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Quick, Sell Me A Pineapple!

Some days, nothing goes right. Other days, everything goes wrong. The only thing that breaks up the doldrums is an occasional plunge into sheer panic.

 

Last week, I had a feeling of dread all the way through a 50-minute drive to a closing. I became 99% convinced that I had not prepared a Deed for the transaction, as was my obligation as seller’s attorney. What would I do? Who would help me out, and how embarrassed would I be?

 

The moment I opened my file, I spotted the Deed I had so neatly prepared days earlier. Whew! So why did my trepidation not dissipate?  Did I get the numbers wrong? Would I fail to protect my client in some way?

 

I don’t usually have closing-terrors. After doing this for 30 years, I know that careful preparation eliminates most mistakes.  And should something go wrong anyway, there’s a very high likelihood that the transaction can be salvaged.  Then why was I still sweating during this very average closing?

 

As we reached the one-hour mark, my anxiety crystallized. Unfamiliar with the area, I had left my car in a retail lot with metered parking, limited to 60 minutes for 60 cents. That 60 cents was hard to come by; I scrounged around my husband’s car for quarters and a dime after the screen reader said my debit card was “unreadable.”

 

Now what would I do?  I had to leave the closing and feed the meter, but I had no more change.  Neither did any of the people at the closing table! I did have my “emergency” $20 bill, but the meter said “NO CHANGE GIVEN.” I’d be damned if I’d trade a $20 for 60 cents worth of parking time!

 

As I trudged the blocks and blocks back to my car, I tried to figure out where to get the money. Every establishment I passed was upscale and expensive, and many had a hand-lettered sign saying, “NO CHANGE GIVEN.” Then I saw a fruit store, gleaming like an oasis!

 

I ran in, grabbed a pineapple, paid for it, fed the nearest municipal meter, and returned to the closing, blurting my apologies. For the next 25 minutes, the aroma of ripe pineapple filled the room while we finished up an error-free transaction.

If you had tried to allay my dismay on the way to the closing, saying my only trouble would be a lack of change, and that the solution would be a pineapple, I’d have called you delusional. After sharing this story with you, what would you call me?

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