The Homeowners: Part IV

Maintain a Shred of Dignity While Buying a House

(Read The Homeowners Part I - III here!)

Viewing a house that has not yet been put on the market felt like such an honor. It’s the real estate equivalent of walking past a long line of mouthbreathers at Disney World while a uniformed usher places you directly on Space Mountain and fastens your seatbelt for you. There is no biological difference between you and the mouthbreathers, but for a brief moment, you have a leg up in life and are a little less desperate than everyone else.

The difference between riding Space Mountain and viewing a house not yet on the market was that the mouthbreathers were unseen, it was just us and our real estate agent. But I could feel their desperation through the walls, primarily because I was desperate too.

A phrase often heard in life is It’s all about who you know! And as someone who has never known anyone in my life, I can attest this is absolutely true. You only need to turn on your favorite streaming service to see the less attractive children of celebrities acting their hearts out to prove it. But while attempting to buy a house for the first time, I finally knew someone!

And that someone was named Tovah.

I met Tovah when I was a college freshman in 2001. She lived in Center City, Philadelphia and was the roommate of my girlfriend at the time, and since I was as clingy and needy as a co-dependent barnacle attached to the side of a whale’s mouth, I spent every free moment I had with my girlfriend. This made me Tovah’s de facto roommate and we had a lot of fun together. To describe it with the most millennial example ever AOL Instant Messaged (particularly millennial words will be in italics for emphasis); we once went to a Strokes concert put on by a radio station and before the show we ate too many Doritos, which were made with a then-popular fat substitute called Olestra and spent the bulk of the concert in the restroom with severe intestinal distress.

After some time, my then-girlfriend exercised her right to break up with me, as was the practice of most of my girlfriends, but Tovah and I remained friends. We even became roommates for several years and shared an apartment in Astoria, Queens. We were both actors, i.e. she waited on a lot of tables and I was part time cater-waiter and full-time alcoholic. After three or so years, we moved on from that apartment and went our separate ways, eventually losing touch.

A multitude of lifetimes later, I was having dinner with Rachel and our daughter in our rented home in New Jersey. Our daughter started talking about a nice lady she met at the library named Tovah. I asked her what this Tovah looked like and my daughter gave a descriptive monologue that only a three year old is capable—including frequent references to the color brown, the wearing of shoes, and the having of teeth—Rachel eventually assisted in the description and it sounded a lot like my Tovah. The likelihood was actually very high that Tovah would have also ended up in New Jersey like me, as many people I know born in the northeast somehow end up living in New Jersey. The sign welcoming you into the state should have the slogan, “Got all that bullshit out of your system? Great! Welcome home!”

I figured I’d text my old friend Tovah to find out if it was her my daughter met at the library. Luckily, I still had her number.

(It’s not actually lucky I still had Tovah’s number, I’ve never deleted a contact in my life. There are literally hundreds of names in my phone and I have no idea who most of them are. For instance, there’s a contact listed as Chunk Mike whose cell number is just the number 6 entered ten times. There’s also a woman, I assume, whose first name is listed as Jenn and the last name is listed as Mozzarella Sticks. For Jenn Mozzarella Sticks there is no phone number or email address, but written in the Notes portion is “owe money for eating all the mozzarella sticks”.)

Tovah and I reconnected, we met each other's families and were just so happy to see one another. Especially because we both looked roughly the same, just older, and neither one of us had put on an absurd amount of weight that the other had to pretend not to notice. Academy Awards could be given to the performances adults put on when meeting with friends and family they haven’t seen in awhile, and it’s not just limited to weight gain. Awards could also include Best Circumventing of Whether or Not Your Cousin Got a Divorce and Best Not Gawking at How Much Hair Your Childhood Friend Has Lost.

Tovah knew we were looking to buy a house and she was the one that introduced us to our real estate agent. I kept Tovah up to date on how hard it was to find a place, but she knew all about it from her own experience. She always said if she heard anything she’d let us know, and I knew she meant it. And when her friends were selling their home only a block away from her, Tovah told them about us, saying we’d be the perfect buyers. They invited us to come see the house before they put it on the market.

So on a beautiful Tuesday morning in late spring, Rachel and I went to see the house. Rachel looked fantastic, her hair was down and she was wearing a fancy, light jacket that made her look like the publicist of an indie band breaking through to the mainstream. I tried to plan an outfit based on appearing casual, blasé, and rich. I felt my previous outfits made me look like I wanted it too much, and like my mother always says, Desperation is a stinky cologne. But since I am not rich and have a terminal inability to play it cool, I over-thought it and ended up dressing like a preppy teenager who suddenly found out he was leaving for church in ten minutes.

We met our real estate agent Nicole out front. She was all smiles, same as us. We all had a good feeling about the house. Something felt different, we were ready for it to not work out, but there was real possibility in the air.

As we approached the front steps, the owners came out and said hello. They were a young couple with their son who was not yet a year old. We exchanged brief pleasantries and said how great it was that Tovah had brought us together. They were on their way out so we could see the house on our own before a photographer came to take photos for the real estate listing. We thanked them for letting us see the house early and they thanked us for coming.

I imagined us all becoming great friends, and years later our daughter would babysit their son as the four of us went out to a steak dinner and toasted our unyielding bond which started with a real estate transaction. But we never saw them again, and all future communication would be through middlemen.

We went inside and met their realtor, which marked the death of good vibes. She was a tall, unfriendly redheaded woman who was dressed for tennis and apparently late for her match. She spoke to us cryptically about whether or not they would have an open house that weekend, almost like a threat. Rachel tried to make pleasant conversation with her but was rebuffed, which was wild because Rachel is very good at pleasant conversation. I did my usual charm offensive; smiling a lot and asking where the bathroom was.

Even with their realtor causing us to feel less-than, we walked around the first floor and it wasn’t long until we fell in love. The house was perfect and in our price range, well, sort of in our price range. We could make it work. You know, skip a few doctors appointments, institute No-Electricity-Weekends, and let's be honest, do you really need to eat every day?! Ever heard of intermittent fasting?!

The house also had plenty of natural light, a good sized kitchen, original hardwood floors, and there was a friggin’ powder room on the first floor, which I used within the first five minutes of entering the home. I imagined relieving myself in that powder room on a snowy Christmas morning with the sound of presents being unwrapped coming from the living room. I didn’t even need to see the upstairs to know that this was going to be our home.

The realtor left for her urgent tennis match shortly after we arrived. Her final words to us were that if we were interested in making an offer, we should “put our best foot forward.” I nodded in tacit agreement, so in love with the house, I practically did a soft-shoe for her. I did not know what she meant by best-food-forward. I assumed she meant we should maintain a positive mental attitude and drink plenty of water.

“Best foot forward” is real-estate-horseshit speak for offering as much as you can stomach over the asking price and offering the most dehumanizing terms. I had anticipated offering more than asking, but was unfamiliar with “terms.” If you are unfamiliar, terms are additional concessions you can put in writing along with how much you are willing to pay as a way of making your offer more attractive.

So if you really want the house, you can offer terms like, if there is an inspection and multiple bodies are discovered under the floorboards, you will not only be totally cool with it, you’ll pay for their removal and proper Christian burials. Or if a pigeon-sized wasp/termite hybrid has burrowed into the foundation, the sellers are not only NOT responsible for their removal, but the buyer will be forced to do combat in the nude with the pigeon-sized wasp/termite hybrid—without the benefit of armor or protection. This battle will be filmed professionally (at the buyer’s expense) and uploaded to YouTube. Or if the seller decides the buyer needs to legally change their name to Perry Luanne Fartmonster, the buyer will fill out the necessary forms within three business days, all administrative fees will be at the buyer’s expense.

In a sellers market with limited inventory, just when you think you’ve reached a plateau where you might be able to maintain a shred of dignity while buying a house, life has a way of placing a clown mask over your head before delivering a swift kick to the balls.

Rachel and I walked all over the house, I even facetimed my mother and gave her a full tour with my phone. The house had everything we were looking for and one of those rare moments of unbridled excitement came over Rachel and I. It reminded me of when we found out she was pregnant, the feeling that a big change was on the horizon and it might just be a good one. Our agent Nicole advised us on what a good offer might be and what kind of terms could sweeten the deal. She told us to think about it. But we knew we had to act fast, so we put in an offer.

Had I known that after putting in an offer, I’d spend the next thirty-six hours either on the phone or emailing with strangers, while discussing unheard of sums of money that I would be legally obligated to pay, and then digitally signing contracts stating, Yes, I, Thomas Sibley, am totally able to pay these amounts! Not only that, if I don’t pay ‘em, just throw me and my dirty lil’ family in the street! Because we’re dirty little deadbeats! Had I known any of this, I would have tattooed RENTER-4-LIFE across my forehead and never looked at Zillow again.

But since I’d never done it before, I just kept picking up the phone, answering the emails, and signing whatever needed to be signed. All the while there was no guarantee we’d even get the house, but if we wanted it, I had to keep trying.

In my experience, feeling like a real adult comes in occasional waves. Most of the time I feel like I’m at the bottom of the trench coat with a buddy sitting on my shoulders as we try to sneak into Die Hard with a Vengeance. But every now and then, when it is absolutely imperative, I go into what could best be described as an adult-like fugue state. For the thirty-six hours after putting in the offer, you would have thought I was a titan of industry negotiating a billion dollar merger before the markets closed. My voice dropped several octaves, my limited facial hair grew in thicker, and the smell of an expensive cologne naturally emanated from my pores. We were getting so close, different offers and terms flying back and forth, and then a final counter offer came in from the sellers.

Their final offer was more than Rachel and I could stomach. If we agreed to it, we’d be spreading ourselves entirely too thin. The overwhelming feeling of discouragement was too much. I kept thinking that nothing could be worth going through all this. I mean, love him or hate him, but Ted Kaczysnki got a hell of a lot done from a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, and you know what, he made that cabin himself! Instead of being on the phone with all these bankers and real estate agents, I should watch some YouTube videos on how to build a friggin’ cabin, is what I should do! (You know you’ve had a long day when you start to identify with the Unabomber.)

I told our agent Nicole that we were done and to thank them for their time.

Nicole asked, “You sure? We could maybe try to—”

“Nah, we’re done.” I told her. “Thank you so much for everything. I guess it’s just on to the next. Thanks again, Nicole.”

She said she understood and that she’d let them know.

I ended the call. I laid on our bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. There was a little water stain I had never noticed before. But it wasn’t my house, so it wasn’t my problem. I could hear my daughter say something to Rachel in the kitchen and they both laughed. I wondered what we’d be having for dinner. I felt disappointed, tired, kinda depressed, a little hungry, and I was sweating. To give myself the energy to start moving, I thought at least I wouldn’t have to be on the phone so much now that it was all over.

As if on cue, my phone rang and it was Nicole. I figured she was calling to give a brief post-mortem.

She was not calling to give a post-mortem. She was calling to deliver an apology on the behalf of the sellers. They had assumed we would try to, I guess, final-counter their final offer? I’m still not sure, and frankly, I don’t know how anyone buys or sells a home with all this tap-dancing-mind-games-bullshit. But instead of coming back with another number, we just said we were done. Which was, inadvertently, a power move. The first power move I had ever performed in my life and I didn’t even know I was doing it. Never underestimate giving up on something because you’re tired!

Turns out, the sellers did not want to go through the headache of an open house, especially with an infant, and I didn’t blame them. I’m sure it was weird enough having us walk through their home, and they were facing a weekend of dozens of strangers strutting through their place. They had just assumed we’d counter their offer, we’d all meet in the middle, and then move forward with the sale.

With their apology, they gave us a good price and Rachel and I accepted.

“Congratulations!” Nicole said to me that night over the phone. “You are now under contract! If all goes well with the inspections, which I think it might, you’re going to be a homeowner!”

Wow, I thought to myself. This is really happening. This is a good thing, right? Isn’t it?

I thanked her for all that she’d done and started downstairs for dinner with my family.

Through my excitement, a question bored through not just my mind, but my soul and my intestines. It was a question I’d be asking myself frequently in the coming weeks and months.

Oh my god, what have we done?

(To be concluded in The Homeowners: Part V)