Lockbox Mania: A Realtor's Nightmare - Chapter One
She seemed like a nice lady...
We had just spoken on the phone and she wanted to see a "New" Listing. Right NOW!
Little did I know that she would soon become A Realtor's Nightmare.
"Let's meet at the vacant property and I'll be bringing my kids".
That seemed like a reasonable request. She probably had young children that required car seats. It made perfect sense and many properties are vacant.
In fact, my local service area in Orange County, California, is currently about 70% Distressed Sales for Attached Homes and about 30% Distressed Sales for Detached Homes. It's quite common for these homes to be vacant and it's a great time to be a Home Buyer.
While pulling up to the curb, across the street from the vacant house, the last hint of sunlight is fading from the sky. At the same time, a dark van with it's engine turned off is coasting to a stop, directly in front of the house.
As I step out of my car, I realize that this house has no electricity, the driver of the van is not a lady, and three adult men, dressed in black, have exited the van and are rapidly walking toward me. I now notice their tattoos.
Lockbox Mania: A Realtor's Nightmare - Chapter Two
How many Real Estate Agents does it take to
screw in a light bulb?
It doesn't matter, because this house doesn't have electricity!
As we get closer with each stride, a small car traveling over the speed limit drives between me and the men in black, skids to a stop and divides us by a mere 15 feet. Thank you, whoever you are. The windows are illegally tinted (of course they are) and my heartbeat jumps as the driver side window slowly descends to reveal an attractive middle aged female driver. She extends her right hand gracefully across her chest to shake my hand and says, "Are you Richard?" I slowly nod as she continues, "I'm Mona and those young men are my kids."
Maybe I should have felt relief at having Mona on the scene, but I failed to mention that Mona's right arm was brightly etched with the same tattoo as each kid. I couldn't see all of the details of the tattoo, but the letters R.I.P. grabbed and held my attention.
As Mona parked her car in front of her kid's van, the door opened and she firmly placed a black military style boot on the asphalt. The other boot soon appeared and Mona stood erect, as each kid quickly rushed to her side. She was holding a briefcase in her right hand and gracefully waved her left arm toward the house, as if inviting me to lead the way. She offers the hint of a smile highlighted by a small diamond stud piercing in her upper lip.
As I reach toward the inside pocket of my coat, to retrieve a business card, I observe each kid making a similar move toward the back pocket of their jeans. As a licensed to sell Experienced Realtor, I'm a business card quick draw and presented my non-threatening card to Mona, as each kid relaxed their trigger finger and brought their hands forward. It pays to be a fully trained professional.
While looking at the house and considering my next move, things got really weird.
Regrets? You're damn right I've got regrets. I've got plenty of regrets. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Lockbox Mania: A Realtor's Nightmare - Chapter Three
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Walking toward the vacant house was an out of body experience. The whispers of my newest clients between themselves could be heard, but I was unable to discern the words. This allowed me to focus my full attention on the house.
This property was The Cheapest, Least Expensive, Most Affordable, Lowest Priced Single Family House in Mission Viejo, CA. No wonder they wanted to see it, Right NOW!
As a very modest single level floor plan on an average sized lot situated at the farthest, most secluded, remote and unobserved end of any cul-de-sac in any city, I could appreciate it as the perfect home for a buyer seeking privacy. It also happened to back to a portion of the scarce remaining wilderness in Orange County, California. As I was reminded by a howling pack of hungry coyotes on the prowl. I wondered if I was the first REALTOR to show this house to these buyers. Thoughts of Dexter and rooms covered in plastic raced through my head.
The front yard was surrounded by a three foot high white picket fence (how charming) encased by vines with deadly thorns. The small gate creaked on it's old rusted hinges as I pushed it open and invited my clients to enter. They all motioned for me to go first. They were very polite.
The walkway was a straight path to the front porch and in the planter to the right of the first step I saw a very effective looking Security Sign, as a deterrent to home invaders, which read "Protected By Pit Bulls".
Although the front yard was dimly illuminated by a city provided tall decorative lamp post, located at the far end of the street, the porch was entirely dark. I hesitated for just a moment, as dark figures passed on each side of my body. I immediately saw two of the kids pulling something from their back pockets and shoving it in front of me with their outstretched arms. Their synchronized flicks of a wrist followed by swipes and taps with a finger tip, produced miniature floodlights emanating from their smartphones.
While standing before a monstrous metal security gate guarding the front door, I struggle to recall my Secret Code that will open the key compartment of the Supra Lockbox, upon which the light shines. My companions form a wall of solidarity to protect my back, encourage me and prevent my retreat. I enter the code without letting it be seen.
I now assume the death kneel position, point my iPhone with infrared attachment at the Supra Lockbox and await the familiar tone. Beep, beep, beep and then the happy sound that signals success. Everyone twitches at the positive signal and I immediately push the bottom of the lockbox. Just as intended, the key compartment drops into my palm, I invert the holder and three golden keys land in my other hand.
We are about to enter a dark maze of the unknown.
Lockbox Mania: A Realtor's Nightmare will continue in Chapter Four.
Dear First Time Home Buyer, I've Been Looking For You.
Dear First Time Home Buyer, Can You afford NOT To Buy A House?
Dear Short Sale Survivor, It's Time To Buy A House.
I Teach by Example and Share what I Learn.
construction. He started the collection that today rests in my rock garden by bringing me cool rocks he would find. I use to keep them in different containers, trading up sizes as my collection grew. At one point they ended up in a pink Barbie Doll case that had a zipper. I carefully moved those rocks with me to college and from apartment to apartment. When my husband and I got married and moved in together, he had a bunch of friends helping and my collection almost got tossed because they didn't understand their value.
our walkway or driveway can see it. Now that my kids are all grown and no longer bring me rocks, there hasn't been any additions in a long, long time. A few weeks ago though, a couple neighbor kids came by selling painted rocks. They had a few unpainted ones that they offered to custom paint for me. I told them about my collection and asked if I could just buy a plain one. "Oh sure!" They were just excited to make a sale. They followed me back out to the front and were so please to see their rock take it's place. (The brownish one in the center.) They ooooh'd and ahhhh'd about several they saw.
are everywhere you turn. It is hard to know who to trust. 
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