Another Lowball Pitch

Sunday evening when Hick returned home from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2), he said he had just talked to our realtor about the Double Hovel flip house. She had an offer from an investment company in the city. They had not toured the property, but were going by the website pictures alone.

Investment Co wanted a decision within 24 hours. It would be a cash deal, to be finalized within two weeks. They would pay all closing costs, and did not want any inspections.

The offer was the same as the previous lowball offer that Hick did not even counter.

Hick was pushing to take this deal. I said I did not agree. I called The Pony, our investment partner. The Pony also said no to this amount. I reminded Hick of what he had stated would be our bottom-line price. The Pony and I said we would agree to THAT amount. But not a penny less.

Hick sent a text to Our Realtor. She had said she needed the info by Monday morning, since she had an appointment in the city on Monday afternoon. By 9:20 on Monday, she responded to Hick that Investment Co was not interested in the Double Hovel at our bottom-line price. Which, I might add, was a considerable reduction from the asking price.

The Pony was okay with that, as was I, because overnight I had been thinking that maybe we shouldn't drop the price so much at this time, seeing as how the Double Hovel hasn't quite been 30 days on the market. The Pony was afraid Hick would be cranky and disappointed, since he had been pushing us to take this offer. When I talked to Hick midday, he was not at all upset.

"They were trying to steal it!"

I agree. The pressure of the 24-hour response was the first clue. Wanting the deal done within two weeks was the second clue. Not bothering to drive one hour to actually tour the property was the third clue. Seems like their tactic was to pressure us into selling fast, before we could think it through. We are not real estate rubes with a cash-flow problem. 

Yes, we could still have made a 33% profit on our investment if we sold at that price. But our bottom line deal would give us a 66% profit. If that investor saw it, another investor can see it. We are content to wait. With the difference between that offer, and our bottom line counter offer, we could afford to pay electricity, water, and insurance costs on the Double Hovel for 12 years!!! I'm pretty sure it will sell sooner than that.

Investment Co gave us a lowball pitch. Hick took a swing with our counter offer. It was a miss, but we're still in the game.

Travels With My Placard: Val Almost Rumbles With the Elderlies

There are none so blind as the entitled rumpusholes who park on top of a blue-and-white handicap stencil in a parking space, sans placard or designated license plate. Even if those entitled rumpusholes are elderlies!

Saturday, I drove onto the lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store, and saw a white sedan in my rightful handicap parking space. There's only one, you know. I looped around the diesel pumps into the back alley, and pulled T-Hoe nose-down into the parking space by the FREE AIR hose, putting us nose-to-nose with that white sedan. No handicap plates. No handicap placard. My own placard was swinging freely from the mirror, in all its blue-and-white glory.

An elderly woman got out of the driver's seat of the white sedan, and walked without any discernable disability around the corner of the building toward the door. I eased out of T-Hoe, and hobbled past the passenger door of the white sedan, where an elderly man sat with the window rolled up. 

Not gonna lie. I wanted to pound my fist on that window, shake it in the air once I had his attention, and say, "You elderlies get off my parking space!" But I didn't. Val is not confrontational. She'd much rather passive-aggressively give people the stinkeye, and make them the star of her blog for a day. Besides, Elderly Man was not the one who parked the car in my space.

Inside, I was chatting with my favorite clerk, naming the tickets that I wanted, when Elderly Woman came up from the soda fountain, holding a 44 oz drink.

"You're the fourth person today that I've seen buying lottery. And believe me, I've been out and about, making lots of stops. But isn't that something, to see FOUR people buying lottery?"

I looked at her like she had two (equally-empty) heads. First of all, you're not a part of this conversation. Nobody asked for your input. But while you're running your entitled mouth, maybe you'd like to illuminate us on whether you illegally parked in a handicap space in all those other stops you made. Oh. Does that sound harsh? It was meant to!

What in the Not-Heaven? That's not unusual at all. It's a common item people buy at convenience stores. Gas, liquor, tobacco, soda, snacks, and lottery. What did she expect people to buy, arugula and goat cheese?

I didn't respond to her. Finished my transaction, told Fave that I'd see her tomorrow (you know, just to establish that I was a REGULAR here) and limped on out the door. As I heard Fave ask Elderly Woman if there was anything else, and she replied, "Just the refreshing beverage, Sister!"

I was rounding the back bumper of Elderly Woman's car as she caught up and got into the driver's seat. She had to wait until I passed the front end of her white sedan before she could start backing up to go around T-Hoe.

I don't think she felt the least bit bad about her actions.

In the Future, I Will Be Careful What I Wish For

I asked Hick to bring home a Reuben Sandwich lunch for my supper on Friday. You know, since he chickened out on the Chicken Salad Sandwich, and didn't bring it last time I asked. Hick said he was also going to get a Reuben for himself, although he would be eating one in person for lunch. He called ahead. Hick says the Reubens go quickly, and if you don't get your take-out order called in early, they will run out.

Hick ate his lunch, and then brought our suppers home to put in FRIG II.

Grilled Reuben

Broccoli Cheddar or Veg Soup

Slaw

Crackers

Variety of Desserts

I didn't know if they would send soup in a carry-out lunch. Hick said sometimes they do, sometimes not. I said I wanted the vegetable soup, but he said you don't really get a choice. Only if a worker makes your take-out lunch right before you leave. Which he said his friend did last time with the BEETS fiasco. But it was unlikely on Reuben day, because they have so many and make them all ahead. So I'd get whatever they put in the container.

Anyhoo... Hick came in carrying two white plastic bags, each containing a foam container of lunch, and a small foam container of the dessert. Hick was carrying them both in one hand. Making one lean sideways at a 45-degree angle.

"Whoa! You're spilling stuff inside! You know how that slaw juice runs all over everything!"

"I'm just carrying them, Val."

"Set one over here and let me look inside."

I think I know part of the problem why those Senior Center workers are stressed on Reuben day! They had tied the top of each plastic bag in THREE knots! Did they think Reuben was going to fight his way out of a white plastic bag? A single knot should suffice.

Anyhoo... inside the container were Potatoes, Slaw, a Reuben Sandwich, and a cardboard container of soup with a lid that did not leak.

I set the soup out onto the table, and moved the sandwich to see if anything had leaked on it. Indeed, it had! That bottom piece of bread was as soggy as a wet sponge! It barely held together as I turned it over to take its picture. The potatoes are the villain! That's where the liquid came from.

Yes, there is still plenty of liquid left in the potatoes themselves. Who packs a take-out container like that? Do they not have access to a slotted spoon at that Senior Center? While we're on the potatoe topic, I have no idea what they did to those potatoes. They were the worst potatoes I've ever eaten. I tried, but only choked down half of them. I couldn't figure out the flavor. It was not butter, because after six hours in FRIG II, that liquid did not thicken or solidify. Kind of a sour taste, yet sweet. YUCK! The best I can figure is that they drenched canned potatoes with Italian Dressing.

The slaw was also terrible. Hick actually traded out the soggy sandwich in this one, to allow me to have the container. Because the other one had a lot of carrots in the slaw, which I don't like. Anyhoo... it was not a white creamy slaw, but a vinegar type of slaw. I left about a third of it.

When I looked into the vegetable soup, I figured the vegetables had settled to the bottom. Um. No. When I poured it into a cup to heat it up, there were two slivers of grated carrot, and two tiny shell noodles. Hick said I could have his soup, which at least had two broken pieces of green bean, two tiny cubes of potato, and one tiny cube of carrot. It's like those workers FOUND the slotted spoon, and used it to seine out the vegetables from my vegetable soup!

I warmed our sandwiches in the oven, giving Hick's soggy slice extra time. It dried out, but did not get as toasty as the other slice did. Gotta say, those sandwiches were delicious. Too bad the other stuff came with them! Hick only ate his sandwich. And one of the desserts, saving the one I gave him for the next night. It was a cherry crisp that actually looked good, but I'm not much on their desserts. Unless they actually have cake, often advertised, seldom served!

Still, it was a meal I didn't have to cook. The Reuben Sandwich was great. I will ask for it again next menu, but I will not be expecting anything else. Better to be surprised than disappointed.

As If The Pony Didn't Have ENOUGH Troubles Lately

Just when The Pony was finally getting a break from The Universe taunting him with obstacles that hindered his job... he went out to his Rogue Thursday afternoon to drive home, and the fob didn't work. Nor did the key itself. The Pony could not get into his car. So he walked home.

The Pony sent Hick a text asking him to see about getting a battery for his car clicker, figuring that must be the problem. Yet still puzzled about the key not working. 

"It's not a big deal until the weekend and my day off. I can walk to work. I just have to leave five minutes earlier." 

Yeah. And walk home after a day of work, walking an 11-mile route.

Hick has the spare, and was taking both to get new batteries. Since he spends Friday afternoons shooting the bull with his buddies at a shop a couple miles from the post office, The Pony will text Hick when he clocks out. Then they can also explore the key issue, and Hick can trade with him if necessary. It's easier and safer that trying to track down The Pony on his route, or leaving the car unlocked with a battery or the other fob and key under the floormat.

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night... nor sprained ankles, dog bites, bumpy rashes, or lack of personal transportation stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

Strapping On the Feedbag With Hick

Hick has been busy with a couple projects, and thus has not been eating lunch at the Senior Center every day. He means to, but time gets away from him. I read the menu he brings home, so he'll know what he's missing. He DID make an effort to eat there Wednesday. Even treated Old Buddy to lunch, so they could keep in working. The meal was:

Pork Loin

Mashed Potatoes 

Green Beans

Rolls

Vanilla Ice Box Cake OR Fruit

Hick wasn't sure about Thursday. It was a new meal that I've not seen on the menu before:

Poppy Seed Chicken

Glazed Carrots

Sliced Potatoes w/peas

Roll

Peach Pie OR Fruit

It's not that Hick dislikes any of those foods. He was busy working on the QuickFlip house for the old lady who bought it. Hick does good work for cheap, and she doesn't know anybody else around here. So she hires him for her projects. That's how Hick charges. For the project, not by the hour. He doesn't want anybody to think they're getting cheated if he takes a break, or has to go buy parts.

Anyhoo... Hick and Old Buddy were fixing the roof of the garage. It's a tin roof, and sheets of the tin were loose. Plus it needed paint. So Old Buddy got on top of the roof, and put in long screws. Then he painted, as well as Hick, who GOT ON A LADDER so soon after his recent fall! They painted the roof black, using brushes and a roller. Hick said Old Buddy actually did about 70 percent of the work on top of the roof.

Anyhoo... they did not have time to go to the Senior Center for lunch. Hick was asking Old Buddy if he wanted to go to McDonalds to get lunch, when the Grandson came out and heard them.

"I have some baloney in there."

"Huh. Would you mind making us a couple of baloney sandwiches?"

"No problem!"

Hick said he and Old Buddy each got a bologna and cheese sandwich, and a glass of iced tea. And that Bertha (not her real name) the old lady came out, and said, "I had ham and roast beef in there." Hick assured her that the bologna sandwiches were good. Hick likes bologna.

As usual with Hick's stories, the details are murky. He started out by telling me that "Bertha gave us baloney sandwiches for lunch." Yet then it turned into the Grandson offering them. So I'm not sure who really made the sandwiches.

Still... Hick got a meal, and didn't have to pay.

The Thief Who Wasn't

I can't remember if it was here, or on my supersecret blog, where I mentioned some teens in Orb K who seemed to be stealing merchandise. Their friend was up front using the self-scanner to buy a soda, and the other three stood by him a minute, then all walked out with their arms full of fountain sodas, not having set the others on the scanner thingy.

Anyhoo... I was in Orb K again on Tuesday. A wacky older lady was at the self-scanner, with only one cashier working down at the other end of the counter. Wacky had two fountain sodas. A couple of snack items. She DID put them all on the little shelf thingy for scanning. She had a little trouble with her card working, but I think it finally went through. She wasn't looking around for help, or adjusting anything on the scanner, or trying another card.

Wacky put her card away, picked up her merchandise, and moved along the counter, standing by the middle register. A manager-type gal was doing something there, but the register was not open for customers. Wacky just stood there. Manager Gal made some small talk. Then asked her if she needed anything. Wacky said no. Then she moved down the counter, standing between me and a woman currently in the middle of a transaction at the open register.

What in the Not-Heaven? At first I was mad that Wacky seemed to be cutting in line. Maybe her card HADN'T worked, and she was going to pay. She set her merch on the counter beside the other woman's stuff. The people in line behind me were shifting around and murmuring. Then I realized that Wacky was with that woman. 

The cashier must have also been confused. She was just standing there as Woman was scanning in her card and code. Wacky picked up her stuff and walked out. Cashier waited a minute, and then said to Woman: "Are you paying for hers, too?" And Woman said, "Oh, no. She's already paid at the self-serve." Which indeed, it appeared that she had.

When it was my turn, Cashier asked for my ID to buy scratchers! I didn't mind. I always have it in my shirt pocket. She said she was new. Not a big deal to me. She wanted to do things right. 

As I left, Wacky and Woman were getting into the red SUV parked in the handicap space across the walkway from me. So they were actually together. And Wacky moved kind of slow. I didn't begrudge them the handicap space. I don't park in it at Orb K anyway.

When NOT-Cooking Is More Stressful Than Cooking

Hick's supper Tuesday night was breakfast. Sausage, eggs, and biscuits. Sure, the biscuits were out of a can. And the sausage was a previously-grilled bratwurst that I thawed out. I offered to make scrambled eggs for Hick, but he preferred fried eggs. Which meant he had to cook them himself. I don't do fried eggs. I don't like fried eggs. So as you might imagine, when I cook them, they are not up to Hick's standards.

I did everything else. The biscuits were done. The sausage was hot. I had a skillet with oil already warming up. The pepper grinder was waiting without the lid on the bottom. The four eggs were set out. Hick only wanted three, but there were four left in the carton, and I wasn't going to store one egg. There was also a plate on the counter, with a fork, butter knife, and sausage-cutting knife. Plus the metal spatula for egg-flipping. I had done just about everything except chewing the food and baby-bird-ing into Hick's mouth.

Hick came to the kitchen when called, to start frying his eggs. I sat at the kitchen table out of the way. I had been scratching some losing scratchers, but I could not look away from the spectacle of Chef Hick.

Hick picked up his first egg, and started tapping it on the side of the pan. It's not like he was using a cast-iron skillet. This was a small non-stick pan.

"What are you doing?"

"Cracking my egg."

"On the side of the pan???"

"Yeah. That's what I always do. How do you crack them?"

"On the edge of the counter. So I don't drip egg juice down the side of the pan where it hardens, and onto the burner and stove."

"Huh."

Hick kept cracking. One egg took 11 whacks! Like I said, that small pan is not sturdy enough to be an egg-cracker. AND, after each egg, Hick wiped his hands on a paper towel he had set ON THE STOVE BESIDE THE BURNER! I was afraid it was going to burst into flames! Hick cooked two eggs at a time, then shoveled them onto his plate. When he was done, he turned off the burner, but let the pan with oil sit on that hot burner, metal spatula inside.

I thought he might eat at the cutting block, but Hick took his plate into the living room to his recliner after buttering three biscuits and carving up his sausage. When he returned with the plate, I had to instruct him to wipe off the crumbs, then put it in the sink, run water on it, and put his fork in it. Nothing gets as concrete-hard as left-over egg, unless maybe it's leftover potato. 

It's actually easier for me just to cook something, rather than stress through Hick's efforts.