Then...
Fulton allowed it but for some reason Guardian wouldn't do it. I was surprised. We had spent a ton of money with them and I figured they'd honor their word. Nope.So I snuck in on this weekend before concrete was poured and ran it myself in what was to be the first of some "illegal" customizations to the home. I figured if they gave me hassle about it I'd have a few things going for me.
- We were very careful not to violate code or do anything stupid that the city inspector would be unhappy about.
- We had already sold our house so we weren't in danger of having to wait for our home to sell in a depressed market. This made us attractive buyers.
- We were in a depressed market and actually in position to buy a home. This made us even more attractive.
- They couldn't stop building this now.
- I could just offer to put down another $5,000 or so for their trouble.
- Fulton seemed like a reasonable organization.
I should state for the record that Guardian made up for this miscommunication later and it worked out well for everyone.
Lots going on in this picture. You can see the shovel I bought at Home Depot for digging the trench for the PVC, the post tension cables sitting on their stands, the floor boxes, and, of course, the requisite lunch from Whataburger.
What you can’t tell is that Mark drove out to help me but had to leave just before this was taken. More importantly, you can’t tell that sitting in that Whataburger bag is not a breaded, deep-fried, chicken concoction of pure goodness otherwise known as a Number 4. What is actually in the bag is a grilled, healthy, tasteless evil sandwich of nausea. A Number 3. With a single bite taken out of it.
Listen to me, people, when I tell you. Never eat primes. Ever.
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