Beware the Red Menace

Well, here I am on Christmas Eve and the oddest thing just happened...

 

’Twas the night before Christmas and here in DC, I hadn’t found time yet to put up a tree or finish my shopping, or send out a greeting to clients by email, by text, or by tweeting. Instead of enjoying a long winter’s snooze, I had agents, attorneys and lenders to schmooze.

I sat at my desk as I tried to remember just when I last had such a busy December. I scheduled inspections and settlement dates while my Schnauzers slept soundly all snug in their crates. Their little legs moved as in dreams they gave chase to critters that ran at a frenetic pace.

I proofread a contract and then just for sport, reviewed the results of a termite report. I made a few phone calls and couldn’t resist checking off several things from my long “to do” list.

It seemed for a moment I might get a break for my beverage of choice and a Porterhouse steak when out on the street there arose such a clatter I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash with my doggies in tow like a hundred-yard dash. I parted the draperies and peered through the glass expecting to see what had caused the loud crash.

And what to my wondering eyes did appear but a red-suited man with six-pack of beer and a UPS driver all dressed up in brown whose eyebrows were narrowing into a frown. His truck, it was dented, his uniform, tattered, his packages strewn on the ground were all shattered.

The red-suited man was surveying the scene surrounded by reindeer and elves dressed in green. He bowed to the driver and said with chagrin, “What an awkward position we find ourselves in.”

Well, the driver, in no mood to be so polite, shook his fist and replied with his eyes shining bright, “Don’t try to pretend this is my fault! Enough! Now you tell me, just who’s going to pay for this stuff?”

But the red-suited gentleman seemed not to hear as he belched and he hiccupped and opened a beer. He raised up the can and he took a long draught while I watched from the window and had a good laugh.

Then much to my horror, he looked up and froze as the UPS guy punched him square in the nose. The force of the blow made him sit with a plop and he stayed on the ground ’til the dizziness stopped.

Then slowly he rose from his sitting position, assessing with care his most current condition. “Hey, Rudolph,” he called, “I am still quite alive, but I think I should sleep in the back while you drive.”

From the rear of his transport he pulled out a sack filled with money to pay Mr. UPS back. Then I heard him exclaim as he boarded the sleigh so he could get sober and be on his way, “This drinking and flying is really a bummer. Next year I’ll deliver my gifts in a Hummer.”

 

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Decorating on a Dollar

Spring has sprung.  The grass has riz.  I wonder where the yard sales iz.

I share my introductory paragraph, of course, with that great and prolific writer, Anonymous, whom I have to thank for the topic of my treatise today.

Despite what they say on HGTV, I don’t know anyone who can Design on a Dime anymore.  Much like our property sales prices, the cost of decorating our homes has gone up.  No matter how much we can Cash and Cari, even the low end of The High Low Project can be beyond the budget of many of us.

So what do we do when the weather gets warm and we want a new trinket or objet d’art for our home?  We go and sift through other people’s stuff, of course.

We are taught that one woman’s junk is another man’s treasure, so we wake up early on a Saturday morning, smell the very strong coffee and head out with a stack of small bills in search of a bargain, be it antique or just unique.

A quick glance at the garage sales section of Craigslist offers us a variety of items for the home this week.  Some examples include:

• a stainless steel fondue pot with 6 two-tined forks for your next Mad Men party,
• a bejeweled peacock lawn ornament,
• a wooden dining chair for $25.00 (or take all 4 for just $80.00),
• an assortment of Ikea Malm dressers in various finishes and
• a pair of plaster gargoyles to welcome guests as they ascend your front porch (the guests, not the gargoyles).

Many local community organizations and neighborhood associations are planning their annual multi-family yard sales.  Some benefit volunteer fire departments and others serve as fund raisers for churches, schools and veterans groups.  You can even find a “Yake Sale” (a combination yard and bake sale) in Fairfax this weekend, so arrive hungry for some kuchen to go with that morning kaffee.

Stay close to town at flea markets in Georgetown and Capitol Hill or, for a change of pace, travel a short distance to check out the Fleagaville Indoor Flea Market in Frederick, MD.  Serious shoppers can make a road trip out of it from August 1^st through 4^th by attending The World’s Longest Yard Sale, which spans 690 miles of Highway 127 from Addison, Michigan to Gadsden, Alabama.

Estate sales promise bargains galore.  They often begin on a Thursday or a Friday, so if you can take time off from work, you can beat the weekend crowd.  Some estate sale firms will only allow a small number of people into the home at one time so you must obtain an entry ticket at the door, much like taking a number at the deli counter.  There is usually a wide variety of household items available and sometimes the firms running the sale will even accept credit cards.

I’m more of an estate sale enthusiast than a flea market floozy.  My guest bedroom, for example, contains a 1960s bookshelf headboard, a matching triple dresser with original chrome hardware and a silver Sputnik lamp that were about to be placed curbside.  The cost: hauling fees, a gallon of semi-gloss paint and two days of my time.

My den features unwanted items from various clients: a waterfall chest of drawers with brass and Bakelite handles, a scalloped drop-leaf table and a twin sofabed with a matching child-sized sleeper ottoman, all for an investment in a bottle of Old English® furniture polish and a $400.00 check to my upholsterer.

In my recreation room, a black and white loveseat and matching easy chair, purchased from a seller for $300, are the perfect complement to two high-gloss black étagères with glass shelves, which came with my house because they wouldn’t fit up the basement stairs.

The 6^th Annual Great Brookland Yard Sale (GBYS) is coming up on May 11^th.  I have participated in this community event for two of the past three years and it’s time to do it again.  After all, I need to make room in my garage for new treasures. 

You will likely find me on my front lawn that morning, trying to entice someone to buy my leftover building materials and staging items.  Stop by and say hello, but remember: sometimes one woman’s junk is just junk.

Fair Housing & Equitable Treatment

I’m a lousy blogger.  Sure, I have a lot to say and I do so frequently in other venues, but months can go by before I remember to write here.  Something happened recently, however, that I just had to share.  

I lost a client.

No, I didn’t do anything to hurt or sabotage the relationship.  We neither had a disagreement nor faced an impossible market.  No hidden agendas, no replacement Realtors®.  It was simply this: she quit her job and left the area.

 
What, you ask, especially given the current economy, would make someone do that?

In this case, I found the answer both sad and disturbing.  She quit because of a hostile work environment that she could neither control nor withstand any longer.

 As a woman who started her career in law enforcement in the mid-1970s, when a married woman couldn’t even get a credit card without her husband co-signing the application, I jumped hurdle after hurdle to prove myself worthy of every step up the ladder.  If I had spent as much time sleeping my way to the top as I was accused of, I would never have been able to walk to work.

But, ladies and gentlemen, that was more than 35 years ago.  To think that harassment, bullying, inappropriate commentary and more could still be happening today astounds me, especially in the DC area, which I have always thought of as extremely progressive and tolerant.

Every time I renew my licenses I must prove that I have taken required courses in fair housing law.  Not only is there still discrimination happening in my field but also there can be simply the appearance of discrimination in a real estate agent’s daily activities if not kept in check.  I am not so naïve as to think otherwise.

I take the training because the real estate commission says I must.  I treat people equally and with respect because it’s the right thing to do.  Big difference.