Di Has Stories…

(and they’re all true)

Adventures in House Selling September 19, 2006

Filed under: selling the abode — Diana @ 12:05 pm

As my faithful readers know (ok, all one of you!) I moved out of my apartment in June into my sweetie’s condo, and we are getting ready to sell it.  As I had a (more than) fully stocked one bedroom apartment, and Jeff had a (more than) fully stocked one bedroom apartment, we rented a storage space for most of my (our) stuff until we get a house.

Now that the painting is done, my next project is to make the condo look spacious, and to empty the closets of all the stuff we don’t think we’ll need for the next few months.  We worked on all the closets except the bedroom last night, loaded up the new car and the old car with the stuff, and drove over to our storage locker.

I’m not sure if I mentioned this before, but I was less than pleased with the storage locker.  It seemed to have a bit of a leak going on in the ceiling, but it was the only one available, I had a truck load of shit, and I took it.  We put a bucket under the leak, kept the good stuff away from it, and called it good.

Last night, we were crawling back there to put some stuff away, and I noticed that one of Jeff’s bookcases (that had been his grandmother’s) was missing the top.  It had gotten so wet that it fell right off, and was resting on the shelf below.  Upon investigating, the floor back there had a huge puddle, and some of the other boxes and things back there were wet.

Not. Happy.

Jeff went to talk to the guy (asshat) that runs the place.  I’d not been terribly pleased with him either – when I mentioned the big hole in the ceiling upon rental, he gave me a song and dance about how there had been no leak, but to shut me up he’d give me some plastic to cover things and a bucket, and that my homeowner’s insurance would take care of any damage*.  He said the words “homeowner’s insurance” so often I felt that he might sell it as a sideline.

Anywho, Jeff went to talk to him, and tell him we wanted a new locker.  The one next to us happens to be available, and Mr. Asshat would be “happy” to let us have it.  Oh, and the price might have come down…how much am I paying?  I told him, and he thought that maybe it was a bit more than that….for the same thing I have, and for a day of Jeff and I moving everything we own.  I told him it would not be more, and he said we’d see.  Oh, hells no.

And then he proceeds to tell us that he’s closed, and we’ll have to come back to do the paperwork.

At this point, I am livid.  It’s going to be cold and rainy for the next week or so, and the last thing that I need on my to-do list is to fuck around with moving everything.  I have half a mind to get a truck, and  move all my shit to anther storage locker…one not run by a homeowners-insurance loving twatwaffle. 

(Jeff is against this idea.)

Tonight we are going to go back to do the paperwork, and demand that we get a few days free, and if not, I am going to seriously consider telling this guy to fuck right off, and go somewhere else (there’s another mini-storage place right next door, and they seemed nice, and I bet they’d help us out). 

In the meantime, we are going to have to move everything on Saturday, if you are in the mood for some heavy lifting.

So, we get all done with this asshattery, and unload what we brought into our leaky storage space.  We plan to go to Cosetta’s for dinner, and I am looking forward to some of their fantastic pasta salad.  (Seriously.  Stop what you are doing, drive to St. Paul, and get their broccoli farfalle salad.  I need a moment alone just thinking about it.)  I am at the gate to get out, and Jeff comes running behind me.  Thinking that he has forgotten the security code, I yell it to him, but he tells me he can’t find his keys.


We go back, look all over the car, and the ground, and I pat him down (usually he puts them in his pockets, but he was wearing sweats and a jacket with shallow pockets, so he thought they must have fallen out while he was putting stuff in the storage locker), and we find nothing.  We start pulling stuff out of the locker, and nothing.  It’s getting toward the point where the gates are going to close for the night, so I hop in the car, run home for the spare keys, and get there with about 90 seconds to spare. 

And, worst of all, Cosetta’s was closed by then.  L

We decide we can live with one set of keys for the weekend, my beloved picks us up dinner at McDonald’s and he goes to work an hour late.  I settle down with my book (Running with Scissors) to read myself to sleep.

I’ve just started reading when the phone rings, and Jeff says to me, “You’ll never guess where I found my keys.”  Where?  In the pocket of the sweatshirt jacket, under the big jacket that he was wearing. 

How the hell did we miss those??

I couldn’t even be mad…it was too funny.  And he felt like such a moron, that I just had to tell him that he was wonderful, and it sure wasn’t as stupid as some of the things I’ve done!

(Poor guy – his bad luck continued this morning when he got a parking ticket.  He sometimes parks on meters in front of the bulding he works in, as they are free between 10:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m.  Since he didn’t get to work until almost 11:00 p.m., he parked there, and he gets of a 6:00 a.m., so that works well.  Of course, he came out a smidgen past 6 this morning, and the friendly University Parking Services guy had already been by.)

Here’s hoping that he is having a nice sleep, and that the guy who looked at the old car yesterday calls this morning and tells him that the 1993 Saturn is his dream car, and he’ll give us $500 more than we’re asking.  Or at least, within $500 of what we are asking!  Keep your fingers crossed!

*As an insurance agent, I have an aside on this one.  Yes, our homeowners will take care of us.  However, once they see that it is YOUR NEGLECT that has caused the damage, they will go after YOUR ASS.  And, I’d also like to mention that the stuff in our locker is not “replaceable”.  Everything I OWN is in there, and I’d rather have it back, thank you.


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