We’re here to sell houses and chew bubblegum. We’re all out of bubblegum.
South Scottsdale Open House: Sunday (7/24)
Like your home shopping casual and on your own time? Stop by our Sunday open house to see this vintage Hallcraft tri-level (basement) home. No pressure, no appointments, just a terrific home at a price that makes the salesman virtually superfluous. Even if you’re just looking for a cool place to escape the heat for a few minutes, stop on by for a bottle of water if you are in the area. But fair warning, if you are in the market for a 4 bedroom, 3.5 bath, 2360 sq ft home in a prime central location … you WILL buy this house.
Why: Because you need a house, and I’ve got the best one in South Scottsdale listed for sale!
When: Sunday, July 24th, 11am – 3pm
Where: 4001 N. 86th St, Scottsdale, AZ 85251 (Right there ↓)
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Want more info before stopping by? Check out the full property details for 4001 N 86th St here.
See you Sunday!
The Frankenstein House
“Three fifty? Are you out of your freaking skull,” the rotund, little man bellowed beneath a reddening bald pate.
“You disagree with my analysis,” Maxwell Listers surmised. He was not unaccustomed to the question, though twenty six years of patient rebuttal had him rethinking the answer some days.
“You call that an analysis,” Ollie Meanders dismissed. “Even my senile mother in law could tell you this house is worth five hundred grand, and she thinks you can still buy a ticket to a picture show for a nickel.”
“I see,” Max replied, organizing the stack of comparable sales he had spent the past half hour explaining in excruciating detail. “Your mother in law would no doubt be swayed by the thirty two hundred square feet you claim to possess.”
“Damn straight,” Ollie confirmed, puffing his hirsute chest beneath an overmatched, crumpled white undershirt.
“Why, that three thousand square foot house one block over just sold for four eighty after all, and it didn’t even have a fireplace, did it,” Max agreed, leafing through his stack to the appropriate property listing.
Ollie stared at the agent with suspicion roiling in his beady eyes. He knew he was being taken for a ride, he just didn’t know where.
“Of course,” Max continued, “that was all original square footage …”
“So,” Ollie challenged.
“So original square footage is more valuable than added square footage,” Max concluded on cue, his silver hair lending more credence to the proclamation than the dirty blonde it had crowded out a decade earlier.
“What the hell is the difference,” Ollie pressed. “Thirty two hundred feet is thirty two hundred feet!”
The cords in Ollie’s sausage forearms rearranged themselves into angry knots beneath his taut, freckled skin.
“Think so,” Max asked, his arched eyebrows issuing a direct challenge.
“Well, sure,” Ollie sputtered. “Who cares … I mean, what does it, uh, matter if it, um …”
“Remind me, how many bedrooms do you have, Ollie?”
“Four,” the homeowner boasted, jutting his chin at the listing in Max’s hand. “Same as that one!”
“And did I miss the formal dining room somewhere when you were showing me around?”
“No,” Ollie said with slightly less confidence. “That’s where I added the fourth bedroom.”
“And how many baths?”
“Well … still just the one and a half,” Ollie admitted.
“How about parking,” Max asked.
“I, um, enclosed the garage to make the game room.”
“And this kitchen,” Max continued, looking about the small galley.
“Installed the granite counter tops myself,” Ollie crowed.
“And they are stunning,” Max allowed. “But does this room strike you as the hub of a thirty two hundred square foot home, or would you agree that it more closely embodies your home’s former life as a seventeen hundred square footer?”
“It might be a bit on the small side,” Ollie acknowledged. “But I converted the laundry room to a pantry for extra storage.”
Max scribbled something on a manilla folder marked “Meanders, Ollie.”
“These low ceilings ….”
“No, I don’t have the big, fancy vaults that some of my neighbors do,” Ollie ceded. “But do you have any idea how much it costs to cool that extra space?”
“And the back patio … wait. Where is the back patio,” Max asked, craning his sinewy neck to look past the homeowner.
“I enclosed that, too,” Ollie replied, slowly being sapped of his pugnacity.
“Ah yes, I see,” Max nodded. “That would explain the step-down and the funky slope to the roof line. A shame how it darkens the family room and eats up the backyard.”
“Should I put in some skylights?”
Max shook his head.
“You’d just be throwing good money after bad,” Max advised the crestfallen homeowner. “I’m afraid you have a Frankenstein house, Ollie.”
“Frankenstein house?”
“A Frankenstein house,” Max confirmed. “You took a perfectly good little home and created a monster – a big, sprawling octopus of a property, one incongruous addition at a time.”
“But the bigger, the better, right?”
“No, Ollie. Not necessarily,” Max corrected. “Your house doesn’t fit the needs or expectations of a larger family despite the raw square footage, nor does the new layout fit the single or couple to whom it would have originally appealed. You are stuck between buyer demographics. Homeseller Purgatory, if you will.”
Ollie buried his head in his hands.
“You just can’t juice a little house into something it isn’t,” Max added for good measure.
“All that work,” Ollie moaned. “All those trips to Lowes.”
“Wish you’d called me in sooner,” Max lamented. “Would have aborted Rosemary’s Baby here before it was ever conceived.”
“Hey!”
“My apologies,” Max offered.
“Well,” Ollie breathed with a heavy sigh. “I need to move, but I’ve put way too much into it to sell it for three fifty. What do I do?”
Max took a moment to ponder their options.
“How’s your insurance,” he wondered.
“Insurance,” Ollie parroted with evident confusion. “Full replacement cost, why?”
“Fire bad,” Max suggested with a conspiratory wink.
The agent stood and lumbered out of the cramped kitchen with arms extended out in front of him like the monster fleeing an angry mob of torch-bearing villagers.
Internet Asks Bloggers to “Please Stop”
In a stunning reversal of internal policy, the Internet has asked that bloggers stop adding new content to the collective mainframe.
“It’s gotten out of hand,” Zachary Omega of the Internet confided when reached for comment. “We didn’t think it was possible for there to be too many blogs about the rigors of raising abused beagles in single-parent households, but we were wrong. The first-person, anecdotal nonsense has completely drowned out legitimate commentary.”
To reestablish value to its searchable content, the Internet is asking users to refrain from launching new blogs and social media accounts at this time. The embargo is voluntary for the time being, but Omega foresees a day in the near future when the effort to scale back the banality on the interwebs is not only mandatory, but enforceable by martial law.
“It’s a freaking joke,” Omega confided. “I’m in charge of the coding that separates the wheat from the chaff in online data. Me. Do you have any idea of how much chaff is floating around out there? How am I supposed to send someone to the latest reputable news source when ninety nine out of a hundred entries are posted by some twelve year old kid in Marietta, Georgia who gets picked last in dodgeball?”
Originally designed to connect people from all over the world, the Internet has done exactly that. Unfortunately, the free-flowing exchange of ideas and information has come with a steep cost: quality control.
“I’ve got nothing against cats. I’ve got nothing against kids,” Omega said. “But if I have to read one more missive about Mr. Whiskers’ new flea collar, or the scorching pink-eye outbreak that is plaguing little Joey’s preschool, I’m going to jam an overheated server straight up a soccer mom’s &$$ while I enjoy a refreshing orange wedge.”
Omega did not reserve his ire for familial pulp. In fact, there is one demographic in particular he described as “the bane of the online experience.”
“Realtors … I mean, seriously,” Omega stated. “How many more property listings in Bum Fudge, South Dakota or riveting articles about re-painting the baby’s room prior to selling a home do we really need to read? Five hundred thousand jamokes posting the same ‘Seven Secret Tips to Selling in a Down Market!’ … how novel. Maybe next we can have an authoritative list of instructions for walking and chewing bubble gum.”
Reached for comment, the National Association of Realtors® noted that now is the best time to buy a home in the history of earth.
– Paul Slaybaugh, Disassociative Press © 2011
Buying a Bank Owned Home in McCormick Ranch? Look up!
Are you shopping in the distressed aisle for your McCormick Ranch home? Make sure to look up.
While the purchase of a bank owned home or a short sale tends to be fraught with a little more risk than a traditional resale transaction, it is important to note that buyers typically maintain inspection rights on distressed properties. While the various “As Is” clauses and addenda dictate that the seller is not responsible for making repairs on these properties, most purchases involving bank properties do allow for an inspection period (though the time frame may be shrunk from the typical 10 days allowed under the boilerplate of the standard Arizona Association of Realtors contract).
*In short, the bank won’t likely fix anything, but you are allowed to verify condition before deciding whether or not to continue with the transaction.
During the course of your inspections, it is always prudent to spend a little extra time on a bank property as there are no disclosures of prior defects. The institution that now owns the property never occupied it, and knows nothing about its history other than the pertinent fact that the previous owner defaulted on his/her deed of trust.
It’s all about the Benjamins to the bank.
The purpose of this lengthy preamble? To add a little context to the freak hail storm that struck large pockets across the Valley last (2010) fall. If you have been watching all of the new roofs going up over the past six months, you know that the McCormick Ranch area was hit hard. With insurance companies passing out full roof replacements like they were candy, it is not uncommon to see streets where virtually every home features a brand new roof. Foam and asphalt shingle roofs, in particular, took wicked beatings.
So while most owner-occupied properties in the area that sustained damage have been repaired or replaced, the bank-owned properties that have been sitting vacant for over a year are likely to leak like a sieve when the monsoons roll around this July. The price points of such properties are often attractive enough to offset the 10-20k many will need, but it can be tough to swallow when it is not an anticipated cost.
Before plunking down money on inspections and appraisals, I’d recommend having a professional walk the roof of that bank owned steal to help you determine the true out of pocket price of ownership.
Oh, and if you are buying a resale property in McCormick Ranch? Make sure to find out if the seller had any repair work performed in the aftermath of said storm. While one of our selling clients was able to obtain full roof replacement on a claim from that storm as recently as this past month, the likelihood of that happening on another property dwindles the further removed we get from the event. The insurance companies aren’t going to be in the roof replacement business much longer.
Happy hunting,
Ray & Paul
Buying or selling a home in the McCormick Ranch area? Give us a call. Online data and pictures can give you 90% of the picture. We’ll fill in the remaining 10%.
*Do not rely on any general statements herein as legal advice. We are not attorneys, nor do our statements pertain to a specific transaction. Rights and restrictions within a transaction vary depending upon the documents used, attendant verbiage, alterations, etc. Long disclaimer short: I ain’t talking about your deal, homie.
New NAR Initiative Forces Realtors to Update Avatars
(Washington DC) – In a statement released this morning, the National Association of Realtors® announced a new initiative aimed at curbing abuse in photographic representation amongst its membership in the virtual sphere.
“This initiative has been ten years in the making,” according to NAR spokesman,Trevor Null. “Ever since Realtors entered the online space en masse, we have been fielding complaints from the public about misleading avatars.”
Jane DeVannon of Surprise, AZ filed one such complaint back in 2009.
“We were nervous first time buyers,” Mrs. DeVannon explained. “Having never been through the process, we had no idea what to expect and knew that we needed to hire a Real Estate agent we could trust to guide us through the process. So we did what we always do when we have a critical decision to make. We Googled it.”
With over 87% of today’s home buyers starting their searches online, per NAR statistics, the DeVannons’ story is a common one.
“We settled on a nice looking gentleman, about forty or forty two, with two darling children in his profile picture. Imagine our surprise when an obese seventy five year old with a goiter the size of an Olsen twin showed up to our first appointment. We tried to make the best of it, but we could just never get past the initial lie,” Mrs. DeVannon related.
“We have long had a reputation problem with the general public,” Null admitted. “Grossly misrepresenting our appearances in online marketing has only served to exacerbate the institutional mistrust. I mean, when you think you’re hiring Gary Cooper, and you get Gary Coleman, it’s a problem.”
According to Initiative UB-FUGLY, all Realtors® will be required to update their avatars monthly, without benefit of Photoshop or similar photo editing software that can alter true appearance.
“And none of this downward pointing camera angle bullshit,” Null expanded. “If you have three chins, the consumer needs to see three chins.”
Penalties for failing to comply with the new requirements will be severe, including mandatory use of DMV photos for first time offenders. Proof of ownership for any/all pets and children in a Realtor’s avatar must be furnished prior to Internet use. Nieces and nephews are off limits.
The news comes too late for the DeVannons, but they are hopeful that future buyers will be spared their painful lesson in what the NAR refers to as “photo synthesis.”
“We think he rented the kids,” Mrs. DeVannon added.
– Filed by Paul Slaybaugh, BSRE News © 2011
Bad Faith
“What do you mean I can’t back out on the inspection,” James “Jamo” Monahan demanded. “Say the frigging icemaker doesn’t work or something.”
“Like I told you earlier, James, er, I mean Jamo,” Agnes DeMerrit explained to her disingenuous client on the other end of the line. “There is no second bite at the apple once repairs are agreed to by both parties. Besides, your ten days were up two weeks ago.”
“Financing?”
“Your loan is approved,” Agnes responded, her short, grey hair losing pigment by the syllable.
“What if I go buy a car to screw up my ratios,” Jamo offered.
“That would be bad faith, James, er, I mean Jamo,” Agnes chastised. “It will cost you your earnest money.”
“Okay, the appraisal,” Jamo suggested. “We can still back out on the appraisal, right?”
“Appraisal came back at purchase price,” Agnes informed him.
“But you said it was ‘highly unlikely’ to appraise at the sales price,” Jamo exploded in her ear. “Now you’re telling me that I’m stuck in a deal at a price I never intended to pay? You listen to me, and you listen to me good. You better find me a way out of this contract or so help me God-“
Agnes pulled the phone away from her ear and took a deep breath. She despised working with investors. Absolutely despised it. Had she not run headlong into the driest spell of a forty year Real Estate career, she would have sent this creep packing so fast his Grecian Formula Plus infused head would have spun inside the raised collar of his pink imitation Polo shirt.
As a rule, she preferred buyers who were actually interested in buying.
“Agnes? Agnes?”
Her client’s strident voice sounded small and tinny from a distance. She took a moment to withdraw something from the desk drawer of her home office before putting the phone back to her ear. She absently unwound a snarl in the cord as she spoke.
“All done?”
Jamo’s silence answered for him.
“Good. Now I’m going to tell you exactly how we are going to get you out of this contract with your earnest funds intact so that you can pursue that new short sale in BFE that just hit the market this morning. If you’re ready to put on your big boy pants and listen, that is.”
“I’m listening.”
“Really listening?
“Yes, I’m really listening,” Jamo assured her.
“No, James,” Agnes rebuked. “I mean really listening.”
“Look, I’m listening, okay,” Jamo replied with exasperation. “I’m really, really listening. The world has stopped outside of this conversation. I’m on pins and freaking needles. Now pretty please with a cherry on top, just tell me what to do!”
Agnes whispered, barely audible.
“What,” Jamo asked.
She whispered again, slightly louder.
“What,” Jamo asked again, straining to understand.
Agnes waited a beat before giving the air horn poised over the mouthpiece of the phone one long, shrill blast and terminating the call.
“I said you’re fired, Jay-mo.”
8070 E Via Bonita: Exceptional McCormick Ranch Home for Sale
UPDATE: THIS HOME HAS SOLD!
What do you get when you cross location with luxury? Timeless architecture with the latest cosmetics?
In the Scottsdale Real Estate world, you get a magnificently renovated McCormick Ranch home.
Boasting well over 3000 square feet, 4 bedrooms, bonus/game room and a pebble-tec pool, this is not your father’s McCormick Ranch.
Accustomed to step ups and step downs, low popcorn ceilings and other harbingers of bygone style? This expanded Camelot beauty will forever alter your impressions of the true potential housed within one of Scottsdale’s most sought-after communities.
In addition to the added bonus room, alterations since 2002 include a relocated front entry and expanded living / dining room, front courtyard with built-in water feature, smooth stucco exterior, dual pane windows, plantation shutters, surround sound, propane gas fireplaces added to living room and master (in addition to existing wood-buring fireplace in family room), stone (natural travertine and slate) and ceramic tile flooring, kitchen remodeled with granite counter tops & newer appliances and opened to family room, walk-in pantry added off breakfast nook, walk-in closet added to master bedroom (in addition to existing closet), master bath remodeled with travertine, pavers, built-in BBQ and fountain added in back yard, newer roof and A/Cs … this is most assuredly not the home that time forgot!
Value priced for the current market at $569,000
Not familiar with McCormick Ranch? You are in for a treat.
Featuring walking paths (Camelback Walk) that extend throughout the community and beyond, an unparalleled lake system, two 18 hole golf courses, restaurants, boutique shops, award winning schools, parks, greenbelts and more, McCormick Ranch is not only the first planned community in the Valley, but the one which all others aspire to be.
Learn more about the Palo Viento subdivision in McCormick Ranch.
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Contact Ray & Paul to schedule a private viewing of this fine McCormick Ranch home.
(480) 220-2337
paul@scottsdalepropertyshop.com
8401 N 86th Way: New McCormick Ranch Listing!
UPDATE: THIS HOME HAS SOLD!
According to Wikipedia, an anomaly is any occurrence or object that is strange, unusual, or unique. It can also mean a discrepancy or deviation from an established rule, trend, or pattern.
According to Ray & Paul, an anomaly is a home in McCormick Ranch with a 3 car garage. Or by alternative definition, a competitively priced home in 2011 that is NOT a short sale or foreclosure.
We just happen to have listed in our hot little portfolio a property that bucks several norms.
While many Scottsdale home buyers will grudgingly accept dated architecture as a trade off for the prime location of McCormick Ranch, we are proud to present a home in the prestigious Rancho Suggs McCormick subdivision that renders such need for compromise unnecessary.
View larger map
Map of the Rancho Suggs McCormick subdivision of McCormick Ranch
Learn more about Suggs Rancho McCormick
Boasting soaring vaulted ceilings, remodeled interior and exterior features and a unique floor plan (walk through a few homes in the area and you’ll understand how notable that truly is), the property at 8401 N 86th Way pairs the advantages of modern living with timeless community amenities.
Know what else you get with this updated home that you will not find in the newer developments up north? Try a 1/3 of an acre cul-de-sac lot (nearly 15,000 square feet). With two oversized lawn areas buttressing the swimming pool & spa, the back yard alone is worth the scant price of admission.
Property Features
4 Bedrooms | 2 Baths |2867 sq ft | 1/3 acre lot | Pool | Heated Spa | Culdesac | Granite Counter Tops| Stainless Steel Appliances | Porcelain & Travertine Tile | Vaulted Ceilings |2 Way Fireplace | Wet Bar | Remodeled Baths | 3 Car Garage | Plantation Shutters |Covered Patio | Smooth Stucco Exterior | Newer Roof & A/C | North / South Exposure | Chaparral High School District| Family Room | Huge Master Suite | Lake Community | Golf Community | Walking Paths | Neighborhood Parks
Offered for sale at the sublimely low price of $495,900
Still not sold? Why don’t you stretch your legs a bit on Camelback Walk, the multi-use trail system that extends throughout McCormick Ranch, as you think it over. Head west to stroll past Lake Margherite and the golf course(s) beyond. Head east to check out Cochise Elementary, Mountain View Park, Mustang Library … shoot you can walk / bike / crawl to the hospital (Shea North) at 90th St should this once in a lifetime opportunity have you feeling faint.
Did we mention this is not a short sale or a foreclosure? The price will just make you think it’s a distressed property, when in reality it is an impeccable property owned by real live humans. You know, people who can actually answer questions and respond to offers before the end of the calendar year and stuff.
As anomalies go, this wonderful home is a close second to the Sonoran Desert Emperor Penguin.
Don’t let this rare bird go.
Contact us to schedule a viewing today.
Walter Deklan’s Great Escape
Sully strolled into the dingy office bullpen ten minutes late with his cell phone glued to his ear. He held up a well-tanned finger to still the chatter around him.
“I don’t care if you have to charter a rowboat and pick them up yourself, just get’em here by tomorrow or so help me God I’ll bury the lob wedge so far up your backside you’ll need a proctologist for a caddy,” he threatened, terminating the call.
“What did I miss,” he asked of no one in particular, surveying the room through designer Ray Bans before lowering his head to practice his golf swing.
“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Sullivan,” Walter Deklan, the office manager, said by way of a welcome. “We were just reviewing goal achievement for the accountability program that corporate introduced last month.”
“Accountability program, pfft,” Sully scoffed. “I don’t need any accountant to tell me my last five hundred bucks just went to re-gripping my Pings. Right?” He nudged the constipated-looking man in the too tight corduroy pants standing next to him.
“How many deals you close this year, Sullivan,” Deklan asked.
“Including the Palmer transaction? None, but it’s only May,” he shrugged and moved on to practicing his short game.
“Perkins, your turn,” Deklan announced, adjusting the knot of the faded royal blue and gold striped tie his son had given him for his forty fifth birthday.
Bodies parted, revealing a small man in the back of the room. His hawkish nose was buried in an iPhone.
“Perkins?”
The little man didn’t flinch.
“Perkins!”
Perkins’ head snapped up, bifocals sliding down the sharp bridge of his beak.
“Oh sorry, just checking in on Foursquare,” he said, nervously pushing the glasses back into place.
“Did you meet the goals we set last week,” Deklan asked.
“Well actually,” Perkins began, swelling beyond his full five feet four inches. “I exceeded them.”
“That’s great, Sidney,” Deklan lauded. “So you made all your calls? Mailed all your letters?”
“Well, not exactly,” Perkins answered. “Phone calls, handwritten notes, pop-ins … that old school stuff might have worked back in your day, but it’s all about the internet now.”
Deklan buried his face in his hands, silently counting to ten as he was apt to do when the kids would shave their names into the dog, or write “FART” on the living room wall in purple crayon.
“So what did you do this week, Sidney,” he asked upon reaching seven.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Perkins squeaked. “This week alone, I composed six hundred and forty two tweets, wrote twelve blog posts and added fifty nine new connections on Linked-In.”
Deklan stared at the second year agent.
“You didn’t make a single sales call?”
“No offense, Dek, but listen to yourself,” Perkins challenged, feeling his oats. “Who makes sales calls anymore? In case you haven’t noticed, everybody is online these days. A place where I happen to be a pretty big deal.”
“Is that right,” Deklan asked.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Perkins assured him. “I just crossed twenty five hundred Facebook friends. I’ve got seven hundred and fifty blog subscribers, and over eleven thousand Twitter followers.”
“And one piece of shit rental listing,” Deklan added.
Perkins blanched, his bulging hazel eyes magnified behind the thick glasses. Rescued from the humiliation by the buzzing of his handheld, he swallowed hard and retreated into his virtual kingdom.
“Make sure to tell all your followers about being the mayor of No New Business,” Deklan suggested, unable to resist the dig.
“How about you, Sheila,” he asked the aggressively dour woman standing directly in front of him with arms crossed. “Did you set aside two hours per day to preview property like we discussed?”
“Cut the crap, Walter,” she snarled. “Nobody wants to talk about your stupid goals. If we needed a guidance counselor, we’d go back to high school.”
A few scattered chuckles confirmed the assertion.
“I know it may seem foolish, Sheila, but the simple stuff works. If you want to be a top producer, you have to do the things that top produ-”
“We’re still out of hazelnut,” she interrupted, seething.
“What?”
“We’ve been out for a month,” she informed him. “Funny it’s the one flavor that always gets forgotten when I’m the only one who drinks it.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Sheila.” Deklan began, incredulous. “I place new orders on the first and the fifteenth, and I always include extra packets of-”
“Never a mix up with the Columbian or the French Roast,” she noted. “Just the hazelnut.”
“And these chairs,” she went on, her shrill voice climbing. “Are you waiting for my L4 vertebra to fall completely out before you get around to doing anything about them?”
“Like I said last week, we’re in the middle of a recession here, Sheila,” Deklan began patiently. “We don’t have the mone-”
“Liar,” she screeched, pointing an arthritic finger at the beleaguered office manager. “You managed to find enough of our money for the new sofa in the lobby, didn’t you?”
“What would you have the clients do,” Deklan demanded, his blood beginning to boil. “Sit criss-cross applesauce on the floor? I bought that couch for ten bucks at an estate sale in Old Town. Dragged it in here on my day off.”
She dismissed him with the flick of a bony wrist.
“And why does Clarissa get to bring that mangy fleabag of hers into the office if I can’t bring my Mister Whiskers?”
“It’s a guide dog for chrissakes,” Deklan railed, glancing at the golden retriever sitting at the foot of a heavy set, middle-aged woman wearing a floral patterned sundress and staring at the wall.
“Hear me well, people,” he announced. “Out of the twelve local branches, we were eleventh in production last quarter. Eleventh! Only the charity cases at Town and Country sold less than us, and they’ve been closed since November on account of the fire!”
“Freaking Obama,” Sully opined. “Things will turn around once we vote that bum out of office. Just gotta ride the storm out until twenty twelve.”
A deafening clanging reverberated throughout the office. All turned to see a chubby part-time agent named Herbert Dobbler ringing the sales bell for all he was worth. He wore a black t-shirt with red lettering that said I’m With @ Stupid.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” Dobbler shouted.
“Okay, okay,” Deklan pleaded, palms out as he tried to restore order. “Can we please get back to-”
“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Dobbler cried before launching another salvo with the bell. “The Dead Realtor Society is hereby called to order!”
The chords on Deklan’s neck reared up like angry cobras as peels of laughter erupted from all corners of the bullpen.
“Two thousand eleven … going once,” Dobbler howled. “Going twice!”
Deklan blinked hard, once. A change coming over his normally genial face.
“Sold,” Dobbler hollered, ringing the bell to punctuate the joke. “To the gentleman in the black robe with a scythe!”
More laughter.
“You know what, that’s it,” Deklan declared, his icy voice barely audible above the raucous din. “If you want to sit in your cubicles complaining about the market and the coffee all day, go right ahead, but I’m not going down with the ship!”
He tore off his tie and threw it to the floor.
“You want to tweet about the movie you saw last night and call it networking, be my guest,” he boomed. “You want to optimize your websites, but not answer the phone when it actually rings? Knock yourselves out!”
He removed a highly polished black wingtip and hurled it across the room, causing three terrified sales associates to duck.
“I bring in top shelf instructors, cater lunch for you mooches, give you all I’ve got from thirty years of sales experience in every kind of market you can dream of, and for what? For you to think about selling a house every other leap year when you’re not too busy working on your slice or stumping for Bring Your Cat to Work Day?”
Deklan turned on a folding table that supported a veggie platter and tray of lukewarm cold cuts. He crammed three rolls of smoked turkey into his mouth before upending the entire spread.
“Well, guess what, kids,” he resumed, Butterbean-flecked spittle bursting from his mouth. “Class is dismissed! As of five minutes ago, I no longer work at this daycare for the criminally idiotic. Good luck. Best wishes. Try not to eat the plants. Deklan out!”
He tore the company nametag off the breast of his dress shirt, leaving a ragged hole in the white fabric, and stormed down the hall. One heel clicking each time it touched down on the porcelain tile, the other silent.
“Make sure to wave when you greet me at Walmart next week,” Deklan shouted over his shoulder as he darted into the break room. The sound of smashing glass carried back to the bullpen.
“Coffee pot,” Sheila whispered in horror.
“Vending machine still owe you that Diet Coke, Arturo,” Deklan bellowed before a flying soda can exploded against the far wall of the hallway.
Thirty more seconds of indiscriminate thrashing and their former manager appeared as a silhouette against the floor to ceiling window in the front lobby. He was hunched over, holding something heavy. It was his bare ass.
“Look, ma! I’m the mayor of SAYONARA SUCKERS,” Deklan yelled before straightening up, ripping the fax machine off the secretary’s desk and and heaving it through the window; an ungodly crash punctuating the lethal shower of tinted glass. He kicked out half a dozen stubborn shards with his stockinged foot, ducked through the jagged opening and disappeared into the midday sun, leaving a faint trail of blood in his wake.
A pronounced silence filled the decimated office, shell-shocked agents searching each other’s faces for confirmation of what they just saw.
At last, a low, reverent whistle escaped Dobbler’s lips, breaking the spell.
“Winning,” he breathed.
“So,” Sully prompted his bewildered colleagues, twisting his heels into non-existent sand to practice his bunker shots. “Eight months … who had the under?”
“That would be me,” Sheila answered, cracking her first smile of the year.
Clarissa stood and lumbered to the water cooler without assistance, her pupils no longer swimming as she retrieved a paper cup from the dispenser.
“Think downtown will wise up and hire in-house this time,” she asked between sips.
“Beats me,” Perkins snickered. “But I am so tweeting this.”
Selling a Home with a Tenant
Selling a tenant occupied home … how do I put this delicately … kind of sucks. That’s right, selling a home with a tenant sucks.
Why, you ask?
Because there is little to no motivation on the part of the occupant to participate in the process. Think about it. With zero financial stake in the sale of a property, why would anyone care to have their daily lives disturbed by pushy Real Estate agents and their snooping clients? As such, tenants tend to make home showings more difficult than owner occupants.
You want to show the home in an hour? No, today is impossible.
Tomorrow? No, tomorrow doesn’t look real good either.
Given that a landlord or an agent of the landlord cannot legally enter the premises in cases of non-emergency without permission or 48 hours written notice (under the AZ Landlord-Tenant Act), it is not uncommon to come across such tenant-occupied listings that require 2 days minimum notice prior to showings. These constraints cost owners more than a few showings, particularly those of the spur of the moment, I’m in town to buy a house today variety.
In a market choked with inventory, especially in the lower price points where rental properties typically live, few will bother looking at the homes that are difficult to view. There are simply too many readily accessible options to make special plans to see one nondescript investment property.
So how does the owner of such a home counter the tenant malaise that is killing his/her ability to sell prior to the expiration of the lease (inviting the holding costs and desperate pricing decisions that can accompany a vacancy)? By incentivizing the tenant to participate in the process.
It frankly amazes me that tenant-occupied properties are often so difficult to show when the remedy is so readily apparent: money.
Offer your tenant a discounted rate on the rent or nominal alternative compensation ($500 is a lot of money for the average tenant) if the home sells while they occupy it. By doing so, you will not only encourage your tenant to eagerly agree to the showings that were formerly abhorred, but will provide the requisite motivation for showing the home in its best condition as well. Get the tenant on your side by offering a stake in the outcome and watch the beds make themselves, the dirty socks disappear from the living room floor, the food-caked plates on the kitchen counter find their way into the dishwasher.
When you empower the powerless, everyone benefits. From the only perspective that matters in a Real Estate transaction – yours – that means minimized holding costs and maximized sales price. Cool beans.
Selling a home is not rocket science, just an exercise in the practical study and application of human motivation. For your own sake, you have to step outside of your head every once in a while to learn how to help others help you.
This is your Jerry Maguire moment. Don’t blow it.