WTF?

Botanicals in Brooklyn.



WTF? is something I think in my head all the time. Not what it spells out, but the letters and their meaning. And the indignant question mark. I love it.

Real estate was getting wacky crazy by the time I left two days ago. I caught a glimpse of this magical time called Summer that people in real estate talk about. BIZNESSE! That spelling is a nod to my friend, whom I'll simply refer to as the Baby.

But back to real estate. Bringing you all up to date, the deal with the corporate lawyer from Philly finally went through, after they made her wait two weeks and put down a total of $12,600 in security deposit (for ONE blip on her credit report which was restored three years ago). The lease was dated as she requested, which meant I got paid just before I left to get on the plane. Sweet! I also had time to drop off the gift I got for her before departing for my West Coast Oddyssey, and yes, I mean to spell it that way.

The deal I had pending with the three Greek kids from Long Island (and not even the posh part) fell through because the parents wouldn't pony up 4 months security. Two days after they said no the other agent who was involved in the deal (the one they didn't like) asked me what was going on. I gestured from across the office that it was a dead deal, surprised she didn't already know. She wore see-thru pants covered in jingle bells to work the next day. Someone in the office told her to turn down the volume on her pants. I just wish she would tamp down the loud voice she uses for any and all situations!

The apartment I showed (or tried to) at 7am--the Milan? At one point, I had FOUR sets of three working (not students) people looking for a share with 2 bathrooms for $5000 or under. Two rejected it after seeing it, one guy copped an attitude about having a job he couldn't leave in the middle of the day (he's the one I met out at 7am, and I can't totally blame him for copping the attitude) and the fourth wouldn't even go look at it because it was in Chelsea, not the West Village, Union Square or Tribeca. WTF? This was a good apartment and these people were crazy. I really do look at a lot of apartments and this one was a great deal. I stopped calling them back and gave them to a colleague when I left.

The doctor and the nurse. The Columbia grad and his girlfriend. They are crazy too. I found them the place they asked for right off the bat, but no, too many flights up. Ok, that's cool. We stayed in touch. A week or so later, another apartment comes up in that same building, on the second floor. I show it to him, he tells me that they have put in an application for a place on Sullivan street already (with someone else) but they want to keep their options open because the management company took multiple apps. Ok, that's cool. I show them a couple more things over the weekend, then Monday rolls around and he calls me, telling me that the didn't get the place because someone else offered to pay a year up front. Ok, so they ask me about the King street apartment, if it still available? Yes, it is. But it is for July 1. Ok they can work that out. Great, let's get her into see it since he was the only one so far to see it. Long gaps in between the phone calls, emails and text messages ensue. Missing information, unanswered questions, confusing responses. But they keep calling me back, which I find weird. With 10,000 brokers in New York City, I wonder how any customers find little old me. But they do, so whatever. I guess there are a lot of idiots out there. Anyway, by the time they get it together to say they're free and could I give them more info on some ads they found on our website (which sucks by the way) I responded that all the ads they saw on the website were old outdated, prices had gone up by 1/3 (sick, right?) and they had seen everything else out there with me or someone else. Take King street, take another place or wait until next month. Anyway, I handed them off to the Wonder Twins. Hope they close them.

The bra designer is signing her lease today. That's another crazy story. She agreed to a lease a month and a half ahead of schedule because she was afraid of losing the apartment, basically costing her an extra $3300. I'd like to come up with a word the is a hybrid of Manhattan and insanity. Get my gist? Little help, people?

On a positive note, the other agent involved in that deal (desk neighbor) and I made up during a shopping panic. She said I'm sorry and I finally believed it was not about her but about saying sorry. Cool.

One last development I'll discuss in another post. For now I need a glass of water.