Wind and sails

It was really warm and windy yesterday. I had on a really cute outfit, all set to enjoy the warm sunny weather. I mapped out my day, made some phone calls, got some appointments.

Oh, but first, I had to call AAA again to deal with my car, since I tried to drive it somewhere on Thursday night and nothing. Dead. We took a car service instead. I did have to deal with it in the morning because it was on the Friday side of the street and I didn't want to get another ticket. I called, they came, everything was fine. It turns out the cable connecting the battery was loose. I guess the shop I used to go to out by the Hamburger that bought the other, real shop I used to go to isn't so reputable after all and I probably won't be going there anymore. I do know another shop and it is closer to my house. The proprietor used to be my landlord.

Car is done, I am on my way into the city to stop by the office before a noon appointment on the Upper West Side. This woman works for AMEX as some kind of Vice Prez, and has brought all her paperwork with her. Great. I am trying to keep this appointment on the DL since another colleague has a dying deal on this same apartment. Anyway, I get uptown, see the apartment and it kind of sucks. I don't know my client too well, but I can't see her going for it. Sure, they haven't completely cleaned it up and painted and done whatever renovations they're gonna do, but I see the crappy Formica kitchen, the parquet flooring, the ugly tiny bathroom and the voluminous closet space and I know this is a Caran apartment that isn't fooling anyone.

Ok. I go back downstairs to wait for her on the corner. Some dude comes up to me and uses the lame line, "Do I know you?" I flatly say, "No." He drones on and on about how he used to be in real estate for a little while, tried to work in film at the same time, now he just does film, blah blah, blah, blah. I give him my card, just to get rid of him, because I don't want him there when my client shows up. Not the smartest, I know. Who cares. It's flattering, but at the same time feels like something that used to happen to me a lot more, weirdos asking me out. Yuck.

I make a few phone calls. The VP shows up. We go see the apartment and she is wildly underwhelmed. She tells me why, I say okay, we leave, talking awkwardly all the way to 42nd Street when I get off the train. We have something set up for Wednesday at noon.

I am in the office for a bit, setting up my afternoon appointments, but I want to get back outside because I feel great and the weather is so warm and charged with energy. My office neighbor and I head out to see something in the prime West Village I had wanted for my pregnant clients. I am glad I did that, because the apartment sucked. Dark, awkward and gross bathrooms and kitchen. Sure it was worth the money, but eww. NEXT!

Oh, but on our way downtown, I was listening to a voicemail I had missed and it was from the street corner guy, mumbling something about how he had a cancellation with work or something that evening and did I want to get a drink? I was in the middle of saying, "Eww, it's that creepy guy, gross!" or something like that when we walk by Philip Seymour Hoffman, who was looking pretty schlumpy and, dare I say, like a creep. It was too perfect. I was laughing about that all day.

I tagged along to an appointment S had with a broker with whom I just did a deal. I had a couple of questions for him regarding another listing of his. He was very nice and glad to see me but the property I was asking about was gone. Oh well, to be expected. They graciously let me come upstairs and see the apartments, which were nice. I kept my mouth shut so as not to horn in on S's relationship with his client. The guy liked/didn't like the apartments. Jerk. For $1800 in the West Village, what do you want?

Next I went to preview something in West Chelsea. I called a friend while I was walking there to chat and also to see if he thought I should ask out the Hamburger myself. He said yes. I guess I had decided I have a crush on the Hamburger, which is nice even if it never goes anywhere at all. I get to my destination, bid my friend farewell and commence trying to get into the apartment by myself with no client. I call the super's number, no answer. So I go outside and the guy I remember showing us last time is out there smoking a cigarette. He says, "Yes?" I say, "Oh, I'm meeting my client later this afternoon and I just wanted to take a look first..." He lets me go up by myself. The apartment is fine, a little small, but with a crap view. Nothing anyone will walk into and say, with enthusiasm, "I'll take it!" So I take some pictures and go.

After West Chelsea, it is back to the village. My feet are starting to hate me. I get this other dude from the office to meet me at a loft apartment in the Central Village, also previewing for another client. I am glad I have been previewing lately because the stuff I have seen is shit. Anyway, on the way, I call the Hamburger and leave a stiff and unfunny message, which I hate doing; I don't like not being funny.

I get to the apartment, the managing agent is late. Annoying, since I have an appointment with a real client and a listing broker in a part of town that isn't far but is inconvenient to get to from where I am. But I really want to see this apartment. It's great, seems like just what my client asked me for. No pictures, though. Ok, so I rush out of there and get myself to the other appointment only four minutes late. I meet the client, it's the window designer for Ralph Lauren. As we're walking the walkup, she tells me she was just almost molested on the street. I tell her my street corner pickup/Philip Seymour Hoffman story and we agree that warm and windy brings out the freaks. She likes the apartment but isn't going to take it. I think something is coming up next week in the building I just rented to the Met Life girl. I think, as long as the apartment is ok, that will work for this chick too.

I head back to the office, not because I really have any work to do, but because I have to take off my shoes for a little while. I call the guy for the Central Village loft, but I don't expect to hear from him for some reason. Even though I have his apartment. All the optimism I had in the past few days is gone. None of the apartments I had picked out for people are working, for one reason or another. Evening plan possibilities are dwindling, for one reason or another, but I just don't have the energy to care anymore.

Now it's Saturday and the weather is supposed to be nice again, but today I am wearing jeans and sneakers. Can't handle the heels on a Saturday.