by Paul Slaybaugh | Aug 25, 2009 | Home Buying, Scottsdale Real Estate, This & That
You have a problem. Your family sees it. Your friends see it. At the eye of the storm, only you lack the perspective to clearly recognize the wake of wanton destruction spawned by your vice. Despite your feeble protestations to the contrary, you need help. Your addiction does not end with you. It touches the lives of those around you with dark, restless hands. Probing unsuspecting pockets and vulnerable throats.
The cycle of despair ends today. Your days as a perpetual Real Estate shopper are over.
House hunting can give you a rush like none other. No buyer quickly forgets the first time he steps through the front door to a new potential future. The magic. The exhilaration. The knowledge that one is virtually unfettered to choose his own adventure. Of course, once that initial euphoria grabs a hold of a buyer, he must experience it again. Houses 2-10 still hold some residual magic, but do not hold a candle to that very first experience. Houses 11-20 hold an air of disappointment. Soon enough, each successive property becomes a progressively greater assault on the sensibilities. Your friends and relatives grow weary of your constant trolling of Realtor.Com. Your erstwhile volunteers will no longer join you on the weekly Sunday home tour with your beleaguered Real Estate agent.
You don’t care. Despite all evidence to the contrary, your silver bullet is out there. You don’t need help, you just need more listings. Where are all the new listings, anyway? Everyone knows that banks are giving houses away for pennies on the dollar, so this simply must be the week that the 5000 square foot home on 4 acres hits the market. For $125,000.
Welcome to Detox. My name is Paul. I will be your cold dose of reality for the next 30 days.
The first step to recovery, of course, is admitting you have a problem. Trust me, you have a problem. Further, you must admit that you are powerless to the tug of your addiction. I offer as “Exhibit A” this August 9th, 2009 email sent to your agent regarding a property you found online. Time-stamped at 3:48 AM. “Exhibit B” is your agent’s cell phone records from 3:49 – 4:32 AM of the very same day.
Step two is to understand that a power greater than yourself can restore you to a sane existence. No, it’s not your brother’s mail carrier’s uncle who owns four rental properties. It’s your agent. Listen to him/her.
We’ll just skip step three because we all know that the realm of Real Estate is presided over by a supreme being in the guise of a braying, one-eyed donkey with cataracs. Pin the tail on him and you are as likely to get donkey kicked in the goods as you are to win the investment lotto. See step two for obtaining the services of one who knows how to best manipulate, if not outright tame, the fickle Real Estate beast.
You are now ready to move on to step four. This is where you take full and unflinching stock of your own morality. “Thou Shall Not Steal” is a typical shortcoming of many Real Estate shopping addicts. The thrill of the grift, after all, is one of the primary tarpits into which the saber-toothed buyer has fallen to become bogged down to such an irretrievable degree.
While admitting to yourself the wrongs you have committed is no picnic, neither is admitting those things to the higher power of your choice and a fellow non-home buying human. When you can do so, you have conquered Step five. Don’t even think about omitting the part where you burned 1897 hours and 16,789 gallons of your agent’s time and gasoline.
Step six is opening yourself up to the full removal of the defects in your character from a higher power. Once again, your agent will gladly fill this role in absentia and remove said defects via Paypal and/or rubber mallet.
If you can bring yourself to ask for said absolution, you have mastered step seven.
Step eight requires that you make a list of all those you have harmed and be willing to make amends. You can start with your spouse, co-workers and anyone you have pumped for advice and proceeded to dutifully ignore. Just make sure that your REALTOR is somewhere in the mix. No greater sin than trumping his/her decades of industry experience with the sage advice of your hairdresser and life insurance agent.
Step nine is actually making the aforementioned amends. A little wine and cuddling to soothe frayed nerves and egos is a good start, but cash money absolves all.
Step ten directs that you continue to take stock of your failings and immediately admit subsequent wrongs. You may be on the road to recovery, but that doesn’t mean you are immune to calling a listing agent directly to schedule an appointment after your agent has patiently educated you over the past year and a half. And yes by the way, that does make you a bad person.
Step eleven directs you to establish more direct contact with your agent. Email and the occasional phone call will suffice. He or she is tired of sending smoke signals in the direction of East Jabib to reach you. When the right property comes along, don’t make a search party necessary. Bloodhounds are pricey by the hour.
Step twelve is reserved for those Career Buyers who have had complete spiritual awakenings and will actively work to spread and promote these guiding principles to their brethren in shopping addiction. Praise the lord and pass the turnips, you are now ready to purchase a home! Go forth and proselytize!
Should you experience temptation to return to your former habits or worse, suffer a relapse, it is important that you understand three things:
1) These things happen and you are still loved.
2) Just not by your agent.
3) You are completely and totally screwed.
by Paul Slaybaugh | Jun 4, 2009 | Scottsdale Real Estate, This & That
We Realtors are a self-important bunch. Just ask us, we’ll tell you.
“I don’t only sell homes. I sell dreams!”
“You need professional help for the most important investment of your life!”
“I have planted more behinds in houses than McDonalds has in cardiologist offices!”
In most any arena, quiet confidence is the hallmark of ability. The lowest common denominator of puffery, in turn, is an underlying insecurity about the quality (or need) of the service being rendered. You sometimes can’t help but wonder if the egocentric assertions are for the benefit of the braggart’s audience or the braggart’s own sense of worth. I, for one, would sooner enlist the legal assistance of my two year old than the “experienced, aggressive” attorneys who snarl their ways through 30 second local TV spots. Is it too much to ask for a “smart, competent” one?
Look at the business cards we agents pass out with palsied fervor. You have to wade through 6 lines of superfluous designations and production awards before you can even find a phone number. I have been sporting the same cards for the past seven years with much the same obnoxious verbiage. The deeper I get into my Real Estate career, the more I realize that performance is the only thing that matters. No longer in a position where I feel the need to stand on a bar stool with a megaphone to capture my share of the market, it is a liberating thing to let go of the pompous demand for respect for simply selling a home. Certainly, ours is an important job, but then again, show me one that isn’t.
When challenged on the role of the Realtor, and whether we really are the drain on society that most public surveys reveal us to be, I no longer attempt to shout down the vocal detractors. My clients respect what I do and the assistance I provide, and that is all I require. We aren’t curing cancer. We aren’t utilizing an unparalleled skill set and education to launch unmanned crafts on Mars. Assessing value, assisting with purchasing decisions, marketing a home, navigating a Real Estate transaction … all are skills that can be readily learned. It outwardly seems like an easy gig. Show a few houses, collect a fat check. That is why there are more licensed Real Estate agents than 6 foot tall Cher impersonators at a midnight screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
While there are few intrinsic skills that the average non-drooling citizen can’t acquire and ply successfully in the realm of Real Estate, the real value of working with a professional is the “been there, done that” factor. It’s all about the learning curve. Most everything in this world is doable, but more to the point, done well through practice.
Two very good cases in point occurred just yesterday amidst a very long day of showing property to two sets of buyers. My first set of clients were highly intelligent buyers relocating from Northern California. Tech savvy and coming to me with a month’s worth of research on the properties they wished to see, along with a spreadsheet full of notes, pros & cons, online value estimates, etc for each home. This couple was fully dialed in and very capable of successfully purchasing a home with or without my assistance. Much to their credit, they recognized where their knowledge gaps were, and allowed me to fill in the remaining 10-20% that can only be gained by doing something day in and day out. Armed with their research and my local acumen, where we deviated from script was when we stopped in to look at a house that wasn’t on their list. Brand new on the market, and an exceptional value for the school district, size and condition, it was a home that would have slid under their radar because of a few discrepancies with their original criteria.
We submitted an offer on that home and are awaiting a response.
My second buyer was another sharp, and highly educated guy. We had been looking at property for about a month somewhat laconically, but have now really dialed up the urgency as he recently received notice that his Naval reservist status is about to be bumped to active duty. He deploys in late July. Highly motivated to secure a home for his family before he shoves off, we have been hammering new listings in the Southeast Valley virtually every other day for the past two weeks. He mentioned to me last night how many part time agents he works with in the medical field that have solicited his business (are you happy with your current agent?). What a commercial I could have made out of his quote. Paraphrasing, he essentially brushed off the come-ons with the response that not only was he happy with my performance, but that I have done this all day, every day for the past 10 years. In the area where I was born and raised to boot. With the short fuse he has to get his family situated, he requires the attention and knowledge of a full-time Realtor.
You the man, Mike!
See, I told you we Realtors are a self-important bunch. Even this purported piece of anti-puffery has morphed into a promotional effort … but I digress.
When you scythe through the hyperbole that thrives in the fields of Real Estate marketing, the underlying value that a solid agent provides is readily evident. We simply obscure the benefits at times via the bombastic claims that occasion the rolling of eyes and heavy groans from those whom we would deem to impress by overstating our linchpin status to Western civilization. A good agent is worth far more than his/her fee, but a poor one is worth a great deal less. The trick is deciphering the difference between the two.
As you contemplate that sobering thought, I’ll get back to my task for the day of adding the following accomplishments to my already bloated business card.
“Outstanding Achievement in Reading” – Cochise Elementary School: 1980-1982, 1984 (I was shafted in ’83).
“Super Citizen Award” – March 1982, September 1983
“Blue Ribbon in Long Jump” – Field Day 1985
“Eating All of My Crust Award” – Grandma Slaybaugh, 1983
“Junior Assembly, Fox Trot, 1st Place” – 1987
Hmm … I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat card.
by Paul Slaybaugh | May 1, 2009 | Scottsdale Real Estate, This & That
You wake up one day and find a small, hard lump entombed in familiar, soft flesh. You fret through your morning coffee before spending an inordinate amount of time exploring the tender area in a scalding hot shower that refuses to burn away the foreign body and subsequent angst. You dress quickly and head to work with a churning cauldron of bile and trepidation threatening to bubble over and sear the already frayed inner calm which connects your soul to your tear ducts. One inky drop of festering emotion is all it takes to bore through the tenuous hold on blissful denial.
And then you forget about it.
Life crowds out the specter of an unwanted distraction and you willfully ignore that first warning. The lump which felt like a boulder upon initial discovery no more than a minuscule peppercorn to your unworried mind. Until the soreness begins to increase. And the inflammation in your neck and glands is preceded by a sharp drop in weight.
The metastasis was inevitable. Originating in the housing and financial sectors, the cancerous cells quietly exploded throughout our economy’s unsuspecting body via Wall Street’s capitalistic lymph nodes. Blood supplies were choked off and organs began failing, thus inviting the drastic life extending efforts of surgeons and oncologists alike. Some ravaged tissues were simply too far gone and excised completely. Others were salvaged by the same deft hands that are capable of merging the tendon of a cadaver with the damaged body of a live patient. Banks imploded and banks were stripped for parts.
And now onto the chemo.
With mortgage backed security bombs replicating throughout the global economic structure, surgery alone was not enough to thwart the advancing menace. You can only cut so many holes. The only hopes of ebbing the toxic tide now appears to be a good, strong dose of poison. Poison to poison the poison. Radiation treatment failed to make a dent in the credit freeze as the localized cash infusions were simply absorbed by the institutions and … well, the doctors are not really sure where all of those rads went, but the tumors didn’t shrink. Lenders failed to lend. The credit crunch spread to auto manufacturers, credit card companies, the adult entertainment industry, entire states and individual pocketbooks. As the new administration prepares to unleash a heavy dose of socialistic poison upon our dying markets, we can only hope that the patient responds. Remission sure sounds better than recession.
Of course, we have to first survive the cure.
I, for one, am not particularly fond of rat poison, but it’s time to ladle it down our collective gullet in hopes of killing the affliction before it kills us. I am not an economist. I honestly do not know whether this stimulus package is sound policy or not. All I know is that there is supposedly a ninety eight year old shaman in New Guinea who can find and extract disease by touch.
My bags are packed.
