I was really surprised at how nervous I was for my home inspection this weekend. I was completely confident that the inspector would find very little to bring to our attention, but even so, the entire experience was far more nerve wracking than I would have anticipated.
Inspector Andy arrived at 8:30 a.m., but we didn’t head over to the house until he was finishing up, around 11:00. He wasn’t quite done when we got there so we wandered around while staying out of the way. This is a good time to note that Inspector Andy is a saint. I literally met this guy for the first time this weekend, but have called him half a dozen times over the past few weeks to ask questions and seek advice. He was incredibly forthcoming, reassuring and honest, and I actually kind of wish he was my uncle or something because I bet he’d be a great story teller at family barbecues. He had the kind of cool disposition that makes me think he fosters kittens and knows kung fu. My very own Chuck Norris. This is starting to sound like I’m obsessed with a stranger, which wasn’t my intention, so I’ll move forward.
Andy finally completed his inspection around noon and began explaining his findings to us. Fortunately, the report was great and we have very little to be concerned with. But let me just say that the moments in between his report and the point at which I understood that the house was in great condition were highly stressful.
I can only compare this sort of anxiety to when you go to the dentist and are forced to wait (while wearing a paper bib) to hear the fate of your bicuspids. You, as the average citizen, have absolutely no idea whether you will soon be told you have 14 cavities, or none; your entire fate is resting on the impending opinions of the specialist.
I like that life is full of all kinds of specialists that we can rely on. It just works out that everyone is good at different things and there’s always someone to do what you need. I hope that on some level I am contributing to the balance!