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It’s two o’clock on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I’m unlocking the fifth house on our little tour of homes for Mr. and Mrs. Jones who have decided to move to our lovely little town from Jonesville, USA.
They have a long list of must haves and must-have-nots.
- View – √
- New construction - √
- 3 beds, 3 bath, 3 car garage - √
- Gourmet kitchen with all stainless, slab granite and upgraded appliance package - √
- French country cabinets and “lodge-y”, because, after all, this is a mountain retreat. - √
- And so on.
“Honey, come look at this. Hot and cold running water in the garage. Why would they do that?!” says Mrs. J.
“So that you can was your dog, or car, you know, with warm water.” I say, smiling, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Oh, God! I wouldn’t dream of doing that myself.” says Mrs. J, turning back into the house, a critical eye taking in the features, rating them and subtracting dollars from any offer she may make.
Enthusiasm. Must be perky. But it was taking considerable effort because my eyes had started to water in earnest, my throat was like razors and my nose was stuffed beyond hope. I was getting light-headed too and know I have to get back outside before I lost it.
“HONEY!!!” came an exclamation from the master suite. “A jetted soaking tub!!!!” screams Mrs. J. “Now this is just terrific!”
I’m out the back door just in time for the black spots to creep into my vision, leaving the Jones’ to OOO and AAHH over the tub.
WHAT, you ask, IS WRONG WITH HER?
It’s called a CHEMICAL BATH. Happens almost every time I walk into a new house, regardless of price point, that’s been shut up and hasn’t ventilated properly. Sometimes I’ll get a headache, sometime nausea, but it always starts with the watering eyes and sore throat. The chemicals from the new carpet, finished wood (or wood product) flooring, MDF used for base and case, poly-laminates, all of these things are off-gassing full force in the first few months after installation. Not nice to be around when the house is being accessed daily, but combine that with no ventilation, it’s like a gas chamber. To me at least.
AND…I’m just fine shortly after getting into the fresh air.
I say it happens almost every time for a reason. It does NOT happen in the houses my husband and I build. Why? Because we make every effort to stay away from the synthetic carpets and other culprits that contribute to that chemical bath. Why? Because I may very well have to live in one of my houses at some point and can’t stand it. Further, I really believed that people cared about living in a clean home, one that didn’t give them headaches, allergies and general discomfort.
Snapping back to reality and realizing that the Smiths are still inside, I steal myself to go back in. I’m greeted my Mrs. J. who informs me they would like to make an offer.
“What do you know about the sellers?” she asks. “Are they MOTIVATED?”
“I’ll call and have a chat with the listing broker.” I say, closing the door and locking it behind us.
My head has cleared some and I reflect that if I cared just a little less about building clean homes and a little more about jetted soaking tubs, maybe I’d be onto something.
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