A truly horrifying Halloween; and no, it wasn't due to the three University parties on our block, or due to the couple of M.R. James masterpieces I re-visited late last night. The horror also wasn't due to the state of our politics domestically and internationally--the horrors of Halloween pale in comparison to those.
Rather, the horror--an icy hand of genital-clenching fear--came when our real estate agent dropped by and told us the seller's agent was trying to keep our good faith deposit on the Madison Avenue property. She was claiming we'd breached the contract because we didn't make a second good-faith deposit as required under said contract. The problem is, we'd already had the home inspection by the time that payment was required and had communicated through our agent--and received verbal assurances from the sellers that the message was loud and clear--that the contract was dead in the water. Our agent was in a mediation meeting with the seller's agent until about 10pm last night, involving a lawyer and the regional VP of his Coldwell Banker brokerage office.
I kept calling the office and our agent's cell phone and leaving messages: "I want my check back. I expect to have that check back. Get me my $5k back or we're going to have problems." It was kind of fun, but I'd much rather have watched The Fog or The Shining on DVD, or gone to karaoke somewhere.
Shortly after 10pm our harried and humbled agent called back to say our money was coming back to us. Bullet dodged. Back to looking.