As anyone who has bought property will know, you need to have a certified cheque when you put your offer in. Since S and I didn’t think we would get House B, we didn’t have one with us when we signed the papers. Once our offer was accepted, we had to give a personal cheque as a “holder” because I was waiting for the money to get transferred from one account to another. The day after our offer was accepted; I dropped off a personal cheque at the realtor’s office. The day after that, I went to my bank to get a certified cheque since the money had been transferred over by that point. I thought it would be an easy thing to do, something I could take care of on my lunch break. The fates had more interesting things in store for me.

I got to the bank and told the teller, a young Asian guy who was obviously new, I wanted a certified cheque. He got out a slip of paper and then called over one of his colleagues, explaining my transaction. “Where’s the cheque?” she asked me. “I’m sorry?” I asked. I thought a certified cheque was like a money order, where you get a voucher type of thing. “We need the actual cheque in order to certify it,” the older woman explained.

“But I gave that to realty office,” I said, panic invading my voice.

“Well, you either have to get it back or write a new cheque and put a stop payment on the first one,” she explained. Thinking that I had my cheque book with me, I said I’d do the latter. I rummaged through my bag, frantically looking for that damn book. Not finding it, I realized I would have to ask Diana to bring me the personal cheque I had dropped off the previous day.

I called Diana and she said she would retrieve my cheque from the other realty office and bring it to me at the bank. I e-mailed Larry (my boss) and let him know there was a delay at the bank. I flipped through the Vanity Fair I had in my bag and waited for Diana to arrive.

A half hour later, a very flustered and over heated Diana walked through the doors of the bank. I took the envelope from her hand and removed the cheque. It wasn’t my name or signature on it, it was someone else’s cheque. I mentioned this to Diana and she replied with an angry, “Shit! What are we going to do?”

“What’s faster,” I began, “you going back to get my cheque or us going to the condo to get my cheque book?” By this point, my lunch hour was well over. I e-mailed Larry again to let him know I was still at the bank. Diana figured it’d probably be faster to go to the condo. Hurriedly, we left the bank and walked to Diana’s car, four blocks away. “I couldn’t find parking!” Diana explained. We approached the car and Diana exclaimed, “Is that a ticket?!” Indeed, there was a yellow slip of paper on her windshield. “Shit!” she repeated.

We began our trek to the condo, it was a slow one as downtown Toronto traffic does not move at a quick pace. During the drive, Diana and I chatted a bit. I learned that she spent a lot of her youth traveling as her mother (a travel agent) often got deals through her work.

We got to the condo and Diana asked, “Can I smoke?” Hell, I wanted one at that point too. She lit up her fag while I ran up to grab my cheque book. The little head was so excited to see me. She was like, Score! You’ve come home early! I told her I had to say bye as I grabbed the book. Feeling so bad for getting her hopes up, I grabbed a handful of treats and threw them on the carpet. Guilt is a wonderful thing.

Cheque book in hand, Diana and I made our way back to the bank. The older woman who I had spoken to earlier was surprised to see me. “You came back,” she said.

“They want their money and I want my house!” I replied. By then I was sweating, starving and starting to lose my patience. The young Asian teller made an error when he stamped the cheque and the older woman sheepishly asked me, “do you have another one with you?” I felt like screaming. I wrote out another cheque and hand it to them. Thankfully, they did it right that time and five minutes later I was walking back to Diana’s car.

Three hours after I had left on my lunch break, I was back in the office. I apologized to Larry but he understood that these things can happen. Times like that, I was exceptionally grateful to have a boss so understanding and relaxed.

Hungry and tired, I spent the rest of the afternoon happy that the cheque situation was resolved.

The next morning, Diana called and left me a voice mail asking that I call her back. I did and she started with, “Our luck from yesterday is continuing today.” I began to get a sinking feeling in my stomach. “The idiots at the other realty office cashed both cheques.”

“What?!” I exclaimed. I was about to lose it.

“They said the personal cheque accidentally got sent to the bank,” she replied. “Can you call your bank and have them stop payment on it?”

I hung up with Diana and called the bank. The woman on the other end of the phone was friendly and professional and was able to take care of things in five minutes. I called Diana back and let her know I’d taken care of it and I expected reimbursement for whatever charges I would have to incur. She assured me that the other realty office would take care of any charges as they realized it was their – stupid – mistake.

I sat and stewed the rest of the day. It seemed like things are never easy for S and I. There’s always a glitch, someone else’s mistake or just a complete fuck up. I began to worry that our bad luck would apply to the sale of the condo.

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