It was bound to happen

Well, we haven't even closed on the Taj yet, but we hit the first snag today.  That's no surprise...there are going to be many "Oh shit" moments during this process and I wasn't fool enough to think we'd emerge unscathed.

Today, I made a call to the Greater Mayberry city services number to ask about getting electrical service on and in our names.  What I wanted to know was how much of a deposit we'd need to pay.  What I did NOT want to know was that the house has to be inspected and any issues found with the electrical need to be brought up to code before permanent service can be started.

I am sure there's a list of things that have to be done to the house to bring it up to code.  When I think about how much this is going to cost, I throw up.  Just a little bit.  In the back of my mouth.

On the positive side, we are relieved to be dealing with Mayberries and not the ridiculously officious bureaucrats we tend to encounter here where I am being held prisoner delighted to live.  The woman at the city services offices did not know me from Adam's housecat, but was thrilled to hear that the Taj had been purchased and would be fixed up.  I also accidentally called the wrong number to ask about trash pickup and was on the phone for a good fifteen minutes with a very informative and friendly lady who answered every question I had, even though I'd called the county trash number instead of the city one.*  Down here, I would have been transferred as fast as three-inch fingernails could have punched the extension and promptly forgotten.  (*Note: they are actually the same company, but the city handles its own residents on behalf of the company, while the company itself manages the county residents.  Lest you think there are actually TWO trash companies in Mayberry)

Does it sound like I am being condescending toward the 'Berry?  I truly hope not.  There's a reason we're gambling a lot of money on a reno to salvage a house we'll likely only see thirty days out of any given year.  I can't put it into words exactly, but here's a story that sort of explains...

My sister the Farm Maven told me yesterday that her husband, the fabulous David, had ridden up on an elderly man who'd run his truck into a ditch near their house.  The man was shaken but unhurt and mostly concerned about getting a tow truck to pull him out of the deep ditch.  David went back to the house, got a chain and pulled the fellow out without further ado.  That's how it's done in the country.  The first truck to pass that elderly gentleman wasn't a thief or a killer; he was a hard-working man who needed to get home to supper but who probably never thought about just driving past a stranger in need.

We've got theaters down here, the ocean, appallingly expensive schools and the finest food you'll ever pay a crapload of money to eat.  I wouldn't stop to think, though, if the opportunity came to shuck it all and head back to Mayberry.  I'd just pack up and go.  And hope if the Jeep broke down, it'd be on a back road traveled by hard-working men headed home to supper.