Closing time: A retrospective

I never did write about closing day. It was like the last Colts Super Bowl. Kind of anticlimactic. We got up early and waited. Alison had already printed directions to the law office, conveniently located 20 miles north of our condo and 20 miles west of our new home, DeKalb County Water and Sewer, and Georgia Power.
Utility bills were going to be in my name for the first time in a long time.

The lawyers were smart. All I had to provide on closing day was the big check (not novelty size as I had wanted) and a driver’s license. We got to the office and waited while the seller signed papers. I looked at the Sports Illustrated cover in disgust. Can we stop encouraging Americans to be dumb by putting headlines like “Dynasty” on a cover about Alabama, a team that has won one championship in a row?

The process was lovely. There was light conversation and a container of “fun size” candy bars. No, wait, that was everyone else. They chatted while I signed seven copies of everything. I didn’t notice until page 20 that I was signing and the lawyer was entering the date. Is that part of the bar exam? The 85-year-old who used to live in the house was there. I’m sure we would have bonded, but I was there for one reason. I finished in about 30 minutes after severely devaluing the street value of my autograph. We left. The seller’s agent, whose primary goal seemed to be playing road hump to every thing we wanted to accomplish, forgot the extra set of keys.

I stopped at the house long enough to say hello. I had errands. It was my intention to eat lunch, but I shifted to making lunch my goal. I went to the water department. Both at the water department and Georgia Power, which were almost too quick, I was the only white person. I don’t say that for any reason other than it was unusual. At Georgia Power I was told that I had a good payment history in 1999, which was the last time my name was on utilities. I lived in a crappy condo in Doraville at that time.

My lunch reward was a burger from Five Guys. I always tell myself that I’m not getting the fries at Five Guys because they aren’t to my level of crispiness and when you order them to go, you get five pounds. A piece of grilled onion landed on my dress shirt as I ate and drove back to the condo to pick up items to bring to the house. On Monday morning, I would wear that dress shirt to work because in a weekend full of moving, I did not get another dress shirt to the house. The stain wasn’t that noticeable.

I’ve had some great memories at the condo, and it will always be a spot of nostalgia because that’s where I fell in love with my wife. How can I forget my first visit when she told me that the cat fetched paper balls? She told me this, threw a paper ball, and the cat looked at her like “you’re on your own”, refusing to move. This house is truly ours, and according to the paperwork, mine.