The job is in chaos, the career derailed, car’s windshield just cracked (road stone), and the owner of the house we rented decided to come back to Norfolk. So I’ve been scrambling–asked the detailer to get my orders early so the house can be packed and the things inside destroyed by professionals, house hunting at exactly the wrong time in the year, took the cats to the vet for the blood test so they can go to the next job, et cetera.
Last night my wife found a good apartment in the paper: small, but with all our stuff packed out we want small; second floor, adequate if that’s all that’s left; cheap for this yuppie neighborhood. So we made an appointment with the owner and met him today.
Except that he came to the door and hastily told us the apartment was leased out already.
He was a thin boomer with a gray ponytail and Birkenstocks. I was in uniform.
I hate these “what if” questions that go through your head when those things happen.
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