Closing Time
The journey to Great Neck and back with my folks was not as dramatic as I dreaded it would be. The trip to Jamaica, Queens, where I was to get my gas account set up has been postponed until we figure out what the hell we're supposed to do exactly.
At the tiny, cramped law office with no central air (and terrible parking), I sat on one side of a table in a small conference room with my parents, my dipshit Family Lawyer (a fat, lazy dinosaur who does his job well enough but showed up looking like he just crawled ot of bed), Marty the seller (who was basically a cartoonish version of a single middle-aged Jewish guy) and his lawyer, the bitchy-yet-professional co-op lawyer, the young hotshot bank lawyer and the sexy-mamma payout lawyer. Together we exchanged a flurry of papers and checks and signatures, and the heavy clouds of legal jargon hung low over the gathering. It was a bit overwhelming, but the whole thing was over in just a little more than an hour, and I now have a new set of keys in my pocket. That's right folks, I am a homeowner. Weird, huh?
Tonight I'm going over to the new place with a mattress, an alarm clock and an air-conditioner, where I will hole up overnight so I can let a guy in to do work in the bathroom tomorrow morning.
Things are looking up and moving along.