Before you continue the Saga on Third Street, make sure you read “Still Here!” to get caught up.
Sitting at work, I received an email from our agent saying that our “covenants” (i.e., deed restrictions) did not allow RV parking. But she didn’t think it would be a problem. “Just get a variance,” she said. “HOAs do it all the time.” Like: Poof! Easy.
First, when we started negotiating the price of the property, we wanted to keep the washer and dryer, but the sellers’ agent said they had nothing more to give, that she was listing the house for $1.00 “as a courtesy” since the sellers were in unusual circumstances, and asked for grace in the form of no concessions (repairs, appliances, closing costs, and the like). The story goes: he was dying from cancer and moved home to be with his family in Bellingham, while she got an apartment in Bothell. Weird flex, but ok. We wanted to be understanding.
Since our agent failed to do her due diligence, we were now stuck with a home with no place to park our trailer. She said she could pull all the paperwork, nullify the sale, and get our earnest money back.
This is after our kids had already picked out their rooms and couldn’t wait to get on the playground.
So… what to do? Search for another house with RV parking? Would we find one? Would it be affordable? Would it be in Lake Stevens? How long will it take? Will our girls have to start school in one place and switch mid-year? What about sports and gymnastics?
We decided not to back out. We decided to ask for a variance and came up with a few ideas to offer: build a privacy fence, keep it out of the road, pay extra HOA dues. We would throw ourselves on their mercy to see if we could be granted an exception. We are boxed in on four sides with neighborhoods who allow trailers, so we didn’t think it would be an issue.
At the first homeowners’ meeting, our variance request was unequivocally shot down. We were told: either park it in the garage or park it elsewhere. That was Day 1 of me being angry. Not disappointed but genuinely pissed. The circumstances just compounded: our agent did not find out this bylaw in advance, did not inform us that we should have asked for an HOA contingency, and our bylaws have zero wiggle room.
The day before we moved in, they ripped out the playground. It was “no longer to code,” so it’s just a bare pile of mulch to this day.
No RV. No playground. It’s now our nearly-half-million-dollar letdown.
After more research because I had to go down the rabbit hole to see exactly how far this farce of a home sale really went, what I found led me to believe this: the couple separated not because of a star-crossed lovers tale of coping with one’s terminal illness but because of conflict in the relationship. It seems there was a phone call made from this address (that may have resulted in arrest) for domestic violence. As of this writing, I am convinced that everyone is alive and well, and we were deceived in order to make a sale.
Every day, I come home and do not look at my house a place of warmth and sanctuary. Don’t get me wrong: I am incredibly lucky to have a home. If I had to live here forever, it’s what I’d do. It’s just a place that fills me with tension and bitterness.
So, what to do? We decided to rise above and simply try to put it behind us. Move on. Make it as much of a home as we can. Host parties, make memories. Let equity build and sell it in retirement. It was a means to and end.
2019: Part II
College classes rolled on, and I continued working at Funko full time. Let me just say: what an awesome company! I really despise Customer Support. It’s a terrible job. But my team and the company really made it better than it could have been. As you’ll soon see, I no longer work there, but I will forever be grateful for my time with the company. I still own many of my Pop!s, and I keep in touch with a few people.
New Year’s Day represents new beginnings: a time when you can leave all your baggage from 365 days at the threshold and start all over. I was optimistic for 2020.
Okay, you can stop laughing.
When news broke in late January/early February of the Wuhan Coronavirus, many of us at work joked that sounded like a SoundCloud rapper name. The first-ever case in the US was right here in Everett. I mean, it figures.
Six months later, murder hornets were found in Whatcom County, a little over an hour north. Of course.
I began adjusting to kids being home from school for “just 6 weeks until we flatten the curve” becoming “just until we find Jimmy Hoffa,” and it was a challenge. Fortunately, I made it through with the help of booze and late night studying.
I graduated in May summa cum laude with a Bachelor’s Degree in Graphic Design & Media Arts from Southern New Hampshire University! Yep, online school. But it was full time while also working full time, which is not for the weak. (Fun fact: The mascot for SNHU is Petey Penman. In a nutshell: a guy with a quill and a tri-corn hat who looks like Paul Revere determined to impale you if his calligraphy doesn’t impress.)
In a COVID-weary world, still working from home, I began looking for a job and got several promising leads in June and July. After multiple interviews and submitting examples of my work, I would eventually get passed over. Again and again.
In August, I hit the jackpot. The job description said “Art Director,” which is a pretty lofty title in the graphic design world. It’s someone who envisions a creative campaign, directs the creative process, and delegates work. I had no problem with any of that. In fact, after reading the full job description, this was perfect.
Starting a job is tough. It’s especially hard when you have to do it remotely. Now imagine you’re in that dream where you’re in school, and you don’t know your locker combination or schedule. And you’re naked. And you have to give a presentation.
It was terrifying, and I felt out of my depth. I worked 10, 11, sometimes 12 hours a day to keep up. I voiced my fears to my sister and husband. Both of them said, “You’ve only been there a week! Don’t be so hard on yourself!” But I knew in my gut that it wasn’t working the way I thought it would.
The bullet points to which I had so ambitiously pinned my future were not (at all) the role in its reality. I felt lost. Disappointed. Stupid. Marginalized.
After the second week in, I knew. This job wasn’t for me, and the energy in meetings shifted. I wasn’t part of the crew. I just… knew. So, the job search began again. I wasn’t going to quit outright. I had to find something else and not give anyone the satisfaction that they’d broken me. Every day, when I’d find a quick 10 minute break, I would search the usual spots: LinkedIn, Indeed, Glassdoor. I came across a position that made my stomach fall: Senior Graphic Designer. At my company. With all the same bullet points.
It turns out, they knew, too. They posted my job before they had a chance to let me go. They were looking for someone new behind my back.
Working with your spouse has its perks. Even though working from home during a pandemic has its challenges because you invariably end up with a Zoom meeting at the same time, it’s fun to have someone to talk to. You get to have lunch together. But how many people can say they have watched their spouse get laid off? I wouldn’t recommend it.
The look on Holton’s face was priceless. Not in a MasterCard treasured memory kind of way. More like a never-to-be-replicated unique facial expression I can’t quantify. Granted, he could only hear my side of the conversation since my AirPods were in, which went something like this:
[pause]
“Hey, there! Not bad! Doing ok. How’s your Friday?”
[pause]
“Well, y’know. It’s only been 6 weeks, so it’s been challenging sometimes. This is a new role, so I’m learning tons. There’s a lot to take in. But I think I’m doing ok. Just working on [project] and I have a few things left on that. How do you think I’m doing?”
[pause]
“I see.”
[pause]
“That’s a fair assessment.”
[pause]
“Not really. I could tell we weren’t gelling like I’d hoped, so no, it’s not a surprise.”
[long-ish pause]
“No. No questions. I mean, of course, I do appreciate the opportunity. You went out on a limb and gave me a shot. I’ve learned a lot. But I do want you to know that I gave you my very best work every day. I never cut corners or half-assed anything. It was always one-hundred-percent what I was capable of.”
[pause]
“Thanks. Take care.”
At this point, Holton was standing at my computer. He had crossed the room and wanted to get in on the action. But really, what could be done? I “wasn’t the right fit” for the role. I had “a lot of potential” and an “incredible work ethic,” but they just needed someone “with more advanced skills” and wanted to wish me “the best of luck, and hopefully our paths will cross again.”
I had already started putting in applications, but with only one job interview on the horizon, I knew I was in for a long winter. It was October in the middle of the worst surge in unemployment my generation has seen. Having graduated with a degree in a new field with no experience, and now down to one income, the outlook was grim. I applied for unemployment benefits.
As 2020 came to a close, our lives were going to change drastically.
Part III coming soon.
The Top Left Corner Life 