I Would Walk 200 Feet

Sorry, I can't get that "500 Miles" song out of my head. It's on my playlist that I listen to when I scratch my lottery winners tickets, and the tale Hick told on Tuesday reminded me of it. You know Hick. What comes out of his mouth is not always what his brain thinks it's revealing.

"I went to talk to the people at the city. The lady there told me I have to walk around 200 feet to hand each person a handwritten letter and then they will think about it and see if we can split the flip houses."

"Um. Okay. I'm not sure about this. A HANDWRITTEN letter? Do you mean one that you make up in your head, and then type out? Or do you mean an actual letter written with your hands?"

"I mean we don't need no lawyer. Just a handwritten letter that you can type and I'll go make copies of."

"So you have to go to the meeting and walk around and hand it to each person on the committee? I don't get the 200 feet. Are they that far apart at the meeting? What if somebody needs a scooter to get around?"

"It's not to hand them to the committee, Val! I have to get on the agenda for the scheduled meeting, and that gal I talked to will make sure they all have a copy of the letter."

"The handwritten letter that I'm going to type up for you to make copies."

"Yes!"

"You're gonna have to help me out here. I still don't know what you're talking about."

"You cain't understand NOTHIN'! They're going to give me a map with a circle on it. I have to walk around and hand out a copy of the letter to houses within 200 feet of the flip house."

"Oh. That makes more sense. So you just put it in their mailbox? That's illegal!"

"I knock on their door and hand it to them, and tell them what it says. That we want to split the property. And if they have any objections, they go to the meeting and tell the Planning and Zoning Commission. They have 15 days to do it. We don't have to mail it certified letter. If they're not home, I can stick it in their door or put it in their mailbox."

"The letter that might be handwritten or typed."

"It's just a LETTER! We don't need no lawyer to draw it up. Just a letter telling them what we want to do! And I have to walk the property and measure it, and give them a picture showing where I want to divide it. And the lady will put the Lot and Plat number on it for the county, unless you have that from the tax bills you just paid, and you can write it on there."

"Then how is the county going to know to send out future tax bills?"

"IF the whole thing gets approved by the Planning and Zoning Commission, we have to get a surveyor to split the property, and then we tell the county so they know to give it a different number."

"That sounds really confusing. But promising. Like it might not be impossible to split it."

"I can't imagine anybody around there objecting. I don't think 200 feet will even reach any other houses on that one side. Across from the Beauty Shop is a preacher, so he will understand what we want to do. (?) And on the side is the guy we bought it from, and next to him is his grown daughter. They won't care. Across the side street is them guys renovating that big house. They don't care. And across the alley is that two-unit apartment. So I can't imagine that owner would object."

"Are you going to tell them that you want to split it so you can sell it easier, rather than have an investor buy it to rent?"

"I ain't tellin' them nothing except we want to split it into two properties. The commission knows why. But I don't think the people need to know."

"If I was living there, I'd rather have neighbors who BOUGHT the house. They're more likely to take care of it than a stream of renters."

"Yeah. I might tell them if they ask me why. That I don't want to rent the houses and have them tore up. I'd rather sell them separately than rent the two."

"I imagine people are not going to open their door. They'll pretend they're not home, because they'll see some crazy guy with a paper knocking on their door. So you'll just be leaving the letter for them."

"Maybe."

It looks like the task of splitting the Double Hovel will take several steps, and a bit of time, but it doesn't seem impossible. That's a good thing.

More In the Good News Department

While Hick was in Realtor's office asking to tour the $35,000 house, he learned some interesting information.

"I could sell that little house of yours. People call all the time asking about it. Because it's so small. Then I have to tell them that it can't be bought separately."

Good to know! There's a lot of interest. I suppose they see the sign in the front yard of the Beauty Shop, walk around and take a peek inside, and then call the number on the sign to ask about the price.

"That's a good thing. I would have thought the big house would have more people wanting it. They can see through the shades that the Beauty Shop is really small. Probably single people, old people, or a young couple."

"The problem is the loan. Because it's more than one house, and considered an investment property, they have to put 20 percent down. They can't get a VA loan or something else like that."

"She's not going to make much off this $35,000 sale, is she. What, a few hundred dollars? Because it's a split listing."

"No. She'll get two-and-a-half percent."

"I know. That's what I'm saying. Ten percent would be $3,500. Five would be $1,750. And two-and-a-half would be $875."

"Yeah. Just for taking 15 minutes to drive across town and walk through it with me, and then do the paperwork. That's pretty good money for that effort."

I suppose so, since that's what you've done for years, and know how it works. Not as glamourous as selling the $999,999 property, but still worthwhile, with it not even being her listing. Hick said some of his buddies saw it on Zillow. Realtor said she had thought about getting on Zillow, but she didn't know if it was worth it to pay their fee. She said she relies on word-of-mouth to steer people to her. Hick agreed. That's how his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) business runs.

"I could get ads on the radio, but I don't think it would bring me no more business than my customers telling their friends."

"So now that you know people want the Beauty Shop, are you going to talk to the city people again about splitting the flip houses?"

"I'm going up there anyway to talk to them about getting the water left on. So I'll ask more specifically what I need to do."

Hate to leave you with another cliffhanger... but that's a story for another day.

Stealers Gonna Steal

Hick got home from the auction after 9:00 p.m. He indeed verified that Realtor said she would call the next day to let him know if the seller accepted our offer. The listing was through another agency, and I don't know how that works. Maybe it's why she couldn't get an immediate answer, maybe not.

"I'm worried somebody else is going to offer MORE than the list price."

"I don't think so."

"You said it's a good price."

"Yeah. If you're in this business and let a house like this get away, you ain't serious about flipping houses. When I was there doing the paperwork, which took a long time, because she did it all on computer, I seen 10 appointments scheduled to look at that house!"

"Well... not everybody who looks at it will want to buy it. And some will have to talk to their wife or business partner. I'm just worried that the owner will hear about all the showings, and want to wait for a higher offer. Can they do that? Can a realtor tell them how much another offer is?"

"I don't think so. I think once a seller accepts an offer, they have to go through with it. They can't back out and wait for more money."

"That's just it. I wonder how much time they wanted to think it over. Who's selling it? What's wrong with it?"

"The old lady died, and the old man went into a nursing home. He supposedly doesn't have long to live. The son has power of attorney. He's hoping to sell it before the old man dies. Or else it might get tied up. I showed my buddy at the auction. He asked how it looked. I told him it wasn't big enough for him. He likes bigger houses. He said from the pictures that it would rent right now for $600 a month, just like it is. But I wouldn't want to rent it without upgrading the electric. He hires that kind of work out to people, but I do it myself."

We had nothing to do but wait. I had an annual doctors appointment the next morning. Hick drove me. He waited in A-Cad while I was inside, playing with his phone, which he has linked to the radio thingy to get calls while driving. When I finally came out at 10:20, we were still leaving the parking lot as the radio rang. It was Realtor.

"Looks like you bought yourself a house!"

WooHoo! I immediately sent a text to The Pony. Who replied: "Woo!!!"

Off Hick and I went to the abstract company, to leave our earnest money deposit check (Realtor had told Hick she couldn't take it unless our offer was accepted). Hick drove me home, switched to SilverRedO, and went back to town. He had asked Realtor if he could lock up the doors, which had been open since the day before. Realtor had not even needed a key to get in to show Hick. She said that yes, he could lock it up. 

There were a bunch of fishing poles hanging on the back porch, and some tools sitting on a shelf. Realtor said the seller didn't say if they wanted those items, but that she had said they could remain. Of course Hick wanted those items!

"I bet people are still looking at that house today. You SHOULD get it locked up."

"Yeah. I'm going to put a screw in the front door to keep it from opening, so people don't just walk in."

"What about the back door? Can't you nail it shut?"

"No. It opens in. I have a doorknob at my locker. I'll bring it back on my way home, and put it on."

Hick went by New House to put in the screw, and called me.

"Huh. I came over to the house, and there was three guys inside! They was looking around. They were flippers. I told the guy he was too late, that I just bought it. And he said they were going to offer MORE than the listing price!"

"SEE? Val was right again! You better get that house locked up. I'm sure more people will be stopping by. I guess if they plan on making an offer, they're not going to steal anything. But someone could. Or move in!"

"Somebody had turned up the heat to 85! Maybe to see if it works."

"There you go! Can't you get a doorknob around there close? Who knows how many people might go in before you get back from your locker!"

"Yeah. I think I need to go to Walmart and get a new doorknob to lock it up. And I'm putting the fishing poles and tools in the house. Most of it's been cleaned out. Like there's no dishes or furniture or anything. I can give Realtor a key in case the seller wants to get that stuff."

Heh, heh. We've owned the house for less than an hour, and there's already drama!

The Steal of the Century?

Let's face it, people. The days of buying a $17,000 house are over. Oh, how I rue progress. Hick has no more buddies willing to offer him a house for $5000. So we've been in the doldrums while casually seeking a new flip house.

The Pony often sends me listings he's seen. Nothing has been under $65,000. That's not worth it for us to purchase and put money into for flipping. You have to know what you're buying, and Hick has a head for renovating. Even that foreclosure that he was interested in with a couple hours of notice was not right for us. I told him that something will come along when it's meant to be.

Monday when I sat down at the kitchen table and turned on HIPPIE, I went immediately to realtor.com. I usually don't check it every day. And when I do look, it's before I go to town around 2:00. But here it was, 11:45, and I saw a listing that had been up for 1 hour. It was a $35,000 house. Only one picture, from the outside, from Google Earth. It actually looked like a big tree ball. You could barely see a sliver of front door and mailbox in the foliage. I knew the general area of the street, and the town.

I sent Hick a text about it, telling him there were no inside pictures, which was suspect. But that on his way to the auction that afternoon, he might want to drive by and look to see if it was a stinky hoarder house, or what was wrong with it. He didn't respond, so I called.

Hick was on the way to his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) to meet with a bunch of local law enforcement officers to draw the winner of a raffle they were holding for an item he donated to raise money for Shop With A Cop. They raised $613 with Hick's item! Hick even wore a button-up collared shirt for the occasion! He couldn't get away until after the drawing.

I sent The Pony a text. He remembered that area from delivering mail there when he first started. Said the neighborhood was good. 

Back to Google Earth. A 360 view revealed some roof that looked metal and fairly new. It was 2BR 1 Bath. A four-room house, with a cellar, on a corner lot.

Hick sent me a text at 2:15.

"It don't look bad from outside ill run buy realtor's. There is some inside pictures now"

I was getting ready for town, and told him I'd look later. At 2:45, Hick called me while I was in T-Hoe at a stoplight.

"We went and looked. Two more people had appointments after me. I'm heading back over there to offer the full amount and sign papers! I have my auction cash if she wants earnest money."

Hick was in a hurry. Not a problem this time. The Pony and I were both all-in for going after this house. Of course then Hick went off to the auction, so we were left in the dark. I told The Pony I was afraid there might be a bidding war. Houses this cheap don't stay available for long. The last one like it, Hick waited three days before driving by, and it was already under contract. The Pony sent me a text on his way home.

"I guess we won't know until tomorrow at the earliest..."

Ain't that always how it goes?

Getting It Over With

As I type, it's the night before my regular doctor appointment. Which is a bit misleading, because it's with a nurse practitioner. I like him just fine. He's an affable fellow. Seems to have my best interests in mind. Never gives me any lip. I just hate going to a doctor appointment every six months. It might even be once a year now. I forget. Is that a bad sign? Now that I don't have two insurances, I suppose it does not behoove him to see me so often. That's fine with me! I only go to keep getting refills on my BP and thyroid prescriptions.

Anyhoo... now the clinic has moved out of their regular offices on the floors above the local hospital, into a new building that Hick thinks is about a block behind the hospital. I hate going new places! Now I'll have to find out where my NP's specific office is located within that building. Supposedly they have their own lab on site. So I'll have to figure out where to go to get my blood drawn.

This appointment has been scheduled for over a month. Not a day has gone by that I didn't have it percolating on the back burner of my mind, dreading it. I've asked Hick to drive by when he's over in Bill-Paying Town at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5), just so at least HE will know where we're going. Nope. Too much trouble for him to drive a mile out of his way. At least he will be driving me to the appointment, to drop me off at the door.

Hmm... maybe something interesting will happen that I can blog about.

Even Steven Needs to Spread the Calamities Around

The Pony is not a hog. He will gladly give up some of the recent calamities Even Steven has steered his way. No need to have more than his fair share. As if Tuesday's dog bite on the rumpus wasn't enough for the week, The Pony had a bad Thursday. It started before work.

"Pulled a spider out of my hair in the shower. Great start to the day. Ugh."

"Noooo!"

I choked back my urge to share information about how many spiders the average person swallows in a year. At least The Pony's dog bite was looking better. For a day-and-a-half of healing. Hardly any bruising. I guess that dog couldn't get a good grip, with the location being barely on the rumpus proper, where it joins the upper thigh.

Sadly, a hair spider was not the extent of The Pony's misfortune that day. I got another text when The Pony got home at 5:18.

"Today was not my day. Overbalanced while carrying a 50-pound big package, fell, and busted up my knee. Again!"

"Noooo! I'm so sorry! Want me to look for some new tights/long underwear for you?"

"Nah, I've got a good rotation even if this pair is now deeply bloodstained and another has a dog hole in the ass."

"A phrase I was happily ignorant of until a few seconds ago!"

"Hey, I don't know what else to call the teeth holes."

Once cleaned up at home, the wound itself didn't look too bad. By the next morning, the knee was swollen like it had two kneecaps.

"What kind of package was it? A bag of something? A box?"

"It was an awkward box. As tall as from my waist to the top of my head. I was walking down a slight incline, and it pulled me over. The box said it contained a child's playset. 

A table and four chairs."

Anyhoo... The Pony is surviving. Sunday, I asked if he'd talked to the people with the dog.

"No, I haven't seen them. But they're usually not outside. Funny thing, their RING doorbell is suddenly inactive."

"Of course! They had to destroy any evidence of their dog with its teeth in your butt! Are they that kind of people?"

"I don't think so, no. But it's odd that all at once their RING doesn't work."

"At least that bite isn't hurting you too much."

"Yeah. The knee is worse. It was cold that day, and I rolled up that pants leg to expose it to the coolness. Also, because sometimes people at the end of the route get all pissy if their mail is running late, and that way I could just point to the bloody knee as if 

'THIS is the reason!'"

That's our little Pony, plodding on in the face of calamity.

Val, the Possible Enabler, Has No Regrets

I was in a foul mood coming out of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday. YOU KNOW WHY! My handicap space was taken again by the usual suspect. I was right in front of that offending vehicle, going past to get to T-Hoe parked behind in the FREE AIR space, when I heard...

"Hi. Uhh..."

It was a guy I had seen come up from the moat that separates the parking lot from Hick's pharmacy parking lot. Rather than walking along the back alley road that connects them, this guy had just gone down one side and up the other. It's usually dry at the bottom, or just a trickle. 

Moat Guy was in his early 30s, I think. Wearing light colored jeans, a t-shirt, and a gray zip-up hoodie, the hood of which covered his noggin. A noggin that I later found to be bald in front, with the rest of the stubble on his scalp the color of hair. You know that color. Not brown, not gray. Just hair-colored.

Anyhoo... Moat Guy walked over towards the gas pumps leading to the front door. He didn't get too close, but it was clear he wanted to talk to me.

"I've been walking. I haven't had anything to drink for a whole day. My food card is delayed. It won't be here for three or four days. I've been staying with my friend, and said I'd help pay the electric bill."

"Here. I can spare a dollar for you."

I had it right there in my hand, on top of the two crossword scratchers and two Christmas scratchers and the Cash4Life draw ticket that I get every day for The Pony. That dollar was my change, from cashing in a $20 winner and getting those tickets. I couldn't imagine just walking by this guy with that dollar in plain sight. He took it and thanked me. And kept talking!

"I'm on my way over to School-Turn Town. I've got another friend over there. I'm going down the old road. It's only about seven miles. I need to find myself a job so I can earn some money to help out."

"You know what? I never do this. But I want you to have this." I took a twenty out of my pocket and handed it to him. "I don't care what you do with it. Maybe you will find somebody else who wants to help out."

By this time, White Truck Dude was coming out. We were standing right in front of his truck. If only I was evil enough to keep standing there, talking to Moat Guy, preventing White Truck Dude from leaving, heh, heh. He couldn't back up, because T-Hoe was too close, since the white truck was taking up part of the FREE AIR space as well as the handicap space. Alas, I just hastened along as White Truck Dude got in and closed the door.

"I've got to get going. I hope everything works out for you."

As I was walking alongside the white truck, Dude took off. But Moat Guy stayed at the corner of the building, still talking!

"Hey, my house is so dusty, that when I was cleaning it, I looked in the mirror, and thought, 'When did I grow hair?' It was DUST on my head!" He pulled down his gray hoodie, and showed his head. Which was not dusty now. Just bald in front.

I chuckled and gave him a wave as I climbed into T-Hoe. He seemed harmless enough, but I was not about to offer him a ride! Val may be a soft touch for beggars, but she is NOT soft-headed!

I've never seen Moat Guy around here. He wasn't standing outside the store begging. He didn't have a sign. Didn't appear drunk or high. He wasn't stick-thin, and didn't have meth teeth or a beer belly. Just a regular size guy, not dressed for a black-tie dinner, but not in dirty rags. I think maybe he had mental issues, maybe getting his food card because of a disability. He rambled, but knew how to speak in sentences. Seemed a bit lonely.

Twenty-one dollars is not going to bankrupt me. It's not enough that he could buy something that would harm himself. I figure he needed it more than I did. As I went past on the side street at the light, I did not see Moat Guy walking down the road to School-Turn Town. Nor was he outside the Gas Station Chicken Store. Maybe he was inside, buying a drink. Of one sort or another...

My mood had greatly improved.