We have a contract on a house up here (pause for appreciation and applause) and today is the inspection. Demetri and I are both anxious about this process and we each are imagining catastrophic scenarios. But in different ways. Very very different ways. While I am worrying about structural instability, roof leakage, and/or evil wire-chewing bunnies in the basement (Hi Carla and Josh!), Demetri has . . . other concerns. Mainly, hobos. That’s right, hobos. Not tramps, who work only when forced. Not bums, who don’t work. But hobos, as in wondering workers*.
Now it’s possible (but not probable) that a little background on the house will help explain Demetri’s concern. The house backs up to woods — preservation wetlands. But on the other side of the woods there is a train track. I think it’s important to point out that it’s a commuter train. But Demetri, apparently, thinks the type of train is irrelevant. He states, “The type of train is irrelevant. Hobos can be on any kind of train. They’re probably all living back there in the conservation wetlands. Right behind our house.” My response was in 3 parts: 1. Laughter. Whether or not it was in his face is somewhat irrelevant. You know, just like the type of train. 2. Questioning his fear of hobos (based on the idea that hobos don’t really exist anymore) and 3. Wondering if we should proceed to buy a house that may or may not abut a blossoming hobo city in the conservation wetlands.
Demetri assured me that he is not afraid of the hobos, per se. He is more worried about them. I jokingly said that I had better not bake a pie and then set it on the windowsill to cool. And . . . Demetri nodded his head in fervent agreement saying, “Yes, it’s probably a good thing you don’t bake that often.” He then added, “If someone comes to the door carrying a stick with a red and white polka dot bag tied on the end, DO NOT ANSWER THE DOOR.” Eventually, we came to an agreement that the existence of a hobo community between our house and the commuter rail would be a deal breaker. So . . . we’ll see what happens.
But on another note: I knew that one day my lack of baking skills would be seen as a huge asset. I knew it! VICTORY IS MINE!
OMG! Wagon Riding: the gateway mode of transportation to train hopping! Nooooooo!