The house that I’m in at the moment, which we’ve only been in since December, 2005, has been up for sale for a while now. As I’m home a lot during the day, but out at night, I’ve been here while real estate agents have been showing prospective buyers through.
This Monday I was at home doing uni work as usual and the real estate agent showed through a corporate executive who had been head-hunted for a local firm. Accompanying him was a woman who’s job it is to relocate employees after job transition. I heard the real estate agent say, “It has only been on the market two weeks” (at least a white lie by any standards), so I wondered what else she had been telling this guy. Shortly after the executive came into my room and said, “It must be sad having to leave this place?”. I heard some movement and the real estate agent bolted into the room and looked at me wide-eyed while diverting the man’s attention. It turns out she had also told the man that we had to leave for what amounted to ‘financial reasons’, which isn’t the case. In fact, I’m quite willing to move, if just for the fact that it was too far from town for my liking (not to mention all the disruptive youth). Realising this was not the thing to say, I said “Uh, yeah, I guess” by which time the agent had dragged the man away from me.
That night we had an offer on the house from this man, which my parents accepted. This morning, although I woke up quite happily at 4.45am, pest and building inspectors showed up and poked and prodded everything for a few hours before suddenly disappearing. All things going smoothly, it appears I will be shifting house sooner rather than later. I’m told it will be end of May at the very latest, although we have absolutely no idea where to.
After the General Noisemakers left, I took to the endless task of packing my things up. In my situation, it wasn’t quite as typical as other families. My process mostly involved taking things out of boxes that have been there for several moves and putting them into newer, bigger and heavier boxes.
The date is set (sorta kinda), but I have no idea where we’re going. So… does anyone have a spare pantry I can stay in just in case things get a little desperate?
Come to Queensland!!
*puts all the closet jokes aside*
There’s a spare room here if you need it, but it’s not as spare as one would hope…it’s more of a junk room or “things you can’t put anywhere else” room, but it has a sofa-bed??
Hey Tyson, i just thought .. if you didnt want to move into our downstairs toilet there is always the ‘Gimp’ space under our stairs, i’m sure we could make it nice and homely for you, lay out a kitter litter tray in the corner, see .. you have lots of friends willing to be nice and helpfull towards you.
Hope it all goes well. Speaking of boxes, I have a couple of tea-chests in the garage which remain unopened from when I left Brisbane at the end of 1989. I must check them to see if there’s anything inside I urgently need.
I sympathise with you about packing up to move (yet again) but thankfully, since I only have to move back to the new place next door in a few months, I won’t have to go through the same pain as you. I guess that doesn’t help you out but it gives me a nice warm fuzzy feeling inside.
Now you know i just shut down ‘Motel DeStepho’. You’re a week late and a buck short. :P
Rebecca – No. But thanks for the invite.
AJ – I like how your punctuation suggests that you are surprised that a sofa-bed takes residence in your spare room.
Tammy – I’ve been eyeing that spot for some time. It’s quite cozy, and I couldn’t be attacked by the cleaning robot in my sleep.
James – Obviously not *that* urgently.
Kevin – Will it be by hand, or will you rent a wheelbarrow?
Steph – Love it. I bet your bed sheets were as crisply taut as a matrons hat.