I had a deal blow up at the closing table—literally at the table—because the buyer decided to read every single page of the closing documents out loud. Not skim. Read. Out loud. Like we were at a poetry slam for legal jargon. Somewhere around page forty-seven, he stops and goes, "Wait, what's this easement thing?" An easement we had disclosed in writing three separate times. An easement his attorney reviewed. An easement I had personally explained using hand gestures and a crayon drawing on a napkin. He looks at his wife, she looks at him, and they just... left. Walked out. Said they needed to "think about it." The sellers started crying. The title company guy aged fifteen years in front of me. I sat there for a solid minute just staring at the stack of unsigned papers before quietly gathering my things and driving home in complete silence. No radio. No podcast. Just me and the existential void. The buyers texted me two days later asking if the sellers would drop the price. I'm considering a career in carpentry.