You all think real estate is Beemers and golf outings during the day. I know you do, but really real estate is more glamorous than that. Seriously…so much more glam. In fact, I am wearing my Vera Wang and Jimmy Choos as I type this. I will share an only slightly embellished true story with you to demonstrate the sheer sophistication of being a real estate agent…
It was a cold, clear day in Salem, Oregon. I sashayed down the stairs in my typical taffeta real estate attire ready to sell houses that day. I popped down the top of my dark red convertible because as you know all real estate agents have one in the rainy Pacific Northwest. The wind and rain droplets whipping at my hair left me undeterred even as the “drowned rat look” overtook me. The ’80s were on my side and Aqua-net was in my glove compartment. I was armed and ready for good big hair. Whizzing around the corner turns in the south Salem hills while jamming to iTunes, I was deeply aware that I looked cool.
I pulled up to the house, not even slightly frazzled at being 15 minutes late. My clients know that being “fashionably late” is what it’s all about. I located the key box on the garage door, daintily pulled out my supra iPhone to open it, and voila…the lovely sound of a key box opening.
While working on my hair flip, I felt a mystic force at play as it pulled the black case holding the key right out of my hands and heard the sound of metal bouncing off the cement. Gasp! The sound was as horrible as a Justin Bieber Christmas song. I watched in slow-motion horror as the key did a perfect swan dive (easily a 10 by the judges) into a deep dark abyss. That really didn’t just happen, did it? Don’t make me get on my hands and knees and ruin my Vera Wang or worse…break a nail! I squatted down and swatted away the leaves in the crack thinking it probably did a nice soft landing on the leaves. Couldn’t see the key. Probably need to take my Versace shades off, I thought.
Must. Maintain. My. Elegance. There were only words of Glee entering my head at this point and I almost broke out in song. I casually cleared away the leaves trying to find where the key had landed. As I don’t subscribe to the Boy Scouts motto of be prepared as that is for lesser agents, I wasn’t prepared. What’s up with the Boy Scouts making me feel guilty at a time like this? I vowed never to buy any more of that really good chocolate covered popcorn from them, no matter how cute or nice they look. Someone had to pay for this force of evil that had me looking like a frantic Lindsey Lohan digging for crystal. No way I was calling the listing agent to grovel and tell them I dropped a key in a
crack black hole leading to Middle Earth. Glamorous agents don’t do that.
Little did I realize that my buyer clients were a walking Ace Hardware. I was handed Leathermans complete with needle-nose pliers to grab the key. The key was too far down and the pliers too big. Two more tools later, I still didn’t have it. Thwarted. I had to suck it up and walk miles, you know the “I walked 10 miles in the arctic blizzard to go to school when I was a kid” kind of miles, in my stiletto Jimmy Choos to a neighbors house to see if they had a hook I could borrow. I sheepishly knocked on the door as I said “I’m a really cool and amazingly glamorous real estate agent. Forget everything else I’m about to tell you after that, okay?” Armed with a long camping stake and cursing the days of my youth where I failed to win at Operation, I was able to snag the key after several attempts and pull it out. My Precious.
With key firmly grasped in my palm, we walked into the house. The highly unpleasant scent greeted us and despite my best efforts to convince them that a house with a kitchen was a good buy, they wanted to leave. 30 minutes digging out the key. 5 minutes touring the house. 1 minute spraying my hair with Aqua-net.
I truly lead the glamorous life.