The Right Choice

I ran into Senora the other day while showing homes to the Snake-renters. Senora and I are friends, I introduced her to my former broker, El Jefe. They hit it off. Senora went to work for El Jefe and they have been BFFs ever since.

Senora was holding a rental open--a concept I enlisted while I worked for El Jefe. When we got there, I would guess, conservatively, there were about 40 folks were milling around, looking at the place and she was fielding questions, so she didn't have time for me. The home was about $200 under market and would probably have 25 applications on it by the end of the weekend. She was working the open house by herself, fishing for buyers. After all, not everyone was going to rent this one home. It is a great strategy, actually, if everyone is upfront to begin with. Hopefully Senora was transparent.

Senora looked beat. I was sad to see she was by herself. She wasn't having people sign in, so she wasn't keeping track. When I asked how she was doing, she said she is busy. It was on the tip of my tongue, but fortunately my filter was working so I didn't ask if she was making any money. I think I may know the answer anyway.

El Jefe is many things. But the top of the list is dysfunctional. He leaves a wake of unnecessary drama behind him, whether he intends to or not. It isn't that he is unkind or unscrupulous. Not at all. Even though he is a natural in sales, he is also a hot mess most of the time. He also collects those who are of value and throws away those who aren't. I watched agents go in and out of his business, knowing they deserved better (Jane). Senora is happy with this arrangement with El Jefe and the more power to her! I know she is learning so much that she can use to run a brokerage or if and when he opens a second office. But I have seen her sales numbers too. She isn't making money.

By the way, my client probably wouldn't have gotten the house anyway (she didn't want it). Not because El Jefe wouldn't have liked my folks, but because he would then have to pay an outside commission. El Jefe is also an opportunist. Why pay an outside commission when there are 24 other applicants to choose from?

I have spoken to El Jefe about once or twice a month since I left. It is nice to have a casual relationship that doesn't involve me sitting in his dark office waiting for the phone to ring as a condition to employment. Nothing he has said to me in the past six months makes me want to go back. Seeing how burned out Senora looked, clarified what I pretty much figured out: I made the right choice.

It Will Probably Come Down to the Snake This Time Too

So last year I helped this really awesome couple find a rental home (you can read about it here, if you are so inclined). Though completely and utterly wonderful, they had very poor planning skills. They also had a snake. Did I mention that?

While the wife was packing all their worldly possessions in somewhere New Mexico, I went out with the husband, who was currently couch surfing on a friend's sofa. The reason for this was because Mrs. thought it would be easy to send her husband over and he could pick and choose from all of the available rental home options. What she found was there was no such thing, especially given they needed a place for the entire family a week earlier. Anyway, the husband and I went searching for the perfect rental home (that is, one where they where their application was accepted). We went searching twice. He put in two applications and was approved for one property.

By the way, other than the snake, they would be ideal renters. So, it wasn't that there were other mitigating reasons for a landlord not to approve them. It simply came down to income. It probably came down to the snake too, but that's just my take.

Anyway, once settled, I had a quick pep-talk with the Mrs. If they chose to move next year, let's not wait until the last minute? M'k? I am pleased to report she took my advice. Their lease is up at the end of June and the Mrs. is on a hunt right now to find a place. This time is slightly different. I have explained a landlord is not going to hold a home for six weeks and if they are chosen, consider it a gift and expect to move in right now.

Yesterday I drove to North Phoenix during rush hour to show her four homes. All of them had been on the market for more than four days, which made me suspicious. The first home is in a gated infill lot. There is no parking. And worse, there was a nosy neighbor who didn't like me by the time all was said and done (I parked somewhere--quasi legally--that offended him as I refused to move my car). He was such an ass that my client said no to the home. It probably didn't help that the folks living in the place we looked at also gave my client an earful about how he is constantly leaving sticky notes on their door with such things as "I noticed when your garage was open that you still haven't moved your trash can to the other side of the garage," and other loving missives. Too bad. It was the nicest home we saw.

The other three were in neighborhoods that could euphemistically be labeled as ghetto or ghetto-light. Which is kinda too bad, because the best of those three homes was located a couple of blocks from where I grew up. But yeah, that neighborhood isn't what it used to be.

My client has realistic expectations, great credit, no evictions or convictions. She is looking much sooner than she needs to, which means we will probably go looking more often than necessary. If all goes well for her, she will find some other landlord who will approve the snake.

Golf Networking

The text message read, "Are you dying?" It came from a friend, who noticed I had posted on Facebook this past Monday. Her thought was that something awful must be happening if I was willing to actually visit the main social media platform I find twitchy.

I am fine. I am healthy. Nothing is wrong.

Anyway, I posted something innocuous on Facebook this past week. Several people responded, including John. John is a fellow agent. He is one of the best real estate agents I have ever met. He is also a lot of fun. Back in the day when he, Bill (the commercial agent) and I worked for the Y2K Real Estate, we would sit in the back of the sales meetings, passing notes and being the belligerent brats teachers hate*. One time our broker took me aside and asked me if I could, "set an example" for the other two, suggesting they were the problem and I was the easily influenced doormat. Sure. Let's go with that.

Anyway, John wrote me on Facebook and suggested we get coffee this week. As most of my life is scheduled out at least three weeks, I countered with, "how about on June 1?" Nope. He wanted THIS week. In the end, he met me at Buckaroo's golf lesson and he and I zoomed over to Starbucks while Buck puttered around the course (see what I did there?).

I suspected, and was correct, John wanted to rope me into joining him at his new company. He is pretty happy there and the opportunity truly sounds amazing. However, I am the owner and boss and even he admitted I have a better commission split than he does. So, I don't think at this time I will change brokerages. But the rest of our time together was fun and I left feeling light-hearted and happy at the result of taking just three minutes to post on Facebook.

Oh yes, two other pretty neat connections happened from that post, and subsequently from hanging out with John for 30 minutes. John and Buckaroo's golf coach met and now John is going to take a few lessons. Additionally, John invited Buck to play 18 holes next week with him. Good stuff.


*Side story: One time our broker had some "motivational" sales contest whereby the winning team would have the honor of having lunch and then go bowling with Mrs. Broker. There were two teams. Bill, John and I were on the same team. I know I purposely didn't turn in my numbers--and maybe someone else didn't or maybe someone on the other team fudged their numbers--but anyway, our team lost. 

My broker proudly announced the winners of the contest at the sales team, stressing how fortunate the winners were that they would be able to have such a grand opportunity to be in the presence of the greatness of Mrs. Broker. All the while this is going on, John, Bill and I sat in the back of our sales meeting, high-fiving each other that we dodged that bullet. That's the kind of mature, grown-ups we were.

Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day. 

If you have one in your life, please say something nice to her. If you are a Mother, Happy Mother's Day. You are honored in my eyes. It is a tough job.

Diamond Jim

Diamond Jim's home is going on the market. So, I hear. The sign post has been ordered. I am not putting it active until he moves out. This is my rule, and his family is being respectful of it. But it makes sense too. Nobody can predict what will happen if a would-be buyer comes to the door with Diamond Jim living there. First, he may not remember his home is for sale. Or, he may think (as he has in the past) that I own the home and I am kicking him out and give a potential buyer an earful on that.

Sadly, Diamond Jim is not doing well, physically, emotionally or financially. I worry about him. Even though he doesn't live too far away, getting over to see him isn't as easy as it should be. He sleeps a lot lately. He wears down quickly when I go to see him. And the list goes on. However, I DO need to see him tomorrow--and it is on my calendar--to bring over my real estate sign. I will also probably bring over some groceries.

The game plan is that Diamond Jim is moving into assistive care at the end of the week. Last time this was the game plan he balked at the last second and made everyone who was involved lives a living hell. This time, he initiated the move, so hopefully he is more willing. But that remains to be seen. Either way, he has to move, because his son just found out Diamond Jim has forgotten to pay his mortgage for the past several months.

It is difficult to watch my friend wear down. Once vibrant, he has a dull look in his eyes. A proud man, but now beaten by aging, though he doesn't like to admit it. The biggest shock to me is that he used to be impeccably dressed and groomed at all times. I had never seen him in anything--even visiting him at home--where his hair wasn't cut and combed, his slacks (never jeans!) were pressed and he always wore a long-sleeve button-up shirt. Always. Even in the heat of the summer. But that isn't my Diamond Jim now. For him, he is doing his level best to publicly act like the man he was three years ago. Unfortunately, his level best isn't fooling any one.

Safe Space

I don't often post politically, but this week got the best of me. As a daughter of a father who was in the union, I have very strong opinions. I offered my (unpopular) opinion of the Arizona teacher's strike on social media. Though I am a firm believer of First Amendment rights, and whether you agree or disagree, I will defend your right to believe what you believe. Because that is the way the framers of the Constitution designed it. We are lucky to be living in a place where we can say what we feel without consequence. Or at least that's what I have always been told.

What I found was Arizona's educators were not on board with my First Amendment rights and told me so. The people in charge of Arizona's youth were ugly, combative and apparently skilled in anatomy, as I was told my head needed to be dislodged from some other body part--and that was one of the kinder comments I received. Civility be damned! What I found amazing was the number of folks who could not have a decent conversation about this issue, but took the time to personally attack me instead.

Now, as far as I am concerned, sticks and stones. However, I am hearing stories that are making me cringe. One gentleman I know, who happens to be a business owner, approached someone protesting, saying he thought they were right in spirit, but perhaps they had taken their cause too far. The man had his business name on his car. By the time he got back to work, there had been several Yelp reviews falsely written about his company. His phones and e-mails were clogged with unkind and ugly comments. His employees took harassing calls all day. And, when he got home, there was a death threat taped to his wife's car.

A teacher posted on social media that if any of her students came to school wearing purple (the anti-teacher position, apparently), they were automatically getting an F. The guy who runs the mailbox store a few miles from here told me of a rock through the window of someone's car, because the owner of the car had made public their unpopular opinion too.

The Arizona Department of Real Estate demands my business name is on my social media (including this blog, but then again, let the AZDRE find this blog first). My business name was public. My first name isn't too common, and if one did a bit of digging, they could easily find my home address. It never occurred to me when I commented that the teacher's union thugs would be so vial and I should have to worry about safety. I don't have many social media followers, but others who made more impassioned comments do have more followers. Should they be on alert? My safety and that of my family should never be at risk in this country for sharing a differing opinion. That concerns me.

Public Service Announcement

If your accidental business closes, say in 2017, and your 2017 tax returns show a refund, ESPECIALLY because of business losses, you don't get to keep your entire tax refund. Even if you spent part of it on glamorous items such as car insurance. Or even if you spent a small fortune paying a forensic accountant a LOT of money to fix the prior year's tax return that your former CPA with onset dementia doesn't remember messing up beyond recognition. If that money came from your tax return, it doesn't matter. It wasn't yours to spend--even if you didn't know it.

If indeed you end up in this situation, it is best to make sure your attorney tells you upfront that your refund belongs to the bankruptcy court. If that doesn't happen (argh!) call the bankruptcy trustee and plead your case. You will still owe the money but at least the trustee won't sic a pack of dogs on you. Moral of the story: Honesty is the best policy

In our case, we have enough to cover this faux pas, but dang! It would have been nice to know this upfront!