It has always been somewhat of a challenge to get my homes showed. It has something to do with the fact I am 1700 miles from them.
Because this home is at the far end of the metro Birmingham area, I had been reluctant to ask one of the two former tenants to show this place. Trusted threw out an idea for me recently, why not just have one of his fabulous former neighbors show it? After all, they told me when I was there, if I needed anything to please just let them know. So, Trusted enlisted their help and the rest should have been a cake walk.
If it only could have been so simple! Neighbor 116 was supposed to show it on Saturday, but got into a bit of a row with a prospective tenant. He told me all the details and I really couldn't do much other than let it go and make a mental note that he would not be showing the home for me again. In all fairness, he probably saved me grief down the road--whether from a feud breaking out between the 116's and the McCoy's or from just trying to hunt down these folks when the rent was due.
At any rate, I won't be asking 116 to show it again. But, then again, he is on vacation starting today. He sweetly passed the keys over to neighbor 114. I haven't spoken to 114 about showing the place, however, apparently 116 did.
I met 114 while I was there earlier this month. 114 is a nice family man with one of those perfectly manicured yards. The inside of his home is also perfect--which blows me away because he has two toddlers. Anyway 114 told me (and also independently told 116 and Trusted) he is very concerned about who moves in next to him. I gather this means someone who doesn't own a lawn mower will be trouble.
Do I want 114 to show it? Probably not. I am envisioning 114 introducing himself to a prospective tenant, explaining about how everyone takes care of the yard and homes. Then goes and sizes up these folks on his behalf and tells them no the landlord will not rent to them because they had scuffed shoes.
Me: "114 why did you tell them they couldn't rent the house?"
114: "The husband had dirty fingernails."
Me: "He is a mechanic and just came from work!"
I bit the bullet yesterday and called Former Tenant #2. A delightful person, she and her family came over from South Africa a few years ago. I got involved with her because they could not get a loan for a home until her husband had been at his job for 12 months. He was on month 10, but they had found a home. They were fabulous renters, terrific mortgagees and have now refinanced. They don't owe me money. They never defaulted and I have a great amount of trust in her.
I sent her keys this morning along with a detailed note about how to show this home. In my instructions I wrote:
"Neighbors 116 and 114 may pop their heads over and say hello. It would be ideal if they did not do this when someone is looking at the home, but I understand you cannot control this. If this happens, please just be gracious and we will all hope for the best."
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Coated in Confidence
"Surround yourself with people you wish to become." This advice came to me from Dan, 20 years ago, during a deeply-rooted philosophical conversation over a college drinking game of quarters.
Looking back 20 years later, I think I am starting to master this. In some ways, this has been the most challenging aspect of what I do. I have known for a long time, I cannot work with people who aren't assertive. If I do, I run over them. I need those who can not only give me useful guidance, but tell me when I am dead wrong. I have a strong personality, and I tend to scare those who confuse my opinions as correct instead of as just my opinions.
I don't want yes-men. I want reality-check men.
For example, my agent is selling one of our homes. I had my optimistic seller hat on. The hat controlled my vocal chords, saying things like, "it is a great house. Let's go ahead and raise the price $10,000 more." My agent ripped off my optimistic seller hat and pointed out the obvious. "It isn't worth $10,000 more." He knows what he is talking about. He knows how to bring me back to Earth--even if it is to fine-tune my line of thinking.
On a more menial level (but just as valuable), I have someone over in Birmingham now handling some of what Trusted did. And, she doesn't need to be empowered. She is already driving around, checking into my two deadbeats. She is taking down license plate numbers of cars parked in the parking lot, taking pictures of how the homes look today and reporting back. She even cleaned up the house in Leeds, and staged with a bit of wall decorations and furniture. She is the first to tell me she is loving this. Handling the general clean-up and some landlord duties I am not there to do is really is up her alley. She told me the other day she is now trying to figure out ways to take what I have hired her to do and make it a full-time business. How's that for empowering?
I am surrounding myself with people who aren't afraid of what they are doing. They are confident. That is what I want to achieve.
Looking back 20 years later, I think I am starting to master this. In some ways, this has been the most challenging aspect of what I do. I have known for a long time, I cannot work with people who aren't assertive. If I do, I run over them. I need those who can not only give me useful guidance, but tell me when I am dead wrong. I have a strong personality, and I tend to scare those who confuse my opinions as correct instead of as just my opinions.
I don't want yes-men. I want reality-check men.
For example, my agent is selling one of our homes. I had my optimistic seller hat on. The hat controlled my vocal chords, saying things like, "it is a great house. Let's go ahead and raise the price $10,000 more." My agent ripped off my optimistic seller hat and pointed out the obvious. "It isn't worth $10,000 more." He knows what he is talking about. He knows how to bring me back to Earth--even if it is to fine-tune my line of thinking.
On a more menial level (but just as valuable), I have someone over in Birmingham now handling some of what Trusted did. And, she doesn't need to be empowered. She is already driving around, checking into my two deadbeats. She is taking down license plate numbers of cars parked in the parking lot, taking pictures of how the homes look today and reporting back. She even cleaned up the house in Leeds, and staged with a bit of wall decorations and furniture. She is the first to tell me she is loving this. Handling the general clean-up and some landlord duties I am not there to do is really is up her alley. She told me the other day she is now trying to figure out ways to take what I have hired her to do and make it a full-time business. How's that for empowering?
I am surrounding myself with people who aren't afraid of what they are doing. They are confident. That is what I want to achieve.
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Non-Tenant
I had Trusted Tenant. Trusted was my eyes, ears and delivery service in Birmingham. The everyday tasks of my business ran much smoother to some degree because of Trusted. For that, I am truly grateful.
Trusted picked the house we bought for him to rent. He liked it and the place suited his personality. He liked the location, the high walls, to proudly display his stuffed deer heads, the layout of the home, which gave him a sitting room and a studio. His achievements were proudly hung on walls. He loved the jet tub, and he was nuts about fireplace, where I watched him a time or two sitting in front of, reading his Bible. As far as he--and we--were concerned, the house belonged to him.
Several months ago, Trusted's life got way too complicated. And, he finally needed to move out. I predicted this in April. I even told Trusted he probably needed to think about moving. Not because I was forcing him out, but because it would be in his best interest. Trusted disagreed, held on and finally came to the same conclusion.
One of the really nice things about Trusted is his sense of honor and loyalty. He left before I had to ask. And, before the courts insisted. He also left the place clean--including cleaning the carpets. He even continued showing the house until today. Showing the house became too much, as he moved 90 miles north of where he was. He called me today apologizing that he just wasn't in a place where he could do that any more. The fact he lasted as long as he did was a minor miracle in itself. I am grateful he was able to do it at all.
So, now I have an unrented house. Fortunately, it is in a nice neighborhood. But the rent is higher than most of my properties. Which helps keep out the undesirables. I hope.
While I was in Alabama two weeks ago, I met some of the neighbors. Today, I spoke with one who offered to show the house for me. Another is willing to take care of the lawn. So, there are options to getting this place rented. Hopefully rented soon. And, more importantly, rented to someone of Trusted's caliber.
As far as Trusted goes, he is currently hiding in his man-cave and has come up for air on two occasions to talk to me. Both times were about the house. I suspect I won't be hearing from Trusted about life in general for a while. He needs time to get his life back in order. I told him to call or write when he can.
In one of my brief conversations, with my husband's blessing, I told Trusted I wouldn't sell the house. Instead I would rent it out for a year and see where his life was at that time. Maybe he will be in a place to take his house back.
Trusted's home.
Trusted picked the house we bought for him to rent. He liked it and the place suited his personality. He liked the location, the high walls, to proudly display his stuffed deer heads, the layout of the home, which gave him a sitting room and a studio. His achievements were proudly hung on walls. He loved the jet tub, and he was nuts about fireplace, where I watched him a time or two sitting in front of, reading his Bible. As far as he--and we--were concerned, the house belonged to him.
Several months ago, Trusted's life got way too complicated. And, he finally needed to move out. I predicted this in April. I even told Trusted he probably needed to think about moving. Not because I was forcing him out, but because it would be in his best interest. Trusted disagreed, held on and finally came to the same conclusion.
One of the really nice things about Trusted is his sense of honor and loyalty. He left before I had to ask. And, before the courts insisted. He also left the place clean--including cleaning the carpets. He even continued showing the house until today. Showing the house became too much, as he moved 90 miles north of where he was. He called me today apologizing that he just wasn't in a place where he could do that any more. The fact he lasted as long as he did was a minor miracle in itself. I am grateful he was able to do it at all.
So, now I have an unrented house. Fortunately, it is in a nice neighborhood. But the rent is higher than most of my properties. Which helps keep out the undesirables. I hope.
While I was in Alabama two weeks ago, I met some of the neighbors. Today, I spoke with one who offered to show the house for me. Another is willing to take care of the lawn. So, there are options to getting this place rented. Hopefully rented soon. And, more importantly, rented to someone of Trusted's caliber.
As far as Trusted goes, he is currently hiding in his man-cave and has come up for air on two occasions to talk to me. Both times were about the house. I suspect I won't be hearing from Trusted about life in general for a while. He needs time to get his life back in order. I told him to call or write when he can.
In one of my brief conversations, with my husband's blessing, I told Trusted I wouldn't sell the house. Instead I would rent it out for a year and see where his life was at that time. Maybe he will be in a place to take his house back.
Trusted's home.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Ernie and Julie
So, I have this tenant who is waaaay too comfortable in MY home. She doesn't seem to think paying rent or leaving are options for her. So, for now, she is hanging loose and guarding my copper piping and air conditioner.
And, because of some sort of mishap from the Honorable Judge Somebodyorother, she doesn't have to leave for another few weeks. But, she WILL go. Last week, the news came from my eviction attorney who told me--for $200 an hour-- to "sit tight." And--I swear I am not making this up--"it will happen in due time."
As if I can do much else at this point! But, I can sit tight with my two friends who keep me company in times like this: Earnest and Julio, the makers of some fabulous adult refreshments.
The latest e-mail exchange with my attorney went something like this:
Me: I am afraid to go on e-bay and see my hot water heater and kitchen cabinets being auctioned off.
Her: That would be theft--criminal charges would apply (and then she added the smiley face icon).
I know she means well, but a smiley face icon and the lure of hiring another lawyer to handle a criminal case to go after Wayward isn't really working. After all, Wayward hasn't really cared up until now, has she? At this point, maybe Earnie and Julie can give me some better insight.
And, because of some sort of mishap from the Honorable Judge Somebodyorother, she doesn't have to leave for another few weeks. But, she WILL go. Last week, the news came from my eviction attorney who told me--for $200 an hour-- to "sit tight." And--I swear I am not making this up--"it will happen in due time."
As if I can do much else at this point! But, I can sit tight with my two friends who keep me company in times like this: Earnest and Julio, the makers of some fabulous adult refreshments.
The latest e-mail exchange with my attorney went something like this:
Me: I am afraid to go on e-bay and see my hot water heater and kitchen cabinets being auctioned off.
Her: That would be theft--criminal charges would apply (and then she added the smiley face icon).
I know she means well, but a smiley face icon and the lure of hiring another lawyer to handle a criminal case to go after Wayward isn't really working. After all, Wayward hasn't really cared up until now, has she? At this point, maybe Earnie and Julie can give me some better insight.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Drunk Monkey
"Your mind is not a tool for success," was the the best nugget of wisdom I have received in ages.
This gem came from Matthew Ferry, success coach at the local real estate rah-rah session my broker forced me to attend this past week. As selling real estate is my other vocation when I am not wrapped up in the drama of the Alabama business, it is sometimes prudent to indulge my broker. And, as it is necessary to keep my current vocation for now, indulging my broker is infinitely easier than pounding the pavement looking for some job requiring me to wear panty hose every day.
With all the "if you see it, you can be it," motivation given by other guest speakers at other rah-rah rallies, Ferry's comment came as a major shock. What's more, I completely get it. Think about what your brain really tells you. You are fat, lazy or incompetent (surly my brain isn't the only one giving me this type of feedback??). And, think of some of the ideas you have considered. Ever have your brain say, "that will never work."?
Ferry called this kind of talk, the "drunk monkey." Meaning, that the drunk monkey will give you all sorts of feedback that makes no sense to the average thinking person--but you can relate to--and do. Illogical advice you wouldn't give or take from a friend, you would take from the all-knowing drunk monkey ("What do you think you are doing?"). Your drunk monkey has been acting as more of an ally than you might realize. It is easier to listen to the drunk monkey, because the drunk monkey doesn't want you to try anything new.
The drunk monkey's--your brain--main function is survival. New concepts, challenges and ideas challenge that survival. So, where something new or different comes along, your brain is busy telling you all the bad stuff related to that new or different concept. Your brain acts like every other organ in your body. It does what it wants, when it wants. Do you plan when you want to use the restroom or does it just happen? Do you plan when you are going to vomit? Every organ and biological function does what it is supposed to do on it's own schedule. Your brain is supposed to keep you safe. And, it does that by reminding you why risk is bad.
I started paying attention to how often my drunk monkey reminds me how difficult what I am do is. It constantly tells me that if I don't have tenant du jur pay me on the prescribed day, we can be in serious trouble. It reminds me of all the bad stuff going on in Alabama. And, it reminds me of this often.
Then I started ignoring my drunk monkey and paying attention to the facts. I started looking at things like I would present to my partner. We have money in the bank. A good portion of our tenants DO pay. We aren't teetering on the verge of failure this week if someone pays late. All of those logical, factual things the drunk monkey often neglects.
This week, I started a mental exercise: stop acknowledging the drunk monkey. It has been liberating. And, even though things aren't perfect. We aren't on the brink of disaster. More importantly, I am finding peace.
This gem came from Matthew Ferry, success coach at the local real estate rah-rah session my broker forced me to attend this past week. As selling real estate is my other vocation when I am not wrapped up in the drama of the Alabama business, it is sometimes prudent to indulge my broker. And, as it is necessary to keep my current vocation for now, indulging my broker is infinitely easier than pounding the pavement looking for some job requiring me to wear panty hose every day.
With all the "if you see it, you can be it," motivation given by other guest speakers at other rah-rah rallies, Ferry's comment came as a major shock. What's more, I completely get it. Think about what your brain really tells you. You are fat, lazy or incompetent (surly my brain isn't the only one giving me this type of feedback??). And, think of some of the ideas you have considered. Ever have your brain say, "that will never work."?
Ferry called this kind of talk, the "drunk monkey." Meaning, that the drunk monkey will give you all sorts of feedback that makes no sense to the average thinking person--but you can relate to--and do. Illogical advice you wouldn't give or take from a friend, you would take from the all-knowing drunk monkey ("What do you think you are doing?"). Your drunk monkey has been acting as more of an ally than you might realize. It is easier to listen to the drunk monkey, because the drunk monkey doesn't want you to try anything new.
The drunk monkey's--your brain--main function is survival. New concepts, challenges and ideas challenge that survival. So, where something new or different comes along, your brain is busy telling you all the bad stuff related to that new or different concept. Your brain acts like every other organ in your body. It does what it wants, when it wants. Do you plan when you want to use the restroom or does it just happen? Do you plan when you are going to vomit? Every organ and biological function does what it is supposed to do on it's own schedule. Your brain is supposed to keep you safe. And, it does that by reminding you why risk is bad.
I started paying attention to how often my drunk monkey reminds me how difficult what I am do is. It constantly tells me that if I don't have tenant du jur pay me on the prescribed day, we can be in serious trouble. It reminds me of all the bad stuff going on in Alabama. And, it reminds me of this often.
Then I started ignoring my drunk monkey and paying attention to the facts. I started looking at things like I would present to my partner. We have money in the bank. A good portion of our tenants DO pay. We aren't teetering on the verge of failure this week if someone pays late. All of those logical, factual things the drunk monkey often neglects.
This week, I started a mental exercise: stop acknowledging the drunk monkey. It has been liberating. And, even though things aren't perfect. We aren't on the brink of disaster. More importantly, I am finding peace.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Due Dates
Somewhere East of the Mississippi River and South of the Mason-Dixon line the Roman calendar is something of an unknown. The locals whisper among themselves at night while sitting on their front porch rockers about those of us in the City who know about such things, like calendars, clocks, deadlines and due dates. They have heard stories, passed down from generation to generation, like scary campfire tales, meant to make your skin crawl. But, deep down, they know in their hearts, it is only a legend. Surly the world cannot possibly be that rigid.
For Christmas one year, I got every one of my tenants an Arizona Highways wall calendar (I didn't have as many tenants at the time). Keeping in true Southern form, they all thanked me profusely, admired the fabulous pictures and made some idle comment about how facinating Arizona must be. It never occurred to me at the time, that none of these people had probably ever seen a calendar before, let alone know how to use one. There is only one time in the South: Due Time.
"Due time" is the Southern phrase for someday-I-give-you-my-word-as-a-Southerner-that-I-will-take-care-of-this-now-just-sit-tight-and-I-will-call-you-when-I-am-ready. This used to drive me batty. Now I just find it mildly annoying that due time exists at all. Tenants live on due time when the rent is due. Process servers only exist on due time. Attornies bill thier hours by due time. Resturants serve in due time. Traffic flows in due time. Everything in the South is on due time.
For example: On April 30, I sent my file for my wayward tenant to my attorney so she could serve Wayward on May 2. Wayward got served on May 17. The process server got to it. Eventually. Wayward is still living there as I write this. I figured the sheriff would be escorting her out by now. But no, because of a grand FUBAR with the courts she is living comfortably as a deadbeat in my home.
I know she is still there, because on Monday I called one of the two process servers I use and asked him to check on Wayward. He got to it on Wednesday. It doesn't work well for a city girl who abides by the Roman calendar. But, it IS how things are done. In due time.
For Christmas one year, I got every one of my tenants an Arizona Highways wall calendar (I didn't have as many tenants at the time). Keeping in true Southern form, they all thanked me profusely, admired the fabulous pictures and made some idle comment about how facinating Arizona must be. It never occurred to me at the time, that none of these people had probably ever seen a calendar before, let alone know how to use one. There is only one time in the South: Due Time.
"Due time" is the Southern phrase for someday-I-give-you-my-word-as-a-Southerner-that-I-will-take-care-of-this-now-just-sit-tight-and-I-will-call-you-when-I-am-ready. This used to drive me batty. Now I just find it mildly annoying that due time exists at all. Tenants live on due time when the rent is due. Process servers only exist on due time. Attornies bill thier hours by due time. Resturants serve in due time. Traffic flows in due time. Everything in the South is on due time.
For example: On April 30, I sent my file for my wayward tenant to my attorney so she could serve Wayward on May 2. Wayward got served on May 17. The process server got to it. Eventually. Wayward is still living there as I write this. I figured the sheriff would be escorting her out by now. But no, because of a grand FUBAR with the courts she is living comfortably as a deadbeat in my home.
I know she is still there, because on Monday I called one of the two process servers I use and asked him to check on Wayward. He got to it on Wednesday. It doesn't work well for a city girl who abides by the Roman calendar. But, it IS how things are done. In due time.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Getting Over Myself
Nothing helps me recover from Self Pity Fest 2008 more than action. I suspect this is why my husband lets me have my crazy way more often than he should. Why deal with me and my angst when he can schlep me to the airport, shove me on a plane and tell me to go spend the next five days doing whatever it is will make me feel better (preferably as long as it isn't underfoot making the rest of the family crazy dealing with me).
I am the first to admit I am difficult. And, as I get older, my control issues have become an inch shy of OCD. Ok, maybe not that bad. Maybe.
So, I went to Bama to get an idea of what I was imagining from 1,700 miles away. What I found wasn't terrible. Wasn't great either. It was a mixture of drama coupled with a dose of reality. Because I was pretty dead-on in a lot of my assessments, and I only had a limited Alabama window to handle this in, I was in action.
First there was the house in Leeds that recently became vacant. Bobby the locksmith took two hours to change TWO locks. He knew everything, his opinion was right and he was cheap. But, not two hours cheap. The house was not in great condition, but I have experienced worse. My biggest challenge is--and I mean this in the nicest way--redneck neighbors who are giving my hired help a hard time. And, these same neighbors stole the refrigerator from the back patio one afternoon.
I met with a second locksmith who did not take two hours to change five locks. He did it in record time: 20 minutes. He did spend another 20 giving me his opinion of the current presidential race.
There are also a couple of problem tenants who will soon be someone else's concern. But, I am sure they will come up in a later post.
There were my meetings with two property managers, where I summarily decided I have too many control issues and am too cheap to pay for a property manager. I still might need one. My partner isn't crazy about that solution either. It still may be something to explore.
I did hire former Tenant #2 to handle the clean-up. She has a great decorative eye for things and is already taking charge, Fen Shui-ing the home (Oh the pink wall is bringing in bad energy and have you thought about adding some window boxes with red flowers to the front of the house to make the energy flow better?).
I also hired #1 for several other odd jobs that suit her talents. ("Thanks a stack!" she sweetly said.)
I had lunch with one attorney and her para-legal. I don't think we talked business over our California Pizza Kitchen salads. It was a total girl-friend lunch, and I loved it. It was a perfect stress releiver. I also had a meeting where I ended up giving unsolicited love-life advice to another attorney. Young guy--who I swear wasn't old enough to shave yet. But, he is interested in handling collections. And, I am interested in letting him.
And, I had my dinner date--my only other half-way social event. A great dinner of cheese quesidilla at a little Birmingham pub. This was about 10 minutes after I met with Teresa and I was ready for a wine IV drip. This was with my agent, who has led a facinating life and is just fun to talk to.
The last major item was Operation Mrs. Kravitz--aptly named after the nosey neighbor on the 1970s Bewitched. Mrs. Kravitz always knew what was going on with all the neighbors and that is what I want for a neighbor for any rental. So, like I usually do, I walked around the neighborhood of my latest soon-to-be vacant home, introducing myself, gathering names and numbers of caring neighbors who don't want anyone from Leeds moving in. (For my own safety, I did not do this in the Leeds neighborhood. They weren't terribly friendly there.)
When I got back, I sent a five-page review to my partner, giving him the state of the company. I included all the trivia I gained while on my trip (but I did neglect to mention Teresa the somewhat unusal non-tenant). Let his brain have a bit of information overload for awhile.
I am feeling better.
I am the first to admit I am difficult. And, as I get older, my control issues have become an inch shy of OCD. Ok, maybe not that bad. Maybe.
So, I went to Bama to get an idea of what I was imagining from 1,700 miles away. What I found wasn't terrible. Wasn't great either. It was a mixture of drama coupled with a dose of reality. Because I was pretty dead-on in a lot of my assessments, and I only had a limited Alabama window to handle this in, I was in action.
First there was the house in Leeds that recently became vacant. Bobby the locksmith took two hours to change TWO locks. He knew everything, his opinion was right and he was cheap. But, not two hours cheap. The house was not in great condition, but I have experienced worse. My biggest challenge is--and I mean this in the nicest way--redneck neighbors who are giving my hired help a hard time. And, these same neighbors stole the refrigerator from the back patio one afternoon.
I met with a second locksmith who did not take two hours to change five locks. He did it in record time: 20 minutes. He did spend another 20 giving me his opinion of the current presidential race.
There are also a couple of problem tenants who will soon be someone else's concern. But, I am sure they will come up in a later post.
There were my meetings with two property managers, where I summarily decided I have too many control issues and am too cheap to pay for a property manager. I still might need one. My partner isn't crazy about that solution either. It still may be something to explore.
I did hire former Tenant #2 to handle the clean-up. She has a great decorative eye for things and is already taking charge, Fen Shui-ing the home (Oh the pink wall is bringing in bad energy and have you thought about adding some window boxes with red flowers to the front of the house to make the energy flow better?).
I also hired #1 for several other odd jobs that suit her talents. ("Thanks a stack!" she sweetly said.)
I had lunch with one attorney and her para-legal. I don't think we talked business over our California Pizza Kitchen salads. It was a total girl-friend lunch, and I loved it. It was a perfect stress releiver. I also had a meeting where I ended up giving unsolicited love-life advice to another attorney. Young guy--who I swear wasn't old enough to shave yet. But, he is interested in handling collections. And, I am interested in letting him.
And, I had my dinner date--my only other half-way social event. A great dinner of cheese quesidilla at a little Birmingham pub. This was about 10 minutes after I met with Teresa and I was ready for a wine IV drip. This was with my agent, who has led a facinating life and is just fun to talk to.
The last major item was Operation Mrs. Kravitz--aptly named after the nosey neighbor on the 1970s Bewitched. Mrs. Kravitz always knew what was going on with all the neighbors and that is what I want for a neighbor for any rental. So, like I usually do, I walked around the neighborhood of my latest soon-to-be vacant home, introducing myself, gathering names and numbers of caring neighbors who don't want anyone from Leeds moving in. (For my own safety, I did not do this in the Leeds neighborhood. They weren't terribly friendly there.)
When I got back, I sent a five-page review to my partner, giving him the state of the company. I included all the trivia I gained while on my trip (but I did neglect to mention Teresa the somewhat unusal non-tenant). Let his brain have a bit of information overload for awhile.
I am feeling better.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Lunatic Fringe
This particular trip came with a variety of twists. One of which was Wednesday night. I had planned to meet Teresa at her place of employment to go over her new lease. Originally, she was planning on moving in this weekend, but because of money reasons we settled for next weekend. She had already given me a non-refundable money-order deposit to hold the place. And, I happen to know, that at least as of Monday, we were clear on the amount of money she needed to rent out the house.
So, I go to meet her. She pops in my car, and we park in the rain. Niceties follow, with her telling me how much she loves the house. She drives by at least twice a day. She has already picked out the flowers for the front yard. And the raving goes on.
We go over the lease. A relatively standard lease with standard clauses, such as the number of people located in the house. What she would be responsible for. What I, as the landlord, am responsible for. You get the idea. But, Teresa is having trouble focusing from page one. I ask her to initial the number of residents. She blanks. I ask her again she complies. We get to the part where she has to pay to have a roof over her head and she hesitates, but eventually moves through it with gusto. Then, we get to the part where she is to actually sign the lease. She pauses for a moment or two, then signs.
Then she gets weird. It turns out she doesn't have the move-in money. You see, because she was so excited to actually have a place to live (she is living with her brother and he is getting married in a week and she needs to be gone by then), she bought a brand-new super-cool washer and dryer. So, she is a bit short.
She tells me this in a rush. Then she then starts humming to herself and rocking back and forth in the passenger seat. (and to think I had suggested we do this in the lobby of her place of employment. Perhaps it really was better this route). But, she really loves the house and can't wait to move in.
All tact and decorum leave me and I say in the stupidest voice possible, "so, are you going to take the house or what?" In my defense, I wasn't exactly sure what was going on. She could have been having an seizure for all I knew. But, she then scratches out her signature and tells me she will take the place in two weeks, not one.
News flash: I am not going to be back in two weeks for her to sign a lease. It isn't that we couldn't change this lease to say June 28. But, why cross out the signature when we could very well cross out the date.
We end this encounter with her telling me she will get back to me by Friday with a decision and for me not to rent out the house to anyone else. Next news flash: I am not waiting for her.
Yesterday Teresa calls me and tells me her brother is very motivated for her to leave, so he gave her the funds she was short. And, when could we sign the lease? Apparently, she wasn't cognizant of the fact she wigged out on me and I was unimpressed.
Here's how I look at it, if you want something from someone--such as a house or a job--you put your best foot forward. You act like you have it together. You don't mention you bought a new-fangled washing machine instead of a craig's list used one.
So, still annoyed about the whole car episode, I say to her something along the lines of I don't want trouble. I don't want to find out she hasn't managed her money accordingly on the date rent is due. Because the one thing that makes me angry is when tenants decide new-fangled appliances are more important than keeping a roof over their head. Ok, I didn't add the new-fangled appliances. But, it was along those lines.
She then tells me it won't be an issue and she will always have the rent money. Then, in the same sentence maybe her brother didn't give her the money after all and could she wait two weeks to move in. She wants the house but thinks she should get an apartment. And, would I hold the place for her until the 28th and when can she get her deposit back? I couldn't follow her. I would have preferred the humming. But, I latched on to the deposit being returned and told her I would get it back (Even though it was non-refundable. She didn't strike me as completely grasping this and I felt it was best to let go). I thought we were finally on the same page when she parted with, "I will talk to you in two weeks. Don't rent out my house." Um, nope, not even the same library.
Fast forward to today. I had had enough of Teresa yesterday. I am usually very patient, even with those who have bizarre personalities. But, this was a bit much. This morning, thrilled she was out of my life, I popped the money orders into the mail with a note wishing her luck (my public relations gene had gotten back from a two-day sabbatical). That means she and I are done right?
Teresa has called no less than 12 times. TWELVE TIMES. In all fairness, I didn't return her call right away, but you think she would at least let me get a chance to get back to her. Also, because I had already taken care of this, I stupidly figured it was done and there really was no reason to talk to her. And, because I stupidly figured this, I got a doozy of a call. I am still laughing about it.
Somewhere around two p.m., I got a call from a blocked number. This woman left a message, telling me she was an attorney and if I did not give the (non-refundable) deposit back she would seek legal action. And, I was to call this person immediately. This brings me to several points:
1. If you really are a lawyer, it is best to leave a name and contact number. It makes you sound more legitimate and not like a friend maquarading as an attorney.
2. Would a lawyer really go after an out-of-state landlord (who only has a published PO Box) for $500?
3. If Teresa really was this worried, why not just cancel the money orders? Geeze.
4. Does anyone out there know what non-refundable means?
I finally did call Teresa back and leave a quick voice mail. Feigning ignorant to the zillions of calls, I said something about having popped the deposits it in the mail that morning. I even said I had been busy and "I haven't checked my voice mail yet, but undoubtedly you have called." I actually feel pretty bad for making her worry about her deposit. Even if she is a bit odd.
Incidentally, I think I rented out the house again today. I told them there would be a non-refundable deposit to hold the place. She replied, "I expected that. No problem."
So, I go to meet her. She pops in my car, and we park in the rain. Niceties follow, with her telling me how much she loves the house. She drives by at least twice a day. She has already picked out the flowers for the front yard. And the raving goes on.
We go over the lease. A relatively standard lease with standard clauses, such as the number of people located in the house. What she would be responsible for. What I, as the landlord, am responsible for. You get the idea. But, Teresa is having trouble focusing from page one. I ask her to initial the number of residents. She blanks. I ask her again she complies. We get to the part where she has to pay to have a roof over her head and she hesitates, but eventually moves through it with gusto. Then, we get to the part where she is to actually sign the lease. She pauses for a moment or two, then signs.
Then she gets weird. It turns out she doesn't have the move-in money. You see, because she was so excited to actually have a place to live (she is living with her brother and he is getting married in a week and she needs to be gone by then), she bought a brand-new super-cool washer and dryer. So, she is a bit short.
She tells me this in a rush. Then she then starts humming to herself and rocking back and forth in the passenger seat. (and to think I had suggested we do this in the lobby of her place of employment. Perhaps it really was better this route). But, she really loves the house and can't wait to move in.
All tact and decorum leave me and I say in the stupidest voice possible, "so, are you going to take the house or what?" In my defense, I wasn't exactly sure what was going on. She could have been having an seizure for all I knew. But, she then scratches out her signature and tells me she will take the place in two weeks, not one.
News flash: I am not going to be back in two weeks for her to sign a lease. It isn't that we couldn't change this lease to say June 28. But, why cross out the signature when we could very well cross out the date.
We end this encounter with her telling me she will get back to me by Friday with a decision and for me not to rent out the house to anyone else. Next news flash: I am not waiting for her.
Yesterday Teresa calls me and tells me her brother is very motivated for her to leave, so he gave her the funds she was short. And, when could we sign the lease? Apparently, she wasn't cognizant of the fact she wigged out on me and I was unimpressed.
Here's how I look at it, if you want something from someone--such as a house or a job--you put your best foot forward. You act like you have it together. You don't mention you bought a new-fangled washing machine instead of a craig's list used one.
So, still annoyed about the whole car episode, I say to her something along the lines of I don't want trouble. I don't want to find out she hasn't managed her money accordingly on the date rent is due. Because the one thing that makes me angry is when tenants decide new-fangled appliances are more important than keeping a roof over their head. Ok, I didn't add the new-fangled appliances. But, it was along those lines.
She then tells me it won't be an issue and she will always have the rent money. Then, in the same sentence maybe her brother didn't give her the money after all and could she wait two weeks to move in. She wants the house but thinks she should get an apartment. And, would I hold the place for her until the 28th and when can she get her deposit back? I couldn't follow her. I would have preferred the humming. But, I latched on to the deposit being returned and told her I would get it back (Even though it was non-refundable. She didn't strike me as completely grasping this and I felt it was best to let go). I thought we were finally on the same page when she parted with, "I will talk to you in two weeks. Don't rent out my house." Um, nope, not even the same library.
Fast forward to today. I had had enough of Teresa yesterday. I am usually very patient, even with those who have bizarre personalities. But, this was a bit much. This morning, thrilled she was out of my life, I popped the money orders into the mail with a note wishing her luck (my public relations gene had gotten back from a two-day sabbatical). That means she and I are done right?
Teresa has called no less than 12 times. TWELVE TIMES. In all fairness, I didn't return her call right away, but you think she would at least let me get a chance to get back to her. Also, because I had already taken care of this, I stupidly figured it was done and there really was no reason to talk to her. And, because I stupidly figured this, I got a doozy of a call. I am still laughing about it.
Somewhere around two p.m., I got a call from a blocked number. This woman left a message, telling me she was an attorney and if I did not give the (non-refundable) deposit back she would seek legal action. And, I was to call this person immediately. This brings me to several points:
1. If you really are a lawyer, it is best to leave a name and contact number. It makes you sound more legitimate and not like a friend maquarading as an attorney.
2. Would a lawyer really go after an out-of-state landlord (who only has a published PO Box) for $500?
3. If Teresa really was this worried, why not just cancel the money orders? Geeze.
4. Does anyone out there know what non-refundable means?
I finally did call Teresa back and leave a quick voice mail. Feigning ignorant to the zillions of calls, I said something about having popped the deposits it in the mail that morning. I even said I had been busy and "I haven't checked my voice mail yet, but undoubtedly you have called." I actually feel pretty bad for making her worry about her deposit. Even if she is a bit odd.
Incidentally, I think I rented out the house again today. I told them there would be a non-refundable deposit to hold the place. She replied, "I expected that. No problem."
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Dante had it Right
I am firmly convinced one of Dante's Seven Rings of Hell has just got to be airline travel.
Why else would anyone purposely subject themselves to this type of torture. After crawling out of bed at 3 a.m., I caught my unholy hour flight to Houston. The airline cleverly booked my flight thusly, I arrive in Houston at 10:45, I leave Houston for Birmingham at 11 a.m. Isn't that sweet!
It didn't matter really, because I did make the connection. I then sat on the tarmac for six weeks waiting for the arriving planes to stop using the departing runway so we could take off. But, unbenownst to me, my plane wasn't going to Birmingham. Well, it was... it was taking a side detour to New Orleans. NOWHERE IN MY ITINERARY DID IT SAY WE WERE TAKING THE SCENIC ROUTE TO BIRMINGHAM! I am the first to admit I have control issues. But, that is beside the point.
Finally, after admiring Lake Pontchartrain from the runway, we headed North to Birmingham. We arrived six weeks late. And then, it was time to wait two hours (no exaggeration) for my %%$%#%^ luggage which Southwest would not take off the plane. Something about lightening and not letting the crew on the runway to unload the planes. Wimps.
I am here. I am yearning for Zaxby's--which always sounds much better than it tastes. One slight glitch. Um... the lightening storm has moved its way south and is now overhead. So, I am waiting until it passes before I head out.
A little later...
Zaxby's was good, but not that good. Gotta remember that for next time.
Why else would anyone purposely subject themselves to this type of torture. After crawling out of bed at 3 a.m., I caught my unholy hour flight to Houston. The airline cleverly booked my flight thusly, I arrive in Houston at 10:45, I leave Houston for Birmingham at 11 a.m. Isn't that sweet!
It didn't matter really, because I did make the connection. I then sat on the tarmac for six weeks waiting for the arriving planes to stop using the departing runway so we could take off. But, unbenownst to me, my plane wasn't going to Birmingham. Well, it was... it was taking a side detour to New Orleans. NOWHERE IN MY ITINERARY DID IT SAY WE WERE TAKING THE SCENIC ROUTE TO BIRMINGHAM! I am the first to admit I have control issues. But, that is beside the point.
Finally, after admiring Lake Pontchartrain from the runway, we headed North to Birmingham. We arrived six weeks late. And then, it was time to wait two hours (no exaggeration) for my %%$%#%^ luggage which Southwest would not take off the plane. Something about lightening and not letting the crew on the runway to unload the planes. Wimps.
I am here. I am yearning for Zaxby's--which always sounds much better than it tastes. One slight glitch. Um... the lightening storm has moved its way south and is now overhead. So, I am waiting until it passes before I head out.
A little later...
Zaxby's was good, but not that good. Gotta remember that for next time.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Lacing up My Boots
I have been up since some unholy hour this morning getting ready to kick some serious Alabama ass tomorrow. Thus far today, I have appointments set up with:
2 attornies
3 property managers
1 new tenant for move-in
1 agent
2 prospective tenants (for two different houses)
1 cleaning lady
1 locksmith
2 former tenants who were aforementioned in another posting.
1 tentative dinner date
I also have a surprise visit set up for a soon to be former tenant who doesn't know they are soon-to-be. And, there are a few other items on the agenda as well.
On top of that, one of my two process servers called today to offer to go with me--free of charge--to a supposedly vacant home where there is some question now of whether or not the people are living there or if they are just using the house as an over-grown closet. As I explained to my process server, I know I have the law on my side, I just don't want to find out the (former?) tenant has the trigger side of a shotgun on his side.
Being in action burns a lot more calories than wallowing in chocolate flavored self-pity.
2 attornies
3 property managers
1 new tenant for move-in
1 agent
2 prospective tenants (for two different houses)
1 cleaning lady
1 locksmith
2 former tenants who were aforementioned in another posting.
1 tentative dinner date
I also have a surprise visit set up for a soon to be former tenant who doesn't know they are soon-to-be. And, there are a few other items on the agenda as well.
On top of that, one of my two process servers called today to offer to go with me--free of charge--to a supposedly vacant home where there is some question now of whether or not the people are living there or if they are just using the house as an over-grown closet. As I explained to my process server, I know I have the law on my side, I just don't want to find out the (former?) tenant has the trigger side of a shotgun on his side.
Being in action burns a lot more calories than wallowing in chocolate flavored self-pity.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
It Could Be Worse
In the past three days, I have spoken to several people who are willing to take on my property management issues. Now it is a matter of figuring out what I want. As part of my exploring, I have two former tenants who have come forward.
Former Tenant #1: Never owed me money. Always was responsible. Showed a strong fiduciary responsibility to me when she was my tenant. She doesn't work and has lots of free time. But, doesn't understand real estate investing. Good worker bee. Needs lots of guidance.
Former Tenant #2: Doesn't owe me money. Tells it like it is. Beyond smart. Knows about real estate investing. Knows everyone under the sun and has contacts like nobody I have ever met--with the exception of my attorney. She shows initiative can handle handymen and can pour out the Southern Hospitality better than any contestant in a Little Miss Rice Patch pageant. But, she works a full time job. So, things would not happen as fast as I would like. Probably won't need any guidance.
I like them both for different reasons. #2 will never be able to get along with #1. So, putting them together will probably result in a stupid cat-fight. But, this is a better problem to have than the ones of last week. And, there are other property management companies I haven't explored just yet.
There is hope.
Former Tenant #1: Never owed me money. Always was responsible. Showed a strong fiduciary responsibility to me when she was my tenant. She doesn't work and has lots of free time. But, doesn't understand real estate investing. Good worker bee. Needs lots of guidance.
Former Tenant #2: Doesn't owe me money. Tells it like it is. Beyond smart. Knows about real estate investing. Knows everyone under the sun and has contacts like nobody I have ever met--with the exception of my attorney. She shows initiative can handle handymen and can pour out the Southern Hospitality better than any contestant in a Little Miss Rice Patch pageant. But, she works a full time job. So, things would not happen as fast as I would like. Probably won't need any guidance.
I like them both for different reasons. #2 will never be able to get along with #1. So, putting them together will probably result in a stupid cat-fight. But, this is a better problem to have than the ones of last week. And, there are other property management companies I haven't explored just yet.
There is hope.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Hitting the Fan
It is official a good portion of my life has gone to Yuma in a handbasket. It isn't one specific thing or another. It just so happens, that the past two weeks has created new level of challenges.
It was only that my internet went down and I could not sufficiently get it repaired by the date promised by the new company (rendering several aspects of my professional life useless), nor the treadmill blowing up and leaving a stench of electrical smoke and my laptop coming down with a horrible virus. No, those events just mirrored the disasters going on with the business.
The business stuff consists of a sheriff-led eviction, someone who left in the middle of the night, another tenant leaving, a late paying tenant who keeps promising to pay (and in all fairness, did pay today), a lack of adequate property mangement, additional costs and a few other suprises I am just not ready to deal with.
My emotional state got so bad the other day, I just broke down and bawled. Two days later, my dear and usually very supportive husband suggested I get it together and get over myself. I am not there yet, but I will be. Eventually.
I am heading to Alabama on Tuesday to take care of a bunch of stuff. Or, at the least get over myself.
It was only that my internet went down and I could not sufficiently get it repaired by the date promised by the new company (rendering several aspects of my professional life useless), nor the treadmill blowing up and leaving a stench of electrical smoke and my laptop coming down with a horrible virus. No, those events just mirrored the disasters going on with the business.
The business stuff consists of a sheriff-led eviction, someone who left in the middle of the night, another tenant leaving, a late paying tenant who keeps promising to pay (and in all fairness, did pay today), a lack of adequate property mangement, additional costs and a few other suprises I am just not ready to deal with.
My emotional state got so bad the other day, I just broke down and bawled. Two days later, my dear and usually very supportive husband suggested I get it together and get over myself. I am not there yet, but I will be. Eventually.
I am heading to Alabama on Tuesday to take care of a bunch of stuff. Or, at the least get over myself.
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