When People Don’t Understand The Rules of Realty
It must have been after 9pm at night when there was a knock at the door.
I peered through my awesomely-non-expensive blinds which, when you try to close them all at once there is always that stray blind that doesn’t want to close and you’ve got to manually force it to, and noticed a Middle-Eastern woman and her entire Middle-Eastern Nuclear Family (5 kids, 2 husbands, and a dog) standing on my doorstep. She saw me peering at her through my blinds, which of course, wasn’t supposed to happen.
“You open the door now,” she shook her hand at me and said.
Usually, after peering through my blinds I choose not to open the door when I see a couple of kids holding samples of magazine covers, plastic tubs filled with candy, two well-dressed men in suits holding phamplets and people holding pizzas when I have not ordered pizzas. But a Middle-Eastern nuclear family on my doorstep? Was I to immediately wonder if they were here to blow up my house just because the current climate says they would? No. I was going to open my door to the, yes, strange and adamant Middle Eastern nuclear family on my doorstep.
I opened the door. Smiled. And said, “Can I help you?”
She launched into her tirade. “Yes, you can. We want this house.”
Oh, yes. I almost forgot to tell you that there was a FOR SALE sign at the front of the house, illustrating that my place was for sale. But this sign had been up for weeks and the offers had already come in and escrow was in process. My new friend and her familiy and her husbands and her small dog were a little too late.
“Actually,” I started, “we’re already in escrow.”
She looked at me, strange. Sad. Annoyed. “But, I came here last weekend with my family. My daughters loved this place,” she spoke as on-cue her daughters nodded their heads… “I called and left a message for the realtor and she never called me back.”
“Well… That realtor was filling in last weekend. If you want, you can call the number on the for sale sign and talk to our realtor,” I said.
“My daughters want this house,” she spoke again. “We have to have this house.”
“Ummm,” I started… “Well, you can call our realtor. There’s not much else I can tell you, really.”
“Did you hear what I said about my daughters?” she asked.
“What, that they want this house?” I asked back.
“Yes. What are you going to do about that?”
“Ummm, why don’t you tell them that sometimes in life you can’t always get what you want.”
She shook her hand at me and muttered something in a different lanugage and stormed away from my house…key point here – after 9pm at night. I don’t know about you, but isn’t it a tad abnormal to go knocking on people’s doors at night to find out if the owners will grant you ownership of their house?
Then again, maybe it’s just a cultural disconnect, but either way I did find a positive in the whole situation. The first positive…that such adamant and rude people are not involved in the escrow process with me, because that would probably be more trouble than not. And secondly, they didn’t try to sell me magazines.
I hate when people try to sell me magazines.
In other news, tomorrow finds us all warm and fuzzy inside as “Words For Your Enjoyment” graces the digital pages of the digital world. That’s where you provide the present, I provide the wrapping, and we all freak out as Clowns emerge from a phone booth. Woo hoo!