We entered St. Marlo past an elaborate Tennessee-stone-clad faux security station. I guessed that they had envisioned a guard in there, but blew the budget on the structure itself. We pulled into the main parking area of a colossal clubhouse with a golf course gently sloping off in the distance. “I know you said you weren’t really golfers, but you did say you wanted views and this is one way to get unimpeded views in Atlanta” Nancy offered.

A perky sales lady met us in the clubhouse lobby. She had short blond hair, bleached white teeth and very preppy attire. “Welcome to St. Marlo!” she practically yelled. We wanted to get right to the houses but she insisted on giving us the whole scripted sales pitch. Thirty minutes later we finally got into a golf cart with her and made our way into the neighborhood.

The houses were like blown up versions of the faux security guard station but at least the guard station had some space—these houses almost touched. Once inside, however, we could see some of the appeal. Very warm, great finishes in the woodwork, and unimpeded views out of the back just like Nancy promised.

As the realtors talked, my wife and I were whispering about how pleasant the place was when out of nowhere came a loud and deep KABOOM! The house reverberated like we were experiencing an LA earthquake.

“What was that?” my scared wife asked. “Oh that’s just the quarry,” the other realtor screamed but in a real casual manner. “How often does that happen?” “Just a few times a day—have you ever been to a quarry? They’re fun!” We could understand now why this lady screamed when she talked.



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