The Kitchen Cabinet Story

Once upon a time, Marty and I decided to start our investment career by flipping homes. We knew nothing about said project except what we read about in the latest investment books and what we saw on the TLC channel. So, pretty much what experience could be summed up by some author in a 120 page book or in a 30 minute TV show was crammed into our brains.

In the event you ever want to flip homes and this blog isn't enough to warn you, please contact me first. It is worthwhile if you know what you are doing, have enough money and you pick the right house. We didn't on any count.

We carefully saved every penny we had to scrape together our down payment and found the deal of the decade. It was a home in an older neighborhood in central Mesa (that would be about Broadway and Stapley for those of you who know the area). The area is predominantly Hispanic with a handful of rednecks. No, I am not being racist. One of those rednecks lived next door to this home and moved to Leeds Alabama, but that is for another blog.

When we ventured into this, I was in my fifth month of 10 months of daily morning sickness. My oldest, Polly, was 20 months and had outgrown naps by my third month of pregnancy. I was extremely tired, pregnant and hungry. That really isn't the best qualifications for a project manager.

The house itself needed one of everything. It had been completely trashed by the former tenants. I hired Chip, the Window guy (yes really). I hired Ron the Handyman who conveniently had three sons to help him out. I also hired a young friend who was about 17 at the time. He told me at the end of the day, he wasn't cut out for "peasant work."

My friend is no longer 17. He is now an architect and volunteers for Habitat for Humanity. I saw him at Thanksgiving and think the world of him. In all fairness, I had him cleaning out the refrigerator the tenant left behind because I was too hormonally imbalanced to do it.

And, the work was started before I had a chance to blink. To my absolute horror, Ron had the place gutted before I got over there the first Monday morning. However, I didn't want the place gutted. I didn't have the money for "gutted." I had money for "pretty up." Of course, looking back, I realize now, I bought a property that desperately screamed "gut me!" "Prettying up" in this case would have been like putting a shiny bow on a mud-covered tree sloth.

About two and a half weeks in, Ron decided to make good on his vacation threat. It was he and his wife's 25th anniversary. They were taking the entire family on a 3-week cruise. Ron must have had a sixth sense about him, because it was about then we ran out of money.

We really didn't have the money to fix up the place to begin with--though we thought we did. We had only saved enough to buy it with a little left over for a coat of paint. Before Ron left, we were getting by, but what we budgeted and the reality were very different.

Interior doors (installed), for example, cost about $150 each. It was a four bedroom, two bath home. All the doors needed to be replaced. Every window was broken. There was a major water leak in the master bathroom. Ron graciously took out the cabinets--which were falling apart and needed to go but we didn't realize it at the time.

As I write this, I am reminded of Mr. Krab's from Spongebob, quickly salvaging every last scrap of "valuable" garbage from a trash heap.

Me (shooting Ron the pregnant death look): "Why did you take out the kitchen cabinets?"
Ron (father of five children and immune to hormones): "Because they were disintegrating into sawdust every time I walked near them."
Me: "Why did you take out the potty?"
Ron: "Because the bowl was cracked and wouldn't hold water."
Me: "Why did you take out the carpet?"
Ron: "What carpet?"

While Ron was on vacation, the weather turned hot and the work still needed to be completed. We were in a bind. The work was about half done and our money was gone. My father, who had the mother of all heart attacks years earlier, drove 45 miles every July day, while the temperatures were in the high 110s, to work on the house for us. Dad is a retired electrician and worked in construction for 35 years.

Every day, Dad got there around 8:30 and stayed until 5 p.m. He put in the bathroom vanities, ceiling fans, kitchen cabinets and took care of everything else. He tactfully told me to stay away because the environment wasn't good for his grandchildren. Truthfully, I was extremely stressed and bitchy by this point. He wasn't putting up with me and the house. Every evening, after Dad went home and Marty got off work, Marty and I would go over and do more.

Right after Ron and his three strapping teenage boys left, the neighbors who lived directly behind the home came over and helped themselves. The first trip they took a few of Dad's tools, door knobs and the portable fans dad was using to keep cool (Dad told us not to worry with the air conditioner because that was so expensive. I love my Dad).

We know it was them because one of the neighbors saw them, but didn't think enough to call the police. They did tell us, just in case I wanted to waddle my pregnant backside over there and get the portable fan back. The police, by the way, did nothing either.

The second trip is when we realized they took the keys for the house on the first trip. On the third trip, they found out we changed the locks (door locks, by the way aren't cheap.). Instead, they just broke one of the newly installed doors down. They could have broken a window--which would have been messier, but cost less. But no. This time they took a few of the new kitchen cabinets Dad had just installed for us. And, they took the portable evaporative cooler Dad was using to keep cool. Even though there were witnesses, the police still did nothing.

These three break-ins happened in about an 8-day window. So, we found someone who wanted to live at the home. Bobby had an RV and needed a place to park it. Bobby was a very large Texan who looked like he would be happy to kick some thieving neighbor ass. Our house was never robbed again. (On a side note, we lost Bobby to a horrible bout of cancer about three years ago. He was an absolutely wonderful man).

The house didn't become a flip. We didn't have the right agent to handle that. In fact, that is one of the reasons I got my license. I needed better representation.

The house did become a rental. The first renter lasted three months and is for another blog.

The second ones were a man whose mother lived two doors down. He moved in with his family. He grew up playing in this home. After about a year, I sold it to them--the very first people in our program. They have since transitioned out of our program and still live there to this day. They are some of the best tenants we ever had.