I spent the morning with a very nice couple from Offutt, AFB looking to move back to Alaska next spring when they retire. After meeting them for coffee this morning to go over our list of homes to see and review the information packages we set off to see if we could find their dream home.
Prospect #1 - Advertised as a "stunning charmer" by an obviously far sighted listing agent. It was anything but. I swear I saw bigfoot under the pile of whatever-that-was in the corner. I had to check the address twice to make sure I didn't accidentally drive us to the city landfill. Mr. Seller, your collection of empty capless two-liter dime store cola bottles doesn’t exactly add to the appeal of the stained with-God-only-knows-what carpet. This was a definite NO.
Prospect #2 - Beautiful log home with knock-your-socks-off curb appeal. They're grinning ear to ear as we pull into the driveway. That's as far as we got because there wasn't a lockbox (as advertised) and the listing agent didn't/wouldn't/couldn't answer her phone. After looking for the lockbox for 10 minutes (and making no less than 20 calls to the L/A - don't you love redial?) we gave up and headed to the next house.
Prospect #3 - Curb appeal - check. Lockbox - check. We open the door to hear the hounds of hell begging to be unleashed. Mrs. says she's not going in and heads back to the security of the car. I, like an idiot, push the door open and call out "hello". Great plan. Alert the four legged handmaidens of Satan you nitwit. 'John' and I enter and find two elephant sized boxers in the kitchen in dog crates that are levitating from the canine wrath inside. On the island we find a note from the owner that says, "watch out for dog bombs in the back yard." As the dogs are within seconds of breaking free of their cheap, plastic Chinese imported prisons and salivating over the thought of fresh meat, we made a hasty retreat and moved this one to the NO pile.
Prospect #4 - We pause for a second as we exit the car to see what demonic creature awaited us. All quiet. Lockbox is on the door and the key actually works. I say a silent 'thank you God' as we enter. We spend a few minutes exploring the house. Kitchen needs a little remodel and it could use new carpet but the rooms are a good size and there's lots of light. So far so good. We make our way upstairs only to end our tour when John opens the bedroom door at the top of the stairs and finds a young couple engaged in... well, lascivious behavior. That's it, we're outta here. Another NO. We get back to the car and John asks me about building. Wow, this is going well.
I've given up hope at this point. All I want is to show a cotton-picking house, for crying out loud. It's not as though we're looking at Maytag boxes with shingles for Pete's sake. There wasn’t a house on the list with a price tag of less than $350,000. What IS the problem people?
Prospect #5 - The fact that we can't get in the front door because the entire Neiman Marcus shoe department has been moved to the foyer doesn't faze us. We survived the hideous ear splitting music coming from the owners Ipod gizmo in the living room. Call me an old fart, but that thumping, wheezing, screeching, crying sound was NOT soothing (or ‘music’ for that matter). I liken it to the sound of something being eaten alive while penning its will with bloody nails on a chalkboard. Not quite what HGTV had in mind when they suggested you play music for showings Mr. & Mrs. Seller. Mrs. makes a face and says she had no idea Glade made a Sweat Sock scented air freshener. Hockey gear bag complete with stick on the dining room table. Someone's very-not-freshly-laundered undies on the floor of the master bedroom. Plate of almost finished spaghetti on the nightstand. We utter a collective sigh and head for the door.
Sell our home? Why, no... we just like the FOR SALE sign in our front yard. The colors are soooo pretty.
It's simple folks. If you want me to sell your home you're going to need to take care of a few things. C-L-E-A-N it, make it market ready (call me if you have no idea what that phrase means) and let me actually get in with the buyers to see it. Oh, yea, get rid of 'Precious' and 'Spot' and their little post-digestive treasures while you're at it. If you can handle that, I'll take care of the rest.
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