Too many hours spent watching HGTV and too many nights being woken up by our upstairs neighbors' enthusiastic games of adult jumping on the bed drove my hubby and I to do some house hunting of our own. We weren't stupid enough to believe we could actually afford to buy one, but figured it couldn't hurt to look and dream.
Watching all of the house hunting shows made us realize that we couldn't just show up to random open houses as ourselves. No, we had to reinvent ourselves into more successful, home buying-type people. We were no longer Ryan and Brittany, the pre-approved for absolutely nothing security guard and college students. Nope, we were Ryan and Brittany, paramedic and PR professional, newly approved for $250,000.
After tromping through a series of houses that we informed the realtors were "not quite what we're looking for," we decided we needed to look at some brand spankin' new construction. The "it's all included" Celebrity Homes commercials must have been particularly catchy that week because that's where we headed.
Upon pulling up to the Celebrity model home, we were greeted by a sweaty little man who was busy wooing another couple. Not one to lose a sale, he excused himself from the couple and rushed over to us in is pit-stained shirt and food-stained tie.
Sweaty man spent five minutes offending my nose with his BO and my ears with his idiotic gibberish. It was clear that he had no intention of listening to what we were potentially looking for in a home... he was set on selling this one. He then sent Ryan and off to explore the quaint model villa on our own, daring us to find anything we didn't like about it and promising to give up more info before we left.
A broken door knob, peeling linoleum and a hole in the wall convinced us that this Celebrity villa was not for us. We agreed to skip stopping back by sweaty man's office and hoped he'd be too busy talking to the other couple to notice us leaving. We made our way to the front of the house, slowly opened the door, made sure the coast was clear and ran like heck to our car.
As I opened my car door, I realized we had been spotted. I saw sweaty man opening the front door and heard him yell, "Wait! You forgot your information packet!"
Realizing he was losing a sale, sweaty man started to run down the driveway towards our car, frantically waving the info packet in the air and yelling for us to wait. That's when I realized he wasn't going to give up. Panic set in. Who knew how far this crazy, smelly little man would go to sell this cruddy house?
"GO, GO, GO!!!" I screamed at Ryan.
Ryan hit the gas just in time! I turned and looked through the rear window just in time to see sweaty man reach the end of the driveway. Screaming something I should probably be glad I didn't hear, he chucked the info packet into the street and threw every ounce of his sweaty hatred into flipping us off.
Watching sweaty man's ticked off face and pudgy middle fingers fade into the distance, Ryan and I broke into hysterical laughter.
That was the day we swore to never buy a Celebrity Homes Villa. That was also the day we vowed never to return to that neighborhood again.
