One Fine Day

September 18, 2008 at 8:31 PM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
  I read back on some of my previous posts…man, if you didn’t know me, you’d think I was an asshole.  If you knew me, there would be no doubt.
  Returning to the tasks that I never finish, or never finish in time…

  I’m in charge of my dad’s probate estate.  Whose idea was that?  My dad’s antique car–his pride-and-joy 1939 Chevy Coupe–is supposed to go to my brother.  Ideally, we could have just signed it over to him, like we did with dad’s other vehicles–just signed them over–but we couldn’t find the title.
  And so, knowing that things go wrong, I wanted to do this the right way because it was too important.  We included the vehicle in the estate.  Well, I got all lawyered up, and my lawyer says we need an appraisal on the vehicle.
  Time passes.
  We miss the first court date, and the lawyer filed for an extension.  I think they only let you have one Mulligan on this.  Chuck (lawyer guy) tells me I need to have the appraisal by a certain date in September.  I’m holding out on you, allowing for some suspense to build up, okay?  I
  Meanwhile, I contact my brother, and he says he’ll take care of it.  He mails me some pages he printed from the interwebs.  Not good enough, I believe.  Time continues to slip into the future.
  Finally, I drop by my cousin Joe’s place.  Joey’s wife’s dad has an antique and classic car shop, and perchance they know someone.  Joey says, call his wife.  I call her, she talks to her dad, and the next day she emails Detroit with a name and phone number.  I wait a few days, because there is no pressure of a deadline or anything like that.
  I call one day, and there is no answer.
  I wait a day, and then call again–this was Saturday.  I got a recording and left a message.  About an hour later, he calls back.  I explain what I need, and we go through a convoluted process and set up a date.  He can do it Wednesday, otherwise it would be over a week.  I quickly snatch up the Wednesday appointment, as the future is starting to make the hairs rise on the back of my neck.  It’s already been keeping me up at night.
  I suppose it wouldn’t be the end of the world, I rationalize, if we miss the court date.  It would just cost more money to the lawyer, and waste more time…
  I call my brother and make arrangements–he didn’t seem too terribly excited about it, plus he wasn’t sure if he could get off work, and the guy wanted us both to be there.  I made arrangements with my day job to be off.
  And then I go.  As I roll into town about 45 minutes early because I wanted to make a good impression on a stranger, he calls me and tells me he’s already there.  I call my brother, and he’s to swing by and pick him up.
  He’s a nice guy, the appraiser.  Not at all what I expected.  I expected a big guy, short hair or balding, all business, and very gruff.  Dick Cheney sans shotgun.  Instead, he was an older guy, short, slightly hunched, with a beard and a happy face and easy going demeanor.  He examines the vehicle, and I talk to my brother about…stuff.
  Then he has to get back to work, so we all go to his work.  The guy gets an extension cord from Carl and hooks his laptop and printer up to it so he can enter all the info and print the pages.  While he spends about 45 minutes doing that, Carl returns to the very important work I took him away from.  He was barbequing.
  No, he’s not a cook.  Well, yeah, he is–he’s a chef.  But not at his job.  His job is with FS (farm service) which you would know about if you lived anywhere even semi rural.  About 6-7 months out of the year, he works alot–6 days a week, sunup to sunset.  Spraying fields, applying fertilizer, taking soil samples, and other assorted mopery and dopery.
  But the rest of the time, they just hang out and find things to do.  they fix equipment, work on things, get stuff ready for the next season, jack around, paint some….and barbeque.  Or work on your own personal projects in the machine shop, or leave for a while with no one knowing and return to continue cooking.
  It’s not a high-paying job, but freedom is a big perk.  I can appreciate that.  The only reason they were barbequing was that the boss bought a pig, and there was some miscommunication on what to do with it, so they slaughtered it.
  "I wanted it as a pet."
  "Oh.  Well, here are your pet’s pork chops.  They’re very good." 
  My brother made some pork burgers as well from some of the sausage, cooked some ribs and some pork chops.  Enough to feed alot of people, so the appraiser-guy and I got to eat as well.  The weather was nice; it was a cool, sunny day.  Everything went according to plan.

  Detroit pees all over my parade when she said, "I thought the deadline was the 16th–"
  Uh oh.  Well, find the paper.
  "Can’t find it."
  I could swear the deadline was the 23rd.  I had a thought–maybe I just put the 23rd in my mind because September 23rd is the anniversary of when I closed on the first house I bought, up in Troy four years ago.  The one the ex has.  Shit-shit-shit.
  Ruin my perfectly good–
  Nothing I can do until Thursday.  I called this morning, and his assistant looked it up for me.  I held my breath until she came back on and said, "The new court date is the 23rd."
  Now all I have to do is get this document to him before then.  I only have 4 or 5 days.  Wonder if I can do it?

  And I did go ahead and drop it off for him at his office today.  He was still there.  He was happy; we chatted.  I occasionally get the feeling that he’s hitting on me.  Fucker.  Why couldn’t my hot redheaded and female divorce attorney have hit on me instead?

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  1. asshole… the "hot" divorce lawyer met ME, that\’s why. oh, and the whole conflict of interest thing, too.

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