1st-Time Buyers’ Shock Fades: They Did It Right!
“Should we go write an offer?” our agent, Doris, asked. We didn’t know. My wife, Gail, and I were standing in front of the first house we had walked through that we both liked, the first one in an area we felt good about, at a price we could handle. The decision was swift, I recall, but we felt somehow paralyzed. We were first-time buyers, in first-time shock.
Our house hunt had begun several weeks before when I learned the price of a home I had inspected in Van Nuys. The price was about $30,000 less than I would have thought, and it occurred to me that there really was something to this “buyer’s market” thing after all.
Gail and I had discussed buying a home and had been saving toward a down payment for nearly two years. But hearing the price of that home was the catalyst. I had met Doris at an inspection, and she and Gail got along well when we walked through several homes one afternoon, so we got to work.
Doris culled numerous “candidates” from the multiple listing directory, using areas and price criteria as primary guides. Gail and I took Sunday drives considering areas, complaining about commutes and trying to decide what we wanted. This last item was a real point of contention, and put us through easily as much stress as our marriage planning had, leading to a couple of good spats.
We were able to develop a profile of the home we wanted, and ultimately, most important, of the ideal seller. The home we wanted was a “Norman Rockwell” house; a comfortable, sensible home in a quiet area, near but not too close to freeways and services, in “almost” move in condition.
We also wanted a home in “stock” condition--one we could remodel or add to ourselves. We did not want to pay for someone else’s spiff. About 90% of the homes we considered were dismissed with a drive-by look for one of the above reasons.
We asked our agent to determine the length of ownership of those houses that passed first muster. My goal was at least 10 to 15 years, which would mean the seller would have a tremendous amount of appreciated value, and, hopefully, be flexible on price.
Also, we excused houses that had high-tension power lines in the yard (the next environmental headache, I believe). All this, anyway, was the theory.
Several Sundays, several spats and hundreds of miles of looking later, we found ourselves in front of a house in Sepulveda that we had looked at for all of five minutes. It all worked--neighborhood, condition, seller profile and price.
Gail and I looked at each other and knew this was it. Doris read our mood, and cheerily suggested we go to her office, where we (she) wrote the offer, and after a couple of counters, we had a house.
The next issue was the physical inspection. My being a home inspector helped us in the selection process, by making it simpler to quickly assess homes we walked through.
One example: A nice home in a good neighborhood. In the living room it became evident that renovation had been done (added footage, new fireplace and doors, etc.). The work looked very clean from inside except for a couple of cracks near the fireplace.
A quick walk to the back yard and the whole thing unraveled--the addition was built atop a patio slab that did not have proper footings (the cracks inside were from settlement as the patio slab sank under the weight of the stunning brick hearth).
The room was an obvious “bootleg,” and I had no desire to be part of the solution. Back down the driveway and on to the next house, and, as it turned out, the right one.
From the initial (and only) walk-through it was fairly evident that the home was in good condition (recent roof, carpet and paint, well kept yard, etc.).
So our inspection was intended to uncover any problems that would move us on to the next house. We weren’t looking to grind the sellers down. An important thing to remember when looking at an older (30-something) house is that homes age, and develop what I call wrinkles.
We were prepared for those, and found typical conditions: asbestos on the heating ducts, a bootleg family room in the garage and a couple of cracked windows--no big deal. Now on to what we thought would be the worst hurdle, money.
We were pre-qualified for a loan, but were still somewhat leery of the home-loan process. After hearing the nation’s economists first insist there was no credit crunch, and then criticize lenders for being too tight with credit, we were concerned about final approval.
My wife and I have paid-off cars, no installment debt (make that “had”) and very low credit card balances. The three weeks we worried daily about being turned down for our loan were all for naught; we were approved without any difficulty on a $200,000 purchase at 10% down.
As closing approached, I told my boss, who is a pilot, that we felt like we were on final approach for a landing after a rough flight and just wanted to get on the ground.
Our closing date finally arrived and Gail picked up the keys. We called in all our chits with friends whom we had helped move over the years, and assembled on Saturday morning with a large rented truck, an assortment of vans, pickups and able- and not-so-able-bodied friends. Seven hours later we were moved.
And in a gesture that went a long way to restoring my faith in humanity, our new neighbors brought pizzas and a cooler of drinks over right when we needed a break.
The boxes will take weeks to unpack, only one car fits in the garage, but the big work is over. And like getting married, the nightmares that served as barriers to action were largely unfounded. Buying a house, for us anyway, was a largely positive experience.
Epilogue: Not long after we moved in, a new community--”North Hills”--was created nearby. We didn’t get in. Our house is in a strip 1 1/2 blocks wide by five long that lies at the west side of North Hills, but out of Northridge. We are the proud residents of “Orphan Hills” a town devoid of even a single gasoline station, a lonely outpost waiting for some legitimacy.
