$44.29 Billion*

Ms. Kathy lives in a cute little house--more like a cottage--in a cute little community called Moody, in the outskirts of Birmingham. Though abutted to Leeds Alabama, for whatever reason, people flock to Moody as a bedroom community (or, they are running from Leeds, take your pick).  Ms. Kathy is no exception. She was raised in the neighborhood. She actually knew most of the neighbors long before she moved in, having grown up with the children of the long-time residents.

On Friday Ms. Kathy, in an utter tizzy, sent me four texts in 14 seconds. You see, in conjunction with all the weird electric issues she was having last week, she also had a representative from the local power company coincidentally show up on her doorstep and politely asked to check the meter.

Ms. Kathy, made sure he said he was who he said was, but still walked with him around the home to the meter. The Power Company Guy then pulled off the meter only to find something melted on the inside and a humongous glob of fused wires and stuck thingamabobbers. I wasn't there, but from what I understand Ms. Kathy--who is a bit electric phobic--almost fainted on the spot.

According to Ms. Kathy, the power company guy told Ms. Kathy to "stick it to the landlord" and make me pay for all of the damage. She then dutifully reported that she would do no such thing. And Power Company Guy offered to fix whatever was melted and horrible for free.

"Was this just random?" I asked. "Did he just show up on your door, or did he do this to every home in the neighborhood?" Ms. Kathy wasn't quite sure. But, she said the Power Company Guy said this should help her electric bills. Then, Ms. Kathy dropped this bombshell on me: Her monthly electric bills are consistently equivalent to the gross domestic product of Tunisia. 

I live in Arizona. I have two air conditioners on my home. I know what pricey electric bills can look like. Ms. Kathy's home is cozy--that's a buzz word for small. She has a living room, kitchen, three bedrooms and a bathroom. There is no reason her electric bills should be higher than mine.

I used to work for the local electric company. At the time I worked there, when someone had consistently high bills--especially living in a cozy cottage like Ms. Kathy's--certain assumptions were sometimes reached. Like was the house in question a grow house? Is it possible someone at the Moody Power Company reached similar conclusions?

So, I said without thinking, "Why so high? Do you have a grow house or something?"

Ms. Kathy had no idea what a grow house was. So then I had to explain it. Which sent Ms. Kathy into another tizzy. And then I apologized. And for the record, I never, ever thought she had a grow house. Honest.

But I do want to know what prompted the Power Company Guy to show up on her door. And I really want to know why her electric bills are super-high. That needs to be remedied. And I really want to know why some gizmo melted on her meter.

*Estimated for 2010--According to the CIA World Factbook

Hopefully The House Won't Burn Down

Tuesday I got a phone call from Ms. Kathy. There was no point for niceties, but we went through them anyway. It was storming at her house and sunny at mine. Her kids are fine. As are mine. Her new job is going well, thanks for asking. All of this was quite unnecessary, as I happen to know any time Ms. Kathy calls there is some sort of extraordinary crisis. 

Frankly, I go into cardiac arrest every time Ms. Kathy calls me. She won't call me to tell me rent will be late. She won't tell me if the septic is stopped up until 5:01 p.m. the Friday of a holiday weekend (and did). But, she will call me if there is an electrical issue. Apparently "electrical issues" are the 9-1-1 of landlord calls in Ms. Kathy's vernacular.

I gave Ms. Kathy the electrician's number and suggested she find a time convenient for both of them to get this resolved. I guess I was a bit more lackadaisical about it than she was anticipating--though I am not sure what she was expecting me to do from here. Hop the first plane to Birmingham with my volt meter and a Phillip's screwdriver? I recommended, under the circumstances, just not using the light socket until the electrician has had a chance to take a peek.

Ms. Kathy has been renting from me for just shy of three years. She reminded me there was the same electrical issue years ago. I don't remember. But I will take her word for it. I do remember something about a loose wire and Ms. Kathy having some sort of fear of the house burning down. But, that's about it. Hopefully my electrician remembers better than I do. And hopefully he has a Phillip's screwdriver.

Only In Alabama

I got an e-mail from the bank I am working with in Alabama today. My representative included this as part of her signature.

Personally, I don't have any problem with this whatsoever. And I am glad that Freedom of Speech is running rampant. You don't see this from bigger, more corporate banks.

Sincerely,

Ms. Prunella Bank Officer

Some Heroes Wear Capes Mine Wear Combat Boots

In GOD We Trust

High Expectations

I got an e-mail about my Calera home the other day. My Calera home is probably my nicest home. It was built a few years ago and is an upscale area. This person sent the following e-mail:

"We r very interested in this home. Our credit is really bad right now, but we will be able to buy in a few years. Do u want to sell? Will u take $600 a month?"

I am pretty sure you can't rent a cardboard box just about any metropolitan city for $600 a month, much less in Calera.

Nah.... He Doesn't Have Time to Read

Kirby knows I have a blog. But, I have never given him the address. So, unless he has found it by other means (and hello if you have), he has no idea that I have been writing about how I am a tad frustrated this past week.

However, Kirby has taken the last day or so to answer my e-mails in a timely manner. Of course, the first one Monday said something like "Hey Dude! I have now asked you this simple yes or no question three times in the past week. What gives?"

The answer to that question happens to be the deadbeat is still living in Fultondale and she refused to come to the door when Kirby showed up.

In Tuesday's e-mail exchange, we discussed the potential tenant who has my home number. She has called Kirby about 17 times. Apparently she isn't interested in my home in Centerpoint. It isn't "modern" enough for her. I am not sure what she was expecting, given the homes in that area were built in the late 1970s.

She might be interested in the home in Calera, but Kirby is making her fill out an application before he hauls her around anywhere else. So far she hasn't gotten back to him. I won't cry if she doesn't. I don't need her calling me every month throughout the duration of her lease.

Kirby also hit me with this bombshell: he hired another person to do what he does. This person will take half of his load. But, he assured me he kept me as one of his landlords and passed on others to the new person. Personally, I am guessing he did it because he didn't want to scare her on her second week.

Take Your Baggage Elsewhere

My Y'all job has come in handy with dealing with jerks. There is nothing so satisfying as being ultra polite to some jackass who is flying off the handle because he is inconvenienced by having to drive an extra half mile to pick up his truck, only because his desired location still has a collapsed roof after Hurricane Irene.

This particular life skill came in handy on Monday when I sorted through the litany of soon-to-be homeless callers who left articulate messages asking me to call them back. And might I say, this week's crop was much more pleasant.

When I got to Ms. Tyler, I listened to the voice mail one last time before calling her. She was one of the more articulate, but it is always best to make sure I have her name and number correct before dialing the phone (one of the really cool things about Southern etiquette: if I can't catch the last name, I can add "Mr." or "Ms." to a first name and be considered polite--Ms. Patty or Mr. Todd are just as acceptable as Mr. Jones or Ms. Smith).

Now then, back to Ms. Tyler.

I called Ms. Tyler and inquired if the person who answered the phone happened to be her.

She barked, "Yes it is! I don't know who y'all are, but y'all need to stop calling me. Have I made myself clear? Don't call me again."

I replied, "I am terribly sorry to have troubled you. I was under the impression you had called me inquiring about one of my homes for rent."

And as I was hanging up, I heard her yell, "Wait! Don't hang up."

To which, I did anyway.

Today's Tip

If you want to rent a home, please don't send me the following text: "Who es dis?"

She Got It

Mrs. Sherwood caught me a few minutes before my Y'all shift was to start. You see, she wanted to make good on some of the rent she owes. "Are you going to be caught up soon?" I asked with impatience, eyeing the clock to make sure I wasn't going to be late. Y'all is cranky if I am late. And I need the job right now.

"I hope so," she replied with a sigh. "This has been really hard for us." "This" being her husband out of work and having to relocate to a small isolated boarder town in the desert. Then, as an after thought, she said, "I didn't think about it until now, but it was probably pretty hard on you too."

I love Mrs. Sherwood. Have I mentioned that?
I admitted that her paying rent late hadn't been ideal, but Mrs. Sherwood and her situation was special. "There are only a handful of tenants I would extend this courtesy to," I explained.

"How many?" She naively inquired.

"One." And I meant it. The rest of the tenants who took it upon themselves to pay late last month just did it without my blessing. (Are you listening Ms. Shirley and Ms. Kathy???). Though, I might be willing to extend a charitable hand to Ms. Angie if she asks.

As we continued to chat, I asked her if she knew of anyone who wanted to rent a home or four. And then Mrs. Sherwood put it together. "You have four that need to be rented and I paid late?" I could hear it in her voice. She had every idea what August was like for me.

Yes, yes I did.

Mrs. Sherwood told me she would ask around--but only to those she thought I would "be able to stand." In the meantime, she would send a prayer or two my way. Thank you Mrs. Sherwood. I could use a few.

Danielle and Daphny

I really hate tenant screening. And yes, I know I have a property manager for this sort of thing. And let me assure you, with the number of phone calls and e-mails he has gotten this week, he knows that I know he should be doing this. 

I had two interesting phone calls today.

The first came from Danielle. What caught my attention about her was that she had a 602 area code for her phone number (that would be Phoenix, AZ area code, for those who aren't in the know). Danielle was articulate, interesting and pleasant to talk with.

She wanted more information about my Pinson home. However, she isn't moving until Mid-October. That wouldn't work for me. In fact--I am going to go out on a limb here--given the number of calls I am receiving, I am willing to bet Pinson is going to rent in less than two weeks. However, I gave her Kirby's name anyway and told her to call him about my Fultondale home. The Fultondale home isn't on the market just yet.

Heck, I don't even know if the Fultondale tenant is going to leave quietly or not. Hopefully she will. But at any rate, it is better to be proactive, than reactive. So, if she wants it, Godspeed.

I also had a call from Daphny. She was articulate, well spoken and left a lovely message. However, in her voice mail, she didn't tell me which house she was interested in renting. When I called her back, she responded to my introduction by asserting, "I need you to call me back in five minutes. I'll be waiting."

She can wait all she wants. I am moving on.

Random Bama

Kirby is alive! I know this because he responded to Mr. Noble's request to return the keys to the home and carefully cc'd me.

Of course, Mr. Noble is holding my keys hostage until Sept. 14--the day his lease officially ends. No amount of logic, "You no longer live there, why don't you just return them, I am planning on giving your security deposit back to you, let it go already" seems to be working on Mr. Noble.

___________________________________________________________

I got a call today from someone on the Birmingham line inquiring about my homes. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the caller, except my skin prickled and the hairs on my neck went up. During the course of his voice mail he said he was interested in renting any of the homes I have available. Mind you, the homes I have available are about 40 miles from each other. Why isn't he picky?

At any rate, I think I will call him back next week if I am really desperate. My landlord sense is telling me to pass on him.
___________________________________________________________


I'm probably overreacting, but one of the e-mails I received about the home in Centerpoint came from "Sandra." Actually, her name wasn't Sandra, but a derivative of that. And her last name was actually a middle name. Like Sandra Louise. The name was eerily similar to a former tenant of mine who trashed my home a couple of years ago.


I passed the message to Kirby with the following note: I had a tenant with a similar name. If this person also goes by the name "Sandra White," "Louise White," or "Laverne Louise White," don't even bother showing the home.
___________________________________________________________


In the morning I have my monthly Diamondbacks/Oregon Ducks/Harry Potter book club breakfast with my dear Diamond Jim. When we set this up earlier in the week I asked what he thought of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I am glad to hear he liked it and can't wait for the next book I am dutifully bringing him.

Rookie Mistake

I didn't call the litany of inquiries who left coherent, polite messages on my voice mail Tuesday. I realized around 1:45 that I just didn't have time. So, I convinced Marty Sunshine to please, please, please do it for me.

As I was rushing out the door, I was giving last minute orders: "Now, if they are impolite, we aren't renting to them. Don't give them any false hopes. If they are rude now, they will be a nightmare for the next year." And, "No pets. No excuses." And, "If you like them, give them Kirby's number." Marty assured me all of these directives were obvious, as Marty Sunshine has been hearing me do this forever.

Of course, what I forgot to give him was the rental amounts for each home. So, while I was meeting with my client he sweetly called to ask. It worked out well. My client was intrigued enough with whatever B.S. pearls of wisdom I offered Marty, and I manage to score a few points, as my client is a landlord as well.

When I got home, Marty had dutifully gone through the list. He proudly presented me with a paper with copious notes, and in a few cases, frowny faces, depicting people who will not be renting from us. He then threw this bomb at me: he had given a few our home number for folks to call us back at if they had any questions. "Our home number?" I gasped in horror. "Tell me you mean my cell."

Nope, he didn't. Because at that moment, the phone rang and it was one of Marty's favorites calling back. She was lost and needed directions to the house in question? And, while we were at it, when would I be over to show her the home? "You need to call Mr. Kirby." I repeated as patiently as I could muster for the thirtieth time. "He is the one who has the keys."

That didn't seem to convince her nothing could be done, but it got her off my home phone for the time being. And I predict, no matter if she rents or not, I will not have heard the last of her now that she knows how to get in touch with me.

Update: She called again. At 5:30 a.m. this morning. Marty may never hear the end of this.

Don't Mess With a Passive-Aggressive High Strung Type

There was no amount of prodding, affirmations or amaretto that could make me call the 17 people (yes, 17) who left voice messages for me Monday wanting to know about my vacant homes. Of those 17, I have already axed about four, who couldn't follow the simple directive I left on my voice mail:

"If you don't leave your name, I won't call you back. You are renting my home. You play by my rules." Ok, I might have only put the first sentence in my voice mail. The rest is total subtext.

Of the 13 calls I will return later today, most of them were for Ms. Robin's former home. The others were for Mr. Noble's home which isn't technically on the market until next week. There were two calls for the home on Hysteria Lane in Calera. One wanted to know if I would take a section 8 tenant. The other wanted me to hold the home until December 1. No. And, No.

Note to caller who wants to move in December 1: bless your heart. I am calling you back last.

I am sure Kirby is doing some sort of mega-advertising blitz, on my behalf, but I haven't heard word one from him about potential tenants. The advertising did point out something I had wondered: are there renters? Apparently there are. Just not in Calera. Good to know Kirby isn't slacking.

Later this afternoon, (a day where I haven't worked for Y'all and handled real estate in the same day), I will call them all back. I will start with those who I put little stars by their name--the stars telling me they won the "who can leave the most professional message on my voice mail" lottery.

I will then have those callers bombard Kirby's cell phone. I suppose I could have them call the office, but why take a chance he will miss the calls? Just to be sure, I will also send Kirby a list of potential tenants.

Micromanaging? You bet.

Let the Fun Begin

I ran three ads in the Birmingham News on Sunday. Do you know of anyone else anywhere who has their own personal rep at the newspaper?

I have 12 voice mails to listen to and return today. I put a notice on my voice mail that said I would not return any call where the caller did not clearly leave their name.
I hate screening tenants. But I hate empty homes worse.

As Good as it Gets?

I am not in the South. I really don't get the South. But I do know a few things about doing business there. Namely, don't piss off the ones who help you.

Which brings me to this particular dilemma. I have Kirby. Before Kirby, I had a terrible property manager who should not be in business. Thanks to a letter to the Alabama Department of Real Estate, they have been put on notice. 

Before that fiasco of a company, I interviewed several property management companies in Birmingham and hated them all. Simple things--like actually not giving the keys to my vacant home to total strangers prospective tenanats was too much to ask. I understand this is common practice in Birmingham. But it doesn't take a county fair psychic with a Magic 8 ball to figure out how wrong this could go. 

Essentially, Kirby is the best legitimate property manager I have found in Birmingham. I have Carolsue as well, but she isn't licensed, and she also has her own life. So, Kirby it is.

Kirby understands property management. I know what he does all day. He knows I know. His job isn't for the faint of heart. Now that he manages over two hundred and fifty homes with a skeleton staff, he is busy. He once told me another landlord sent an unSouthernlike e-mail to him, suggesting Kirby should actually return a call or an e-mail. Kirby said to me, "I think that was a little uncalled for. He should know I would get back to him."

Though Kirby's lacadaisical behavior doesn't bode well in the rest of society, it seems to be perfectly appropriate in the South.

But I am not in the South.

And I have two vacant homes.

And two others coming vacant.

And a deadbeat in Fultondale.

And a high-strung serious type-A personality (no, that is not redundant).

And a Kirby who can't seem to return an e-mail or a phone call in a timely fashion.

Marty Sunshine and I have been discussing this. Or, more to the point, I am fretting, and making veiled threats to fly out to Birmingham to yell at Kirby and Marty has been nodding and smiling. Most of my property management contracts are coming due and I don't have to renew them. But, I really don't have anyone else to take them over. Those I speak with don't know as much about property management as Kirby does (or, for that matter I know). I don't want a sales guy to sell me his services. I want someone who can handle my homes. And rent them out.

Something else Kirby told me the day we were talking about the other landlord who offended Kirby. He said he always calls me back first. He knows how patient I am and he knows I understand what he does. Kirby said he was confident I understood, beyond a doubt, that Kirby would call me back as soon as time permitted.

I am glad Kirby is confident about that. I am not so sure. I think I would rather have a phone call or two a bit more often instead.