The title is a quote from Clue, the best movie (and board game) ever.
So here's how it goes:
I left work this afternoon at 5 PM, on my way to meet our realtor for one last walkabout at our soon-to-be place before our closing on Thursday.
THIS Thursday. That's an important point.
I stopped for gas, and while I was waiting I noticed I'd missed a call from a number I did not immediately recognize. I called it back, and it was our lender. There's been some sort of an issue with the mortgage insurance folks not getting back to her right away and something to do with the attorney's last-minute stuff, thereby stalling all the process of getting the closing set up, meaning... drumroll please... we cannot close on Thursday.
As we'd planned. As we've been planning for.
This is with two days' notice. This is after I've made all the applicable calls to the water people, the trash/recycling people (two different people, oddly), the electricity and cable and homeowners' insurance and the post office and just ALL THE PEOPLE. I have everything set up! The only thing that needs to happen is that we write a check and the lending people give the sellers money. We are approved for the loan; this is literally the final step that is just... not happening as quickly as the lenders had hoped.
We have given ourselves what seemed like plenty of leeway by having ten days between closing and having to be out of our apartment. We could move our stuff in bits and pieces, allowing us to deal with the simple fact that there is nowhere to put our packed-up boxes in this apartment the size of a shoebox.
I was furious as I pulled into the carport of my soon-to-be home. I had to keep reminding myself; this is still happening, you're just a few days off schedule. This is still happening.
I took some photos, but forgot to upload them and I won't have time to even think about it until Thursday... so I'll try to put up a few shots of the inside here for you on Thursday.
We may, all fates and applicable karmic balances willing, be able to close on Friday afternoon, still giving us the weekend. It's looking like it might be Monday, though, which just throws everything off and means I'll have to take at least one day, possibly two, off work for us to pull this off and still have a halfway-clean bare apartment to show our current landlords when we leave.
I love my job for giving me enough vacation and sick time to be able to do that without having to cancel our planned October getaway or seeing my family at Christmas. I love that I work now for a company that actually expects me to have a professional and a personal life, that I no longer work service-industry jobs that expect you to choose one and they deeply disapprove if you choose your personal life.
Jason is also furious, and we have been furious together, and it is truly an impressive cloud of helpless rage. There is nothing we can do with it; nowhere to put it. I packed the last bits of books up, meaning that we know have eight and a half boxes that are just books. I'm kind of proud and pretty ashamed of it at the same time, because there is literally no one other category of things we own that takes up that much space.
I had a glass or two of wine and some jam on crackers to calm myself down when we got home, and we've been watching Futurama and just trying to chill out. I'll hear back from the lender and the realtor tomorrow on what the final decision is on when we'll actually be able to close.
I keep reminding myself that to the people on the other side of this equation, we are just numbers on a piece of paper; our numbers looked nice to them, so they're willing to give us money. We are not Jason and Katie with hobbies, friends, family, and ten days to move. We're just a series of equations calculating our risk on a sheet, and they like that risk, but you don't hurry yourself for the sake of paper.
It's just that on our end, we're not paper. We're us. And I really don't react well to having plans changed at the last minute... not even when it's just a switch between restaurants I didn't know about until twenty minutes before I'm meant to be there.
You know, I had just managed to stop having those "list everything that could possibly go wrong" conversations with myself, too.
Heh, it's really not that bad. This is a fairly common last-minute problem, all things considered. The websites I voraciously devoured as though they were privy to some Great Secret of Homebuying all said to expect last-minute issues like this to crop up, and several friends have assured me as well that this isn't all that unusual.
But I want to be mad, darn it!
I also want a cookie, but there are no cookies to be had in this house.
So instead I'll just be mad, and then tomorrow I'll go buy a cookie.