bunt sign

Thursday, October 28, 2004

Sometimes not wearing a watch keeps you from realizing just how slowly time is creeping by. On the other hand, if I’d known I was in that title company’s office for only two hours, I might not have got all twitchy. Because it didn’t seem like two hours. At the time, it seemed like forever plus two hours.

On top of all that tedium was the fact that I had to drive an hour and a half to get there. I gave up commuting years ago because I don’t like driving in traffic. I love driving, as long as there aren’t any other cars on the road. That’s why I stay home most of the time. It’s also why I’m not a race car driver. (Well, one of the reasons.)

If I have to drive for three hours in one day and end up back where I started, it might as well be through the wine country on a sunny October afternoon. Since that’s where the title company is, and the title company is where the papers had to be signed, I really didn’t have a choice, so I made the best of it. It still wore me out, but I tried not to let it show. (I don’t think I succeeded, because Tim called me tonight to make sure I was okay.)

Once I got there, I didn’t do much except sign whatever was put in front of me. I always made sure someone else signed it first, just to be on the safe side. I’m not putting up any money, and I’m not guaranteeing that these loans will be paid. Maybe I’ll get copies of all the papers I put my name on. The escrow officer explained everything as well as she could, but as far as I’m concerned she might as well have been speaking in Czech (or Slovakian, even).

I did absorb a few things by listening. I mean, you hear enough Slovakian and you start understanding some of it. I know, for example, that our banker lied to us. He quoted a percentage rate of interest that was substantially lower than what appeared on the papers. The Boss got the banker on the phone, and he basically told us we were screwed. Sign or walk. So we signed. (And now we’re talking about refinancing, heh heh.)

From what I’ve seen of how The Kennel operates, I don’t see any way it can’t make money. The current (soon-to-be former) owners have been hiding income, which we’ve uncovered. It’s a potential gold mine, and the only downside is the potential for a clash of personalities. It’s definitely worth the risk, though.

So as of Monday, I’m a kennel owner. For all the work I’ve been doing for the last six months to get it to this point, I think the real work is about to begin. I have to think of it as a big adventure, because otherwise I just get exhausted, before I’ve even done anything.




20 October 2004

Clouds.



If I had to pick out the worst part of the day, it would be the drive home. By the time we were finished it was five o’clock, and I had to drive due west, directly into the setting sun, in the heaviest traffic of the day. There were stretches where a line of cars inched forward, one car-length at a time. It was after 6:30 pm when I pulled into the driveway. And I still have Friday to get through before I can sleep.




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I think of the Red Sox as baseball’s Baby Jessica. While she was in the well, she was everybody’s baby. Now that she’s finally won the World Series, she’s just another kid who wants the last cupcake. If I have to fight her for it, I’m going to forget pretty quickly how long she was in that well. Eighty-six years, was it?

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One year ago: The Weight
"In times of emotional upheaval, I often pretend to be deaf, blind and stupid. It's easy. I sometimes think the world would be a more placid planet if more people tried it."


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