My girlfriend, T, sent me the following email and I'm posting it here because it is a perfect example of kvetching at its finest. It's one of the reasons she continues to be a good friend - her whining is top-notch.
So, with no further introduction, please enjoy.
I'm a good person. And reasonably easy to please, I think. I try not to stereotype folks.
Let's say you have a police officer for a relative. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that the are, positively and without a doubt, abusive bullies of lower than average intelligence. Okay, so I'll think it - but I won't say it.
Can't say I'm as flexible with real estate agents and their ilk. ("Ilk" - what a great word!) I'll apologize ahead of time if there are any beloved family members who are agents. And I'm sorry you've mistakenly assumed they had a soul. They don't.
So we've talked about Rush Limbaugh-guy, right? The one that was bragging about lying to a bank appraiser about there being pedophiles in the neighborhood to drive down the price? Nice. Those are his credentials. "I'm a conscienceless liar... and a Christian!" And I've also mentioned that severely injuring his nutsack is on my 'bucket list', right?
Let's move on to the next Rucker Hill agent. Two words. TED BAXTER. With a silver mustache. That he strokes in a very unnerving fashion. At least the real pretend Ted had an endearing quality to him. This is the joker who was raving about the view of the gigantic aircraft carrier in Port Gardner Bay from the living room and kitchen of one of his listings. Apparently, on a warm summer evening, you can open the window and hear them play 'Taps'. Yanno, just like you're on an army base. Ooooooh! So romantic!
So I'm sticking with Jerry the Weasel, our listing agent and erstwhile 'buyer's agent'. He's agreeable enough. In fact, that's the problem. He's enthusiastically agreeable to EVERYTHING I say. What a disingenuous fuck. It's really getting to be like fingernails on a chalkboard. And those eyes! Those bright, friendly eager eyes. Like a gerbil that smells food. He doesn't lie, though. To use his words, he "fibs". WTF? Dude, could you BE any more of a pussy? I'd rather work with a lying motherfucker than a 'fibber'. At least Rush has a sack to kick. Arrrgh.
It could be worse. I could be listed by Lorena. Here's the deal - if you're in sales and you look like Aileen Wuornos, go the extra mile and get a professional photo done. It's not that you have to be attractive, but maybe just a little less DANGEROUS looking? I was using the real estate search engine, Zip, and she came up as "my realtor". It was disturbing enough to have her mug on the side of every page I looked at. And I was starting to beat myself up a little about being shallow. I mean, who cares what she looks like, right? Well, she called me this morning to tell me she was my realtor. When I told her I already had one, Lorena got angry. Very angry. She said that if I'd found anything on Zip, I HAD to go through her. Fuck man, the chick knows where I live. Brrrrrr. So I did the only thing I could think of - I gave her Jerry's cell number. God, he's probable dead now.
So that's the latest from the land of rodents and reptiles known as "The Real Estate Market". More to come, I'm sure.
See what I'm sayin'?
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