House Hunting
After some high-spirited family discussion, (my wife spoke and I listened)
we decided to join the celebrated ranks of home ownership. We desperately
wanted to participate in the Australian dream, to owner/occupy our very own
corner of this lucky country and to live with some alleged honor and
dignity.
However, it's the Coalition Government's view that if you have a wife, 2
point 4 children, a mortgage, a station wagon, a dead-end job and an
unhealthy obsession for sport and beer, then you have no time for dignity?
Good point.
Anyway, we went to the bank (that place where you can borrow enough money to
get out of debt) and applied for a home loan. The bank manager crunched some
numbers and on his estimate, our monthly mortgage-repayments would roughly
equal the Gross National Product of Argentina.
After some energetic CPR, I picked myself up off the floor, thanked the
paramedics and was gleefully informed by my wife that our loan application
was off for approval. The quest for Shangri-la had begun.
The first property we inspected was in Mermaid Beach, where we met the
real-estate agent at the address. "This is a great little renovator," he
proudly announced before handing us a compass and a machete. He then pointed
toward what was obviously its very own thriving Eco-system and informed us
that the front door was that-a-way. He politely declined to join us as
Italian patent-leather and jungle mulch don't mix, and besides, he hadn't
had his malaria shots.
My wife and I finally made it to the front door, but not before being
stalked by a large feline predator of some kind and stumbling across the
ruins of a lost civilization. If we thought the exterior had been left to
its own devices, then the interior was definitely on the feral side of
rustic.
At first glance the wallpaper seemed to be made of shag-pile carpet that
actually turned out to be an aggressive species of primordial fungus, and
chemical analysis of a purple stain showed it to be the original color.
Needless to say we passed on this offering and continued our search. What an
ordeal. It didn't take long before house hunting became a nervous strain as
we endured disappointment after disappointment. Walking into houses and
immediately suffering that sinking feeling, that one similar to discovering
blood in your urine, was becoming all too familiar.
On our journey we were also unfortunately introduced to all variety of
crackpot and oddity that allegedly constitute our fellow man. Amongst an
engorgement of tedious and ill-informed commentary, these malformed
anthropoids love to tell horror stories in graphic detail associated with
home ownership.
One of the more popular anecdotes is when a brown, sludge-like substance
oozes up through the lawn turning the backyard into the Okeechobee. "Yep,
you gotta watch out for that one young fella. Will end up costin' ya a
pretty penny," came the warning in monotone chorus.
It was interesting how sewage disasters of all types completely occupied
their mediocre little minds. Endless rhetoric about septic discharge and
fecal flow had my brain dribbling vital fluid until it eventually shriveled
up and blew away with the prevailing wind. If I wanted continuous toilet
references, I'd watch 'South Park'.
Being shown shabby real-estate by embarrassed agents was one thing, but it
was the private sales that provided an insight into the terrifying depths of
humanity that menacingly lurk amongst a fractured society. On one such sale,
we were shown around by the owner - a half man, half ape-like creature where
evolution had apparently passed him by.
After several unsuccessful attempts at communication which included some
rudimentary drawings, we decided that even the briefest exposure to walls
the color of a discharged placenta would render permanent psychological and
emotional damage. So, we declined his offer via jungle drums and our
disheartening mission continued.
At another address where the police crime-scene tapes should have been
warning enough, the wacko owner answered the door wearing nothing but a
black balaclava, army boots and holding an AK-47 assault rifle. But by now,
this kind of behavior seemed normal, if not somewhat conservative.
As time passed, our spectacular failures in finding something to our liking
was becoming increasingly frustrating. Were our demands that unreasonable,
why was this so hard?
Things began to get desperate. Finding something that we could afford close
to the beach became a lost cause. Tragically, our search had to move inland
where high-density suburbia, (that place where you can just feel yourself
sliding down the evolutionary scale) sprawled out for as far as the eye
could see.
This was also a spectacular failure as we didn't really want to live in a
place where dating your mother is seen as normal behavior. At one house we
inspected, the owner appeared to spend his day sucking opiates through a
straw and drinking out of his toilet. His front yard looked like a 747 crash
site and I'm sure the house across the road was where the Munsters lived.
At the end of the day, it was sadly obvious that we didn't have the capital
to buy what we wanted. We went back to the bank for more money but the
request was denied. Another early round knock-out that is my life. (that'll
teach me for wanting to be a writer) Oh well, our rented apartment in
Burleigh Heads didn't seem so bad after all.
After this frustrating experience, I have shifted my reality into cruise
control and for life on the Gold Coast, that's a pretty good way of doing
things. If my wife and I ever hope to own prime beachfront-property, I guess
I'll just have to author a best seller or write a brainless screenplay for a
blockbuster Hollywood feature. And while I'm at it, I'll pay my bills on
time, discover a new planet and read Jean Claude Van Damme's autobiography.
I believe that true happiness is about focusing on what you have rather than
desiring what you don't. Yeah, this is a cool fundamental principle to live
by. Just remember, that every now and then you must surrender to your dreams
while allowing disappointment to stir the imagination.
Copyright: Cameron Koo, August 1999
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