9. Buyer Beware

Marcia and I are walking through a 2 bedroom, 1-½ bath Berkeley bungalow that is “on the market.” The rooms are mostly on one level, but the washer and dryer are in a dark basement down a ridiculously steep twisted wooden staircase that practically spells out the words “hip fracture.” If I bought this house, I would mount a phone very low on a basement wall near the foot of the stairs, with Berkeley EMS on speed dial. 

There are three other couples touring the bungalow, all considerably younger than us, and no one else seems bothered by the basement steps. Instead, the men are eyeing one another. Each of us is a potential competitor for this home — someone who might submit the winning bid and snatch the home away. 

The seller’s realtor is in the kitchen, highlighting the home’s charming features while acknowledging one or two minor inconveniences, to maintain the illusion of objectivity. The realtor is ostensibly here to answer questions, but her real job is to foster a sense of urgency among the buyers — to create an atmosphere that borders on hysteria, but not so charged that would-be buyers come to blows. 

One visitor, a young software engineer, has cornered the realtor next to the microwave. He is visibly agitated. Apparently, this is the home for his family. It is the one. He cannot endure the uncertainty of submitting a bid and waiting for the results. “Can I make a preemptive offer?” he begs the realtor, who is doing her best not to salivate openly. “That isn’t normally done. Your bid would need to be very aggressive,” she purrs. 

What makes a home? Robert Frost wrote: “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” Frost summons our primal desire for deep connections infused with unstated commitments — our longing for belonging.

Unlike the agitated engineer, Marcia and I aren’t looking for that kind of home. We are looking for a house. Or better yet, a condo or apartment to rent. Some place to stash underwear and a toothbrush and a favorite skillet; a familiar space in a familiar neighborhood that provides us with a sense of place when we travel west to visit our children and grandchildren. 

Many of our Michigan readers have cabins “up North” — sacred spaces that evoke memories of family and friends and maybe a hint of adventures to come. Marcia and I are seeking a property that is pleasing, but we are not searching for that sort of love. This won’t be our first house or even our only house. We won’t be the home’s first owners; or it’s last. I am looking for a relationship of convenience with a dwelling that shares my understanding. Nothing more.

So how complicated can this be? In Michigan, property taxes and heating bills tell 50% of the story for home buyers. But California shakes things up. With earthquakes. 

A few days ago we had a geologist over for lunch. He told us that US geological survey scientists say the Hayward fault (which runs under Oakland and Berkeley) is past due for another magnitude 6.7+ earthquake. The last quake of this intensity took place way back in 1868, and California seismologists predict a 31 percent chance of another one this big during the next 30 years. 

Anyone wishing to purchase a dwelling is advised to “harden” their premises:

Is your home bolted to its foundation? If your home is on a hillside, are all posts adequately strengthened?

If your home has a room over the garage, is the wall around the garage door opening built to resist earthquakes?

If there are bedrooms on the second floor, have anti-gravity levitation devices been properly installed?

Are family members and other loved ones securely bolted to support columns?

Do you have an adequate supply of small-denomination gold ingots to purchase food, water, and ammunition? 

During the mass dislocations that follow cataclysmic geological events, stray Republicans from the central valley may find their way into Berkeley and Oakland. Are you prepared to contain them? 

The good news was that the geologist told us that if we buy a place within a mile of the bayshore, a big earthquake will cause the soil beneath our feet to liquify and we needn’t trouble ourselves with mitigation measures. 

At that point I didn’t know whether to tour another home that was up for sale or immediately assemble an earthquake kit for the rental we occupy: 

Water (one gallon per person per day). Non-perishable food & can opener. Battery-powered or hand crank radio. Flashlight. Hammer (to break your way out of the rubble). Whistle (to signal for help when the hammer doesn’t work). Dust mask. Wrench or pliers (to turn off utilities). Paper maps. Duct tape (of course). Mylar blankets. Cell phone. Extra batteries. Airplane tickets back to Michigan.

And earthquakes are only the beginning. 

Next week: Firestorms! Floods! Boils! Locusts! Slaying of the firstborn!

Paul