“I’m sorry, but the CCRs are very clear,” Lucinda informed her young client. “Daily rentals are not allowed in this community.”
Dimitry stroked his thin black goatee as he paced, agitated.
“Fine,” he sniffed, his black horn-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose as he stopped abruptly in front of his agent. “I’ll rent it out weekly.”
Lucinda looked up from the paperwork in her hands, taking in the Gen Z programmer anew. His white t-shirt depicted a red nuclear explosion under black lettering that read Ctrl-Alt-Del.
Whatever body spray he had drenched himself in this morning, the unmistakable notes of Rockstar Energy Drink and curry assaulted her sinuses. She assumed the scent had a name like Alpha Disco Party or Purple Daze. She made a mental note to use a little more sage than she normally did when she smudged the room between appointments.
“No weekly rentals either,” she answered, thrusting the paperwork at her aspiring buyer.
Dimitry waved it off, opting to resume pacing instead of scrutinizing the document himself. His black and white checkerboard Vans squeaked on the vinyl imitation wood plank flooring with each sharp left turn.
“Monthly then,” he conceded, throwing his skeletal palms up to the sky in exasperation.
Lucinda just shook her head, her tight black curls dancing in the low light of the dual wall sconces centered on either side of her on the wall to her back. She detested her appearance under the overhead light of the ceiling fan directly above her head. The lighting had been the very first change she made upon taking occupancy of the corner office the previous year.
On this day, as with most days, she had nearly the entire building to herself. In years past, senior agents would have bloodied each other for a shot at this particular private office. Most of her colleagues opted to work from home or coffee shops these days, however. She was unique in preferring the power of a formal business venue, and counted her lucky stars that the titanic shift towards home office culture had opened up opportunities to eager novices like herself. From her black on gold emblazoned nameplate on the door to the precise arrangement of the two high-back chairs situated opposite her mahogany desk for clients, every last detail had been painstakingly designed to portray the trappings of success she had not yet attained, and the authority she did not yet possess.
The office served as her de facto closer until she became one herself.
Dimitry was blind to it all, refusing Lucinda’s repeated invitations to sit. She was not in control of the dynamic, let alone the dialogue. She needed to break the momentum of this runaway train that was threatening to run away with her sale. She threw the papers in front of Dimitry on his next pass by the desk. Startled, he actually yelped, “Eek,” as he jumped away from the resulting thud of the heavy stack thumping the floor.
“For the tenth time, Dimitry,” she hissed. “No.”
“Semi annually,” he squeaked.
“No.”
“Yearly?”
“No.”
“Furnished?”
“No.”
“Unfurnished?”
“No.”
“Make it a timeshare?”
“No.”
“Can I rent out one bedroom and occupy the rest?”
“No.”
“Can I rent out the pool for private parties?”
“No.”
“Can I rent out the garage and charge event parking?”
“No.”
“Can I charge memberships to my home gym?”
“No.”
“Can I rent my coat closet to a fashion influencer?”
“No.”
“Can I rent the pantry to a culinary student?”
“No.”
“Can I have a roomate?”
“Yes.”
“A roommate that pays me rent?”
“Dimitry, the covenants, codes, and restrictions make it crystal clear,” Lucinda replied. “No rentals of any kind allowed. Period. The end.”
“That’s insane,” Dimitry exclaimed as he stepped over the papers and sank into one of the previously refused chairs. “It’s bad enough they expect me to pay three quarters of a million dollars for a starter home, but now they won’t let me recoup any of the cost? What kind of bullshit is that? Maybe I should just rent for another year and wait for this bubble to pop.”
He looked utterly defeated.
Lucinda could relate. She neglected to mention that she, herself, had a forty minute daily commute from the boonies because she couldn’t afford Scottsdale prices either. That commute wasn’t going to get any shorter if she couldn’t close more skiddish buyers like young Dimitry here, however.
“Affordability is certainly an issue in this market,” Lucinda agreed, expanding with new confidence as Dimitry shrunk deeper into his chair. The conversation had moved to much more familiar terrain, and she was ready with her scripts.
She straightened the gold REALTOR pin on her red blouse as she continued.
“But the flip side of the coin is that current rental rates are even more ridiculous. You can either pay through the nose to the bank to own a place, or you can pay through the nose to a landlord and own nothing. I’d rather pay my own mortgage than someone else’s, personally.”
“Yes, but I hear interest rates are going to come down and values are going to crash,” Dimitry countered.
“Rates are expected to come down, yes,” Lucinda agreed. “But prices are actually expected to climb a bit in response. This same house might cost eight hundred thousand next year instead of seven.”
“Insanity,” Dimitry repeated, checking the time on his pink iPhone 13 Pro. “I make good money, have seven fifty credit. If I can’t afford to live here, who can?”
“Well, I suppose folks just have to cut back on some extravagances these days,” Lucinda offered. “Or they move back to Ohio.”
Dimitry stiffened, pantomiming the sign of the cross despite having never set foot in a church in his adult life.
“Low blow,” he whined, reaching for the papers on the floor with a heavy sigh. He scanned the document for what felt like an eternity to Lucinda in complete silence.
And they say kids today can’t focus, she thought.
Finally, Dimitry sat back in the chair. A wide Cheshire Cat’s grin rolled up his face as he held his agent’s stare.
“It doesn’t say anything about lemonade stands,” he declared. “Gimme the fucking paperwork. Looks like I’m hitting Costco on my way home.”
