Someday soon, the word "bank" will be used to denote the lowest rung of execrable, conscienceless behavior/attitude that could possibly be imagined. Arrogant exhibitionistic, small-minded flaunters of excrutiating stupidity will be described as "bankish". Maybe they already are and it's just another loop that I have been happily out of. Until now.
Yup, after six weeks of breath holding (don't try this at home) we got a response to our offer on the six bedroom House of Multiple Possibility and a garden too. The banks response to our bid of $425,000 on a house that was listed at $449,000 was to offer to sell it to us for $465,000. On what planet does this make sense?
Our realtor couldn't figure it out. The Listing Agent didn't have a clue. Heads were being scratched up and down the 101 corridor, to no avail.
We said no to the bank and no to making another counter-offer unless it was a lower offer than our previous one. I mean, WTF? Lock into a little charade of throwing numbers at each other for the rest of the winter, only to discover (which seemed likely) that the two other feckless lenders were not being considered here and therefore wouldn't sign off on the deal? Or maybe we could just get on with our lives. . .
So, we won't be moving in beneath the astonishing arms of the world's largest magnolia tree, across the faculty parking lot from the regional high school, down the street of high steps and hidden gardens, a mere two blocks from Whole Foods. I get to keep my drawer full of holey socks and stretched-out underwear. No need just yet to finally toss away those battered toys in the back closet of the back bedroom. I don't even need to sort the utensil drawers in the kitchen. Reprieve! Or is it?
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