Friday was also the Day of Inspection, when I got to lift the hood and try to find if this used car we were buying was missing any parts. Short answer: it wasn’t.
Inspector Mark broke it down good for me, room by room. If I was ever dubious about the need of handing over $300 for someone to look for cracks and paint chipping, I’m over it. More than just an assessment of what was wrong, Mark gave me an analysis of what could go south later on—from the grout in the bathtub tiling to the relative height of tubes underneath the sink leading to a stop-up back-up flood-up of dirty sink water. I can admit now that I was just a teeny bit worried that at some point in the inspection he’d turn to me with a "You paid how much for this place?" look on his face and walk past me, cackling. Thankfully, there was none of that; the worst of it was a ceiling fan missing a couple screws.
Sarah, unfortuantely, wasn’t able to join me for this little adventure, which arguably was the second most enjoyable part of the home buying process so far. (First prize: The words “You got it.”) She was away in Nashville on some job-related mission that involved youth, charity and a insufferable dude named Kenny. We were both bummed she missed it, since it meaned I would have to take on the triple duty of 1) paying attention to the inspection, 2) taking pictures for our own documenation records and 3) babysitting my mom.
Oh yes, my mother. She wouldn’t have missed it for all the aged gouda in Holland. To her, this whole home-buying adventure is merely an excuse to slip into her Li’l Martha Home Decorator jumpsuit, complete with matching pink measuring tape and pink-lined graph paper, and go on a decorating binge. The entire time I was following the inspector around, noting every little nick and scratch and possible safety hazard, Mother (with the occasional helping hand of my agent) was measuring every possible dimension of every room in the place. I thought this was obessive, until I learned her plans for phase two: translate all measurements into 2D scale models of each room and hallways of the condo. It turns out upon seeing the given floorplan she turned green with disgust and knew she couldn’t live in a world that would let her son plan home decorating around something so egregiously inaccurate. So she spent the afternoon making these wonderful scale models, bless her heart, and now Sarah and I have a new game to play, once we create 2D models of all our furniture: Where Does That Couch Go? Some of you may know I get a little nutso with the spatial, and so you can imagine I’m really looking forward to breaking out these materials every month or two and seeing if I can rearrange and fit just a little more into each room.
I’ll certainly be saving these designs and notes for when we sell the place, with the expectation that they’ll raise our resale value by … oh … at least $2.50 and a case of Schlitz.