen), and get them out too. But I am pretty sure I said it nicer. I think. Then I texted his agent and said, "Guess who showed up uninvited to the party and won't leave?"

Mrs. Buyer and I had a fun time watching Mr. Buyer be dragged around by Mr. Seller, getting schooled on how "awful" the home inspector, termite inspector, roofer and AC tech that Mr. Buyer hired were and "what a waste of money" it was for Mr. Buyer because everything on that inspection report was wrong. Wrong! However, he fixed it all anyway.

And then Mr. Seller spent about an hour going through everything he fixed. He showed Mr. Buyer how to take care of the pool (Mrs. Buyer almost lost it on that one, as they own a pool company and their truck was in the driveway). He also magnanimously announced how he was leaving all sorts of helpful items for my clients, such as exterior plants, pool equipment, dishwasher, window blinds and towel bars. Of course, the contract says he has to, but I wasn't going to argue with the guy who controls the Universe. Instead, I laid on the staircase landing, just trying to nap.

Meanwhile, the agent and I were texting back and forth, with me making sure he understood there was a lot of things left in the home and no matter what his client thought, this was closing tomorrow and would he please make sure his client understood this?

"That's not what Zillow told him," the agent shot back.

"You need better clients" I said, because at this point no nap was coming and agent and I are the best of pals.

After it was all said and done we were there an hour and a half for a 10 minute final walk-through. The agent and I talked later Wednesday night. Did the seller understand the house had to be empty and he had to leave the garage remotes and keys behind? "Not really. But I guess your folks could charge him rent if he stays," the agent replied.