copyright 2015 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
The Dumpster Divers were back, this time with a woman, whom I nicknamed "Ma Kettle". I wanted to tell them to get lost. But all I could do, was stand by and watch. They spent several hours on our Farm, doing what I don't know. They seemed to roam off into the forest for a considerable length of time.
It was amazing to me how people could show up unannounced to a for sale property. They were allowed to venture around completely unchecked, pointing, and nosing around in areas that were none of their business. It was all considered okay and part of the whole real estate experience. I didn't get it. Hell, they could have showed up and vandalized the place, committed a crime on the property, or even dumped a body, and no one would have been the wiser.
The real estate agents certainly wouldn't have known, since most of the prospective buyers didn't come with an agent. Nor was there security of any kind present on the property at any time. The real estate agents, didn't even really wander around on the property. They didn't even know where the boundaries were. The real estate agent in charge of the Parcel A, Larry, had never even gone and looked at the entire Parcel himself.
I was the only partial security the Farm had because of my vantage point at the Cabin. But I wasn't going to do a stake out twenty-four seven to watch the place. Really the Bank should have been paying us for watching over the place like we did. But of course, being the pricks they were, they didn't even think about any serious security. They had too many properties to watch over. They were too busy counting up their tally from all the money they were making off the foreclosures and the money they were receiving from the U.S. Government.
The rest of Saturday brought trickles of prospective buyers to our Farm for Parcel A. While most came on their own, some came with realtors. The realtors were the only ones who knew the combination to the lock on the exterior of the front door that held a key, to get inside the house.
I continued my mud program, going through a different organ each day. I was revitalized when I finished. It was the best I'd felt in days.
Mom dropped Dad and I off at the coffee shop for internet that afternoon while she went on errands. I went to my internet browser's bookmark of a local realtor. I had been looking at properties a few months ago. I was doing what they called Dream Building. It's where you build images in your mind of what you want. I had started looking at what was available on the real estate market that I might be interested in buying.
If we got funded today, what type of home did I want to live in?
I wanted to move the Hell out of the "Shanty Shack" [the Cabin] and move into a nice comfortable home A.S.A.P. When we bought the Farm back from the Banks, we were going to need to do renovations. So I'd need a place to stay while the overhaul on our Farm was done.
As I was clicking through the pages of listings, I came across the listing of the A-Frame on Parcel A. I took a breath when my heart lost its peaceful rhythm. It was not fun to see your own home listed. I clicked on it to read the entire paragraph. Then I had a good hearty laugh!
They had five pictures listed, only one of which was inside the house, showing the upstairs master bathroom. All the pictures depicted a rundown property. They didn't even show any pictures of the apple orchard or the forest.
"Hey Dad. Look at this," I said.
He leaned over the coffee table and looked at the photos on my laptop. Then he started laughing!
"The place looks like the hillbilly house, on a Beverly Hills realtor's website. Most of the other listings on the realtor's website have a lot better homes and properties than ours."
When my Mom came to pick us up after she did her errands, I told her about finding the listing and the horrible pictures. She, like my Dad, thought it was great!
We thought that because the photos looked so bad, that maybe our Farm wouldn't get much interest. Some of the properties I'd seen online, had been sitting for months and others for years. We hoped that ours would just sit there long enough until we could afford to buy it back.
"Although possible, I have not yet seen anyone repurchase a home after a physical eviction."
Financial Firebird Corporation
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A TASTE OF DESTRUCTION Book 1 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesNon-Fiction
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