A long time ago...say, 75 years?...my grandparents bought a parcel of land. The major one-lane dirt highway that crossed the north end of this state ran by it. They bought two buildings...floors, walls and ceilings 1x4, tongue and groove, heart of pine...one a general store and one a dance hall, and moved them onto the property, joined them together and had a house. It's still there...small, humble and rented to a four-time divorced lady with a clothes line and chickens. And thieving sons but we can't PROVE that.
Later on, they built a store next to the house. And the state moved the dirt road closer and turned it into a four-lane highway. After my grandmother closed the store, it was a washeteria for a while. (We once had a fist fight. In the washeteria. This man was folding his clothes out of the dryer, as opposed to putting them into a basket and THEN folding them. The woman waiting on the dryer? Beat his ass.) Then someone put in a dress shop, with formal gowns. People came from hundreds of miles to buy formal gowns from Dallas Tx...out of a cinder block building in BumFuck. Go figure. That lasted for years, it closed, and the next guy had a motorcycle shop. He moved on this spring. The building's been empty for a while, and we finally convinced my parents to hire a property agent and quit fooling with it. Let someone else rent it, maintain it and monitor it and just send you a check once a month. I'M TIRED OF SCRAPING TACKY-ASS PAINTED FLOWERS OFF THE WINDOWS. (The wisteria will fucking KILL you.)
My mother called last week, tickled to death. The store has been rented, at a price 50% higher than the last renter paid, AND they paid ONE YEAR's rent in advance. They will do what needs to be done to restore the building to "serviceable" after the motorcycle guy trashed the fixtures, repairing vehicles that use...OH YEAH!...motor oil and gasoline and transmission fluid and OTHER leaky substances. (Now, THAT goes well with carpet.)
I am happy for her...this property has become an albatross because while my dad won't let anyone DO anything with it, he won't take care of it himself. It's...grown up, shall we say. Weedy...as in, weeds with two-foot trunks.
So I'm just bouncing along with the conversation, all family-happy because this is working out so well and no one has to worry about the alarm going off at two in the morning and THEN, my mom says, "They're putting in used cars out front and a Christian Youth Center inside."
They just wrote you a SIXTEEN THOUSAND DOLLAR CHECK and they're doing WHAT? Used cars? Christian Youth Center?
There was no mention made of the shelves needed to store the Sudafed and fertilizer. Which is, I guess, a good thing.