January 26, 2011

9th Hour Showing

Well, it certainly took long enough.  Second in a series of posts about the saga of the roof over my head.  This first is here

Maybe 3 weeks ago, a friend of mine who needed a place to live that was less stressful than his current place asked if he could move in.  Well, sure!  I can use the extra pair of hands, and it's not like I'm paying rent.  So...  Why not.  Now, he has visitation of his 8 year old daughter twice a week.  Wednesdays and Sundays.  That's important.

At 2:30ish today a Wedensday, I get a call from my real estate agent.  In the 90 days my house is on the market, I've heard from her exactly 4 times.  I figured, since my contract was up here in the next few days, she'd be calling about wanting to renew.  Whoo boy, was I surprised when she asked if tonight would work for a showing. I heard myself saying "Of course it will work.  Let me just let my roommate know."  Panic!

I had more or less given up on showing the place and had been planning to just take the sign down and let the place go.  So, the house was NOT clean.  Not that it's in the kind of condition that will wind up landing me on "Hoarders" but there were dishes in the sink, my bed wasn't made, and the carpet needed to have a meet and greet with the Dyson.  Oh man.  I'm suddenly regretting that 5 hour energy I had 30 minutes prior.  It's like someone put a quarter in me and I'm fired up to go work on the house.

I immediately call the housemate to ask if he can make arrangements for his little girl somewhere other than the house so I can show it.  He makes it happen, and on top of that, I come home and he's got the vacuum out giving the living room carpet what for.  Here it is, an hour later, and you could probably eat off most of the surfaces in the place without fear of botulism.  I can't say that you won't find a stray hair or two, but there are 4 mammals living here.  What do you expect?

Now all I have to do is settle my panicked stomach, pack up the dogs and the electronics I'm worried about maybe finding their way into a car that's not mine, and head out for an hour.  I can't look at the place anymore or else I'm going to find more dust and clutter that needs to be taken care of.  Before I know it, they'll be knocking on the door, and I'll be caught with my dogs still unleashed, a streak of dust on my forehead, and a swiffer in my hand.

Patience and optimism sweets.  You'll get through this.  They'll like the house or they won't.  It's out of your hands now.  </pep talk>

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