On the Road Again, Again

In early May, I stopped at The Fitzgerald, the apartment building where I had wanted to live, just to visit with the personnel in the office and maybe tug at my desire strings one more time. Or maybe my visit was just fate. But to my surprise, the office told me the apartment under the apartment I had wanted – it’s exactly the same size and layout but just one floor below - would become available at the end of May. But, they said, it was the last un-rented apartment in the building and even with a deposit, they could only hold it for two weeks beyond the exit of the current tenant. I gave them a deposit and decided to put my house on the market yet again.

I consulted a new agent, very highly regarded for success here on Bolton Hill, telling her I’d be happy to list with her but if I lost the apartment in The Fitzgerald again, I’d have to take the house off the market. Was she willing to accept such a challenge? We arrived at an agreement about payment for the new photographs to accompany the listing and at a listing amount that while more then ten percent lower than the price at which I had previously listed my house, we thought an acceptable compromise between her recommendation and my check book. Objections to the house before had been the dark colors I had painted the rooms to show off my art so she suggested I make an allowance for painting part of the contract. I consulted a painter or two and Jessica and I agreed on an allowance we’d build into the selling price.

Traffic was slow. It’s not a good time. Everyone says that. Not only is the economy really discouraging to the sale of real estate, but by the time the listing went on line, we had passed the prime selling season for houses here on Bolton Hill. Still, Jessica was optimistic and I went back on “show time,” primping my house for every potential showing and putting those toilet articles back in a box – this time a carton for unsalted butter - on the counter so I could quickly hide it underneath when potential buyers came through. It’s not easy living on a stage set. But there was no option.

By the middle of June, two weeks after the tenant at The Fitzgerald had moved out, the leasing office told me they couldn’t hold the apartment any longer. I pleaded with them but while they were sympathetic, they had their own pressures and in the end there was nothing they could do. I’m sure they were eager to reach 100% occupancy and “my” apartment was the only one standing in their way. I told them of all my efforts to move the house and crossed my fingers, hoping no one would show up at the apartment building interested in #432. Jessica went on double-time.

On Saturday, June 18, I was backing out of my parking lot when I saw a couple of young girls (maybe in their late 20’s or early 30’s, which, believe me, is young to me!) wandering around the lot looking lost. In my Good Samaritan mode, I reversed my progress and wound down my window asking if I could help them find something. One of the girls waved a piece of paper in her hand and said, “Oh, thank you. We’re looking for this house.” She pointed to the paper, which she stuck in the window of my car so I could read the address. And it was my house. I smiled and said, “Well, it’s my house. It’s for sale.” The one with the paper said, “Yes, I know. I’d like to see it.” I told her she could see the front and back but if she wanted to see the inside, she’d have to call my agent. And I gave her Jessica’s name and phone number. I didn’t take this chance meeting as anything serious. I returned to my list of chores: the grocery store, the laundry, the hardware store.

But you should never pre-judge a buyer. On Monday, Jessica called to say a client wanted to see the house. Could she bring the client by that evening? Of course. Any opportunity to sell is worth the shoving of the butter carton under the bathroom counter. When the doorbell rang, there was Jessica, with the two girls from the parking lot. “You’ve met Rachel and her friend before,” Jessica said. I was very surprised. We all smiled and I left the house, as is customary, to have a drink with my neighbor. Two hours later, when I went back to the house, Jessica was still there with Rachel. “Rachel likes your house,” Jessica said, with a big smile. They left and I went on to my usual Monday night TV routine. I’d had several such encounters before, both during this listing and the previous one, so I still didn’t take the “like” as meaning very much.

On Tuesday, Jessica called to say Rachel would make an offer. She didn’t know how much. I called The Fitzgerald to tell them of the development. No; #432 had not rented yet, they said, but they couldn’t hold it, even with a now very real prospect of selling the house. I waited for the offer. It came on Wednesday and was way below my asking price. Jessica said Rachel really liked the house and I should make a counter proposal, which I did. Rachel accepted it so by Thursday, we had a deal. A verbal deal. But nevertheless, a deal. I let The Fitzgerald know. They would prepare the lease and I could sign it over the weekend. But I still had no formal contract. Still, The Fitzgerald said, they couldn’t hold the apartment and if I wanted it, I would have to sign a lease over the weekend.

Surprisingly, particularly in this market, Rachel would pay cash for the house. So no appraisal by a reluctant bank would create a delay. At Jessica’s suggestion, I made a slight concession to the buyer for this. And, Jessica said, the deal could be quickly finished. She only had to get a contract written and signed by Rachel and me before the weekend. I’m not sure, but I suspect Jessica worked both night and day to make this deal happen. By Thursday night, we had a contract. But it was still conditional on a satisfactory inspection Jessica had scheduled for Saturday. And then on Friday, Jessica called to say that Rachel had consulted some of her friends, as all of us do, and had come to the conclusion that despite paying cash – or maybe because of it – she wanted an appraisal. Jessica would try to get an appraiser there before the weekend but she wasn’t optimistic. I informed The Fitzgerald and they told me, again, that I could sign the lease over the weekend. While I tried to sound encouraging, there seemed no way we could conclude this deal by then.

By some miracle, Jessica got the inspector and the appraiser to my house early Saturday. The inspector said the only thing wrong with the house was the systems, particularly the air conditioning, which was reaching the end of its life. The buyer wanted me to provide a two-year insurance policy against any failures. It would cost about $1000.00. Jessica agreed to pay half. We both wanted this deal. The house passed appraisal and on Saturday night, we had a signed contract, pending only a termite inspection. On Sunday, I signed the contract at The Fitzgerald. I couldn’t help thinking as I was signing the papers how strange it was that I had been the very first person to look at the apartments in The Fitzgerald when the rental trailer first opened a year ago – I had to wear a hard hat to visit the building and wires were still hanging from the ceilings in the corridors – and now I was the last tenant to sign a lease. I suppose life has a certain rhythm, even it we aren’t aware of it. So now, I’m really on the road again, yet again.

Stay tuned.