In this way it's OK to use me

Hey AML, aren't you a Realtor too. How come we never hear any tales about that?

Well, I wouldn't say never. I did tell you about the time I was caught between the old man and his ex-wife. Plus there was the story about the guy who didn't show up at his own closing. But, mainly the reason I don't say much about it is, well… the stories aren't that interesting.

Most of your stories aren't that interesting.

Yeah, yeah, piss off. I guess as long as we're thinking about it, and it's the onslaught of the holiday season and all, let me tell you about real estate as it pertains to family: my family to be specific.

When it comes to friends using me as their Realtor to buy a piece of property, the only excuse for them not to use me is if they have another Realtor in their family. When it comes to family, there is no excuse not to use me. It's not like I'm new to the game; I have many satisfied clients to give me cred. Plus, I am the smartest man alive, so I got that going for me. Keep in mind also that a buyer does not pay a Realtor anything; the buyer's Realtor is paid a part of the selling Realtor's commission. Now, when it comes to selling your house, my view changes a bit. Since it is then that you actually have to pay me, I never just expect friends or family to give me business. I do expect, however, for them to at least talk with me about it. If you don't like what I have to say, or I don't effectively sell my services to you and you decide to use someone else, well then that's on me.

I don't assume that people inherently know this, so I've done my best to educate those in my life to these facts in one way or another. Most of my friends and family understand and I thank them for the business. Although apparently some people just cannot be taught.

Case in point, I have one uncle who is all but dead to me. Now, I don't say this lightly, but this particular fellow really added insult to injury. He is a savvy, intelligent enough guy who runs his own company. If anyone should understand the importance of loyalty in business, it should be him. He started out fine, by slowly looking for a new house. My aunt was really more motivated than he, so I showed them about eight houses over the course of a year or so. Whenever they found one they liked they would call me and we'd go take a look. Then my uncle would think up reasons not to like it and we'd move on. One time we found a place that even he couldn't find something wrong with, so he offered such a low price that the deal just never went together.

Let me now fast forward the events, since they actually took place rather rapidly. First, he suddenly bought a house that was for-sale-by-owner (FSBO) without me. OK, since a Realtor didn't have it for sale it wasn't as bad. But still, normally a FSBO will deal with a buying agent for at least partial commission. Since my uncle didn’t bother to include me, I got paid zero for all the time I spent working with him = strike one. Then, he decides to put his current house for sale by himself. Since he is kind of a tightwad, I didn’t blame him for trying. Going FSBO has a very low success rate, so when he decided to give up I'd take over, right? Wrong, he listed the house with another random Realtor without talking to me = strike two. The final piece-de-resistance was when I found out he then purchased an investment property (which was on the market with a Realtor) without me. Apparently he would rather have a guy he doesn’t know get paid double than have his own nephew get paid at all. He is a very impulsive person and in his warped little head he probably thought he would get a better deal that way somehow. Plus, I'm sure he figured I'd never find out. I'm a Realtor, I can find out anything in regards to property. So I did find out = strike fucking three.

Yoooou're out!

Now, this all happened a little while back. It came to mind recently due to spending Thanksgiving with my family. No, there was no confrontational food fight. That uncle wasn't there, so it would have been pointless. I did, however, find out some news. I have been working with one of my cousins and he just recently had his offer accepted on his first house. Then, during the course of Thanksgiving conversation I hear that another cousin, the brother of the one I'm working with, just bought his first house too. Although, he didn't use me. This guy is two years younger than me. We grew up together. And, even though we don't hang out much, we have a very cordial relationship. Yet, when it comes to one of the most important things he'll do at this stage in his life, he doesn't even call. I don't want it to sound like I'm pissing and moaning. I do just fine with or without my family's business. It's not about the money; it's about principle. I am a very loyal person. If you do right by me I'll stick by you until you give me reason not to. And if you're family, you are first in line no matter what. Unfortunately, not every one thinks this way.

Mine Eyes Have Seen the... Glory?

As a kid, life was a blank slate. It seemed as though every turn of events was surprising and fascinating. People would surprise me and curve balls could come around any corner. It was a confusing time, but a carefree one. My glasses were rose colored and ignorance was bliss.

Now, as I get older, I am surprised by less and less. Not to say that I’ve become hardened and cynical (well OK, I am generally rather cynical). It’s just that I’ve seen a lot over the years. Life has presented itself in surplus, and I am pretty observant.

Most people who have met me would say that I’m a laid back, fun-loving fella. I’ve tried hard to not let life change this. Back in the day when I was still considering going for my doctorate in Psychology, I made sure to observe as much of the field as I could. In that, I saw a good friend of mine change over the years. I always knew her as someone with a gleam in her eye; someone who was quick to flash you a smile and laugh at life. But years of being a Psychologist have broken her. Day after day of dealing with other people’s problems has brought a sadness to her that is undeniable.

I did not want this for myself. It ended up being one of the reasons I went a different direction. Granted, I deal with a lion’s share of idiocy on a regular basis. The difference is that it is not my job to save them. From this standpoint I make sure their residential experience is as pleasant as possible, and I make sure they pay their rent. Other than that I can stand back and mock them at will. I believe this to be my mental salvation.

So, that is me in a nutshell.

Look at the size of this nutshell. How did I get into this huge nutshell?

I am still willing and able to laugh at life, I can just read it better than I used to. This ability to read life is important to my daily work. I need to be able to judge who is being honest with me; to determine what people’s ulterior motives are (if any). This is never more true than when I am taking an apartment application. I don’t just hand applications over. I fill them out myself, thereby turning the process into a sort of interview. I use this opportunity to get a feel for them. I pick up on when they stumble over an answer or look away. I probe deeper when they try to gloss over. I also do things to amuse myself, such as trying to guess the answers in my head before they tell me. Things like age, or what they do for a living.

Not long ago, a guy came in to look at an apartment. Now, it’s not often that someone makes me feel physically small. Trust me when I say, this dude was big. He was no taller than me, but he was easily two of me thick, if not more. He had a huge barrel chest and wide shoulders. His neck was like a tree trunk that came straight down from his head. Not just muscle, not just fat, he was a hefty combination of both. So, when he said his occupation was “security,” it seemed to fit nicely. I was going with either that or professional midget tosser, but security is more common.

Another guy came in who was a little tougher to gage. He was a well-built man with scruffy clothes and the hands of a laborer. He seemed intelligent enough, but there was just something off about him. He would lose his train of thought, he would repeat himself, and he would repeat himself. At times he would be saying something and then trail off until he was just staring at me. When he said he was a general laborer in construction it still didn’t fit completely with what I saw. I have known many construction workers who are very talented and on the ball. It wasn’t until I asked him the question “do you have any income other than your primary” that the riddle was solved. His response was:

“Yeah, I’m an amateur boxer too. I make a grand here and there when I have fights.”

Yes, this made sense. Apparently he had had his bell rung a few too many times. He never said he was a good boxer.

Aren’t you feeding into a negative mind frame of stereotypes and generalization?

Perhaps, but it’s entertaining for me. And as life opens my eyes more and more, it’s important that I continue to laugh at it. If not, I may start to loose my fight with sanity. It is a slippery slope and at times there are landslides.

The AML has gone nuts

I returned home from the office today, my mind running free about nothing in particular. I walked up the steps to my side door and began to work through my keys. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a streak of color. It was enough to make me turn my head just in time to see cat #2 go flying by. He had been chasing cat #1, and they both stopped abruptly just as they reached the street curb.

Now cat #1 is the local tomcat.
I wasn't talking about you Tom, so piss off. This cat doesn't seem to belong to anyone in particular. He has a habit of hanging out by our side door in an attempt to drive The Doc's cat bonkers on the inside. He likes to waltz around across the street from our yard, making sure he is in eyesight of my dog in order to drive her crazy.

Now cat #2 lives in the house next door. I think he is more of an inside cat, but he does hang around outside a fair amount as well. On this particular occasion I assume cat #2 decided he had had enough of cat #1 in his yard, thus the ensuing chase. By the time they had reached the street, cat #1 realized he was going out like a punk and decided to stand his ground. At this point they were both sitting under the front end of a parked car, about a foot from each other.

Next came the most bizarre sound I have ever heard an animal make. Now, I've owned animals my entire life, cats included. I have never heard them make this sound. It seemed to start from cat #2, but they both were chiming in and taking turns as far as I could tell. It was not like a hiss or a growl. There was no purr and not a trace of meow. Imagine a loud haunting siren, like a ghost had just called an ambulance.

The sound made me stop cold and just watch. OK, I was waiting for the catfight to take place. After all, at only ten feet away, I had a ringside seat. A few moments later, another sound chimed in, this one coming from above. I looked up to see squirrel #1 in the tree by the curb. Now, I've witnessed a fair share of squirrels in my day. I've even had one throw nuts at me when I was in college (shut up, he did too). But, I've never heard a squirrel make a sound, at least not like this one. That squirrel started in making a noise like a whistle caught in a blender. He was dancing around on his branch causing it to sway back and forth.

The cats, meanwhile, were undeterred by squirrel #1's antics. They continued their staring match, whirring away. Every so often one of them would move a shoulder or twitch a paw, but otherwise they were completely still. Enter squirrel #2. She(?) comes running across the electrical wire towards squirrel #1. She is making a similar, although slightly less aggressive noise.

So there I stand, surrounded by this bizarre cornucopia of sound. Now these sounds as I described would be how a normal person would have heard them. I have never claimed to be normal, so I'll let you in on how it was translated by my Dr. Dolittle ears. I forewarn you that these are city animals and their language is a bit dicey. You might have to consider the following contents rated R…

Cat2: Oh hell na, I know you not even traipsen' up in my yard again. I'm gonna kick your ass. Oh yeah, bitch, you betta run. Don't let me get hold a ya.

Cat1: Say what? I know you aren't even talkin' shit. See, I was gonna bounce all peacefull like, but now you gone an crossed the line.

Cat2: Line my ass. You crossed the line when you stepped into my yard, ho. You best be shakin' that ratty-ass tail in a different direction. Ain't nobody wanna smell yo shit.

Cat1: Whose tail you callin' ratty houseboy? You don’t know me. I'm from the street, you betta recognize and back off with your little prissy self.

See, at this point they are just name calling, which is never constructive. The squirrel's additions didn't help matters any.

Squirrel1: Oh shit! Oh shit! You gonna let him talk to you like that? You gonna hafta check that bitch. Break him off sumptin' proper like. Let him know how we do on the outside.

Cat1: So what then? You gonna just sit there and twitch, pussy? You want it, it's right here. Come gets you a taste.

Cat2: Don't nobody want a taste of yo dirty ass. What's wrong, didn't you momma teach you how to clean yo'self? Oh, what's that? You don't know who you momma is?

Squirrel1: Oh damn! Now he talkin' 'bout yo momma! If you don't do nuthin' soon I'm commin' down there and plant my little foot in his ass!

Squirrrel2: Simon! That ain't got nuttin' to do with you! You bes' get yo nutty ass away from there 'fore I shows you what pissed off looks like.

Squirrel1: Be still woman! You know I carry the nuts around here. That punk ass is messin' with my boy down there.

Squirrel2: Oh! Oh! Fond of yo nuts are ya? Well, if you ever want me to touch them again you'll keep yo nose outta other people's bidness.

I know, I was surprised the squirrels used so many nut clichés too, but I'm just telling you what I heard. The entire scene came to an anti-climatic end when one of the cats finally realized I was standing there watching.

Cat1: Oh shit, it's the man. Be cool, play it cool.

Cat2: Yeah, you best be goin' over and lickin' his boot 'cause he just saved you from an extraordinary ass beatin'.

The crowd dispersed and I went on inside, my mind racing with thought. I was a little disappointed that I didn't get to see any fur fly. But mainly I was disheartened by how atrocious nature's language has gotten. Are they getting it from us? Are we being terrible influences and not even knowing it? Or, perhaps it is the other way around. Maybe they are subconsciously affecting us with there dirty little mouths. Hmmm, well, fuck if I know.

The Wiggly Wii

This has been sent to me by two of my friends recently. Apparently they thought it would be something I would appreciate. They, of course, thought correctly.

As the battle between the new Playstation and Nintendo game systems heats up for the holiday season, Nintendo comes with the following offering. In the tradition of the popular Mac vs PC commercials, it is a personification of a Playstation 3 and a Nintendo Wii. The commercial is simple, funny, gets the point across, and has a cute/wiggly/scantly-clad girl. In short: contender for best commercial ever.

If you have read anything about these two systems, you will pick up on the refferences. If not, you still have the visuals. Enjoy.

PS3 vs Wii

No Bandwagon Here

To ensure clarity, even for my non-American friends, for the purposes of this post when I say football I am referring to American football of the oblong ball-lots of pads- hit you on purpose-variety. When I say soccer I mean European football of the round ball- few pads- hit you not as much on purpose- variety. I would also like to preface, before loosing any of my not-interested-in-sports-readers, that I promise not to get all technical here; please bare with me.

What, another post already? I just barely got through your last thesis-sized one.

I know, but after the events of yesterday, I felt the need to share. So, gather ‘round close kids as I impart some words of non-importance.

Regardless of what message my current physique may send, I’ve been an athlete most of my life. I played baseball; I dabbled in basketball; I did track. As a kid I was an avid soccer player, at least until I was old enough to play football. Once I was, I never looked back. Sure, other sports co-existed, but they became just ways to past the time or stay in shape for football. Football was my athletic love and I was hooked. People often told me I had a football build, whatever that means; but I guess it was just meant to be.

When a friend of mine, gained later in life, learned this about me she said, “Oh God, you were one of those jerks on stage wearing a jersey during pep-rallies?” Yes, I was, although I was far from the stereotypical jock. I took advanced classes, specialized art courses, and was editor of the school paper. But, I think most importantly, I got along with pretty much everybody. Who I hung out with transcended groups or clicks.

So, where am I going with this? My only point is that I am a fan of football. Now that I no longer play (aside from the in-frequent pick-up game), I watch. Although here, also, I am slightly abnormal. I have friends who watch SportsCenter religiously. They know the outcome of every game, mainly since they watched most of them. They follow players from College into the NFL and know their history. One buddy of mine even remembers numbers (like phone numbers, etc) by relating them to player’s jersey numbers.

I am not this guy; never have been, never will be. I think for some guys this becomes a way of relating to their fathers early on. And since primarily my mother raised me when I was younger, I never felt this need. Of course that could just be the psychologist in me speaking, who knows for sure. I do know that when I’m in a group of guys and the topic changes to sports, I normally don’t contribute all that much. I know enough to play, teach others, and thoroughly enjoy any game. But when people start in with “Did you see Smith was traded to Denver? You know he ran 1,500 yards for USC right?” I turn to the nod and smile.

In fact, when it comes to football, there is only one team I watch: The Bengals. They are my hometown team and I have been rooting for them for as long as I can remember. Back in the days before Boomer wore a suit and just read from a teleprompter. Back when Icky was still doing his shuffle instead of selling carpet; when Anthony Munoz was crushing linemen instead of the competition in furniture sales.

The Bengals have not made it easy to be a fan of theirs over the years. They earned the nickname “Bungles” whole-heartedly for quite some time. I would make an effort to watch them each Sunday, though normally without much expectation. I learned early on not to become too emotionally attached. They were an unreliable mistress, and my heart had been broken many times. Still, I stuck around. No paper bag on my head, I openly rooted for my team.

“Daddy, The Bears aren’t even that good this year. Why is that man wearing their hat?”
“No, honey, that’s not a Bears’ B, that’s a Bengals’ B.”
“Who, Daddy?”

For years I asked for the team to give me something to cheer for. They didn’t need to be good, just don’t suck.

Now is a new day. Over the past few years the Bengals have taken a new turn. Suddenly it is cool to root for them. Their merchandise flies off shelves and it is trendy to wear one of their jerseys. The other day, while enjoying my lunch at a local sub-sandwich establishment, I overheard four teenage girls having an argument over who their favorite Bengal player was.

So, yesterday as I watched them loose for the second straight week (this time to the team they needed to beat to stay tied for first place) I realized that many a fan were sure to be crestfallen. “I thought they were supposed to be this powerhouse of a team. They just look average to me.” How quickly they forget that we are lucky just to have something to cheer for.

The moral of the story is this: don’t ride the bandwagon. Decide what you care about and stick by it. Even if it’s not popular at the time, stake your claim proudly. This can be applied to politics, relationships, any number of things. And who knows, with a little consistent support, even the underdog may surprise you.

1363 Spooky St.

I hope everyone had a great Halloween. I realize that I'm a little late with this and that I'm now on the ass-end of the holiday. An interesting side note here, I wanted a graphic to go with my comment. And, while the picture jlee used would have been perfect, I didn't want to steal from her. So, I went looking for my own. I am often amused at what the search engines come up with when I search for pictures. This time I was just confused. I found out that while searching for pumkin ass, the first picture to come up on Yahoo is this:

Not that I'm complaining really. It's just that there is no rhyme or reason. On second thought, I could probably give an explanation… but I digress.

I also realize that some of you were hoping for some scary, ghetto Halloween story pertaining to my tenants. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your vantage point) I don't really have one. Halloween was relatively uneventful as far as my tenants and properties are concerned. I will, however, tell you about something that freaked me out a bit today. There are some other stories to tell, but they can wait. This one is as close to seasonal as I can muster, plus it ties in and wraps up my last post.

Last week I finally had time to get an estimate on the damage done to my car. I called the guy who was driving the truck, we'll call him Ted, a few days ago to let him know.

Now, on the day of the accident I had met both Ted and his business partner (who must have been following behind in another vehicle at the time). Even though they gave me their insurance info, they had asked me to just let them pay me out of pocket so that their insurance rates didn't go up. I told them sure; that I didn't care how it was taken care of, as long as it was. This was actually a good thing. Dealing with insurance companies can be a pain, and they usually take a while to get you your money. Besides, I have been on the other side of this coin before considering our construction guys run into or drop crap on people's cars from time to time. We like to not involve insurance for small claims, as it would be more expensive in the long run.

So, I get a call from Ted today. "I wanted to see when we could have a sit-down and settle up," he says. Great, he had to say sit-down. He obviously doesn't realize I've seen far too many movies for that kind of talk. Most sit-downs I've watched don't normally end all that well.

I shake my head to try and do an Etch-a-sketch erase of the Tony Soprano image in my brain and answer back, "sure, what's your schedule like during the week?"

We decide that I would meet him at his work after I leave the office. His place of business is in a shady part of town, but is actually not far from my apartment complex.

Wait, there are shady parts of town around your complex?

Yes, hard to believe, but it's true. So, at this point I figure he either wants to pay me my money or hit me in the head with a lead pipe. Either way he'd be done with the situation, but I'm hoping for the former. I told The Accountant where I was going after I left the office and she tried to get me to take someone with me. Nah, but at least now someone knows where I was going in case I don't show up again.

Later, after assuring Yahoo Maps that I really did want to go to that part of town,

I had my directions and was on my way. As I drove I thought back to the day of the accident. I tried to remember everything I could about Ted and his partner. At that point I realized I don't even really know what these guys do for a living. While gathering information from them, I had asked what the name of their company was. "Well, we don't really have a name, we're in like the salvage business." What the hell does that mean? It almost sounded like a bull-crap type of answer.

Uh, yeah, I'm in the waste management business.

No, get out of my head Tony, you're not helping here. The area was full of old, run down commercial buildings. I found the street and slowly worked my way along looking for the address. The fact that it was almost dark at this point was not helping me see the numbers; it wasn't helping the creepy feel of the place either. The street became a dead end, but the last building before it did was the one I was looking for. I parked on the street behind a flatbed semi and surveyed the building. It was old red brick and maybe five or six stories high. Some of the doors and windows had been bricked up as its use had changed over the years. The windows that were left had bars and wire mesh covering the glass. I guess this was a good thing as some of the glass was broken and laying all over the sidewalk.

There was seemingly only one entrance and I made my way towards it. It was a simple glass door, two steps off the sidewalk, with only the street numbers on it. The only things I could see inside were a small hallway, a steep set of stairs, and a camera facing the door. I tried the door, but it was locked, so I called Ted on his cell phone. "Ted, It's The AML. I'm here, where do I go?"

"Oh, come down to the end of the street behind the building," he says. This was not the answer I wanted, but I figured screw it, I had come this far. As I made my way around the end of the building, I still couldn't figure out what the hell this place was. There were random trucks and cars parked all over, none of which looked in good shape. In fact only one looked drivable, and it stood out like a sore thumb. It was a big black Cadillac parked amongst the rubble. It looked bizarre sitting there, but played nicely into the fantasy I had going in my head. I worked my way up a decrepit set of steps that led to a back door. The door was solid, dirty, and adorned with ancient looking mailboxes. I found a weird little doorbell and gave it a push.

After a few moments Ted comes walking up from behind a truck. "Oh, we have that area over there." He smiles and motions to somewhere off in the distance behind him. I couldn't really see where he meant, but at that point I didn't care. It was cold, dark, and I just wanted this to be done. He looks about how I remember him looking. He is smaller than me in both height and stature. He is dirty and scruffy, but I think his hair was longer last time. His hands have the thick, ground-in dirt look to them that comes with years of manual labor. From his jacket he pulls an envelope filled with almost $1500 in cash. It is slightly more than what I'm due and he says, "I didn't have any change. Do you have any on you?"

"I try not to carry any cash on me if I can help it," I say truthfully.

"Oh, we try to deal in only cash," he says with a smile. I pull out the eleven dollars I had and he shrugs his shoulders. "That's fine."

At this point we are using the hood of the afore-mentioned Cadillac as a sort of desk. He counts the money out and hands it to me. "Can I have the estimate so my partners know where the money went?" he says.

"Well, I don't want to give you the original so that I can make sure the place gives me the same price. We could make a copy, do you have a copy machine?" He just smiles at me. "Alright," I continue, "what if I just write you a receipt?"

"That'll work," he says with a shrug. So I proceed to write him out a receipt. In hind site it was most likely way more than he needed, as he didn't even look at it and just shoved it into his pocket.

"You know, we check the axels of the trucks every day now since that day. I still can't believe it happened. I had never seen it before, and I hope to never again," he says shaking his head.

"Yeah, hopefully my incident will save it from happening again to you in the future when someone could get hurt." At this point I'm trying to wrap the conversation. I am still cold and am now carrying way too much cash for this part of town. We shake hands and part ways. Looking over my shoulders, I make my way back to my car and waste no time getting out of there.

I'm home safe now.