ross louis t turd ferguson lumley

Oh man. So, we’ve moved past the “Browsing Craigslist” phase of our search for a two bedroom dwelling, and onto the “Scheduling Appointments” phase. And that part? Not going so well.

#1: We had an appointment to look at a duplex that The General had arranged via email. The lady renting out the duplex was very nice, willing to work with us, and extremely responsive through email. We set up a 1pm time to meet someone there to show us around. We got there a bit before 1 to show our committment to being polite and responsible. For 10-15 minutes, we spent time milling about the outside of the house, looking in windows where we could see piles of clothes thrown everywhere and trying to figure out why a gigantic dog kennel had been dismantled in the backyard. We ended up leaving, because too many windows for my taste were broken. Coupled with the fact that it was 30 degrees outside, I didn’t really have much desire to stick around even if somebody did eventually show up.

#2: We were set to go look at a house, this time arranged via email by yours truly. After a drive by or two prior to our appointment, we kind of fell in love with the garage, backyard with privacy fence, and the idea of having an entire house to ourselves.

The owner’s email said: “How about 6:30 on Friday. Let me know if that will work for you.” And I responded with: “That’ll work just fine! What’s the exact address?” In my world, that’s confirming an appointment time and one would probably think about writing that on your calendar if you were trying to rent out a house as soon as possible. Then again, I’m not a giant doucheward in the real estate investment business right now either.

We circled the block a few times, including trips down the alley and getting out of the car to bang on the front door, hanging around for another half hour. I’m sure we looked like psycho stalkers, but from the type of foot traffic we observed walking past the house, I’m not entirely sure anyone noticed. They were too busy pushing strollers with babies that weren’t bundled up when it’s barely 32 degrees outside.

I’d forgotten about it by the time we got home, and didn’t think about sending a scathing email until yesterday. But I didn’t have much scathe oozing from my bones and the email ended up like this:

Hi Louis,

Did you forget about our appointment on Friday? We shit somewhere on your property. Good luck.

xoxo.

We obviously didn’t shit somewhere on his property, but it made me feel good to write it. And it made The General feel especially good to think of it.

Granted, his name isn’t Louis. And I know that. His name is Russ Lumley, but his full name, as far as I’m concerned, is Ross Louis T. (Turd) Ferguson Lumley. And this is him (photo stolen straight from his company’s website):

I was going to link to his website, but decided against it. I don’t really want to help him get any business if he’s not going to keep a simple appointment to show a house.

His response to my shit email was the following:

Hello Wendy, I looked thru my schedule and did not see an appointment scheduled for Friday. Sorry to hear you had to shit somewhere. Please let me know where so I can locate it. I would like to return it. Greatly appreciate the follow up.

Now while I can appreciate his sense of humor and a good poop joke, it makes my head want to explode that he didn’t see an appointment scheduled for Friday considering it was on the PREVIOUS email he’d sent me.

He’s lucky The General talked some sense into me, because I had some plans that involved trying to jump so hard that I bust through the front porch, stealing the door of the sun porch, and permanently borrow that info tube that was sitting atop the RE/MAX sign in the front yard.

What's up?