Well, we've got our house sold...the co-op board finally stopped being jerks. And then I evidently nearly managed to queer the deal all on my own, through the most idiotic set of circumstances.
I just remarked...kindly remember that contracts have been signed and the closing is set...that the wiring was wonky. Now this is the same thing I have said to A. the broker, and B. the buyers, all along. I merely told what I thought was an amusing Village story this time, which was that the original electrician had wired the house when he was stoned out of his skull.
This is an entirely true story. The electrician in question is our friend Rob, who has been clean for about a million years now. But it is an undeniable fact that when he wired the house, he was a wreck. I thought this added a lot of character to the house...you know, a real true to life Village story.
I have told this story to my realtor, I have told this story to buyers...and all of a sudden, our buyers decided they couldn't live in a house that had been wired by a crackhead.
SOMEBODY SHOULD LISTEN TO WHAT I'M SAYING. I prefaced the story of the wiring with the remark that this had taken place in the 1970's. Yes, that would be the 1970's. That is 40 years ago. May I repeat...40 YEARS AGO. 40. Years ago.
We got our buyers back. But I've been told that I'm no longer allowed to talk to them.
Look, I'm perfectly fine. But I think the rest of the world has gone stark raving mad.
Meanwhile, I'm being told that I have to rent and move into a new apartment within the next three weeks. It's going to be a damned interesting holiday season.