How I Spent My Sunday

I should preface this by saying, if you are reading this, and I have ever shown you rental homes, it was my pleasure. I like you. I like spending time with you. It was fun. I promise. And I will do it again. Gladly.  

Though I write about what tenants should be doing to find a rental home, there gets to be a point where they have looked enough. I have had these perpetual rental clients for the past several years. And every year I forget what a pain in neck they are. This year has been the worst.

The man of this couple wants to be closer to his other children. The woman has agreed to leave the newer pink stuccoed homes with red tile roof of Chandler and move to Central/North Phoenix. This part of town has brick homes built in the 1950s. Owners of past might have added another bathroom, a complete wing or might have done nothing to the home. It might look just like a modern 1950 house. The yards are stately and each home has its own distinct flair. Personally, I love this part of town.

The biggest issue I am running into with this couple is that the woman has no appreciation for the Central/North Phoenix corridor. She is in culture shock. We went out this weekend for the third week in a row to view homes. I was pretty much complete with them last week (they weren't getting the whole "I am taking Easter Sunday off" concept). And frankly, the only reason I have lasted as long as I have with them is because I know they plan on buying. But three weeks to find one rental home is ridiculous.

And speaking of ridiculous... we saw the fist home. They spent 45 minutes inside checking out the place. It was totally charming. The man loved it. I loved it. It was everything the woman said she wanted in a home in the North/Central corridor. Everything except the kitchen was outdated. She wasn't sure she could stare at an outdated kitchen for a year. Did I think the owners would let her put in (at her expense) new kitchen cabinetry?

"You want to rent kitchen cabinets?" I innocently asked.

At which point, the man of this party totally exploded. We were in my car, heading on State Route 51 and he lost it with her. And then she lost it with him. And a big old fight ensured. In my car.

And then they broke up.

In my car.

I kept driving because I honestly had no idea what else to do. If I had been thinking I would just left them on the 51 and let them figure out their own way home. By the time we got to the next house, the man was cursing at the top of his lungs at the woman in the driveway. She was cursing back. The neighbors were staring.

I walked in the house, hoping not to be a part of this circus. Finally they followed, looked around the living room in three seconds flat and walked back outside.

On the drive back on the 51, things were eerily silent. I turned on the baseball game--figuring they really couldn't knock me for being unprofessional at this point.

We arrived at the third house and it was an absolute dump. I was thrilled. If the second house was out and the first house--which was amazing--was out, then there was no way they wanted this joint. Hallelua! The rest of my day was saved for my family.

The outside was falling apart. The inside was beyond quirky. We walked in through the master bedroom (yes, that was where the door happened to be).  It was a total maze. It looked like the owner slapped a coat of paint on the interior and put in new carpet. He did nothing to the exterior--which was a shame. Plus, we kicked--and I am understating--about 1600 dead cockroaches out of our path as we navigated our way through this dreadful place. When we go to the dungeon basement, they had made up. When they started making out right in front of me, I walked upstairs, and right outside.

Marty Sunshine texted me about ten minutes later asking when I was coming home. I wrote him back that I was going to jail and please find bail money.

The couple finally found me several moments later and started gushing about how much they loved the home. Both of them. Even though the kitchen was outdated. Even though the plumbing and electricity were questionable. It was nothing about this home either of them wanted. The schools were wrong. It was south of Camelback--something they had been adamant about for the past three weeks. The place was falling apart. And it was waayyyy overpriced for the neighborhood.

Nope, they loved it. By the way, would the owners throw in someone to mow the lawn? My personal feeling is the the owners would like someone to move in and the lawn was the least of their concerns. But I countered with, "I can certainly ask."

After I drove them back to their car, they sat in my car and talked about how fabulous that third home was (love is blind and stupid sometimes). As they were deliberating, I crossly interrupted and said, "I have to go," at which point the woman actually got the hint (the man did not and looked pained that I didn't want to sit and chat longer).

It is difficult to make tires squeal in an all wheel drive Subaru, but I did it. I glanced in my rear view mirror just in time to see them making out again in the middle of the street.

And this is why I now only show rental properties to friends.