So today the first showing of our house was scheduled for 6:00 p.m.
I spent all day cleaning and tidying and cleaning and tidying and was pacing myself pretty well so that we could be loaded up, dogs, kids and all, and out of the house no later than 5:45.
Then, at 4:00 p.m., right as I got out of the shower (because I’d been cleaning and tidying all day I hadn’t showered) the real estate office called to ask if we could have a showing at 5:00 p.m. At this point, mind you, I was barely dressed, my hair was dripping wet, and I was not yet done with my cleaning and tidying. Also, McH had some little projects to finish up (like fix the bathroom sink that had suddenly developed a drip, and a few other little manly projects like that).
Luckily McH left work a tad early today and came skidding in the door shortly after I called him on his cell phone to shout, “We have another showing at 5:00!!!! There is no way everything will be done!!!!”
So while he did his little projects at bionic speed (or maybe vampire speed, if you’ve read Twilight) I ran a marathon through my house with the vacuum cleaner while barking orders at my older children to get the younger children ready to go. At about 4:55 we had everybody in the truck and car (the arthritic St. Bernard can’t get into the Suburban, so he has to ride in the back seat of the car) and a real estate agent was parked out front in her little red car.
She introduced herself as “the real estate agent” and apologized for being late.
Why yes, she was supposed to be there at 4:30, she told us.
No you weren’t, we told her.
Whatever, the ditz was just happy she wasn’t late, we left to go crash dinner at my parents’ house.
McH took the kids up to Cooterville while I stopped at the grocery store to pick up something to contribute to the meal. As I was walking out of the store my cell phone rang. It was the real estate office. Calling to tell me the 5:00 showing had been canceled because the people who were going to come look at our house were at a different house, had fallen in love with it, and didn’t want to see any more houses.
Well, nice for them, but then the question begged to be asked, “Who the hell is in my house?!?”
The man from our real estate agency had no idea.
I drove back to the house, almost having not one, but two accidents on the way. I take full responsibility for these near misses because, between the sun glaring off my windshield (in my haste to vacate my premises, I forgot my sunglasses) and the anger boiling in my very being, I probably wasn’t paying as much attention as I should. What. ever.
I drove by my house and copied down the license plate numbers of “the real estate agent’s” car and the conversion van (easily big enough to haul off our flat panel hi-def t.v., laptops, printers, and digital cameras) parked in my driveway, and then drove, carefully, up to Cooterville. Then I called our agent. He had no idea what was going on.
I am home now. All major electronics seem to be here and accounted for . . . wait . . . I hadn’t checked on the t.v. , but yep, it’s here. The business card of the agent who was showing the house at 6:00 p.m. was left on the island, so that showing apparently happened.
But who was the “real estate agent” in the little red car? The world may never know.
What the world will know, however, is that I will never again agree to a showing only one hour out, and if an agent shows up at my house while I am still here, whether I am supposed to be or not, I will ask for a business card. Furthermore, I will write down the name of every agent scheduled to show my house, and if the name on the business card doesn’t match up with the name on the schedule, I will unceremoniously boot the “real estate agent” off my property. And, should said “real estate agent” appear even slightly drunk or otherwise impaired, I’ll skip the card acquiring and go straight to the booting, which is what I should have done today. It would have saved a lot of stress.
Now, letting the betting begin: will Elaine wake up in the morning with a migraine, or won’t she?
Okay, off topic: Monday morning I woke up at 2:30 a.m. For. the. day. Tuesday morning I woke up at 4:30 a.m. For. the. day.
Wednesday morning (today) I woke up at 5:30 a.m. For. the. day. I am really hoping to make it to 6:30 tomorrow.
Further off topic: What is up with the spam filter on WordPress? It keeps telling me how many spam comments I have, but when I go to check the new ones, they usually aren’t there. Sometime there are spam comments, and I delete them. Other times there are comments from some of you, obviously not spam, so I de-spam them. Then, after the de-spamming, sometimes they show up with the post they are supposed to be with, and sometimes they don’t. Very frustrating. I just want you to know that if you’ve left a comment and it hasn’t posted, I have not identified you as a spam commenter. I have never deleted a comment from my blog except for those that have a zillion links for things like “enhancement” pills.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt needs to see your business card.