Once again today I fell victim to an inconsiderate realtor who claimed that he or she was going to show my house and didn't. Once again I wasted half a day that I can never get back. I spent half the day Saturday cleaning, hoping that someone would want to see my house over the weekend. Of course, no one did so this morning I took my time getting up. I made breakfast late. I watched a movie on On Demand. I didn't make my bed until nearly 11 a.m. or so. I got on the treadmill at 11:30 and did a toning DVD around 12:15.As luck would have it, just about the time I was ready to get in the shower, my realtor called and said she had a real estate agent that wanted to show my house from 3 to 4 p.m. My first response was, "Are you sure she's actually coming this time?" In case you haven't read my previous posts on the subject, I've probably had around six agents promise to come and never show up since I lowered my asking price to a short sale one. My realtor said as far as she knew she was, which in my experience means that she has no idea.
Because Bailey had decided to mark my futon and wicker arm chair in the middle of the night, I knew that I had to steam clean the carpet again before anyone could come in, plus do something with the mountain of dishes that had been sitting in my kitchen sink ever since I cooked tacos a couple of nights ago. Consequently, I took the world's fastest shower, threw on some clothes, dried my hair halfway, and went to work. I think that I worked up more of a sweat cleaning than I did walking on the treadmill.
Around 2:45 p.m. I got the dogs all harnessed up and out the door. I then drove to Burger King, where I spent $5 that I didn't need to be spending on lunch, and the Lowe's parking lot, where I spent the next hour and a half, give or take a few minutes, waiting for this real estate agent to show my house. When the dogs and I had finally had enough of sitting in my cold car, I drove home, only to find no signs that a real estate agent had ever stepped foot in the place. There was no business card left on the side table next to the door. No extra lights had been left on, and the locks were as I had left them. Even more telling, the dogs didn't go crazy the moment that I let them in the door. Usually, they can smell when a stranger has been in the house and immediately run all over the house tracing the stranger's scent.
I called my real estate agent, and she said she would check her lock box records later and suggested that the other realtor may be running late. Maybe he or she was because around 4:40 p.m. a dark grey sedan pulls into my driveway and a guy gets out of the driver's seat. Before I can even go downstairs, get the leashes and harnesses, and refit my dogs for car travel, the guy gets back in his car and drives away. I sat on my love seat, which is in front of my front downstairs windows, and waited for them to return until 5 p.m., at which time I officially gave up and took the leashes and harnesses off of my dogs.
All I can say right now--all that's fit to publish on this blog anyway--is, "How rude!" You would think that, with the market the way that it is, real estate agents would be going out of their way to be courtesy to people and to attract business. Unfortunately, they're not acting that way. In fact, their behavior is so inconsiderate that they're starting to make lawyers and car salesmen look good. Seriously, how hard is it to pick up a phone, call a seller's agent, and tell them to tell the seller that they are running late or have changed their mind? Not that hard, if you ask me. I mean, what if I had a job I had to leave to come home and pack up the dogs? What if that job was one where I was getting paid by the hour and the inconsiderate no-showers just cost me at least two hours of pay? Would that even matter to them? I think not.
I called my mother to complain, and apparently my real estate agent must have called me back during that time because there was a message on my voice mail when I hung up. I tried to listen to it, but Little Miss Fumble Fingers hit the wrong button without looking and deleted it. I then tried to call her back, but, surprise, surprise, she's not answering. I'm sure it was just another trumped up excuse as to why they drove off when the truth of the matter is that the agent's clients no more wanted to live in this suburban trash receptacle than I do.
So here's the official tally. My house has been on the market nine months. No one except my real estate agent has made it past the driveway in eight months. I think that the verdict is pretty obvious; I'm never going to sell this house. I don't even know why I'm bothering to try. I might as well just trash it like everyone else and then let the bank take it. Short of aliens invading and zapping it up into their space ship, it might be the only way I can get rid of it.
