We joked about how much the elevator's achingly slow closing doors felt like being bricked into a coffin, only we didn't get any amontillado. After the elevator made sure no old ladies were going to suddenly make a bolt for the doors it finally accepted its position in life and lowered.
A dark and empty hallway greeted us. Well okay there were a couple of bathrooms and a water fountain but otherwise it was empty. Then we saw the mythical and cryptic sign:Sadly we put aside our boxes of girl scout cookies and candy bars for new band uniforms and entered. And promptly couldn't find a single soul. For having so much stuff on the door you'd think it'd be buzzing. Apparently we came in just as everyone was off having a coffee break, and talking about how great it is to work a whole 6 hours each day.
But then a light appeared, a door cracked open and there he stood. The legendary mortgage guy, a blackberry clutched in his hand to take down roaming interest rates. With a nod of his head he ushered us into his rather moist and plant infested cave and thus began a surprisingly pleasant discussion of just how much home we could afford.
When we emerged an hour later we had gained a realtor agents name and the hope that maybe just maybe we actually could get ourselves a house. Now begins the real work of trying to actually find just that perfect house to spend oh 30-50 years in.
We're open to any tips from experienced home purchase type people on the best way to go about it. Well unless it involves creating our own sod house, cause we're not really that talented at building with dirt.