Blake and Teresa bought a house this summer– a darling little Craftsman in outer Birchwood with a Wolf range for him and a shop for her. And as happy as I am for them, I could not be more furious and disgusted. I’m also a little embarrassed to say this isn’t the first time this has happened.
To be clear, this is the first time these two have purchased a home. The part that’s happened before and which turns my guts is that they’re acquaintances of mine and they didn’t use me as their realtor.
Not that everyone has to. If you’ve lived in this little town more than about 20 minutes you probably know three real estate agents. If you bowl, drink, or have kids in school, that number is probably more than a dozen. There are 588 other agents in town besides me, and many of them are excellent.
Unfortunately, Blake & Teresa’s agent was not among The Excellent– we three agreed on that while celebrating (in the agent’s absence) at their housewarming party. But even said agent’s spectacular ineptness in handling these guys’ transaction was not the most galling thing about this whole situation. The worst thing about this whole setup is that Blake and Teresa worked with the agent they did because they didn’t know what else to do.
They didn’t realize they already knew the best Realtor in town.
It’s my fault. The Book says to work the “R” word into every social conversation you have. The Book says to wear your Realtor pin on your lapel at all times, and a nametag with your brokerage’s logo whenever in the supermarket. The Book says to have a huge, multi-colored cursive signature at the bottom of every email that also includes a photograph of yourself in a tie leaning against a signpost with a SOLD rider swinging from the bottom. And not just your “work” email, but your personal email as well.
Which is just the problem– when you’re a Realtor, there is no “personal” or “work” email. It’s all just email and it’s all potentially future business. Everyone you come into contact with in your daily habitrail– your kids’ teachers in the morning, your physical therapist in the afternoon, your bartender at 4:30 sharp– they’re all potential clients. And if they don’t know you’re a real estate agent, they can’t hire you for real estate services. It’s called networking or something.
So, in order to spare you from feeling I’m not listening to you next time we meet socially because I’m busy thinking about how I’m going to shoehorn the fact that I’m a real estate agent into the conversation, here’s something:
I’m a real estate agent. Even if I don’t talk, dress or generally behave like a real estate agent, I am.
And even without Blake & Teresa’s deal, it’s been a baller year. As impossible as it may seem to be a great time to either buy or sell, I’m blogging you presently that this is a great time to either buy or sell. The dry inventory that had been such a problem is still low, but not quite as desperate. The Fed held off on raising interest rates last week (again) and money remains historically cheap, practically free. Heading into the autumn, it does not feel as though the market is being shuttered against a harsh winter storm. Real estate has its season just like anything, but this year it feels like we’ll push on through till spring without much regard for a “slow” period.
So, if you (or anyone you know) is looking to buy, sell or even just talk—give me a ring and I’ll walk over and sit a spell. Hope you guessed my name…