…it’s a shame they can’t afford it…

…it’s a shame they can’t afford it…

Sometimes an opportunity presents itself, to deliver a great comeback line that is both well placed and well deserved, and if you’re lucky, you have an appreciative audience.

On Monday, I got two voice mails on my cell phone, 10 minutes after we arrived home from vacation. The Realtor that left the first message said that she had some very serious buyers and she would like to show the-house-that-Downtown-Dad-and-I-are-STILL-trying-to-sell the next day. This bit of news sent us into joyous fits of joyous joy jigging. The second message was from a Realtor widely known as a Sleazy-Ass-Bitch (SAB), who informed me that she had faxed me an offer on the same house. Downtown Dad’s response to this news was to start on another round of the joyous joy jig. When I didn’t join him he stopped mid jig, hands still in the air, his head tilted quizically. I had to break the news to him that sadly, after 6 months on the market, unfortunately the first offer had come from a Sleazy-Ass-Bitch who had very likely faxed us a low offer. I added brightly, as I picked his chin up off of the ground, that the fact that someone was showing it the next day might work out as a bargaining tool for us.

After hastily offloading the vacation schmutz from the car and after an emergency pool-filter twig-ectomy, we were relatively settled. This re-entry ritual accomplished, neither one of us could stand the suspense and we jumped into the car to go see what the first person in 6 months was willing to pay for our house! On the way, I did try to prepare Downtown Dad for the worst. He feigned nonchalance, but I knew he was wound up.

Even though there was no one else in the office when we got there, we sidled up to the fax machine, as if it were someone to whom we were about to deliver a pick up line. I rifled through the stack and sure enough, there was a fax directed to me from the aforementioned SAB. I flipped through the pages until I found the one I was loooking for. The page with the price they expected us to accept, which I read out loud, 30 thousand t-h-i-r-t-y-t-h-o-u-s-a-n-d UNDER our asking price! Luckily, no one else was in the office, because as I’d invisioned, Downtown Dad’s head blew off. Once I had taped his head back on, and mitigated the steam billowing from his ears, I gathered my forms and shuttled him as quietly as possible back to the car, reminding him that we did have a showing the next day.

The next morning I called the SAB and politely thanked her for the offer. Hoping to apply some pressure, I also told her that we were expecting an additional offer in the early afternoon, as soon as the house was shown. I assured her that I’d present both offers at the same time. She quickly asked if her buyers would have the right to ammend their offer. Hell yes, you sleazy ass bitch! Unfortunately for me, the other showing did not culminate in an offer, so I was left holding the cheese – as it were. I called the SAB and told her that the offer did not come in as I had thought, so she was free to ammend her offer, or would she like to be kicked in the teeth with my counter offer? She opted for the kick in the teeth which was, I told her sweetly, our lowest and best and, I added, we would not play the bargaining game.

Late that same evening, safely assuming that I’d turned off my cell phone, the SAB left me another voicemail saying that she’d faxed me her buyers’ counter offer. Counter Offer? OK. What part of Lowest and Best didn’t she understand? After I got my kids off to school that morning, and Downtown Dad off to work using the last of my tape to hold his head on. I added the crucial chemicals to the pool, and dutifully brushed up the undesolved excess. I fed and watered the dogs and the birds and showered and dressed myself. Returned phone calls, emails, blog posts and what ever else I could find to do untill there was virtually nothing left. I was forced to go to the office and look at the fax from the SAB.

It came as no real surprise that her “rediculous counter offer” was a barely more than the initial rediculous offer. A derisive laugh escaped me as I flung the fax into the air, which caught the attention of the other Realtors near my desk.

“Sleasy-Ass-Bitch.” was all I needed to say. This prompted a flurry of tales of woe from everyone around me as to their own ill-fated dealings with this woman. Bouyed by their cameraderie, and a river of self riteous indignation, I picked up the phone and dialed the SAB’s office, with 6 pairs of eyes and ears on me.

“I received the fax with your counter offer,” I said smoothly, not bothering to identify myself. And then I paused a very long pause, waiting for the SAB to perhaps explain her motives.

“Yes, well, these kids are very flexible and they are pre approved.” She said.

“Thats just great,” I said, “You know, it’s obvious these kids would really like to live in this house…..”

“Yes, and they are willing to finish all those little unfinished projects…..”

“Like I said, it’s obvious they’d like to live there, but, it’s a shame they can’t afford it.


6 pairs of eyes popped out of their sockets.

“Oh, do you mean you’re rejecting our offer?”

Uh, duh, you sleazy ass bitch. “Well, better luck next time, Bye.”

I didn’t sell my house, but I was a hero for at least five minutes.

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