Monthly Archives: August 2019

Learning Moments

When I was a kid, my parents realized rather quickly that I was a strong-willed, opinionated, obstinate child. I was not easy. And as I grew through the stages from child to adolescent to adult, my notoriety only got worse.

Remember that time in college when John and I first started dating, and my dad basically threw me under the bus, telling John I was a very bossy kind of person? Well, as we feminists like to say, “I’m assertive, not bossy.” But in addition to being assertive, I’ll admit I developed a reputation for being defiant, judgmental, and downright bellicose.

The other day, I was lamenting to my childhood friend that J and I were getting snippy with one another recently. I mean, it’s been a challenging year– running high on emotions between grief and loss, fear and worry, disappointment and frustration. While I do believe J and I have a very solid, supportive, and loving relationship, there are times when we face challenges. As with any couple, we encounter shared experiences but also have individual experiences that shape our separate attitudes, outlook, and mood.

Plus, with me being in real estate, I have particular sensitivities about being valued and respected for my work. This business is a weird one: unlike most salaried roles, I have a lot of upfront work and research where I provide information and services for free, and then I don’t get compensated until the very end. Sometimes, if the client doesn’t work with me, it’s just free labor. I don’t get jack.

When J was tasked with handling his parents’ estate, he fell on the client-end of things as it pertained to real estate matters for the family. I won’t go into the details, but there were instances where he interacted with agents on the East Coast in a manner that echoed the disappointments I had personally experienced in my business. And I found myself struggling to separate his actions with what that insinuated in terms of how he viewed my career. To be honest, it reminded me about that time many years ago when Michael and Juanita Jordan got divorced. She got half of everything, and J made some comment about the unfairness of it all– the money wasn’t her money. Say what? You see, our entire relationship, J has earned more than I have. Partly, this is bc he is in an industry that society values and compensates highly. The disparity of income always bothered me, but J would always tell me, it’s “our” money. And then, when the Jordan story broke, I felt a dissonance between what J had always verbalized to me and how he was interpreting the divorce. The same thing happened with his recent dealings with the Realtors.

While I was dealing with disappointment after disappointment, feeling used and discarded by potential clients, J had been giving me words of encouragement. He too agreed people were being disrespectful assholes in the way that they ghosted me or pumped me for information/resources only to go with someone else or never submit a legitimate offer.

This disconnect caused a big rift, and I was disturbed by the contradictions. We argued and discussed a few times, and then we moved on. Not bc I wanted to drop the issue, but bc belaboring the disagreement/misunderstanding about the scenarios didn’t serve us. And that’s where my friend N, who has known me since the 7th grade, commented that she has witnessed the maturity and growth and compromise. I’m an adult now, so I don’t have the time nor energy to debate something as an academic exercise. But goddamn, it’s hard to let shit go. My instinct is to rehash and to persist. I am a bulldog after all.

But I also remember that years ago, when we went to couples therapy: In the midst of some story where I was insisting that I was right and he was wrong, the counselor interrupted me and said, “Both of your perspectives–however divergent– are correct. You are on the same team.” And so… the bulldog has to let go.

In talking with my friend, I was reminded too that it’s really hard to know another person, to interpret their feelings/actions/intentions with full accuracy. Sure, J and I have been together for over 20 years, but there are still things we don’t fully understand about one another. So rather than react with insult and offense, we should consider the other perspective, and we should always assume good intent.

In addition, this recent tiff has exposed a weakness of mine: I have learned that I have to be confident and comfortable about what I do and the value I bring to my work. No one else is going to give that confidence and security to me. So, I must be more self reliant, and believing in my own value will invariably translate to how I ask for business and how I handle clients who choose another route. That part is on me.

And frankly, I’m getting there. In all my transactions, I know I go above and beyond. I am careful, organized, and prepared. And whether other people acknowledge that or not, I have to feel proud knowing from my own interactions and observations with other agents that I am more thorough and more persistent about advocating for my clients. Maybe I can do a better job of demonstrating and pointing out to clients how I go above and beyond, but fundamentally, it starts with self-love. I gotta do me: believe it, feel it, claim it.

Comeback Kid

Admittedly, I spent some amount of time this spring/summer wallowing– oh about my frustrating aging parents, my imploded listing, Bentley’s health woes, my aunt’s cancer, my slow business and empty pipeline…

Things finally turned around in July. Just as I decided to fly back to Taiwan to visit my sick aunt, I got my clients into contract. I’d met the hubby many years back, after I’d left the govvie job, through a job networking group. As soon as I earned my real estate license in late 2016, I started sending eblasts to my acquaintances and friends in that group. I saw G now and then, maybe every year or so since 2013. This March, he said he and the wife were looking to buy. We met for a buyer consult shortly after.

In the beginning, things were rather discouraging. They were adamant about a single family home (vs. townhouse/condo), but it was out of their budget in the area. As the year evolved, and rates came down, and the market shifted, and they grew open to areas farther out, a charming 1920s Craftsman an hour south came onto their radar. Competing with two other interested parties, we were able to swoop in and get into contract. Let’s just say that was the easiest part of this transaction. Over the next 30 days, it was a constant struggle with communication, responsiveness, and paperwork… When I was in Taiwan, I called the list agents daily at 3-4AM (15 hr time difference) to poke and prod with paperwork and negotiations. It all turned into a broken record really fast: plenty of promises and verbal assurances and then no deliverables. Deadlines just blown right through. Unanswered emails, unanswered texts. Full vm boxes. I’m telling you… how are they even in the business of real estate?

After I returned Stateside, more of the same. When I did manage to catch them via phone, lots of politeness and courtesies to my face, but in reality, zero consideration for me and my buyers having to drive 60 minutes to the home and no cares at all about the contract nor the schedule. In the final three days, there were lots of surprises: delays for the walk through, assurances that the house was cleared out only for me to find appliances missing, lots of personal property and trash left behind, no keys to the locked gates… The original Sunday walk through was first postponed to the morning of closing (Monday) even though when I contacted the agent on Saturday, she had said all was good to go. Then Monday morning, the day of closing, the washer and dryer went missing. On Tuesday morning, the rescheduled day of closing, the washer and dryer were back but then the fridge disappeared. And the water was already turned off, and there was a ton of stuff in the toilet. You have no idea. It was almost comical how shit unfolded in the final two days.

We did finally close on Tuesday, with repeated promises from the list agent that the fridge would be returned that afternoon and the keys all provided at that time. At 3:30pm, 5pm, and 6:30 pm, I’m still texting/calling the list agent asking where the hell the fridge is. Internally, I was losing my shit, but professional VG kept her fucking composure, I tell you. Fridge arrived at 7 pm. No goddamn keys and the seller was a resistant asshole, insisting to my buyer that the locks had already been cut. Flat out lied to her face, but she wasn’t about to escalate with a 6-ft plus linebacker-shaped dude. Two days later, still no keys for the gate locks. My people even purchased their own bolt cutter, but in the end, the locks were so darn heavy-duty, the pros were called.

As soon as my buyers told me about the professional locksmith, I ask the list agent to reimburse my clients to make this right. No response. The next day, I called/text again. No answer and vm box is fucking full. The thing about me, though: I am a goddamn bulldog. She finally calls me back and says her clients offered to cut the locks for my clients. No they didn’t. They insisted that the locks were already cut. Liars. OMFG, WTH are you talking about? We had already closed. Your sellers are legally required to provide the keys by 6pm. Fucking bullshit. She says the sellers don’t want to pay. I don’t give a fuck what your sellers say/do. At this point, you charged 6% commission for your services, not including staging costs and other separate pricey charges to your clients. My side only got 2.5%. This whole transaction, I had to ride ass… nearly the entire 30 days. On delivery day, the house STILL wasn’t cleared out, the fridge was gone, and the keys were not all provided. On top of that, your dickwad clients shut off the water and left tons of crap in the commode!!! You promised a resolution on the outstanding items by the afternoon on Tuesday. We were left with just the fridge and no gate keys at 7 pm. Come the fuck on. Step up to the plate and have some goddamn integrity. I started arguing with her, and I was fuming afterwards. I complained to J and he said, “Well what did you expect those agents/sellers to do? They’ve been sloppy and sketchy the whole damn time.” Touché, but still. Call me naive, but I expected some kind of conscientiousness.

The good news is that I have another transaction under my belt. I’ve worked things out with my buyers, and they are super pleased, so I’m very thrilled about that. But goddamn, I can’t help but have a bad taste in my mouth: I feel like an unspoken agent code was violated. I’m telling you: not all agents are the same. Be very selective when you choose your representative. For my part, I will be sharing my experience with the office, so others can be forewarned about these hooligan agents.

Being Unkind

My parents fucking drive me crazy. In brief, I explain it like this: whatever things need to happen or whatever task/project needs to get done, my parents will choose THE most complicated way of getting it accomplished. You know the garage door story, right?

So my parents live in a massive house with a 3-car garage. Since at least as far back as 2016, the damn door openers (circa 1986) have slowly started to deteriorate, meaning that they don’t respond reliably to the remote controls. When things first started getting wonky, John and I tried all sorts of small fixes like buy a new remote or program the car remote… we had varying success. At first, the issue was that you’d have to press the remote repeatedly or you’d have to hold the button down. Soon, the problem progressed to having to park the car at a very specific spot on the driveway and pointing the remote at a very specific spot on the garage door. Then, it turned into dad having to press the door button from inside the garage and runing out from under the closing door to my waiting car. When we’d arrive back home, we’d sit in the running car, parked one inch from the fucking garage door, and spend about 3 minutes fidgeting with the damn remote. Eventually, I would lose my shit and use the house key to go in the side door into the garage and press the door button. Around Christmas time, I noticed there was a dent on the garage door. Dad had pulled up a little too close to the door. When I was home again in June, the roof of the car had a scrape, bc dad didn’t pull out the car in time as the door was coming down. Fed up with this bullshit, I researched a garage door repair man, which my father claims he had done two years ago. My dad insisted that the problem was the new steel garage doors– they blocked the signal from the remote. Whatever. I don’t care the reason, I just want it fucking fixed!

So I call this repair guy that I researched, tell him the problem, and immediately, he says it’s all the other devices (wifi, microwave, first responder systems) with competing wavelengths that jam the signal. The fix is a new door opener at $350 each. I ordered two, scheduled the repair, and done two weeks later. The point is, my father could have easily spent $700 and fixed the damn issue years ago. Instead, either he was being cheap or lazy or whatever, so he damaged the garage door, damaged his car, and got me pissy every damn time I was home. See? The most complicated answer ever. God forbid, he use money to solve the problem and make life easier. SMH.

When I was in Taiwan, I realized that my parents were eating a lot of frozen foods and crap. My relatives would bring them fruit and veggies, but since my parents no longer cook, their diet has resorted to whatever foods the relatives brought but once that ran out, they were subsisting on a combo of frozen stuff, fast food, and or eating out/leftovers.

Part of the problem is, Taiwan is hotter than fuck. Like 90+ degrees with insane humidity which makes the heat sweltering. Their condo, while nice, is not conveniently located near walkable food options. And they aren’t in good shape anyway, so even walking a short distance is problematic. The other issue is that parking in the city is impossible. No parking and/or the garages are super complicated– not air conditioned, dark, hot, and just not good for old people.

So I keep telling them, they need to order delivery, and they make no progress. I mean, mind you, Chinese is not even my native language, and yet here I’m scrambling around in the dark searching for answers. The last time I was in Taiwan, I found some local food stalls/shops and asked if they delivered. Nope. Only do take out, so you have to pick it up. What? I refuse to believe the option of food delivery does not exist.

This time I was in Taiwan, I asked my cousins (who are my age) thinking they are modern professionals who should know about services. No fricking clue. Seriously, WTF. I’ve lived in China; in general, labor is dirt cheap in Asia. I will not accept that food delivery in the second largest city of Taiwan is not available!! Finally, as I was driving my parents around, I saw all these food delivery motorbikes buzzing around the city. The coolers on the back said Food Panda and Uber Eats. Done. Went home, downloaded the apps, added my credit card and shit and started ordering. Lots of options including boba, desserts, AND most importantly homestyle dishes– not too greasy or salty. I showed my cousins and even they were surprised by how cheap it all was. The dish prices were the same as in store $4-5 USD and delivery was 50 cents to $1 USD. For reals, I’m telling you: cheap labor is everything. So while I was there, we tried three different restaurants, the delivery people arrived, checked in at the front desk, the receptionist let them up the elevators, and bam, 20 minutes later, hot, fresh food at our doorstep. My dad enjoyed the fish (he always picks seafood over meats) and my mother tried a meatball dish that my grandmother used to make for us. All of it good– plus side vegetables and soup! And enough for left overs. Seriously, I was patting myself over the back for finding one of the best solutions ever.

Of course, now I’ve returned Stateside and a week later, how many times have they ordered lunch using UberEats, (which I even set up for them on the iPad so it’s large enough to read)??? Zero. I was lamenting to my friend G yesterday that I’m just so damn frustrated by my parents’ stagnation. If they have analysis paralysis from too many choices, all they have to do is press three buttons: Open UberEats >> Past Orders >> Reorder. But no. They are retarded. And it pisses me off to know end, bc once again, they have to pick THE most complicated way of living life.

G commented that I’m being unkind with my namecalling. She offered the perspective that they are really old, and we’ll be like that when we’re old too. Um, of course, anything’s possible. And I have a feeling I’m going to get Alzheimer’s and/or dementia like my grandmother and mother. But fuck: so long as I have my wits about me, I am not going to retire and turn into a helpless and hermetic blob.

I have met plenty of seniors who are even older than my parents, and they are still vibrant, sharp, energetic, and lively. My maternal grandparents even, until their 90s, attended activities daily– mahjong, dance, political debate/lectures at the Senior Center. People I met through my volunteering. People I met living in my mother-in-law’s community: crafting, singing, and laughing! Look at all the older than fuck Congresspeople having political debates and reading legal dockets and shit. I’m just asking my parents to press three buttons.

It’s about mindset. My parents CHOOSE the more complicated path. They CHOOSE to be miserable.

Here’s the deal: I get it. Life is full of disappointments. I know they had big dreams and huge hopes, and their kids disappointed them. They’re depressed and unhappy. Take the time you need to wallow. Been there, done that. In the end though, you gotta get back up. Use anti-depressants to help if needed. Look, unless you’re going to commit suicide, there’s no excuse for giving up and being lame. Obviously, I’m not talking about people who are terminally ill, too weak, or like my mother who has a cognitive disease… I’m just saying: not everyone has the advantage of resources. Use that advantage to help your damn self.

And don’t look to me for compassion or empathy. I grew up with both mom and dad as cray, cray tiger parents. Do better, goddamnit.