by Paul Slaybaugh | Oct 5, 2011 | This & That
Three Real Estate agents sat shoulder to shoulder at the bar of a local watering hole, sipping happy hour cocktails like they did every Friday. One made his bones in the current market as a bank owned property (REO) specialist. Another had carved out a niche in the short sale arena. The third had migrated to property management after the bubble burst.
“So, Stanley,” Wayne, the REO agent, began as he adjusted his considerable girth from one cheek to the other on an overmatched bar stool. “How go things in the land of non-successful closings?”
The perpetually nervous short sale agent jumped at the accompanying nudge from his ham hocked companion. His black, horn-rimmed glasses were undisturbed, but he adjusted them anyway.
“Going just fine, thank you very much,” he replied; his clipped, aristocratic voice accompanied by an explosion of slender fingers. “These banks are finally getting the idea that it’s better to offload losing assets before they hit their books. Better systems, better staffing, better closing rates … I’d say your aorta isn’t the only thing that’s gonna need a stent soon, my ample friend.”
He made an “O” with his thumb and fingertips, closing one eye and peering at his obnoxious companion through the opening with the other before slowly collapsing his knuckles into a fist.
“How’s that pipeline of yours looking these days?”
Wayne guffawed; a deep, throaty chortle. He fiddled with the gargantuan turquoise ring on his left pinkie.
“Please,” he dismissed. “I’m carrying fourteen listings right now, and have six BPOs lined up for this weekend. As long as your deals keep blowing up at the zero hour, I’ll have a job.”
He tossed a handful of pistachios into his reddening maw.
“Just listen to you two,” the property manager said as she set down her scotch and soda with a loud thunk. “Having a pissing contest in your own clients’ graveyard.”
Stanley and Wayne rolled their eyes as they braced for the perfunctory scolding.
“These are real people losing their homes, and all you buffoons can do is laugh about it as you take your blood money?”
“Lighten up, Agnes,” Wayne answered. “I don’t like these banks anymore than you do, but someone has to list their properties. Would you rather they just sit there and collect weeds? Maybe you don’t mind living with vacant crack houses in your neighborhood, but I’d rather sell them to nice families who will fix them up and actually add value to the community. ”
“He’s right, your Highness,” Stanley confirmed. “Besides, how can you accuse me of anything but heroism? While you’ve been hiding out in property management limbo and shirking your obligations, I’m helping bail my old clients out of their dire circumstances. You hit the eject button, and left me and Wayne here to clean up the mess. If anything, we deserve medals.”
“Ejected? Ejected?!”
Agnes shook with rage, her weathered face going beet red beneath a salt and pepper crew cut.
“I moved into an arena where I could actually help my clients hold onto their homes instead of killing their dreams of home ownership for the next two to five years,” she railed. “What do you tell your underwater clients who are forced to move by a job relocation or a family crisis? Sorry, but let’s crash your credit so I can get paid? Good luck buying or leasing a home wherever you are heading?”
“Quit being so melodramatic, Agnes,” Wayne chastised. “You’re going to give Stanley another stroke.”
Both looked at Stanley, who, true to form, appeared to be vacillating somewhere between diabetic shock and epileptic fit. A scent reminiscent of Lysol and cough drops emanated from the beads of clammy sweat that rose on his forehead.
“Breathe, little buddy, breathe,” Wayne coached as Agnes signaled the bartender to hit her again.
The waif of a man closed his eyes and focused on his happy place, 2005, until the episode passed.
“Let’s just agree that we are all contributing in our own way,” Stanley squeaked through clenched teeth.
“Agreed,” Agnes mumbled into her drink.
“Agreed,” Wayne declared with gusto, holding his pint aloft. “We are Real Estate knights, come forth to slay the marauding dragons!”
“Pardon me,” a new voice interrupted.
The trio swiveled on their stools to take in the interloper before responding in unison.
“Jerry?”
The newcomer raised the pistol in his right hand and shot each agent in the face. The bar erupted in chaos as the remaining patrons fled.
“What,” the gunman demanded in response to the bartender’s frozen stare.
“That one said he’d stop the foreclosure,” he explained, gesturing at Stanley’s rigid body with his chin.
“This fat bastard had the locks changed and all my stuff thrown out on the street,” he said, his foot swallowed by Wayne’s ample abdomen as he kicked the REO agent in the ribs.
“And Miss Congeniality here denied my application for not one, but two rental properties on account of my ruined credit. I’ve been living behind the Luby’s on 12th the last two weeks.”
The bartender gulped, his tired eyes widening in recognition.
“Heard the guy that sold me the place back in oh six left the business entirely,” Jerry confided.
The bartender turned to run.
“Can’t miss neighborhood, eh, Ted,” Jerry asked as he leveled the gun and squeezed the trigger a fourth and final time.
by Paul Slaybaugh | Sep 30, 2011 | Home Buying, Scottsdale Real Estate
One of the more confounding logistical quandaries that can arise in Real Estate is the classic chicken or the egg paradigm: Does one sell a house before knowing where he is moving, or does one buy a new house without having his current one sold?
No doubt, the dilemma of which cap to doff first has vexed many a consumer. Selecting the correct course of action is dependent, like most things, on a variety of factors. For the sake of clarity, we will keep things simple.
If you have a boatload of equity in your current home, have flexibility with the ultimate selling price and have the financial wherewithal (cash in hand or the ability to obtain a new loan that is not conditional upon the sale of your home) to purchase a new home prior to selling your existing one, then you are the rare individual in the enviable position to call your shot. To eliminate the prospects of a double move and the fear of obligating yourself to the sale of your home without clear knowledge of where you are heading, you will likely opt to buy first. Especially if you are not convinced that the home of your dreams is lurking in the market at present, it makes sense to locate the next property before committing yourself to the rest of the process.
As most buyers are reliant upon the proceeds from their current house to purchase a new home, however, the above scenario is a pipe dream for the less well-heeled. Most will face the stark reality that they are simply hamstrung on a purchase until they sell their existing house.
So how does one combat the fear of committing to destinations unknown when putting a home on the market?
The ideal method is to negotiate a purchase that is conditioned upon the ultimate sale of your home, but few and far between are the sellers who will entertain straight contingent offers of that ilk. The preponderance of bank owned properties and short sales in the present market makes the task even more arduous as contingent offers are simply not entertained by the banks. Only the most patient seller will take a flyer on an offer from someone who has to sell a property to make the deal work. And if you happen to find such a rare bird, you’ll likely have to overpay for the home due to the weakness of your position.
When purchasing first or conditionally is not an option, the best compromise is to make your offers after you have accepted a contract on the home you are selling, but before it has closed escrow. With a buyer in hand, it is considerably easier to approach another seller with an offer. More attractive than a straight contingency in which you still have to line up a willing buyer, you can structure your offer to be subject to the successful close of escrow of the contract currently in place. This is not only more appealing to the seller, but if you have negotiated a longer close of escrow on the home you are selling, you can build in a little time to locate a property and negotiate a contract, thus avoiding a dreaded double move. Timing the closings can be tricky, but if done correctly, you can move directly from one home to the other without having to put your gear in storage while you, the kids, your dog Sadie, and the goldfish check into the Holiday Inn for a few weeks.
Naturally, to make this scenario work perfectly, you have to do your homework in advance. Even prior to listing your home for sale, start looking online at the available inventory. Get in the car with your agent to look at homes that fit your parameters. Get preapproved with your lender so that you are ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, as the right home for you is often right for someone else, too. Wasting time getting your preapproval in place after you find the property opens the door to not only unrealistic window shopping, but losing an ideal candidate to a buyer who is one step ahead. Do your due diligence up front and you’ll be ready to enter the scrum as soon as your home attracts a buyer.
To be sure, coordinating the near simultaneous buying and selling of homes is a stressful undertaking. You will experience Exorcist moments in which your head spins around a full 360 degrees. Understanding the process and the steps you can take to increase your chances of success will limit the projectile vomiting, however.
So which comes first, the chicken or the egg?
It varies from coup to coup, but in the end, it’s all protein.
by Paul Slaybaugh | Sep 19, 2011 | This & That
Scottsdale, AZ – According to a hastily released statement from the National Association of Realtors this morning, the 1.2 million active members of the nation’s largest trade organization will hereby stop including themselves in property listing photos. Effective immediately, the public will be assured that any agent appearing in the reflection of a master bathroom mirror is not a dues-paying REALTOR®.
“It’s this kind of initiative that exemplifies the difference between a mere Real Estate agent and a REALTOR,” NAR spokesman Thelonius Diedel explained. “Well, that and a couple hundred bucks annually.”
“Ghosting, as we call it, is a threat to consumers which we here at the NAR take very seriously,” Diedel continued. “A REALTOR designation assures home sellers they are working with a professional who has been trained to take a picture from around a corner, or at an angle.”
Not confined to issues of self-inclusion, Real Estate agents have long vexed online property shoppers with errant fingers on lenses, moving trucks in driveways and labrador retrievers in foyers. Exterior photos taken directly into the sun have caused at least nine cases of blindness since 2008.*
“Don’t even get me started on those fish eye virtual tours,” Cameron Stultz of the consumer watchdog group, People for Competent Photography, added when reached for comment. “I mean, thanks for showing us what the house would look like if we just chased a sheet of LSD with a liter of Jack Daniels and formaldehyde, but most buyers aren’t Alice when she’s ten feet tall. We’re just regular-size folks who want an accurate visual representation of the property.”
“This is what being a REALTOR is all about,” Diedel concluded. “Being heard, but not seen. In bathrooms.”
Diedel declined comment when asked how the initiative would help kickstart a slumping national housing market.
Melina Tomson, a non-NAR affiliated Real Estate broker in Salem, Oregon added, “Are you f&^%$*! kidding me with this?”
_______________________________________________________________________________
Paul Slaybaugh, Disassociative Press ©2011
*Data provided by intracranial study of author’s overactive imagination
by Paul Slaybaugh | Aug 31, 2011 | Home Buying
I must confess, most solicitations to follow a local business on Twitter, Facebook or any other recently-sprouted head of the social media hydra are met with the same level of enthusiasm I once harbored for an extra trip to the orthodontist.
Sure, I’ll “like” your fanpage! And maybe later we can head over to Dr. Evil’s office for a superfluous tightening!
While following another’s social exploits is comparatively painless, it is often every bit as pointless. Today’s consumer is besieged with invitations to like, follow, connect, kneel and kiss the rings of businesses across the myriad social platforms. It’s not enough that you subscribe to the blog or sign up for the newsletter, they must own you everywhere their online profile intersects with the public.
But to what end?
Why must you “follow” someone here if you already “like” them there? What additional benefit do you gain from this demand for universal allegiance?
Social media efforts tend to be a cross-pollinated mess. Good little worker bee that I am, my own marketing “campaigns” in this forum are no exception, having devolved into a black hole of pithy renduncy. A blurb on twitter, a joke on Facebook, links to new listings and blog posts on each … I have really provided no compelling reason to follow me or my business across multiple venues.
Until now.
Henceforth, I will be using the Scottsdale Property Shop page on Facebook to exclusively promote the “Scottsdale Foreclosure Value of the Day” and other daily property bargains that catch my eye. Not really blog fodder, it’s more at home on our fan page than within the confines of this site. While you, the consumer, can continue to perform your own home searches and sign up for listing alerts here, you’ll want to fan up our page to follow along with these pre-screened daily property selections.
You can continue to comb through the MLS for the best values yourself, or you can let us do it for you. Your choice.
Sure, there will still be a little of the humor and observation that tinges everything we do, but the page itself will be purposeful, not just another outlet for promoting this site.
So what are you waiting for? Now that there is an actual reason to do so, go ahead and “like” us on Facebook. You won’t feel a thing.
Oh, but the Twitter handle? @PaulSlaybaugh is still reserved for nonsensical shenanigans. Follow at your own intellectual peril.
by Paul Slaybaugh | Aug 20, 2011 | This & That
Joyce DeMannon traced a white glove-encased fingertip over a lamp shade and inspected it for residue. Satisfied, she gave a curt, reluctant nod to the head of the maid staff.
“Turndown service every morning, of course,” the chambermaid informed her dour guest. “Standard mint on the pillow, or you can inform my staff of a particular preference.”
She turned on a smartly polished heel and led her charge to the master bath.
“As our baths have all been retrofitted with steam settings, you needn’t leave your own room to indulge in a full, luxurious spa experience. Complimentary hot rocks, cucumber water and sea salts are all available through the concierge’s desk.”
Joyce inspected the facilities in silence with hands clasped behind her back.
“Towels on the floor or in the hamper to indicate you wish them laundered, please,” the chambermaid continued in a clipped, practiced cadence.
“And the minibar,” Joyce rasped in a voice as dehydrated as her sloughed, bronze skin.
“There is absolutely nothing mini about it, madam,” the chambermaid responded on cue as they made their way back into the hallway. “Our bars are full-sized and fully stocked with the finest spirits and liquers. Hand-rolled cigars are located in the adjacent humidor. All complimentary, of course.”
“Virginia Slims are available through the concierge,” she quickly added, well-adapted to intuiting the unique needs of her guests.
“Cable or satellite,” Joyce croaked.
“Both, of course,” the chambermaid replied, mildly offended. “Along with movies on demand, video games and unlimited wi-fi access.”
The chambermaid slid open the glass arcadia door in the living room and stepped out onto the patio.
“Landscapers come at one o’clock on the dot every afternoon, so as not to disrupt your sleep.”
Joyce looked down the sharp ridge of her eroding nose at the khaki-clad laborer with a leaf-blower strapped to his back. He was dripping sweat under a ratty straw hat that made her itch.
Another curt nod indicated her appeasement.
“The fitness center and pool are open twenty four hours a day,” the chambermaid informed her upon reentering the living room.
“Every guest is assigned a personal superintendent for any and all repair needs,” she continued. “Simply call me at any hour of the day, for any reason whatsoever, and I will have him here within five minutes.”
“And group activities,” Joyce prompted. “I presume there to be outings and entertainment available nightly?”
“Certainly, madam,” the chambermaid responded. “There are shuttles on call to take our guests to and from sporting events, theater shows, restaurants and nightclubs. We also have nightly luaus, bridge tournaments and countless other activities for our guests to enjoy.”
A knock at the door interrupted them.
“Ah, that must be Javier,” the chambermaid surmised, a faint smile touching her lips.
“Javier?”
“Your cabana boy,” the chambermaid replied, adjusting her costume-like uniform and crossing the fifteen steps to the door.
Joyce felt her hands move to her head, smoothing her bobbed, bottle-blonde hair of their own accord. Her formerly lifeless gray eyes flashed in nervous anticipation. Many years had past since she had last held the undivided attention of a handsome, young man.
The chambermaid cast a devilish grin over her shoulder as her slender fingers wrapped around the door knob. Slowly, ever so slowly, she twisted, reveling in her charge’s evident discomfort. At last, when the knob would turn no further, she paused, and tugged open the door.
A khaki flash accompanied the deeply-tanned figure that entered. Joyce only realized she had been holding her breath when she blew it out in disgust.
“This,” she spit. “This is Javier?”
She jerked an indignant thumb at the same rumpled, middle-aged landscaper who had been working in the backyard moments earlier.
“Yep,” the chambermaid answered. “And he’s here to plunge the hall toilet.”
“I, I don’t understand,” Joyce stammered.
“It’s really quite simple, Ms. DeMannon,” the chambermaid replied. “Javier here is the landscaper, plumber, electrician, A/C tech and general handyman. When stuff breaks, he fixes it.”
“But what about my cabana boy,” Joyce wailed.
“There is no maid service, Ms. DeMannon,” the chambermaid continued, removing her “Beatrice” name tag and dropping it into a blouse pocket. “There is no 24 hour gym. There is no Olympic pool. There is no mint on the pillow, and there is, most assuredly, no cabana boy.”
“But, but,” Joyce sputtered.
“This is a rental townhome, Ms. DeMannon, not the Hyatt,” the listing agent informed the stricken tenant.
She withdrew her Planet Real Estate pin from another frilly pocket of the ridiculous blouse and affixed it where the other had been, effectively ending the ruse.
“Your agent would have done well to direct you to one of our wonderful local resorts if you require concierge service,” she chastised. “Perhaps, those accommodations might be a bit more to your liking than our modest eight hundred dollar a month condo.”
“I get it,” Joyce sneered. “This is about my walk-through list, isn’t it?”
She produced and unfolded a multi-page document from her imitation Coach purse.
A gurgle, followed by a full flush, emanated from the hall bath.
“Ah, yes,” the agent answered. “Your list. From the sound of things, I’d say Javier just took care of it.”
“But there are two hundred and thirty seven items that require immediate attention!”
“Two hundred and thirty six,” the agent corrected. “And we will not be repainting the hallway to a ‘more appealing tan,’ stripping the wallpaper border in the breakfast nook, replacing the vertical blinds with shutters, installing ceiling fans or addressing any of the other assorted nonsense erroneously deemed deficient.”
With that, she turned for the door at the same time the handyman emerged from the bathroom. She paused and looked back at the forlorn tenant before the pair slipped out into the midday sun.
“But if the sh*&^%r backs up again? We’ll send Javier right over.”
