A Dog's Life in Real Estate

This story made me laugh so hard that I spewed egg salad on the person who told it to me. The story involves a guy, a “frisky” dog, and a bath tub – the sellers’. At first I didn’t believe it could be true, but after checking with my dog’s vet, I found out it could have happened indeed. Just be glad this did not occur at your open house. But I would have given anything to have been there!
Not All Rules Were Made to Be Broken
Jeff was hosting a Brokers Open at his neighbor’s house, which he had just listed. The sellers had recently purchased a new dog, a young German Shepherd, whom the seller left in a cage for open house day. As Jeff was setting out listing sheets, he found it difficult to avoid the doleful eyes and the sad whimpering of the cute little canine. Although the seller had left directions that the dog be kept in the cage, Jeff, being a dog lover, decided to play with the dog briefly before his guests arrived. Having been a dog walker in college, he felt confident in his ability to control the playful pup. Note: Jeff is a dolt.
Just as the first arrivals opened the door, Jeff was putting Frisky back in the cage when the dog bolted. The other agents immediately closed the door so the little guy could not escape, but little did they know that they would become the victims of Frisky’s, uh, “excitement.” (Cue the music from “Jaws,” please.) Frisky did not run away from the agents. Noooo, he ran toward them. With overwhelming energy. And urine spewing. And tongue dripping. And paws galumphing. And uncontrollable libido. For the agents, the excitement was just beginning.
Getting a Leg Up on Things
Frisky was a humper. An uncontrollable, undiscriminating, indefatigable, obsessive, non-stop humper.

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Ozzy Osbourne's Influence on Realtors

There was another rash of typos in the MLS and property ads this week that I collected for your entertainment. These descriptions can provide hours of fun. We Realtors are such a saucy group - I think we should take this show on the road. We can open for Ozzy Osbourne. He can hardly talk, and we can hardly spell. We’ll bill ourselves as “Dazed and Confused.” Who's on board?

Let The Show Begin:

Lushs back yard (Did you hear that, Uncle Timothy?)

House in movement condition (It’s enough to scare the crap out of you.)

Great Shit Pay Opp. (Another house in “movement” condition.)

Dog pack nearby (A new form of Neighborhood Watch.)

Vertical blonds (Horizontal after a few drinks.)

HOA covers water, trash, pest and pubic areas. (Just not pests in the pubic area.)

Pottery kild in shed (Psycho hiding in attic.)

New styptic (Because the purchase will bleed you dry.)

New draimage needs inspection. (Brain draimage is likely diagnosis.)

Bask in the hot sin by the pool. (An age-old Hollywood tradition.)

Lakefront with swim area marked by boubys. (Yeah, a good set sure can float.)

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Realtors, Juggling and Juice Boxes

Agents, beware! We all know children are darn cute...but they can do more damage than a Claymore mine. They are lurking everywhere, ready to set off small explosions while flashing irresistible, angelic grins. Be especially vigilant at open houses, or YOU may be the poor sucker who ends up on a milk carton. I offer you this report as proof...
The Clock Was Ticking
Marcia is a dedicated real estate agent who tries very hard to balance her roles as mother and business woman. We all know that sometimes the real estate Gods are MIA or out playing eighteen holes, so sometimes the juggling becomes precarious. Thus was the plight of our friend, Marcia.
Marcia was packing her van for a Brokers Open when the nanny called to say she could not make it. Marcia immediately called her husband, but he was on the golf course - apparently fraternizing with the irresponsible real estate gods - so he didn't answer. Unable to rouse anyone else, she gathered up her adorable three year old son, Liam, and went off to show her listing.
Marcia was setting out a luncheon and warming quiches when Liam decided the crayons in his pocket would improve the minimalist design of the kitchen walls. Upon discovering Liam's bold mural, Marcia's voice went from zero to sixty as she reprimanded the young artist (freedom of expression for younguns be damned) and told him to eighty-six the crayons. She then grabbed the cleanser and attempted to repair the wall. As distracted Marcia tried to remove the wax road map before her, the compliant child ditched his weapons. Unfortunately, he disposed of the crayons in the sink. Clever little guy.
Beware the Silence
Believing (foolishly) that disaster had been averted...

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Caravan From Hell Revisited

A few months ago I told you about the caravan with bats in the fireplace, but this story would make you wish for a bat...maybe even a pterodactyl or two. It takes place in Los Angeles of course. What better place to get a healthy heap of crazy on a sunny Tuesday morning? My friend told me the story, and I swear she's not a candidate for re-hab. Of course, after this incident she would have had justification. Please enjoy:
Ole!
Yes, it was a sunny Tuesday morning and agents were gathering for a lovely L.A. caravan day. Jan was doing a second brokers' open, as her listing just wasn't getting any action. In order to re-new interest, Jan had ordered the usual nice luncheon to entice hungry realtors and their (hopefully) hungry buyers. The bill of fare included a selection of Mexican dishes from La Salsa and home made guacamole. Jan was humming, birds were singing, and the bougainvillea was bougaining. You get the picture.

Jan was nearly ready to go when Neighbor Nate blew in like the fresh scent of septic. Nate padded through the door wearing mangy bedroom slippers, gym shorts and a Tee shirt that looked like a death shroud. He said he was a neighbor, but he wasn't sure what direction he had come from. Jan, sympathetic to the challenges of the elderly, could not see past the wreckage that was Nate, or she might have been wary of the crazy captain of his shriveled ship. But noooo, she asked him to make himself at home and have a bite to eat while she set out desserts.
Bring on the Entertainment
Nate crammed a mini taco past his mine field of yellow teeth and mushy gums, and he was reaching for another when his body thanked his hostess with a loud bit of rumbling, accompanied by an odor that made the burritos smell like hibiscus. Assessing the sitch, Jan moved quickly to steer the gas-filled octogenarian away from the Mexican food and toward the cookies. Alas, whatever he swallowed was accompanied by a hearty gust of flatulence that he either couldn't hear, or just heartily enjoyed. Jan said the fumes were so bad they could only have been covered with formaldehyde. She may have even momentarily considered blowing out the candles due to the flammable nature of Nate's gift that kept on giving.

Jan, always quick on her feet, did a body blockade of the table and thrust some carrot sticks at the old relic. She plastered a smile on her face and cheerfully insisted that Nate and his internal fumigation machine go look at the rest of the house. Nate complied, dragging his shriveled frame out of the kitchen and down the hall, his spindly legs lost in his baggy gym shorts like abandoned Popsicle sticks. He left her with a whiff of Nate before moving on his merry way. As the first group of cars pulled up out front, Jan heated cookies in the oven to create a delicious fragrance to try to disguise Nate's toxic cloud.
Always Keep the Party Lively
When the first group entered, they signed in and proceeded to head for the table like buzzards on carrion. The group was friendly and conversant, so much so that Jan forgot about her other visitor. When a second wave entered, the first group proceeded on a tour of the house, and Jan continued the friendly banter.

Suddenly there was a scream in the bedroom. In a flash of memory so vivid that Jan thought she was passing into the Light, she remembered Nate. She said she doesn't remember her sprint down the hall, but she does remember the scene awaiting her. There on the bed, stripped of all his clothes, lay a beaming Nate. As the group stood in horror, Jan tried to pull the spread around him, but his seersucker body was anchoring it down.

Several agents came to their injured senses and fled down the hall to head off any newcomers while Jan picked up Nate's shirt and threw it over his deflated package. Unfortunately, Nate did not WANT his package covered, so he kept tossing off the garments faster than she could retrieve them and telling her to "get out of my room or I'm calling Celia."
Good Manners Can Go a Long Way
Her patience shot, Jan ran back to the kitchen to call the police. Before they could arrive, Nate appeared back in the kitchen, carrying his clothes. He grabbed a cookie and flashed a crumpled grin. "Thank you for a really nice time," he said. "I'm going to get Celia and bring her over to say hello." Nate turned as Jan stood speechless, watching while the sun reflected off two atrophied buns as they dutifully followed their master out the door.

Of course, this was aptly timed with the arrival of Dan, an agent from her office who heard Nate's expression of gratitude. Dan sized up naked Nate and grinned at Jan like a fourteen year old who had just gotten his first glimpse of his teacher's cleavage. Red-faced Jan didn't bother to explain, knowing that the story would take on a life of its own back at the office.

Ever the dutiful agent, Jan went back to straighten the bedroom and noticed that poor Nate had left a carrot stick on the pillow...and a urine spot on the bedspread. When she glanced out the window, she saw a policeman gently guiding Nate into the back of a police car, hopefully to help him find his way home.

Of course, no one ever found out who Celia was, but if she's hiding from Nate, who could blame her? And if Jan now has a fear of old men in gym shorts, who could blame her?
Prologue
I think we can all learn something from this story. 1) If someone seems dyspeptic, usher them toward the door, not away from it. 2) Always keep track of your guests, especially the ones whose eyes are like Jack Nicholson's in The Shining. 3) If a guest cannot remember where they came from, or what they came for, chances are they won't remember why they should keep their clothes on. 4) Never let anyone leave without your business card. The one odor worse than flatulence is the odor of an old listing!

Thank you Jan, and all my friends at Nelson Shelton, Sotheby's International Realty and Keller-Williams for your great stories. First posted on Agent Genius on 06/05/09