Closing Costs

Friday, October 6, 2006. Dynamo and I were scheduled to meet at Michael and Swerdloff, attorneys-at-law's office. The name itself throws me off, because very few people use their first names for the law firm. Take, for example, Crane, Schmidt & Poole, the law firm on spectacular TV show Boston Legal (I may have a man-crush on James Spader). Those are all last names. They're pure fiction, but so is the use of Swerdloff as a first name.

After searching around for what we imagined the law firm's building would look like, we found a house. With a sign. A paper sign. Taped in the window. An 8 x 11, printed on an inkjet printer, sign taped to the window mostly hidden by blinds, welcoming us to the law office of Michael and Swerdloff. It was more like a dentist's office. We all took seats in the waiting area, half expecting a swerdly looking oral hygienist to come out and offer to clean our teeth while we closed.

Closing went smoothly, except for a few things. Such as our lawyer not understanding basic principles of math. Us not understanding basic principles of not getting extra money back. Finding out our monthly payments were going to be $500 higher than originally expected. Being moved from the first room because some guys had to do something with air ducts or something .

Closing is an exciting, yet extremely stressful time, and any little thing sent my eye twitching. We wanted to make sure everything was completely in order. Two and a half hours later we were in the clear. Except, at the very last moment, I noticed my name was spelled incorrectly on the housing deed and title, which actually were not in the expected Monopoly form. If it wasn't for my timely actual reading of the papers thrust before me to sign, the small error would have granted my condo to Phinneas Q. Sherberthead.

We had finally closed! And the first mortgage + city taxes + pickle taxes + not having a pet dingo charges weren't due until December 1st! Free ride, baby! To this end, we hopped in my pimped out pimpmobile (1993 Mercury Villager with questionable turn radius) crusin' and playin' Wu-Tang (on the radio)...with no particular place to go.

Everything was high 5s and W signs, until we got close to the apartment. There, in an act of ridiculously bad driving, I managed to hit a cop. Not a cop car. An actual, ticket-giving, clearly-shouldn't-have-been-walking-so-far-in-the-road, definitely-shouldn't-have-raised-his-left-arm-when-he-did, cop. My right side-view mirror cracked back into the passenger side window and I had an "Oh Crap" moment. I always considered myself a rational person, until Dynamo had to calm me down and direct me not to flee from the scene. I pulled over, got out the car, and walked towards the policeman, shaking like a Polaroid picture the entire time.

"Holy crap, oh crap, are you okay? I'm so sorry. I have no idea what happened, I thought I was further over on the left, and I think a car came into the lane and I moved over and didn't have as much space as I thought..."
"It's okay, I'm fine...you barely grazed my elbow, which was jutted out way into the road while I made my 'I'm a little teapot' pose."

Well, I'm glad he was fine, but my mirror was cracked right down the middle. And those things are not cheap to fix. I'm still waiting on the cop to give me money for the damage he caused!