Househunting is fun.
My favorite part, aside from physically walking though the house is looking up when the current owners bought it and what they paid for it. I also look up who else lives on the block (and what they paid for their house). I'm a sucker for stats.
This is a handy tool to have at my disposal. I've lived in this town for almost 15 years and in that time I've made my share of enemies. These people may not necessarily know I hate them as some things are better left unsaid.
I had a handful of clients who came to me for years to get their hair done that I hated. I hated their ridiculous requests, their shitty tips and their badly-behaved children. I hated the way they assumed I was a dipshit because I was a stylist.
I found a house that looked perfect online and the realtor set up a time to take us over to look at it. I looked up the property and everything seemed to be in order until I started a neighbor search....and there she was, just a few doors down.
For the sake of privacy, let's call her Pat McUnterson. Pat was a client for about two hellish years. She spoke with a clenched jaw (TMJ), had the pastiest skin I've ever seen (allergic to the sun), always complained of being tired (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), and bad-mouthed every other stylist she'd ever been to (Chronic Bitch Syndrome).
Every time she came in, she had something new wrong with her. It got so bad that when my coworkers and I saw her name on the book, we would place bets on what perceived ailment she would come in with that day.
She liked to diagnose other people too. When I told her my oldest daughter wouldn't eat anything but pasta, she told me that my child was addicted to carbs and this phase would surely stunt her growth.
She told me that her husband had drained their bank account twice in the last year on who knows what and was bi-polar. I cut his hair a few times, and he seemed alright to me aside from being a flaming homosexual married to not just a woman, but a very ugly and annoying woman. That might send me into a case of the crazies as well.
I knew I couldn't live anywhere near this woman. Thankfully, the house we looked at was a piece of shit.
And Pat paid way too much for hers.
For Your Scrapbook
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