Reverse Culture Shock

I had a we’re-not-in-London-anymore moment today, during the inspection for the house we’re trying to buy.

The inspector, who was very thorough, explained that the low ceiling on stairs leading to the basement was something we would have to live with “in a house this old.”

This OLD? It was built in 1981! That’s brand new by London standards.

He warned that a crack on the walkway outside the front door was a “trip hazard.” I nodded solemnly, but wondered what he would have said about the open elevator shaft in our building in London. Talk about a “trip hazard”…

When he pointed out that a bathroom lacked a fan, I wanted to tell him to visit my in-laws’ house, where one bathroom is missing not only a fan — but also a sink. Like other quaint British bathrooms of a certain age, it’s just a room with a toilet.

The inspector probably would have cried if he had seen my studio apartment in Notting Hill, which was so small that I slept in a bed that folded into the wall.

And when he heard that the leak in my parents’ ceiling in their New York apartment once got so bad that we had to walk around with umbrellas, he probably would have handed in his inspectors’ license.

Atlanta real estate just isn’t as unique as London or New York.