Murphy's Law(yer)

by Laura

Nine months to the day after our father died, and 40 1/2 years to the day after our family moved into the house, the closing on the sale was finally completed.  We and our two brothers would each get a check for one-third of the buyer's deposit, and a second check for one-third of the net profit.  Simple enough.

The contract stipulated that the closing should occur by May 31 at the latest.  That's May 31, 2015.  (Snark intended.)  We had the house vacated and cleaned out by mid-April.  But the buyer, who's either the most arrogant flipper around or the biggest dumbf*ck on the planet, kept stalling.  B1 learned that his "cash" purchase was being funded by a third party, but this doesn't matter, because late is late.

We had to pull teeth to agree on an appointment for the closing.  A specific day and time in late June. More teeth-pulling to get them to agree to a location--buyer's attorney's office.  We, B1, and B2 each took time off from work.  The day before, B1 made the four-hour drive from out-of-state.  Four. F*cking. Hours.  And then the sonofab*tch buyer (or his sonofab*tch lawyer, or both) ask to re-schedule the appointment for the following day.

Um, no.

Short story long, we and B1 meet our lawyer and our agent at the agency office to "pre-sign" the closing  papers and give our lawyer single-purpose power of attorney to complete the closing.  B2 chose to come to the actual closing instead.  He knew that our agent would be there, and he wanted to see her.  Because she's his Facebook friend.  *eyeroll*

A week later the actual closing occurs.  B2 gets his two checks and promptly deposits them into his bank account.  Checks for us and for B1 would be overnighted to each of us respctively.

Next day, no overnight delivery comes.  We make a phone call to FedEx and end up speaking to a guy that exemplified I Don't Give A Sh*t.  Our lawyer had printed out the shipping labels but had not sent the packages out yet.

Envelope arrives next day, containing all the legal papers and two checks in the proper amount.  The deposit check is made out to us.  The net profit check is made out to B1.

Un.  F*cking.  Believable.

As our father used to say, "You can't make this stuff up."