Wednesday, September 23, 2026

The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the notion that a licensed professional showed a property TWELVE TIMES without once questioning whether the walls were where they claimed to be. You stood in that house, presumably with functioning eyeballs, and never once thought hmm, this feels more like a robust apartment than a modest home? Tax records, counsel, are written by people who have never set foot in the property and whose primary qualification is the ability to operate a computer from 1997. The Court once trusted a county assessor's description of a property as having a view and arrived to find it overlooked a dialysis center, so Reginald KNOWS of what he speaks. And yet, AND YET, this Court finds itself in the unusual position of partial sympathy because you are correct that real estate education is a CARNIVAL OF INADEQUACY that teaches you seventeen ways to calculate commission but not how to operate a tape measure, which is a tool that costs eleven dollars and has existed since the PHARAOHS. Your buyers almost walked over four hundred square feet of LIES and frankly they showed remarkable restraint because I once ended a friendship over a misrepresented coat closet. The laser measurer redemption arc is noted but does not absolve you, it merely suggests you are capable of learning, which is more than The Court can say for most who appear before this bench. VERDICT RENDERED, Reginald must now go shout at a tax assessor's office.

The Court has reviewed this confession and must pause to collect itself because THIS IS EXACTLY THE KIND OF BEHAVIOR THAT MAKES REGINALD QUESTION EVERYTHING. You stood in that basement, a basement that by your own admission LOOKED dry, and when a civilian asked you a direct question about moisture you just GUESSED. You IMPROVISED. You treated page four of that disclosure packet like it was terms and conditions for a software update, something to scroll past on your way to the good stuff. "Occasional moisture during heavy rain" is not a suggestion, it is not a fun fact, it is a LEGAL DOCUMENT crying out for acknowledgment and you LEFT IT ON READ. The Court once had a similar situation with a crawl space in 2017 and I still wake up thinking about it so do not expect sympathy from this bench. Your broker's silent disappointment was the appropriate sentence because sometimes the absence of yelling IS the yelling, and Reginald knows this intimately from his second marriage. Eight thousand dollars in remediation, your broker's quiet devastation, and the knowledge that you KNEW what you did before anyone told you, that is the trifecta of professional shame and The Court finds it EXACTLY sufficient. Case closed, the Roomba has already left the room.

The Court is AGHAST, truly AGHAST, that a licensed professional would take a seller's word about permits the same way Reginald once took his cousin's word that the shrimp salad was "still good." Twenty minutes, you say? TWENTY MINUTES to pull permit records, and instead you chose to waltz through that walkthrough like a tourist at a timeshare presentation, nodding along while an UNPERMITTED SUNROOM containing an UNPERMITTED HOT TUB sat there bubbling with deceit. This Court has seen brazen acts of verification avoidance, but to stand in a room that should not legally exist, next to a hot tub that the county does not acknowledge, and simply think "well, she SEEMS trustworthy" — that is the behavior of someone who has never been burned by expired shrimp OR unlicensed contractors. And NOW you are surprised that the seller texts you at eleven PM? THE SUNROOM TEXTS YOU AT ELEVEN PM BECAUSE IT HAS NO PERMITS AND THEREFORE NO BOUNDARIES. The buyer's lender fled like Order the Roomba flees from my filing cabinet, and frankly The Court understands completely. This is what happens when we trust, when we assume, when we do not VERIFY — we end up three months deep with a hot tub that technically does not exist and a client who believes YOU personally poured the concrete. The gavel falls HEAVILY.