On the Dotted Line, Of Course

Hot damn, I must be famous.

I signed so many items recently, there’s no way around it. I can’t think of any other explanation. Well, unless the explanation is that they weren’t “items,” they were documents. And people weren’t seeking my autograph, they were seeking my signature. And the “people” were our mortgage broker, the office of the seller’s agent, and the acting attorney.

Ok, so maybe my wife and I bought a house.

And we might have agreed to let the government harvest our organs before we die, I can’t be sure. I sat in a chair and signed my name so many times that the lack of sleep may have caused me to black out at one point.

I do remember this: I signed a document saying I agreed to continue signing documents after I left, just in case it was deemed necessary. At any time the attorney’s office could call and say something like, “Mr. Heppermann, we’re sending over a document that you must sign that says we can legally obtain all of your possessions the next time your credit card is run at Applebee’s.”

“But I love Applebee’s. What about their chicken dippers?” I’d probably say.

“Sorry. You signed a document saying you’d keep signing whatever we wanted you to sign,” he’d reply.

“Fine. Send it over.”

I also signed a document saying I’m somebody else. It seems that in the preparation of our paperwork, the attorney’s office spelled my last name with only one ‘n’. So instead of having us wait while they revised each piece of paper that had my name misspelled, they handed me a document that said I was Mike Hepperman as well as Mike Heppermann.

I clearly should have thought that one through before putting pen to paper. Now, if there’s ever some quack named Mike Hepperman who robs an orphanage and uses the money to buy pectoral implants, all the while leaving a huge paper trail of electronic transactions that say ‘Mike Hepperman purchased pectoral implants with money he stole from an orphanage,’ l could get arrested and sentenced to years in prison because six months prior to that I signed a document saying I was Mike Hepperman. Do you really think I stand a chance in prison if the inmates think my impressive pecs are surgically enhanced instead of the real deal? Crap.

But that’s what happens when you buy a house. They overwhelm you with paperwork and talk really fast through each page as you sign it. Sure, I own a house. But now I don’t know who owns me.

Art Imitating Life

Remember that scene in Dumb and Dumber when Lloyd and Harry pick up the evil hitchhiker (who thinks Lloyd stole the suitcase that he's trying to deliver to Mary)? Things are pretty quiet and laid back in the giant dog car until Lloyd and Harry start playing tag and making up rules as they go along. The hitchhiker, stuck in between them, sits patiently, hoping they'll stop soon, but he eventually loses his cool and starts yelling.

"GUYS! GUYS! GUYS!"

After they stop, he calmly and politely asks them to do something that's not so irritating. After a brief moment of silence, Lloyd asks the hitchhiker, "Wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?" Without waiting for an answer, Lloyd demonstrates the noise and the hitchhiker doesn't wait long before making his plea again.

"GUYS! GUYS! GUYS!"

That is exactly what it's like raising two small kids. But the kicker is that Lloyd and Harry's actions aren't important to the analogy. The hitchhiker's reaction says it all. It doesn't matter that they're playing tag or making the most annoying sound in the world; Lloyd and Harry could be doing anything. With two kids, a parent turns into the hitchhiker multiple times a day.

So the next time you say to yourself, "I wonder what (insert name of friend with two small kids) is doing right now?" Think of that scene and you'll have your answer.