‘Malice’ in ‘plunderland’

By Vesta Elliott

I awaken to strategically position cookware downstairs, creating a labyrinth of melodic rain chimes and wonder, “Who protects the home buyer?”
I purchased this hovel with dreams of a little “fixer-upper” by the sea, not expecting the gift I received. My realtor’s choice of an inspector from Kenai raised further questions, as our local guy re-inspected the situation recently and had it noted as a red flag from a previous sale.
Upon arrival, a giant mushroom resembling Alice in Wonderland had blossomed in the bedroom, becoming a rabbit hole as my foot went through the floor after disposing of the epic fungus. Spiraling into Wonderland, I discovered several leaks from the ceiling downstairs that trailed into a light fixture creating a waterfall.
(Note to Self: Not a good time to turn light switch on).
Next, it was the waterfall over the bed upstairs and frozen pipes when the temperature drops below 32 degrees, followed by finding a light on under the house in a pool of water, with no insulation or vapor barrier. Apparently, a realtor — or a previous owner high-tailing it to Montana — thought a light bulb would be sufficient in keeping pipes from freezing. (Note to Self: Light under house with extension cord equals fire hazard). Further down the rabbit hole, December found a non-insulated wall at 28 degrees.
The jolting twist that landed me in front of the Mad Hatter? Contractors detailing possibilities of raising the house for a plumbing overhaul noticed that a knife sliced through foundation pilings like warm butter.
(Big Note to Self: You’ve been royally scammed.)
Adding further insult to injury, the electrician noted that positive wiring was backward and electrical wiring on raw earth is bad.
(Final Note to Self: Be generous to any licensed electrician or contractor you get in Wonderland. They won’t come back, but fresh green backs up the ante).
Dashing to the Mad Tea Party, the home inspector casually told me that my concern about the warped ceiling and countertops was that there was insufficient ventilation. I needed a fan in the bathroom. (I get that he’s never spent winter in a rabbit hole) He said I should just consider some menial roof work. (He also does roofing, but never called me back). It appeared that his inspection was acceptable to the bank, even though the crawlspace was noted as “inaccessible.” To further my dismay, I recently found that the bank did not even use the inspection. I am told it is because it was a conventional loan.
After previous issues with a bungalow in Anchorage and meeting several homeowners who have been scammed by people moving out-of-state and/or victimized by this same home inspector from Kenai, my questions are these: Would it not be a real estate company’s integral mission to make sure that any home they commission is a home that isn’t a caustic safety hazard? Would it not be in a bank’s highest interest to make sure that a home they are purchasing is properly inspected? Isn’t it the inspector’s job to protect the buyer, not the monetary interest of the realtor?
Through the Looking Glass, it was never a Taj Mahal dream, but even the Clampetts would have been better off in their original setting. The safety and structural corrections needed to repair my “new” bungalow exceed the value. So, I called my broker to report my findings, and was patronizingly told, “Oh, we hate to hear those stories.”
I’m now six months pregnant. Baby and I will be living downstairs with rain chimes and waterfalls for the beginning of my child’s life. I was thinking about a water birth, but nothing like this.

Vesta Elliott envisions an old fashioned community barn raising (before she does her own razing). Otherwise, donations toward a dry baby shower are greatly appreciated. She has run out of cookware.

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