And the seller was hauled out, naked, to the curb...

Real Estate Agent with Teles Properties

A Realtor friend of mine told me this story and it was just too delicious to keep to myself.  The story is hers, but the writing is all me!

Sometimes the ordinary Muggle (non- Real Estate professional) might assume that Realtors receive exorbitant amounts of money for the service we provide.

If you knew what we often deal with, behind the scenes, you might realize we are not paid nearly enough.

Take, for example, the case of the naked seller.

Our story begins when I show my client a new listing in an area she has long coveted. It was newer built, located on a quiet street surrounded by other, nice, homes and it had a lovely city lights view.  More to the point, it was in her price range.   "It's perfect", she sighs, and we proceed to make an offer that is eventually accepted.

We saw signs of trouble, even in those early days.  The decrepit dog, clearly in it's last days,  languishing in the shade; the fat and raggedy chicken in the rundown coop in the back; the sullen, middle aged male in the home office who could not bear to acknowledge our presence - but we persevered.  Maybe it was a bad day, maybe the seller was a shy man.

But, no.   Mr. Seller is one half of a bitter divorce that has led to a court ordered sale of this home.  To say he is not happy is a shocking understatement and he has engaged in all sorts of passive-aggressive bad behavior.

These are the small, impotent gestures of a beaten person.  He wouldn't bother to answer the door or say "hello".  He glowered and mumbled and made cryptic remarks about the fate of the dog.  He  refused to clean his dishes or pick up his dirty underwear so the ex-wife-to-be drove to the home frequently to clean up  (Thank you, Mrs. Seller).  He refused even the most reasonable buyer requests in order to force the ex-wife-to-be to spend more money on the attorney.  And the chicken is dead.  We don't know when.  We don't know how.

By now it is clear Mr. Seller does not want to move.  He is pulling the biggest Ostrich I have ever seen.  I swear he must have a picture of Tinkerbell in his closet; to whom he claps his hands three times and says "I believe" every night, hoping  that we will all go away so he can return to whatever fantasy he had prior to the divorce.

Which leads us to the naked part.

He has refused to sign the grant deed and has asked, plaintively, "why won't the buyer let me just stay here?".   Mrs. Can't-Be-The-Ex-Soon-Enough has asked her attorney to have a judge sign the grant deed instead of Mr. Seller and for the Sheriff to forcibly remove Mr. Seller from the premises.  The harried Listing Agent warned us off from doing the final walk through because "Mr. Seller is likely to be lying in bed, naked, as a protest".  Eew.

If Mr. Seller doesn't get real, real soon, here's what's going to happen.  He's going to be lying in bed, naked, as his impotent protest.   Mrs. Seller is going to show up, with calvary in tow, and she is going to have him hauled out of there and dumped on the curb.  And then she is going to go all "Angela Bassett in Waiting to Exhale" when she throws all his stuff to the curb with him.

It could happen.  Mrs. Seller is waiting for Mr. Seller to trample on her last nerve and then the Furies of Hell shall be unleashed.

I deserve combat pay.