Thursday, February 23, 2006
Upon Further Inspection
It turns out that condo inspections are really boring. I kind of pictured us like discovering secret rooms and walled-up corpses, but I just ended up sitting there for two hours while a guy in a bad hat flipped light switches and peered at vents. I had to make small talk with the woman selling me the place, and we could only come up with three basic topics: 1) dogs, and the ownership thereof, 2) neighborhoods in Chicago and how they're fun to live in, and 3) how we don't really like moving. Eventually, I just ended up pretending that I was responding to important work-related emails on my Treo, when in fact I was discussing ways to maybe make an inspection fun with my friend Bethany. (The top contenders? Doing it naked and/or occasionally throwing out completely unnecessary and wholly inappropriate racial epithets.) And no one ever even offered me something to drink. I really feel like this should have been a mocktails occasion.
But the good news is that my new place isn't going to fall down any time soon. The guy explained everything to me, which I didn't for the most part understand, but my realtor confirmed that none of it was anything to really worry about. One of the doors sticks a little bit and the furnace cover doesn't come all the way off. Since I've lived in places with missing windows and honest to God vermin in my bedroom, I think I can cope.
The whole process remains weird, however. I can't help but feel like I'm spending all the money that I will ever have and that I'm going to have to furnish my living room with the cardboard boxes my belongings will arrive in. Or worse yet, IKEA. I suppose everyone goes through some sticker shock, though. This is just like that time I bought the Miata.
It turns out that condo inspections are really boring. I kind of pictured us like discovering secret rooms and walled-up corpses, but I just ended up sitting there for two hours while a guy in a bad hat flipped light switches and peered at vents. I had to make small talk with the woman selling me the place, and we could only come up with three basic topics: 1) dogs, and the ownership thereof, 2) neighborhoods in Chicago and how they're fun to live in, and 3) how we don't really like moving. Eventually, I just ended up pretending that I was responding to important work-related emails on my Treo, when in fact I was discussing ways to maybe make an inspection fun with my friend Bethany. (The top contenders? Doing it naked and/or occasionally throwing out completely unnecessary and wholly inappropriate racial epithets.) And no one ever even offered me something to drink. I really feel like this should have been a mocktails occasion.
But the good news is that my new place isn't going to fall down any time soon. The guy explained everything to me, which I didn't for the most part understand, but my realtor confirmed that none of it was anything to really worry about. One of the doors sticks a little bit and the furnace cover doesn't come all the way off. Since I've lived in places with missing windows and honest to God vermin in my bedroom, I think I can cope.
The whole process remains weird, however. I can't help but feel like I'm spending all the money that I will ever have and that I'm going to have to furnish my living room with the cardboard boxes my belongings will arrive in. Or worse yet, IKEA. I suppose everyone goes through some sticker shock, though. This is just like that time I bought the Miata.
