photo courtesy of freerangstock.com
Sometimes I need a man
Sometimes I need a man. Even when I act like a man it doesn’t work. There are some men who need to speak to another man. Have you ever worked with someone who wants to tell you constantly that they’ve been in the business for 20 years? Who cares? Maybe they’ve done the same job once a year for twenty years. So I’m trying to get this house ready to list. Delay. Delay. Delay. It’s always something. The sellers. The handyman. The stager. I’ve finally gotten everybody lined up and oooh, the sellers -brother and sister – disagree on something else. Delay some more. The brother says to me today, “This must be like dealing with a divorce.” Uh, yeah, kinda. So I get the go-ahead from them. Everyone’s lined up and ready to go, then the dominoes start falling.
The stager can’t come after the handyman. She’ll be out of town the day I need her to install. Okay, so she has to go in before the handyman. He’ll have to deal.
I email him the list. He wants to do a walk through. It’s five items. How hard can it be? Okay. I go do the walk through – the guy’s highly recommended – room by room pointing, explaining. It must be me. Explaining in nauseating detail that the tasks need to be done in a specific order. The photographer’s coming on Thursday. The jobs that are going to show in the picture need to be done first. The hole patching and light fixture replacement can be done later.
I’m not his mama
I’m not his mama. I don’t stand over him. But something isn’t right. I go over there and see he’s not doing the items in order. Oh, man. “Look, dude, you gotta do the stuff in order. ” I get, “Yeah. Yeah.”
Thursday morning on the way to the gym, I think: You’d better go check it out. I drive up, the granny rails from the sidewalk to the front door – the first thing on the list – are still there. Photogs coming at noon. Oh, poo poo. Flowers aren’t planted. Tools all over the living room. Furniture in disarray. Double poo poo. He’s supposed to be out of there that morning. He’s not halfway through the list.
Of course I get voice mail…
I call and leave a message. Of course I get voice mail; it’s 7:00 in the morning and he starts bright and early at 10. That was the first clue I let slide. Eventually, “Are you going to be able to get this railing out by noon?” “Uh, no. I have to take my daughter to the doctor. I’m not going to get there until noon. I was going to call you to give you my schedule.” WHAT? I don’t want your schedule. I want you to come get this railing out. I sound like a hysterical woman – not a man.
Calling through my list of contractors. I get a hold of John. He says, I’ll call you back later. WHAT? What does that mean? I’ve gotta get this thing outta here.
I dig holes
So I get to work. I dig holes; plant the plants. Put all the tools in the garage. Move the furniture back. Sweep up the mess he’s left from installing the light fixtures that weren’t supposed to be installed until after the rail was removed. I’m at the top of a ladder sweating, trying to install light bulbs, a work truck pulls up. Guy’s looking at the railing. He comes in the front door. “You Vicki?” Yeah. “You Vicki?” Yeah. (Haven’t you ever seen a realtor in her sweats sweating at the top of a ladder?) You John? “Yeah.” Can you remove the handrail? “I’ll see what I can do.” The angels sing.
Now the first guy is furious. I get this email: “I have worked for many real estate agents over the last 20 + years (who cares), and know the proper order that this stuff is supposed to go in (You don’t, little lady). FIRST you get the repairs done, then you paint, then carpet, then clean, then stage, then photo. This is the way it works best. I think it is safe to say that we all know that” (except you, you stupid woman). If you’ve been doing this for 20 years, you should be able to tell that that isn’t new carpet; there was no painting crew – if there was, why would I have you painting? And stop being a cry baby. So you had to move some furniture. I’m the customer. I request. But noooo, he’s the man. He’s been doing this for 20 years. He knows what he’s doing. He’s going to show me how it’s done. NOT.
Sometimes I want to be a man. Know what I mean, man?
