Thursday, April 9, 2009

House Part 7: Surprised End Of A Donkey

One of the biggest reasons that we had so many problems with our home is because of the liars in the equation of purchasing and then doing construction. The first liar was the realtor who showed us a house “with promise” that had the space we wanted but was severely outdated and had a terrible flow to the floor plan. Note the use of “with promise” in that last sentence – implying correctly that the house was a crap hole that needed a TON of work. But he was right the house did have a certain charm and with the right amount of hard work we could potentially make this place into our home. That doing construction in the county we lived in was easy and that they were super laid back in the city about construction to the homes. Once he had us sort of sold on the idea, even relatively excited that this house could be a possibility he dropped the bomb on our head. This house was 200,000 less than the houses that we had been looking at. It was such a great deal in fact that we should make an offer RIGHT AWAY because this house was HOT HOT HOT! Now for us this bomb hit like he intended it, this bomb blew up our will with such a sheer force of inertia in a place that caused the MOST damage to our brains. As we breathed in the poison of the spell he was weaving we decided to make an offer and buy. Sadly we did not find out until too late (as in a few months later) that we had sadly been lead into the money pit.
The second to lie to us was the first contractor that we hired, who seriously had some issues with cognitive thinking. His brain in my opinion was closer to a baboons then any other person that I have ever met and sadly if I ever saw him again I would probably tranquilize him and take drop him off at an asylum where they could study the missing link between monkeys and humanity. He lied about his abilities, his confidence to finish the job, his integrity, actually I don’t think there was a single thing that I ever heard come out of his mouth other than “I’d like water to drink”, that was not a lie.

The other large lie was that the men running the construction department were not merry happy men who golfed and signed permits in beautiful cursive like both our realtor and our first contractor made them seem. In reality they were three extremely angry men who sat behind a sheet of thick, dirty, bullet-proof glass, who acted like gods of their tiny bat shit mountain, and who made the masses of people who filed into the grimy office jump and quiver at the sound of their voices. So I went and sat there and shouted and waved and yelled obscenities that would make my mother blush all so I could be heard. Once you are heard that is when you were called to the glass and the degrading began. You see there is a long list of rules that you have to follow, rules that they don’t give home owners, rules that are not written anywhere but in the tiny pea brain of the florid faced man spitting with his angry rants all over the glass, rules that caused Mr. Rogue and I to chase trail after trail that the various three men, the spawns of Satan, told us to follow. Once you get one thing done they throw another thing at you. “Oh you got that form done, well why didn’t you have it notarized?” The first time I heard this type of rule changing, or omitting information that we obviously did not know; my first response was to tell the man that he could shove his notary up the very surprised end of a donkey. But to do this, as I found out because I seriously said something along those lines to one of the men after the 9th time in their office for one piece of “paperwork”, caused him to smile and rub his sweaty palms together and inform me that, and I am paraphrasing here, “OOPS, silly me I missed something, it looks like you don’t have enough percentage of arable land vs. building on your property so it looks like you have to tear your greenhouse down before we can continue discussing your construction project.” I learned, after the extra month of arguing I had to do to save our greenhouse, that it was not worth the two seconds of pleasure to throw insults to the shit kings, although it did my heart plenty of good to remember that tiny moment of surprise that crossed his face when I threw my insult. I am sure that the kings thought I was a little bit crazy because whenever I thought I was going to lose the war to hold onto my tongue and my insults I would close my eyes and cock my head and be very still so I could remember my insult that surprised look. As you can imagine for a 5 minute conversation there was a lot of me closing my eyes and cocking my head to the side.

So the torture and pain went on and on and on until our backs were like bloody shrapnel. I still have the wounds and I will be forever and eternally grateful to Mr. Saviour for answering all my prayers and fixing our home.

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