I have made light of purchasing reticence within this virtual nook.  I have assailed the inability of some to clear the hurdle that separates “browsers” from “buyers” in this ethereal cranny.  I have most likely made some fearful to ever step into my vehicle as a house hunter, lest they be tormented by the subconscious meter that ticks inexorably closer to the outlying fringe of my patience in their pursuit of a home.  The squeal of brakes at every red light reminiscent to the mind's eye of the protestations of a creaky shopping window closing against its will.

The truth of the matter, though, is as much as “career buyer syndrome” can be a frustration to the afflicted and their agents alike, most lamentation from professionals who bemoan the mileage on their vehicles, depleted gas tanks and missed soccer games for the client who is seemingly as likely to buy a nuclear submarine as a house, is misplaced.  In actuality, the occassional encounter with such a client is vital to the continuing education of a REALTOR.  What is the first thing most new agents are encouraged to do when they join this wild and woolly industry?  Go look at houses.  As many as possible.  Learning the product and the values is a key to becoming the knowledgeable professional one (loudly) proclaims to be.

After a few years in the biz, new clients start coming our way through referrals as well as whatever lead generation techniques we have chosen to employ.  Burgeoning careers look to be fast-tracked for success.  This is a rather critical juncture.  Let’s call it “I’ve made it syndrome.”  Focused on the new business that is coming in by the bushel, it is all too convenient to convince oneself that there is no longer time for the menial task of viewing inventory that does not pertain to the immediate needs of current clients. 

Agents get soft, lose that eye of the tiger.  The hardcore open house and previewing training regimen is traded in for occasional MLS surfing.  Next thing you know, Thunderlips and Clubber Lang are taking turns knocking your listless Rocky around the market.

The much maligned time wasting client is not actually a time waster.  Certainly, there will always be those with whom we are not compatible.  There will be those who are unrealistic in their wants, and are likewise unbending in their desires.  We have the luxury of turning down the business we know represents a long walk off a short pier.  That caveat notwithstanding, I maintain that the clients who spend six months, a year or … gulp, longer to find the perfect home represent an opportunity.  That opportunity is to view inventory.  To isolate new subdivisions, new styles of architecture.  To leave the confines of the office and see that which we profess to know intimately.

Beats the heck out of sitting in a classroom while we obtain the latest in a long line of academic certifications that mean about as much as my Outstanding Achievement In Reading awards from Cochise Elementary School.

I have a particular client who drives me absolutely bonkers, and she knows it.  Because I tell her.  We laugh about it over coffee.  We have looked off and on for several years this last go round.  Of course, she has bought homes from me in the past, so in the interest of full disclosure, her leash is a bit longer than it would be for the average man on the street.  The fact is that I have the time to accommodate her whims (no matter how busy we get, there is always an hour to be found somewhere during the course of a given week), and I have become quite the resource for mid-century modern homes in the Phoenix and Scottsdale area as a result.  Never a big fan of that particular style of architecture in the past, our tours have brought a new and profound appreciation for this niche, as well as a knowledge base for the “it” builders and subdivisions that best exemplify the local modern community for which I previously had no use.

While we may bellyache from time to time about the instances in which we are the world’s lowest paid chauffeurs, there is always something to be gained in viewing houses.  I may not get paid today, but the education may pay me threefold in the future.  I have accumulated a fair amount of know-how during my decade in Real Estate, but there are always new stones to turn over and things to learn.  Lessons that are only learned out in the field.  That means turning off the computer and getting some face time with the real world on a regular basis.  Doing the things that make us useful and needed in a landscape of online services and long-distance "experts" who would otherwise marginalize the local professional through instant, if incomplete, data.  Information in the absence of context is useless.  We provide the context.  That is our job security.

So go ahead, my fellow professionals, and allow your precious time to get wasted as you look at 100 homes with the same foot-dragging buyer.  Your continued employment in this field might ultimately depend on those lengthy weekend forays. 

Of course, if you are looking for million dollar homes with an $80,000 budget because the market is “still declining,” I will gladly give you a referral to a top notch local professional.

Devastation is not accompanied by a swelling musical score.  The lights do not dim.  It is delivered not through the somber lips of grandfatherly concern.  It lays in wait within the Trojan horse of casual conversation.  So well concealed that a victim smiles into its benevolent face even as a fearsome blade is thrust deep into his solar plexus.  One wrenching twist and the dagger of fate retreats with another heart. 

Go ahead.  Notch your post.  You got me good, you old devil, you.  It’s a victory worth savoring.  For the next time you would come calling, I’ll be a little harder.  A little less trusting.  A little less me. 

And, really, where’s the sport in that?

I am not left bitter.  I do not shake my fist at the heavens and curse the cruel ruse.  Perhaps the inherent futility robs me of the ambition.  Perhaps I deny the one who would hear it.  I long for rage.  I long for anything to fill the fresh hollow where hope had only so recently lain.  Even the moments of crushing sadness which accompany the first notes of a poignant song or a glance at those more fortunate.  Watching two at play, knowing one will be forever missing.

Who would you have been?  Would your little nose have sloped upwards at the tip like your mother’s?  Would I have seen the face of my father in your profile?  What shape would your voice have taken when you told me you loved me as your smooth forehead rested upon my own contented brow? 

You were daddy’s little girl.  I just know it.  I saw your heart.

Though we can’t meet in this world, the sun will not rise upon a day that I don’t think of you and dream.  Your echo forever audible beyond a silent existence.  Your name will be known even if you cannot be.  I am so very sorry, my little Cassidy Hope.  I will never forget you. 

There was an old microfiche machine at my office when I started in this business.  It would be awhile before plat maps went online.  The Mr. Coffee next to the old Xerox copier had yet to be replaced by the single-shot vacuum pack machination that would allow agents to select from a variety of roasts.  The office itself teemed with Real Estate synergy as the exodus to the home office wouldn't begin in earnest for another five years or so. 

Against the backdrop of what is now considered the Neolithic Era of the Real Estate Industry, those pioneers who embraced the radical technological advancements of email and personal websites scoffed at the hopelessly crude tools of the trade still wielded by the Paleolithic holdovers from days gone by.  Quick to shovel dirt on the shallow graves these dinosaurs had themselves seemingly dug by ignoring the advancing world around them, the younger set was highly amused by one agent in particular who still used the rickety old typewriter in the work room for personal correspondence. 

While derision for the curmudgeon's refusal to keep up with the times was less hostile than affectionate, that lone typewriter signaled, for many, the functional obsolescence of more than merely the machine itself.  The sooner we could put that beast of burden out to pasture, the sooner our brokerage would live up to its reputation as industry leader within the Phoenix market.  It's a competitive world out there, and you can't rest on yesterday's laurels if you wish to stay relevent, after all.  To stay on that cutting edge, you must do some cutting.  Though it was never verbalized, the insinuation that both man and machine should succumb gracefully to the scrap heap to make way for the new breed was palpable.

That was just over ten years ago.  The typewriter is gone, but the agent remains.  Was there a sudden epiphany about the direction of the business and a need to be at the forefront of the technological revolution?  Certainly not.  We simply dragged the typewriter outside one day after an office vote and beat the thing back into the Stone Age.  Left with little alternative, the old guy grudgingly learned how to email and even used the fax machine on occasion.  But websites?  Search engine optimization?  Let the hotshots figure that nonsense out.  He would rather sell Real Estate than hop on every new trend.

And he did.  One of the most successful agents in our brokerage, he pretty much sticks to managing his own investments at this point.  Investments cultivated during the bust years.  Remember when everyone was ditching their land holdings in the ‘80s as values tanked and interest rates spiked simultaneously?  He held on.  Remember the stagflation of the ‘70s?  He amassed quite a portfolio amidst those treacherous market forces. 

The man simply knows Real Estate. 

Dinosaurs get to be dinosaurs in this business for a reason.  In an industry that has more attrition than the lineup for Guns ‘N Roses, only those who have the market cornered on business acumen and opportunistic savvy linger long enough to be subjected to the ignominious rebukes and condescension of the next generation.  Those of us who would spread our peacock feathers to boast of our rising profiles in comparison to the sagging numbers of our predecessors would be better served to squeeze every last drop of knowledge and advice from their battle-tested minds. 

So we are the big dogs today.  Big deal.  This porch has been occupied by far better agents in years past.  Agents that made presentations face to face instead of via email and fax.  Agents who actually employed salesmanship and personal skills to seal transactions versus simply heaping reams of readily available data upon their subjects.  Agents who can recognize the oncoming booms and busts because they have experienced these cycles many times over.  Agents who have thrived in the face of all manner of advancing technologies (for those who would assert otherwise, technology didn't just suddenly appear post 2000).  Agents who know what works for their business and what does not.  Agents who do not confuse the tools of selling Real Estate with the actual business of selling Real Estate. 

Like those ancient machines that once inhabited our offices paved the way for the next generation of technology, so have those who plied their abilities in days of yore been pre-requiste for the current crop of agents.  We have gotten to where we are now on the backs of our predecessors.  Ironically, some would deign to call the older generation of agents blind to new technology while not recognizing their own limited sight.  Such hasty and dismissive judgment renders one blind to the positive attributes that have crafted long, successful careers.  Any comet can streak brightly across the sky for a short period of time.  The trick is in maintaining a lifespan past the initial fluorescent brilliance.

The more I think about it, the more I find the term "dinosaur" to be quite appropriate.  As opposed to those who throw it about with such arrogance and disdain, however, I liken it more to the way many productive old timers will eventually leave the industry.  Forget the magic bullet of SEO, blogging or any other marketing flavor of the month; it's going to take nothing short of a meteor strike to kill those careers.  Instead of chastising these agents for what they are not, I seek to absorb what they are in vain attempt to distill the core secret to their longevity down to its very essence.  I would recommend some of the more vocal online detractors of our industry elders do the same.  We should all be so lucky to stick around long enough to earn such scorn.

Funny thing, but about 75% of the agents who mocked that agent ten years ago are nowhere to be found today; knocked off their lofty perches by a brutal market they didn't see coming.  Meanwhile, he keeps on keeping on, trying to figure out how to change the ribbon on the office PC.  Try not to feel too sorry for him as he outlasts the next wave of revolutionaries with quaint designs on yet another industry coup d'etat.

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.

... I learned that my wife is again with child.  Via Facebook.  Go figure.

I believe it was Confucius who said that he who hesitates gets flattened by an 18 wheeler laden with 10 tons of abject irony along life’s crooked highway.  Or was it something about those who dally within the confines of a centrifuge being at great peril of becoming centrifugal?  Regardless of the exact phrasing, the veracity of the axiom is never more resplendent in self evidence than in its pertinence to a Real Estate transaction.  Get in, get out, and for God’s sakes man, do it on the quick step.

Case in point: 

August 8^th, 2009.  The night was warm and dry.  Once again defying all logic, Phoenix did not burn up upon reentry into this late summer evening, and its denizens scurried out of air conditioned alcoves to forage for supplies as the sun dipped below the White Tank Mountains in the far Western sky.  Taking full advantage of the reprieve, I was amongst the throng vying to get sixty eight errands done in a three hour span.  That’s when the call came.

A little background.  A client of mine purchased a beautiful home in Queen Creek two years ago.  One job transfer and complete meltdown of Western civilization later, the home is unfortunately worth about 50% of its prior value.  So we attempted to hammer out a short sale.  Rife with frustration, incompetence, duplication and other multi-syllabic words, short sales are the very antithesis of expediency.  It takes forever and a day just to get a negotiator from the bank assigned to the transaction.  Once the negotiator is assigned, it can literally take weeks just to choke the direct phone number to the cave where they hide him out of a disinterested call center employee. 

It’s crazy.  It’s maddening.  It’s 2009.

The upshot is that 6 months and many stops and starts later, the deal we secured was approved by the bank and headed for closing.  Loan docs were in and we were set to put a ribbon on the whole shebang in two days.  It didn’t matter that the bank had screwed up the first approval by providing an unrealistic closing window.  It didn’t matter that it took an additional three weeks and a new set of BPOs (broker price opinions) to get the closing timeframe extended to a reasonable period of time to line up the buyer’s financing.  It didn’t matter that the buyer had nearly backed out several times during the interminable wait as concern mounted about the continued erosion in values.  Or that we had to sweat through an appraisal in August for a sale that was negotiated in February.  We were finally at the finish line.

And then the fateful call came.  Had the pool service not been performed?  Was there new damage to the property?  No, we had somehow managed to ride out the entire escrow without incurring any additional issues with the home itself. 

The buyer lost his job.

Called in over the weekend and informed that his services were no longer wanted, months of work went straight down the portal to Real Estate hell that opened up under our feet.  More pointedly, months of waiting went down said portal.  Had the lienholder acted with the expediency and urgency that actual Real Estate professionals understand is vital to the successful culmination of a transaction, the unfortunate eventuality would be somebody else’s problem.  Instead, the hot potato remains firmly in the bank’s seared hands.

Time kills deals. 

The glacial pace that most institutions operate with only serves to demonstrate why bankers should stick to banking.  The moral that the average consumer can take from this tale of woe is that you never take a Real Estate sale for granted.  Things can and will happen between contract acceptance and closing.  To limit those things that can sink your battleship, you want to get to the closing table as soon as humanly possible.  Death, job loss, a bad night in Vegas … any manner of variable can rear its red inked head to sabotage your sale. 

When you have the opportunity to close, close.  If that means you have to reschedule the movers and change the turn-off date on your utilities, so be it.  A little inconvenience is cheap insurance against catastrophe.

Flattened by the big rig and dizzy from centrifugal force, we limp back onto the market.  Nimble as we can be with a 500 pound gorilla in tow.

There are things that you, as a home buyer, want to know about a prospective new neighborhood.  Are the schools top shelf?  Is there shopping nearby?  Do the neighbors hold a semi-annual Ed Begley Jr. look-alike contest?  For the most part, your agent can help you find the answers to these questions (though determining a victor in the latter contest seems dubious given the subject hasn’t been seen in public in two decades).  There are some matters which may be pertinent to your purchasing decision that I cannot field, however.

Fair housing doctrine is the result of a noble pursuit to ensure that consumers enjoy basic rights and equality in the purchase of a home.  The so-called protected classes against which housing discrimination is strictly prohibited include race, color, religion, gender, national origin, persons with disabilities and familial status (having children under 18 years of age). 

(Note the omission of job description from that grouping.  Don’t like attorneys?  You don’t have to sell your house to one.  Of course, green is the only color that matters, and rejecting any potential suitor for a reason other than unacceptable contract terms is not only foolish, but an invitation for trouble.  Protected class or not.)

Now that we have established who cannot be barred from housing opportunities for no other reason than certain personal attributes, let’s take it a step further.  A frequent criticism of Realtors is that we won’t answer your direct questions when you are trying to get the skinny on an area.  Your pointed questions are met with milquetoast answers such as, “There are all types of people in this community,” or “You should go to the police department website to research that on your own.”

It’s not because we don’t want to be helpful.  We do.  Believe me.  Many times, we are constrained by overbearing legalities that make it difficult to effectively advise our clients.  While laudable, fair housing doctrine in practice can be maddeningly frustrating, too.  I cannot tell you how many Christian families live in the neighborhood.  I can’t tell you if a subdivision is kid friendly.  I can’t tell you if an area you have inquired about is a “bad part of town” or not.  I can’t even give you the wink or the nod of my head as I drone on about not being permitted to discuss such matters. 

When you, as an unknowing consumer, stray into the no-fly zone, the exchanges often go something like this.

Q:  “Are there a lot of minorities in this area?”

A:  “There are people of all kinds in this neighborhood.  I am not at liberty to discuss such things.  Please get out of my car you intolerant ape.”

Q:  “Are there more families or singles that live in this neighborhood?”

 A:  “There are people of all kinds in this neighborhood.  I am not at liberty to discuss such things.  If you are trolling for a date, I suggest the local pub ... maybe Facebook.”

Q:  “Is there a lot of crime here?”

A:  “That depends on whether you consider vice a victimless crime … er, I mean, you would need to check the local PD’s website to review those statistics.”

Q:  “Are there any agnostic Madagascan women who walk with a limp and have six adoptive Inuit kids nearby?”

A:  “Security!”

The thing to remember is that we agents deal in properties, not people.  Ask me about the community amenities, the builders, the values.  Shoot, you can ask me for the square root of the Pythagorean Theorem for that matter (the answer is “F” by the way).  Just don’t ask me to lay out the area demographics for you.  There are resources available to you should you wish to perform your own investigations, but as a licensed agent, I cannot steer you to or from a particular area based on criteria that either closely treads or firmly stomps on a protected class. 

Are there times when I feel constrained from fully doing my job and properly advising my clients about both the positives and negatives in a community?  Absolutely.  As a safeguard that prevents agents from feeding into arcane prejudices and stereotypes, however, it is necessary to ensure that we don’t artificially impact values or deny opportunities.

You can ask me if the house is far enough away from the meth lab down the street to withstand the inevitable explosion.  Just don’t ask me to speculate whether the aspiring chemist within is here legally or not.

Picture a bowl of primordial soup.  No, really picture it.  What does it look like?  I see a gelatinous, gray gumbo of sorts.  The contents within completely impervious to the light of the sun underneath an opaque, spoon-devouring top layer.  I don’t need to make out the individual invertebrates that I sense roiling about the porcelain confines to intuit that a wayward finger would disappear into tiny, prehistoric mandibles within moments of straying into the land of the culinary lost.

Of course, I am talking about bank owned property sales.  If the creepy crawlies in the walls don’t get you, the asset managers will.

About a year and a half ago, I, like many of my Real Estate brethren, was forced to take stock of the focus of my career.  Having long relied on the nearly continuous repeat and referral business that I cultivated through years of diligent service, circumstances dictated that I ponder the unponderable when the Great Market Implosion of 2008 (c)  threatened to sabotage my business model.  If you could even call it a business model, that is.  I subscribe to the notion that if you do right by the clients that you have now, you will never want for clients in the future.  Good business practice begets good client retention.

And yet, there I was.  Looking around for the vine upon which my new business had died amidst the economic crop dusting that was rendering entire markets fallow.  My hedgerow bustled only with concern.  So what to do?  With credit markets drying up and loans increasingly difficult to come by, the resale market became a stagnant bog.  The only sign of life would be Nessie popping her head above the surface of the foreclosure loch on occasion to swallow another hapless homeowner.  Against this stark backdrop, many of my respected colleagues turned to the very institutions that led us down this path to housing oblivion for their salvation.  Sensing that resale properties could not compete with the dirt cheap foreclosures, and that finding loans for buyers had become vastly more difficult than finding properties, I was tempted to follow suit.

The lure of pursuing bank-owned property listings was … gulp … quite tantalizing.  I saw REO agents handling more properties at a given time than they ordinarily handled over the course of an entire year while I banged my head against the resale wall.  Heeding the siren’s song, I went so far as to solicit lists of banks with whom I could apply to handle their overflowing inventories.  Hat in hand, it struck me that this was the 21st century version of standing in line for hours on end amidst scores of other able-bodied candidates for a factory job circa 1930.  A funny thing happened en route to the head of the line, however.  An epiphany, if you will.

In the current market, we all work for the banks in one manner or another.  You either list their houses, or you bring them buyers.  Only one side of that equation will bring you repeat business down the line, however.  I realized that I could not take on the workload that REO specialists enjoy tolerate without alienating the loyal client base that had propelled me to heights I had never really thought possible in my career.  Knowing there are only so many hours in the day, I made the conscious decision to forgo the possibility of immediate gratification with the banks to continue to serve real people.  It’s not an entirely altruistic choice either, but a pragmatic one.  The foreclosure market will dry up eventually, leaving the few remaining morsels to the established denizens of the deep who have waded through that knee-deep filth for the last two decades.  Those Johnny Come Latelys whose bank-owned property experience extends back a year or two will be in the unenviable position of having to redefine their expertise yet again.  Their neglected mom and pop clients will have moved on.

I do not want to watch my business wash up on the rocks along with the myriad other souls aimlessly following the tide on a makeshift raft of sticks and desperation when the winds inevitably change.  I’ll continue to take my chances with my own internal compass and weather-battered crew.

So, here you sit.  Spoon in hand, ready to dive into that noxious looking soup.  It may not be the most appetizing dish you have ever seen, but it’s the house special and the price is right.  The maitre d’ has already slipped back into the kitchen, hurriedly gathering the same ladled gruel for the next table.

No fear, your royal tester is still here.  Pass that gnarly bowl on over and I’ll help you determine its edibility.

I was sitting on your side of the table when we were eating steak and lobster, and I’m not looking for the check now that my dinner guests can only afford spam.  It may bring a little indigestion on this particular evening, but there are plenty of four star days ahead.

If you are buying or selling a home in Scottsdale, Arizona, and you are not an amorphous, soul crushing financial institution, it would be my great privilege to represent you in your pursuits.

Read more of my random missives at the Scottsdale Property Shop

Everyone wants a piranha.

Whether a professional athlete intent on a signing bonus the size of Madagascar, a victim of a vicious fender bender fixated on the 2.8 million dollar legal prescription for a tender neck or a home buyer/seller whose sole purpose on this earth at the immediate moment is to grind as many Ben Franklins as possible out of the guy on the other side of a negotiation, aggressiveness is typically the hallmark virtue in the professional representation that is sought.

The sports super agent, who we are 95% certain has a life-sized portrait of his bare chested self wearing a boa constrictor around suspiciously well tanned shoulders hanging in his posh downtown office, is universally loathed by all.  Secretly, however, we all know he’d be the only guy we’d call if we needed to make a cash withdrawal from the abundant posterior of a team owner.

The weaselly ambulance chaser with the slicked back, Grecian Formula enhanced locks is similarly unlikely to find himself on the guest lists of many Bat Mitzvahs and baby showers.  That narcissistic predator might eat the baby.  When we spill the drive-thru coffee in our laps or stumble over the “Watch Your Step!” sign at a public establishment, though, he’s the guy we call.

Amicable folks are great to have around, but when the conversation turns to business, we don’t want Mary Poppins going into battle on our behalf armed only with a spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down.  We’d rather employ the services of Dr. Jekyll to go all Mr. Hyde on the opposition and cram that spoon straight down their throats.

Easy, tiger.

There is a time to kill, and there is a time to frolic.  The problem with the constant grinder is that he often grinds himself right out of a transaction.  It is critical that you leave the other guy with some dignity at the end of a tough negotiation, lest all of your efforts collapse under the weight of the other party’s exhaustion.  After you’ve knocked the poor bloke to the ground and bloodied his nose, do the smart thing.  Extend your hand and help him up.

In practical terms, this is akin to finally saying “yes” after repeated “no’s.”  When you win on the key points, you are often in a position to make a small concession on some trivial tangential issue.  Too many times, I see lost opportunities for a clear victor to score easy diplomatic points at these junctures in the waning moments of a deal.  Want the inspection and other critical aspects of the transaction yet to come to go smoothly?  Give up something that isn’t really necessary.  Offer something minor, but unexpected.

You’ve bitten his neck on price, drank his blood on terms … time to give him a transfusion unless you want to carry his Doppelganger the rest of the way to closing.  For the record, undead weight is quite heavy.

Of course, because you are reading my blog, this advice assumes you were on the dispensing end of said treatment throughout the course of the initial negotiation.  If you were unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end, go ahead and drive a wooden stake through the SOB’s black heart.

*Originally posted at the Scottsdale Property Shop.

There is always opportunity in the margins.  Unfortunately, margins tend to attract the marginal.

The latest water cooler rumbling to emerge from a recent tour group meeting centered on a purported professional short sale negotiation company.  Here in the Valley, short sale negotiation has become its own cottage industry in the past year and a half, and for good reason.  Most Realtors had never encountered a short sale before the recent woes in the market.  You can include me among those ranks.  As such, there has been great demand recently for third party professionals who know the drill and have contacts within the various institutions for expediting the process.  While the skill-set required to negotiate with the bank is really little more than gumption, persistence and know-how, the learning curve can be steep, and the time commitment impractical.  Many agents would rather enlist the help of a specialist to handle this critical portion of the transaction than practice on their first few short sale clients.  The stakes are too high for an erstwhile, but bumbling rube to fumble it all away.  For many of us, it just makes good, practical sense for all parties involved.

Now comes the “but.”

Back to the recent tour meeting of which I mentioned, the latest scuttlebutt is that at least one major short sale negotiation company is the focus of an open investigation.  It seems there is some question as to whether this outfit was utilizing fraudulent measures to cash in on a much grander scale than the stated fee of their services.  Nothing has been proven, and no charges have been filed to my knowledge (hence the glaring omission of the company name here), but the concern is that this company might have engaged in the “double escrowing” of the short sales they were hired to negotiate.  Plainly stated, upon receiving an offer that both buyer and seller had executed and forwarded to the negotiator to submit to the bank for review/approval, this company is thought to have tabled said offer and worked to negotiate an even lower sale of their own with the bank.  Once accepted, they would orchestrate the virtual simultaneous closings in which they bought the property from the bank and turned around and sold it to the buyers at the higher price.  Neither the buyer nor seller would ever know that there were actually two transactions taking place concurrently.

Of course, if the negotiation with the bank failed, the buyer and seller would simply be informed that the offer had been rejected … eventually.  Even though the bank never saw it.  The buyer wouldn’t be overly thrilled to learn of this, of course, but the seller is the one who really stands to lose in such a scenario.  He is the one with the imminent foreclosure and interminable credit limbo on the line while the entity hired to negotiate on his behalf plays Russian roulette with his financial well being.

So while nothing is proven in this instance as of yet, it serves as a consumer alert.  While I was careful in the selection of the professional I have enlisted to negotiate with the various banks on my sellers’ behalf, some might mistakenly believe that any fly-by-night company that has branded itself as a “short sale negotiation specialist” is reputable.  Just as you would exercise diligence and perform your own investigations in the selection of your Realtor, don’t let your guard down when settling upon the service enlisted to actually talk to the bank.  Find out how long they have been in operation.  Are there any complaints lodged with the Better Business Bureau (though some may be such neophytes that they haven’t been around long enough to incur complaints)?  How long has your specific negotiator been involved in either the Real Estate or banking industry prior to their current position?

Maybe I’m just jumping at shadows, but I can’t help but wonder if this is a niche that won’t prove to be populated by failed Realtors, loan officers, car salesmen, financial advisers, taxidermists, Maytag men and arthritic slow-pitch softball umpires in hindsight.  There are some good ones out there who are absolutely invaluable to the busy Realtor and desperate seller alike, but I am under no illusion that there aren’t more than a few soulless chasms of dollars and teeth hiding behind the polished veneer of a snappy tagline as well.

When dealing with a property that you are trying desperately to sell before the bank forecloses, the stakes are elevated to financial Thunderdome proportions.  If your short sale survives the fight, you will walk away with a limp (credit damage, possible tax ramification, etc), but at least you walk away.  A foreclosure will effectively kill your aspirations of future home ownership for the next 5 years.

Choose your weapon wisely.

*Visit the Scottsdale Property Shop for the latest news in Scottsdale Real Estate*