It’s a dangerous business, this real estate agent profession.
We see and experience things most people don’t.
Like the time I hosted an open house.
As I arrived to prepare for the event, I respectfully removed my shoes, placing them by the front entry. I padded around in socked feet from one room to another, meeting guests.
As it ended and went to collect my shoes, they were missing. Which was weird. I have size 13 feet, fairly uncommon in size.
Someone had taken my shoes. Left with no alternative, I ended up walking to the car in sock feet and driving home to get another pair.
You might think it’s weird for someone to steal an agent’s shoes.
Then there was the time I wore a brand new pair of she's to an appointment. Having such large feet I find it particularly difficult to find my size so when a pair surface, I buy them.
I particularly loved this new pair of shoes – leather, wing-tipped beauties that felt like heaven. I’d searched long and hard for the perfect shoe, and finally found it. They’d cost me about $300 and were worth every penny. I felt like I was walking on a cloud with the comfort of them as I left the store wearing them.
A few hours after buying them, I was sitting at a client’s dining room table writing up a listing agreement. Once all the lines were signed, his little daughter approached us.
“You want to tell Mr. Stern now?” the dad asked her.
She nodded, and I waited to hear what would surely be something adorable.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “the dog eated your shoe.”
She held her little hand out to reveal my brand new $300 shoe that now bore the teeth marks of their Retriever.
I took the shoes from her and she watched as I looked them over.
The shoe’s tongue was completely gone, and the toe and sides had little tooth-shaped divots all over. My perfect, feel-like-heaven shoes were ruined. They were five hours old. I confess, it took everything I had not to let my eyes water right there in front of her.
The little girl was so sad though, and so sorry it had happened.
“Aww, don’t worry sweetheart,” I said, swallowing hard and forcing a smile, “they’re an older pair of shoes anyway.”
After receiving their profuse apologies, I left having learned not to wear new shoes to any appointment.
Okay, your turn.
What’s one weird problem about your work?