markmywordzblog

We continue on our journey of the trial tribulations in life of an agent.  I have told you about when I was a secret agent – that being an agent that no one knew about.  Now I will continue with the mandate I set out to reveal. Some of the secrets of my agency.

The stories that follow will be true in their essence but names and addresses may be altered to protect the innocent or the criminal.

Let’s look at some of the events that surrounded the sale of place we will call Lairden.  It proved to be a den of iniquity.

I had chosen to extend my skills as agent and negotiator to include property management.  I already had a couple of properties that I was managing; so one more, for a friend who was leaving the country for an undetermined amount of time, seemed to be a natural progression.

With just a few adjustments in the few years that we (my wife, Lois, was instrumental in this) managed the place; we installed two brothers, in their early 20’s, in the two-bedroom basement apartment.  When the main floor and its second floor space became vacant; the brothers urged us to lease the space to their parents.  Great, we thought.  There would be no argument about heat and utilities between the two tenanted units. Who knew that we had just granted shelter to the The Hatfields and we were to become the McCoys.

Problems ensued.  Among them, a developing issue with mold in the basement.  The brothers had mentioned it but then when I responded, wishing to pursue it, they chose to simply dismissed it. Time passed.  Other issues were raised.  One brother moved out and a sister moved in without establishing a contract or relationship with Landlord/Owner.

The mold issue was once again introduced; now by the raging and ranting parents living upstairs, mostly mother dearest.  To further make their point, father and son had torn down an entire room in the basement down the to cement floor and the framing.  Was there mold? Yes. It was a 50-year-old basement after all.  But it could hardly be detected by the naked eye. We, landlord and agent, engaged a professional mold removal company to come in and remedy the issue.  We then hired contractors to renovate at great expense to the owner. Compensation was given to the compromised tenants but there seemed to be no satisfying them.  We were now at war and it was the feud-filled brood of tenants’ family members against the Landlord. Costs and tempers were mounting.

“Sell, sell, sell”…I, the agent caught in the cross-fire, implored the Owner.

The owner agreed, and when an occasion arose where he was visiting the country and his property; he met with the lions of the lair.  They had a litany of services, improvements and complaints that they wanted the Landlord to invest in. So they were quite surprised when it was declared that we were terminating their month-to-month tenancy in order to facilitate at sale.

“Well, we may just buy the place, ourselves”,  was machine-gun-mouth Mama’s retort. This seemed unlikely but worth consideration.  We now had hostile tenants and showings were bound to be challenging.  We would invite their offer first in this process.  We suggested the asking price that we had arrived at, doing our “home” work and in consultation with the owner. The tenants insisted that we show them the justification for this listing price. It seemed unreasonable was their response and they would not likely be the buyers.

The score:  we had angry tenants; who were being displaced; did not have a place to go; and now realized that they had enjoyed one heck of great rental deal.  The landlord had chosen, in the past, not increase their rent on more than one occasion, though entitled to do so.  Their rent also included a steadily climbing utilities bill, that was expensed to the owner.

I finally met with the tenants after several requests to do so and we decided on a very tentative and restrictive showing schedule of possibly twice a week.

With that, I could now list the property and advertise restrictive showings. We were given certain hours on a weekday an “Open House” for Saturday and Sunday, as agreed to with the tenants.

The market was heating up and this listing would prove to be a welcome entry.  Appointments were immediate. They were made and refused. Made and refused.  With no one yet getting through the house, all appointments were now restricted to the upcoming  Open Houses on Saturday and Sunday.  More than twenty appointments were registered for Saturday’s Open House. I had requested of the appointment desk, that this not be a public open house but by registered appointments only.  In preparation on the day, I stationed a sentry(someone assisting) at the door.  The basement tenants were a challenge.  We had access to the apartment but the bedroom occupied by the son was locked and he was away. The bedroom occupied by his sister was seen by only a couple of prospects; as she was apparently recovering from a hangover.  Some twenty-five parties squeezed into the two-hour time slot on Saturday.  When Momma and Poppa Bears returned, they announced that all further showings were off, including the second scheduled Open House. They stated there were too many people coming through “their” home and it was too disruptive. That was it then.  That was our two hours of fame.  All bets were off.  The window was now closed.

Four offers came in; including a firm unconditional offer over asking price.  We took the firm offer; much to the chagrin of those frustrated and angry agents and buyers unable to accommodate our , now passed, two-hour showing window. It was sold.

Yes, of course there were some bumps on the road to completion.  One such was the young mortgage appraiser sent to assess the house for the buyer’s mortgagee.   I met her there, again after several attempts to get her in. She appeared as a young, unassuming professional, already intimidated by difficulty we had in securing her entry. An irate Ma and Pa tenant greeted us outside the door and demanded proof of the appraiser’s credentials.  She satisfied them with a business card.

Some hours after her appraisal, the tenants called her up on her cell phone and accused the Landlord of possibly running a grow house or crack house on the premises, prior to their tenancy.  The statement was completely unsubstantiated and, of course, untrue. When the tenants were confronted, by me on the phone, they declared that they “thought” they had heard this from the neighbours. In truth, there was a very nice and professional couple living in the house prior to these tenants and after the owner.  The basement had been occupied, for almost a decade, by a quiet and accommodating  middle-aged woman and her cat.  When this libelous statement by the Tenant was met with a letter from the Seller’s very astute lawyer, further sabotage attempts seemed to wane.

In the end, the house closed. The Seller profited…and the tenants did not ask for us to vouch as references.  Go figure.

Next….

When last we delved into my secret agent past, I was enrolled in Floyd Wickman’s (His name just came to me and I know; he sounds like someone from Second City- right?) “Sweathog” programme.  At that time, some 30 years ago, I really was somewhat of a secret agent.  No one really knew me.  At least not as a real estate agent. So when no one really knows me, much like most of my team/classmates and I have already contacted all I knew – what’s next?  Well, we are told to contact our wedding list, but those people don’t live here. Next, contact people I don’t know.

The manner in which we find these, unknowing and unknown, patrons of our vocational services is, what is commonly recognized and dreaded – by both sides of the experience- as COLD CALLS.  Telemarketing, you say. O.k…that could be another term for what comes next. 

Here is what we are told. 

It is another typical day in the lives of our unsuspecting homeowners.  They have been sitting around the dining room table ruminating about the “for sale” signs that some of the homes in their neighbourhood are sporting. “Gee, I wonder what our house is worth”, they might be saying.  Or, “Maybe it’s time for us to look at making a move.” 

Then, coincidentally, as if lightning knows just where to strike; we – the near-psychic, professional real estate sales representatives – call.  What are the chances?  Well, I don’t recall the ratio exactly, but I think it was something like 1 in 100.  We need to call 99 angry, impatient, bothered, hang-up-the-phone people to get that one “qualified” prospect.  Am I telling secrets out of school? Yes. That’s the point. Right?

The second, more reliable resource – FSBO’s (pronounced: Fiz-boe’s. I, affectionately, call them “Fiz-boings” ) The acronym for “For Sale By Owner”.  These are often, we are told, expired listings (former MLS sellers)  gone mad, in all senses of the word. What we know about these people is that they do want to sell their home.  We find them by the handcrafted sign, leaning to the left, on their lawn or by the sparsely worded ad in the newspaper.  Often both of these fine pieces of marketing entrepreneurship include the by-line “No Agents, please!”. (Some won’t pay for the characters it takes to add the “please”).  Sometimes they include an “Open House” notice.

I opt for the FSBO route.  It will only hurt for a minute. I arm myself with all the paraphernalia including listing forms.  Oh…those listing forms, by the way, were carbon-copied.  The Glengarry Glenross ABC (Always be Closing) line that goes with them was- as you hand the prospective client the pen for the third time – “press hard- cheap carbon”.

I tentatively approach a FSBO with the hand scratched “Open House” sign on his lawn and broad smile on his face.  Well, actually, that smile makes a quick-change frown expression when he sees my file folder and briefcase. My “hello” is greeted with a rudimentary English lesson.  “My sign/ad says ‘NO AGENTS’ ” are the accompanying words to transitioned facial expression.  I’ve been prepped for this. The truth will set you free.

I deliver,  “Yes, sir; but I’m the closest to No Agent that my  office has.”  Like a rainbow at the end of a storm, that smile should reappear, at this point.  If it doesn’t, well, it could get ugly. Fortunately, I was able to see a few rainbows.

My first listing is from a FSBO advertised in the newspaper.  They live on the outskirts of Gananoque and have just sold their campgound to the conglomerate competitor.  Now they want to sell their house, immediately adjacent to recently parted land. I meet with them and get it all signed up.  We’re good to go. Newspaper advertising is relatively inexpensive in this town, in those days, so I take advantage of that medium. I advertise on the grocery store specials days; I believe Wednesdays and Saturdays. I get a bite.  I young couple call.  They are renting in Gananoque and are interested in this “charming, older home”.  I pick them up and off we go down the highway to this home on the hill in the country. 

I knock.  “Hello” comes from inside the house and a dog is scantering to the door barking all the way. “Hello, it’s Mark”, I return and I am aware that the inside door was left open with only the screen between me and their greeter, a large barking German Sheppard.  Showing confidence as an agent and establishing that I have a great rapport with the owner,   I offer a knowing smile to the prospective buyers and open the screen door.  The dog – who know its name, but “Cujo” sounds right- sinks its teeth into my offending arm, which is sheathed with the leather my fall jacket is made up of. Mr. and Mrs Buyer have grabbed my waist and are pulling me back to land of the free; while Mr. Seller has finally reached the door and is coaxing the dog to release his doggy snack, my arm.  Though one could do a connect the dots from the indications on my arm; my pride had the bigger bite out of it. 

“Why did you open the door when the dog was there”, inquired Mr. Seller. 

“I thought you sent the dog to greet us”, I responded. 

Solving the mystery of the experience, Mr. Seller concluded, “Well, I didn’t.”

Wounded but restored to by budding professionalism; I saw the experience through to the “sold” sign planted in the front yard.

And “sold” is a good place to fold..and I will do so here and now.

Hello Real world! – The Real in Real Estate.