Back from the Brink

I really know how my real estate clients feel. They screech at me that I don't provide them with relevant information. Which is true. I usually don't. The selling agent doesn't either. So, we tell them the truth: there is nothing to tell. Then, they loose their minds and screech louder. The story of my life for the past two weeks.

I feel their pain. I am not just saying this. I live it. Kirby is now managing three and a half properties of mine. Sorta. He has two in Calera. One recently got a tenant (who moved out and decided to renew her lease and probably move back in) and the one where the Whiny Waterfords live. The Waterfords, by the way, have pretty much said they are moving out November 1. But, they aren't a concern to me at the moment. That is five weeks away.

Kirby also has my home in Fultondale--which has been vacant since mid-July. And now he has elected to be the property manager for the home in Leeds. However, I haven't signed anything, though that isn't stopping either of us from allowing him to act the part of property manager.

My biggest issue with Kirby--if there has to be an issue--is that he doesn't call me often enough. I don't know what "often enough" looks like. Intellectually, I know if he had anything to tell me, he would pick up the phone or shoot me an e-mail. He has done so before. But, it really doesn't make the silence less deafening.

Friday, I called Kirby bright and early. I left a perky message saying something along the lines of, don't let the day go by without us touching base before the weekend. By 4:00 his time, I still hadn't heard from him. So, I started calling once again.

By the end of the day, I was convinced he hated me, was hiding from me, or decided to go to Europe for the month without saying good bye. I was all worked up. I had managed to self-talk myself into the gutter. Nobody will ever rent my homes. After all, if Kirby had them rented, I would have heard by now. And, somewhere in the middle of my imaginary torture my entire self-worth became tied to whether or not Kirby took the time to call me back.

I blame it on hormones.

Well, Kirby did call me back--just in time for me to climb down from the crevice of imaginary glacial doom. He is still courting the potential tenant from a few weeks ago for Fultondale. She has been out of town, but has been keeping in touch. Oh! She asked Kirby if he would mind if she had her rent automatically taken from her checking account every month?

Kirby also told me he has someone who wants to see the home in Leeds. They have already toured the neighborhood. They aren't frightened by the scrap metal sculptures in the next door neighbor's yard. And, more to my delight, these people see no issue with the Confederate flags and the oiled crosses standing on the other next door neighbor's yard.

Then, Kirby threw this gem at me. Next Tuesday he was planning on showing the Waterford home to future potential tenants. He said the Whiny Waterfords were none-too-happy about that.

"Wait!", they cried. Someone other than them might live in this house they hate?? Not fair! But there isn't much they can do. They opted to move out. Perhaps now they will change their minds, or perhaps the house won't sit vacant too long if they leave.

I am currently breathing a sigh of relief that things are managed to the best of everyone's ability. I don't need to fret for the weekend. Hopefully by Monday things will look even brighter.

If not, I will be scaling my glacier once again. In any case, I promise I won't be screeching at Kirby.