The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

My old roommate in the days we lived in the Seattle ghetto back in the late 70’s told me today his property taxes down there in Gomorrah were killing him.  Second kid finishing college, he’s still working, so’s his wife, they’re still paying off a 40 year mortgage.  Always the optimist, I said well, Joe, your place must be worth a fortune in that city where real estate prices are practically lunar.  He said you know the house, built in 1919, sort of run down.  He said he didn’t know what it was worth, but couldn’t be all that much.  I said I’m betting a million.  He said you gotta be kidding.

When I got off the phone I checked his estimated house price on the internet.  Yeah, I know, it’s not always accurate, give me a break, I’m not making an offer on the place.  It was worth a tad over one million bucks.  I don’t know what he paid for the place back in the 80’s, too much is what he told me then, but he wanted to get in before the prices made it impossible.  I remember at the time thinking it was too much too.  I do know what I paid for my ghetto chalet.  It was being auctioned off by Uncle Sam as a HUD repo and I bid 24, 000 dollars, 6 over the starting price.  Naturally, while I was googling up real estate figures, I checked on the old homestead.  You guessed it, over a million bucks.  And the neighborhood is still what they call ‘transitional’, meaning the gentrification hasn’t rooted out the meth dealers yet.

So Joe is a millionaire.  On paper.  He would be if he sold the joint, packed his belongings into a VW van like he used to have, lived on the road, king of it, matter of fact.  Maybe collect his social security early to help pay for the gas.  Forget his cares and woes, forget the property tax bills, just take the money and run.

His kids will never own a home.  Unless they move to some dirt patch in Alabama.  The American Dream of buying a house, mowing the lawn, erecting a fence between you and the neighbors, finally paying off the mortgage which means you paid twice what the place cost to the bank that gave you the loan, then cashing in when you die so your kids can inherit the equity, well, that dream is dead.  Meantime, you can bask in the knowledge that you’re a millionaire.  Enjoy it while you can.  Before inflation eats it up.

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This entry was posted on Saturday, August 6th, 2022 at 3:07 pm and is filed under rantings and ravings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.