The Dotted Line
by Bella Rum
I finally met Malinda. We waited in the conference room while she finished a phone call. The moment arrived, and she brought the documents that Lettie had finally finished. We started signing. On the first document, my middle initial was incorrect. I was assured by Malinda that it was just a typo, a matter of no concern. She crossed out the offensive “L” and we moved swiftly to the next document.
My entire name was incorrect on the next document. Lettie had changed it to “Elizabeth L. Ward.” Malinda said, “Not to worry, it’s not a court document and doesn’t matter. The deed is correct. That’s all that matters.” Malinda crossed out Elizabeth’s name and wrote mine under it. I was left to wonder if Elizabeth was in another conference room, signing another document with my name on it. When they can’t get your name right, maybe it’s time to go home, but we signed.
Malinda assured me that they would promptly deliver the deed and other paperwork to the buyers’ lawyer so they could close on time. Our proceeds should go directly to pay off the bridge loan, and the rest will go back into our account today. Let’s hope it goes into our account, not Elizabeth’s. It would be nice for them to get this part right. Does this stuff happen in every real estate deal, or do we have a particularly bad go of it when it comes to real estate?
I went to Bed Bath & Beyond and bought some nifty plastic drawer organizers for my bathroom drawers. Oh, my! They are wonderful. When I open the drawer, I’m treated to the most satisfying view. I’m a little over the top about how much I love them. Do you think this overreaction is because I finally have control over something. My name may not be correct on a document, but my drawers are fabulous.
I was in the produce aisle at the grocery store. A package of cherry tomatoes were scattered across the floor, and some of them were already smashed. A father and his son (about sixteen or seventeen) walked by. The son stopped to clean up the mess. In a condescending tone, the father said, “That’s what employees are for.” The son said, “I know, but someone could slip on them.” The father looked straight ahead and kept walking. As I watched the boy hustle to get the tomatoes off of the floor, I said, “That is very nice of you.” He grinned and said, “Thank you.” Why would anyone want to stamp out a proclivity for decency in their child? His father did not respect it. I believe he saw it as weakness.
We can finally stay home and focus on doing things around here. Imagine that. But I’ll probably make a run to BB&B for some more drawer organizers. Did I mention that they fit my drawers perfectly?