One of life's most stressful, um, stressors has sunk its putrid claws into the conveniently located series of blowholes in my quivering psyche. It's time to.... Ban Jia! (oops, I mean, Move House, or perform a lateral translocation of the locus at which my corpulent collection of carbon, water, trace iron, calcium molecules, assorted protein-amino chains and adipose tissue prefers to dump its butt.)
The reasons for doing so (moving, not butt-dumping) are nefarious and myriad. Suffice to say that prevailing fickle but inexorably southward property market conditions preclude any attempts to imitate a mossy stone (as in, a rolling stone gathers no..).
But Hark! Alert Blog-readers will now have a light-bulb moment, and realize that my butt does have dump itself somewhere, since the favored domicile is now slated for Ownership Transference.
Yes, I registered myself there, searching hopefully-not-in-vain-y for suitable digs for butt-dumpage. Barely had I registered an e-interest in a few properties till/then/before a perfectly-normal-sounding-for-a-property-agent indicated somewhat excitedly through an invisible microwave wave that he had a Great Deal for me! Wow! (No, that was actually meant ironically). Fast work for 2 minutes of surfing... oh well, on to see my first (1st) prospective rental unit!
I hurriedly pulled on some decent clothing (ok, so I tend to slum it at home, big deal), and shuffled out to meet the agent, squinting in the bright Sunday sun while grimacing at three rowdy kids trying to splash hot, chlorinated pool water onto an obliviously roasting Caucasian in an alarmingly skimpy bikini (yes, it was a woman).
Said agent drove me ALL THE WAY, an entirely whopping 200,000 millimeters, to the neighboring condo. (Wow, what a guy.) We did the usual thing, him gesturing ineffectually at the 12 year old apartment's features, I murmuring meaningless nothings in reply etc. After I'd given all the rooms a prefunctionary glance (it was quite decrepit) the slimy protozoa had the wherewithal to try and corral me into signing a rental agreement on the spot. No amount of protestation would deter him, in fact, it only encouraged him to spout more gibberish and circular logic. Yeesh!
I quickly divested myself of his tenticular sales pitch and nonchalantly strolled out of the condo premises. I must admit, it was quite satisfying to see him age 10 years in 3 seconds, but he had it coming. The meeting and the showing of the hovel took a grand total of 5 minutes. Only an idiot (or completely inexperienced prospective tenant) would make a decision on the spot like that.
Bleah. Woe betide any other pushy agent from this day forward! Karrrrrrr-Poui!
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