Pondering, Pondering

I have been pondering The Inspection.  I'm not a very good ponderer.  It's counterproductive for me.  Pondering in the Seaweed household is more along the lines of Imagining The Worst.  I don't have a lot of good thoughts about The Inspector and all of the faults that I'm sure he located in my two room apartment.  I'm sure that the report he gives to the buyers - who will feel very happy to find out that the place that they want to buy is riddled with serious structural and operational problems which will render their existence a living hell, a fiery pit of molten steel in which they will be dipped over and over, for all eternity - will be dark and depressing.  As you can see they would be very disappointed if everything turned out OK.

Actually I walked into the lobby two hours after these people were supposed to show up, certain that they would be gone by then.  There they sat.  I mean: two rooms.  What were they doing?  X-rays?  Infrared analysis?  MRI scans of the joists?  I pretended to look for my mail or something and I did a little minor eavesdropping, a defect of character that I pretend I don't have anymore.  I'm glad I did because it gave me the opportunity to be infuriated at the crap The Inspector was telling the real estate agent he was going to be putting in his report.

I projected that it's going to cost me a lot of money.  This got my hackles all worked up again and I decided to stand my ground.  I wasn't going to budge an inch.  Not an inch.

Did I mention that when I opened my mail there was a check for $300 from the state treasurer? Apparently I had sent in an estimated tax payment that I did not, in fact, owe.  I'll tell you this: if I throw a bitch about paying any more money to these people I should be tossed into that fiery pit.  I almost felt like my higher power sent me the check just to shut me up.

Didn't work, of course, but it was a nice gesture.