Eating My Words

About six weeks ago I got a call from friends of mine. They are accidental landlords because the husband was deployed to Arkansas around 2008 and could not sell their home for what they owe. They have been stressing out about this in one way or another since they started the process.

Part of the reason they were stressing was, for them, this was their happily ever after home. It wasn't a piece of meat they bought for the single purpose of cash flow and tax deductions. They like the carpet color. They like the wall color. They like the back yard. The other reason they are stressing is they happen to read this blog (and may have heard a behind the scenes story or two) and they know exactly what tenants are capable of.

So, back to this phone call. Shawn, the husband, called wanting some advice. He has tenants who were supposed to move out, but they are asking about staying for three more months. Should he let them stay the three months, missing out on the prime rental season when they leave in October? Or should he let them stay because the known is a lot less scary than the unknown? After all a tenant in the hand...

Oh! I should also mention the tenants in question were holding his rent check hostage until he made a decision (suggesting they weren't going to pay if they were moving out).

I should back up a teensy bit here, the tenants had been varying shades of royal pain in the rear for pretty much the duration of the lease. Shawn would call, reasonably demand they fix the broken window/get rid of the king cobra/pay the rent. They would parlay, giving Shawn the unfortunate impression they understood and agreed to everything Shawn said. Shawn in turn would go on his merry way, relieved, only to find out the tenants just wanted him off their back. Two months later they would lather, rinse and repeat the entire exchange.

Anyway, back to the phone call (once again). Shawn called me wanting advice on what to do with these yahoos. I forgot my manners as I barked into the phone. "Kick them out. Don't look back. They are making you crazy. And furthermore, they don't respect you. They are playing you for a fool."

His instant silent reply from my marching orders made me realize this was probably not an option he was seriously exploring when he called. He was looking for ways to get along and make the whole Shawn-tenant thing work out properly.

The good news is Shawn did get rid of them (not without a fair-share of drama and expense) and now has wonderful tenants.

I bring this up because last week Ms. Kathy's rent check did not come. If you might recall, she gave me this song and dance about rent being a priority now. On Thursday I texted her and asked what day she mailed it. On Friday I texted her and said "I take it since you didn't reply to my text you didn't mail it."

On Saturday I got an e-mail from her saying she would be sending $100 this week and $50 thereafter starting next Friday. I didn't reply. On Sunday night I got yet another e-mail from her saying, "Oops. I don't have that $100. But I will send you $50 this next Friday."

My words to Shawn and Lynn have been ringing in my ears. "Kick them out. Don't look back. They are making you crazy. And furthermore, they don't respect you. They are playing you for a fool."

Today I called Red, one of my process servers. I also called Ms. Kathy's place of employment, let her boss misunderstand that perhaps a flower delivery might be coming for Ms. Kathy and what time was Ms. Kathy working (so that Red could deliver the eviction notice. Perhaps he will pluck a daisy to go with it)? I also called a low-cost attorney I found from Kirby.

As she is month-to-month, I really don't have to evict Ms. Kathy. However, I tried the just-move-out route in 30 days before. Though I got rent, I did not get a long-term solution that makes me happy (seriously? $50 next week???)

This will not be cheap. I will not get the kind of rent I am getting from Ms. Kathy (when I get rent). I will have some repairs I haven't budgeted. Mr. Partner is MIA right now. I don't know how this is going to turn out. But at least Ms. Kathy's silly drama is soon to be over and she can go play some other landlord for the fool.

Well, That Sucks

I suppose I have that completely wrong attitude about this--especially because I have been wronged, but I hate it anyway.

It looks like I have to file a malpractice claim against my Late Former Attorney. Still waiting to hear if it will affect his surviving spouse and children--not that it will make this decision any different.

Crap.

Flipping Tired

There is soooo much to write about these days. But, you will just have to bear with me today. Buckaroo, with a bout of insomnia, woke me up so many times last night to announce he couldn't sleep that today I am one breath short of reenacting a domestic zombie apocalypse B-movie.

But, allow me to stay awake long enough to announce to my six readers: Flip the Attorney is all kinds of Awesome!!!!!

Last week, I got an e-mail from a former tenant who--until recently--didn't know there was an issue at hand that the Late Attorney Jon hadn't resolved. Mrs. C. told me she would do whatever she could to help me out. She could have said, "Too bad. Sue me." which would have made me cry.

Last night (or early this morning--and long before Buckaroo's insomnia got the best of me) I got an e-mail from Flip at 1 a.m. his time asking me questions about the other property in question. And, I even got e-mails from him today, where he copied me on letters to title companies and the county recorder's office, with words like "forthwith," "whence" and "hereto".

I love lawyer-speak--when the lawyer is on my side.

I am so grateful to have Mrs. C's issue almost resolved. And hopefully the other one will go as smoothly. Now, off for a nap. Or caffeine.

A Flood of Suggestions

I happen to consider myself a practical person. I thought most people were practical until I became a landlord. For whatever reason, "practical" seems to fly out the window in the most stupendous fashion when tenants are faced with no-brainer tasks.

For example, Mr. and Mrs. Green have an unfortunate situation. They have accidentally inherited a skylight in their master bedroom. This happened early Tuesday morning when a portion of the roof collapsed. Today is Thursday. I have called two roofers who are swamped. One has promised me a tarp twice in two days. However, nothing has happened as of yet. I know this because I am getting regular updates on the situation from both Mr. and Mrs. Green.

The insurance adjuster is a whole 'nuther story, worthy of its own blog (stay tuned). But the fact remains, there is a gaping hole in the roof and the Greens can see daylight, or stars, or depending upon the weather, running water.

It stands to reason, if this is a situation they are having to deal with, they might be motivated to do something about it. After all, THERE IS WATER COMING DOWN ON THEIR MASTER BED.

Instead, I have gotten about twenty seven calls an hour for the last two days, reminding me the roof hasn't been tarped. Try as I may, I don't have a magic landlord wand to make this happen. I have suggested to them that they might want to take matters into their own hands. You know, haul their collectively wet butts the 1/8 of a mile to the local Orange Big Box hardware store and buy a tarp.

"We don't have a ladder." Mr. Green lamented.

I know first-hand that that particular store rents ladders. I also know first-hand that Mr. Green's next door neighbor owns a ladder. I have used it. Otherwise, perhaps someone they know or a member of their church might own a ladder and be willing to help. I suggested both to him and he feigned the same type of confusion Buckaroo gives me when he doesn't want to wash dishes.

At this point, I am really under the impression what they are expecting is for me to get on a plane in the next hour, fly out to Birmingham. Buy a tarp and either rent a ladder or borrow one from the next door neighbor and put the tarp on their roof. At which point, I will need to immediately fly back to Phoenix to await a phone call from the MIA insurance adjuster (Spoilers. Sorry.).

I have always considered the Greens to be practical people, who have managed to find their way thus far in their life with little issue. I am sure, if they are properly motivated they will figure this out too.

Gather the Animals Two By Two

If the pictures and videos are to be believed, Birmingham is flooded.

I heard about this first-hand at $#^%^(&  6:20 a.m. from Mrs. Green who sent me a scary picture of what is left of her bedroom ceiling. I would post the picture here, but technology hates me.*

What did happen at 6:28 a.m. this morning (after I got off the phone with Mrs. Green) is I called Dave the Roofer. I commented to Marty Sunshine that I really never wanted to be in a place in my life where I had phone numbers for a roofer, electrician, plumber and two HVAC guys in my cell phone directory. "Don't forget two lawyers!" he cheerfully responded.

Mrs. Green's roofing disaster wasn't exactly enough to convince me my day was going to be challenging--though I don't know why I would think otherwise. So, when I checked my e-mail an hour later Kirby sent me a note telling me the downstairs of my Fultondale home was flooded. "How did that happen? They leave a door open?" I stupidly asked.

Kirby, characteristically, has yet to respond.

I realized everything was pretty darn serious when Mrs. Roebuck sent me an e-mail later that morning telling me there had been storms all night. When she went outside in the morning she found out her tree had been struck by lightening for yet a third time.

"Buy a lottery ticket." was my only response.

Carolsue did send me this little gem just to prove there had been a bit of rain. Apparently this is where Mr. 114 and Mr. Wonderful live. Carolsue has suggested next time Marty and I want to start a business in Alabama, we might want to consider being roofers. She may have a point.

*Actual conversation with me and tech support guy:
Tech support: What kind of computer do you have?
Me: A black one.

A Bless Your Heart Kind of Day

Last Friday, as we passed the sign that says, "Now Leaving the Phoenix Metro Area: The Last Bastion of Civilization for the Next 70 Miles" I quickly checked my e-mail on my phone. My property manager Mario's minion--Ben--had sent me an e-mail saying that the air conditioning at Hysteria Lane had gone out. Could I please send someone out there to fix it.

I promptly e-mailed him back, explaining I was on my way to pick up Polly at summer camp and about to loose cell service. Could he please call the AC company? I omitted the part about that is why I pay them an exorbitant amount of money to handle these things. But I did add that I wanted to make sure this was taken care of ASAP, as I would hate to have my tenants uncomfortable through the weekend.

When I checked my e-mail this morning, Ben had followed up to tell me the company did not go out there and the tenant was upset. Ben's directive was for me to call the air conditioning company and make this happen.

My first order of business was to call the tenant. I left her a message giving her my info and the AC company's info. I told her we would take care of this and I was so sorry she spent the weekend without cool air. I may have also let it slip that I wasn't sure why I had a property management company if they couldn't handle this particularly simple task.

I then called the AC company. Apparently the tenant was unreachable. They tried several times. They also were willing to go out on Saturday if the tenant would have just returned a call or three. Of course, Ben didn't mention the fact the tenant hadn't returned any calls when he sent me this directive to do his job to call the AC Company. Granted, he may not have known. For whatever reason, tenants seem to like drama.

My second to last order of business was to contact Ben. The AC Company is ready, willing and able to go to the house ONCE THE TENANT RETURNS A CALL. Short of me getting on a plane, showing up in Birmingham and tracking down the tenant, I am not sure what else can be done. To my credit, I took that last sentence out of my e-mail to him. No reason for total snark before 9 a.m.

My last order of business is to locate the contract I have in place with Mario's company and find out what to do not to renew it. I understand it isn't Ben's fault the tenant is unreachable and it is the tenant who is causing her own discomfort by not returning phone calls. However, the reason I have a property management company in the first place is so they can volley phone calls and take care of the nonsense.

Silly Question

Mrs. Green is a long-long term tenant whom I have never met. The reason I haven't met her is simply because she has caused me such an insignificant amount of grief, that she never makes my radar when I am in Birmingham. In fact, the only drama I have had with this woman was on my recent trip. I went looking for her home, only to find out that Mr. and Mrs. Green summarily moved streets on me. I distinctly remember the home being in a different location.

To give you an idea of how awesome Mrs. Green happens to be, she will often overnight the rent to me without a signature required. I have repeatedly told her it wasn't necessary to overnight the rent, I trust her, but she has thing thing about being late. I am ok with that. Especially when I don't have to stand in line for 45 minutes in the post office to retrieve my rent check. But, I am also totally ok if she would just slap a stamp on the envelope and send it over too.

Anyway, Mrs. Green sent me a text yesterday. Apparently her son just found out and/or just told her that he was being deployed. She was on her way up North somewhere to squirrel away his worldly possessions and bring them back down to her home. Her question to me was would it be ok if she paid a few days late? It wouldn't happen again. She promised.

"You Didn't Build It"

Dear Mr. President,

Recently you made a statement about how small businesses didn't really build their their businesses. Someone else built it for them. I would like to address this statement.

Someone else didn't provide me with the capital to use as down payments buy my rental homes. The money came from us saving and using the dividends from investing in other businesses. We did not receive government assistance. We earned it.

Someone else did provide me with loans. That someone is banks. At the time, the government wasn't running the banks. They are now. I can't refinance, get another loan or make my financial position better since they took over the banking industry. Just saying...

When unemployment hit 19% (yes, 19%) in Birmingham in 2009 and several of  long term tenants left, someone else didn't pay my mortgages. Someone else didn't take out 401k loans (of which, is our money--not someone else's) to survive. And, thank Someone we had the money to do so!

Someone else didn't eat bread, cheese and tomatoes every night because we couldn't afford groceries. Someone else didn't do without a dryer because we couldn't afford it. Someone else didn't work extra jobs, just to ensure all the mortgages were paid on time.

But I wish they did.

Mr. President, if this someone else is still available to do all this awesome and innovative work that made our Country great, please have that person call me. I need a break. I am tired. They can take over for a while and I will rest. I am ready.

Sincerely,

The Landlord

An Historic Day

Today needs to go down in history as the day Ms. Kathy pulled one over on me.

You see, I cut Ms. Kathy one heck of a deal. Option 1: leave my house. Take you money, don't pay me another dime, here's your 30 day notice. Get out of my house. Go. Go. Go. I will even refund your deposit (less any money owed--like back rent or late fees). Just go!

Or Option 2: pay up and stop whining. Just stop making my life a living hell.

If the truth be told, even though I was publicly hoping she would pay up, I was secretly pushing for Option 1. It isn't personal. Ms. Kathy isn't a bad person. She's a good egg. But I have been done with Ms. Kathy's drama for quite a while now.

But no. Ms. Kathy, however, choose door number 2. Just to be completely sure there wasn't any confusion, I called her. She not only answered the phone, but she and I chatted for 20 minutes, with her completely assuring me me, yep, she wanted to stay.

Here's how Option 2 worked: pay me something moderately substantial over the course of three weeks, with the big payment due to me early July. It was a test. Would she manage to pass all the hurdles? She did. In fact, part of the money owed was due the day I was in Birmingham. She handed me cash. She didn't even want a receipt.

In the meantime, behind the scenes, I was holding on to her payments she sent. Everything I got--including the cash--was in my safe in my home. The reason I wasn't depositing them was because Legal Eagle tells me if I cash even one check, I have acknowledged the rent and it takes longer for an eviction.

Though I think one can argue either way on this particular point, I opted to just hold her rent money to wait and see if the big payout was coming. I didn't want to take a chance this drama might drag out longer than necessary.

Additionally, I found a low-cost eviction lawyer and was ready to call as soon as it became clear I would be kicking Ms. Kathy out. And, on top of that, I was working behind the scenes with Kirby looking for potential tenants to move in early next month.

Early July came and went. There was no check. I was not shocked. In fact, I was secretly elated. Ms. Kathy would be leaving my life!

I started my happy dance. I chilled campaign.

Marty Sunshine suggested I had little faith and Ms. Kathy indeed would pay me the remainder of the rent money owed. Why would Ms. Kathy spoon feed me rent money every week when she knew if she just moved her rent debt would be forgiven and I would pay her back her deposit (less any fees she owed--like back rent) if she just moved out?

"Can't a girl just dream?" I whined.

Meanwhile, this week I got a call from a former tenant who needed a place to live early August. Did I have anything available? Possibly? How did Ms. Kathy's house sound? That sounded just great. Keep them posted.

Because of the Independence Day holiday, I opted to wait a bit longer to call the eviction lawyer. I had already decided I was no longer speaking to Ms. Kathy. Either she payed or she didn't. As far as I was concerned, the next conversation she and I had would be in court. On Tuesday, the money still hadn't arrived. I did a virtual cartwheel.

We didn't make it to the PO Box on Wednesday.

And wouldn't you know it! Ms. Kathy was all paid up on Thursday. Now let's see if she really meant it when she told me rent was now a priority.

Southern Extortion

I am being extorted by the City of Alabaster. Apparently they just figured out I own a rental home in their glorious town. According to their records, it has been a rental since 2008 and I owe them a substantial amount of money for every year since 2008. And, if I cheerfully pay up right now, they won't assess any back fees. How nice of them.

Actually, the home has been a rental longer than that. But why quibble?

The letter was signed by some coward called the "Revenue Department" who also said I was to fill out the enclosed form immediately. And, just to be utterly difficult, there is no form enclosed to fill out--though I did find a very poorly photocopied form on their Web site of what I believe the letter was talking about.

One of the most curious aspects of this particular letter is that the Revenue Department addressed their letter to the wrong business--my property management company and not the LLC that actually owns the rental. This is highly suspicious.

Because the company name is wrong on my letter, Marty Sunshine is surmising Ms. Shirley gave them an anonymous phone call about my home. I could see her being a big enough busy-body to do that. And yes, Ms. Shirley moved in around 2008.

I half-wonder if this is legitimate. Revenue Department? The company name wrong? No enclosed form attached? However, we are talking about Alabaster Alabama, the small town capital of the South. Things are more laid back. That could be why it took five-ish years for them to find me to begin with.

Just to cover my bases, I talked with Mr. Wonderful, my newest tenant in Alabaster. He is also a business owner, civic leader and a whole litany of other things--according to Mr. 114, who graciously gave me his resume when I was considering him as a tenant. Mr. Wonderful confirmed the letter is legit. And, it is probably best to just comply than to skirt around it.

Succesfully Conducting Business In the South

If one is not from the South, and one wants to successfully do business in the South, there are certain hoops to jump through. It is reasonable--and people don't find it the least bit intrusive or personal--to expect to be questioned fully about one's lineage. "Where are you from? Is there anyone in your family who is from the South? Who gave you permission to step foot in the South?" Are all fair game.

I had this particular conversation with Opal, Kirby's administrative assistant, when I was in town last week. She also happens to be from Mesa. I asked her if, when she first moved to Birmingham if people regarded her as some sort of circus freak show because she wasn't from the South.

This elicited a "Hey now!" from Kirby, with Opal giving him a dismissive wave and to me a knowing, "Oh yes!" (complete with her head wildly bobbing up and down).

Kirby may have taken offense to my line of questioning, but Opal understood immediately. Nobody, is welcome in the South unless they are there for a darn good reason. Relocating for employment is not a darn good reason.

If one cannot prove Southern pedigree, the only other way I have seen to gain ground is to have pat answers ready to go on a variety sports topics. One can expect a question about Alabama football. In case it comes up, the current coach is Nick Saban, they have claimed 14 national titles, with the most recent being in 2012. The championship came last January was, "Quite a game." (note the pat answer).

Also, be expected to know something random about any professional sport from NASCAR to golf and everything in between. I always cross my fingers for a baseball question. However, if it isn't, pat answers come in handy.

Also, it is best for one to be prepared to follow up later with an expanded conversation--just to prove one has a slight clue. For example, Steve Nash signed with the Los Angeles Lakers yesterday. In the note I sent to Flip, I was able to say, "To local Sun's fans, Steve Nash going to the Lakers is like Nick Saban deciding to coach for Auburn."

If all of the above doesn't work, you are on your own.

Today's Headache

Dear Ms. Angie,

You need to figure out the whole time-zone thing. And more importantly--and I can't stress this enough--you need to stop calling me with out-of-warranty costly emergencies.

Thank you,

The Landlord

A Raised Eyebrow or Two

In getting my small administrative matter resolved, Flip warned me last week that he will probably need to speak with Kirby and Mario--my two Birmingham property managers. Because I didn't really want my property managers blindsided a lawyer asking lots of personal questions, I gave them fair warning in the shape of an e-mail over the weekend.

However, I certainly don't want to tell them about my issue because it may just raise a few thousand red flags about, but not limited to, my business practices. Which, I assure you are completely ethical. However, my business practices will look a lot cleaner once I get this teensy-tiny matter resolved.

Now, you try writing a quick e-mail to a causal acquaintance (Kirby) and someone you are barely on speaking terms with (Mario) saying something akin to, "In the event a lawyer guy named Flip calls you, please provide leases and answer any questions related to his inquiry. But, don't worry, my administrative issue doesn't (exactly) concern your tenants or your property management company."

Honestly, it is the equivalent of stating, "There is nothing to see here. Just keep moving."

I am pretty sure Kirby and I are getting along well enough that he will decide it is nothing, and just do what is asked. Hopefully Mario affords me at least the same courtesy--even though if I were him, I would certainly ask questions. As he should. Mario isn't stupid (nor is Kirby). Hopefully if it comes up, I will have the right answers.

Later: Got a response from Mario: "No problem. Happy to help." Whew!

Flipping Awesome

It is Sunday. Flip sent me an e-mail today letting me know he is already working on my issue.

Today!

Sunday!

In case I haven't mentioned this: Flip is awesome.

In his e-mail, Flip commented that Steve Nash (I have since found out he is/was the Sun's point guard) is signing somewhere else. I responded by giving him a bit of Arizona Diamondbacks trivia.

I really appreciate Flip going the extra 10 miles for me on this one. Even if I have to learn something about basketball.

Back Flip

Author's Note: I would like to send out my personal thanks to Steve Nash. Thank you. If you don't sign with the Suns that's ok. Best of luck to you.

Before my meeting with Flip, Carolsue, a Birmingham paralegal for numerous years, sat me down and advised me on how to effectively deal with Flip. According to Carolsue, I was to channel my inner "white Yankee bitch." Apparently, playing it polite and professional was not going to work with Southern male lawyers and I needed to take the white gloves off and be ready to go off on Flip at a moment's notice.

And, after waiting a good 30 minutes for Flip (10 because I showed up early to our meeting), I was had my "I am your worst nightmare" attitude chambered and ready to go at a moment's notice. Of course, I had a smile on my face the entire time.

Flip and I started the meeting with Flip telling me how everyone loved Attorney Jon. Which is a sentiment I happen to agree with. Attorney Jon was wonderful. And then he candidly told me the how Attorney Jon died.

And, because three people on this trip alone independently brought the circumstances of his death (again) to my attention, it is either the worst kept secret in the South or common knowledge. So, I am ok writing about it at this point. Attorney Jon took his life. I have known this for almost a year ago. And, for those of you playing along on the Sage Business home edition, perhaps you can see why this has been so painful and difficult for me to process Attorney Jon's death. So, give a girl a break, will you?

Anyway, back to Flip. After the customary how-do-you-dos, and speaking about Attorney Jon and the family he left behind, Flip started explaining what legal steps I can take, including malpractice. Otherwise, he would be happy to find the right lawyer to take care of my issue as well. I stopped him right there and explained there was no reason to go the malpractice route. I don't want to get Mrs. Late Attorney Jon or his children involved. I just want my issue fixed.

And, I didn't think my problem was a tough issue, but one that needed a legal-type to finish for me. Essentially, my situation isn't a disaster, we are just extremely vulnerable if the wrong sorts find out. We need to be protected properly. Attorney Jon was to have handled this.

As we spent several moments going through my papers, with me showing him the precedents and the documents that led up to my unfortunate situation, I wasn't comfortable I had won Flip over. I was ready. I had white Yankee bitch on reserve.

And then, out of the blue, Flip turned to me, paused for a moment and then said, "So, do you think Steve Nash will re-sign with the Suns?"

I have no idea. I don't follow basketball. "I hope so. He was a valuable contribution last year," I replied. Apparently that was the right answer.

And Flip eased up.

A few minutes later, Flip and I were sharing fun memories of Attorney Jon. Flip was telling me about his daughter who is about to enter college and took a vow of purity. He handed me a business card and then took out the legal pad. He asked me if Marty Sunshine went by Marty or Martin. And he wrote down the answer. And just to put me completely at ease from that point forward, he didn't take the next 970 phone calls that came in for him while I was there.

As we were parting I asked what the next steps happened to be. And, I got a reasonable answer. Flip doesn't feel I have been harmed (no malpractice necessary, Attorney Jon's widow doesn't have to be involved).  However, there is some neglect. And, he agrees we are vulnerable. Provided the other parties in question are reasonable (meaning we don't have to go to court--and he did ask if necessary would I testify about some of the papers I gave him), this shouldn't cost me that much to fix. I don't see how this will go to court. The other parties involved would have a hard time getting legal counsel to represent them under the circumstances. I am in the right.

When I left, I was emotionally spent. This had been the crux of my trip. I need this fixed. It can harm us if it is left undone. And now, it looks like it will be done.

Why Do Elephants Have Red Toenails?

*To hide in the strawberry patch. Duh!

I had dinner with Jack and Mrs. Jack on Tuesday night. For the most part, it was a lovely meal, with good company and great conversation. Except there was an elephant in the room.

You know what it is like when there is an elephant in the room, right? Wouldn't it just be nice if a conversation could go like this:

Person 1: "Hey did you see that elephant in the room?"
Person 2: "Yea, I wonder how it got in. Did you leave the door open?"
Person 1: "No, but the window was ajar when I was here a bit earlier. Perhaps it snuck in."
Person 1 and 2 in unison: "Hmmm..."

Instead, it goes something like this:

Person 1: "Do you smell something?"
Person 2: "Aren't those peanut shells on the floor?"
Person 1: "Is that ivory right over there next to that big lumpy gray thing?"
Person 1 and 2 in unison: "Hmmm..."

In our case, the elephant was my meeting with Flip. You see, Mr. and Mrs. Jack are very good friends with Mrs. Late Attorney Jon. Flip, the attorney assigned by the Alabama BAR Association to handle all things related to Late Attorney Jon, had to ask the Mrs. Late Attorney Jon for my files. And, of course, there was no explanation other than I was coming to town and the Late Attorney Jon didn't finish what he started. One could (very easily) speculate this might be cause for a malpractice claim.

So, there I was having dinner with Jack and Mrs. Jack. And every so often the conversation would steer to Mrs. Late Attorney Jon. Or, out of the blue Jack would say something like "What brings you to Birmingham?" or "So, have you had any business meetings since you arrived?" or "What do you plan on doing at 2:27 p.m. on Wednesday?"

I decided, as soon as I caught on to his line of questioning, not to tell him anything unless he asked flat out. It doesn't concern Jack. And I don't want to tell him his dear friend of 30 years kinda missed the boat on a simple matter he was supposed to take care of. But, if he came out and asked, I would have shared--in a simple, let's-not-get-carried-away-it-is-no-big-deal-sort-of-fashion. I trust Jack completely, I just don't want him involved with this.

However, Jack didn't ask. Instead, he danced around it, so I made a game of waiting to see how long it would take him to get to the point.  Possibly next week when I am up to it, I will send him a quick note and mention I saw Flip (turns out they know each other). And, maybe I will also causally mention I saw the elephant in the room.

Wednesday

Before meeting with Flip today, I swung into Our Lady of Sorrows for a quick word with Jesus. It turns out I ran across another old friend too.

A Bama Day

Let me just begin by saying Birmingham-ites are wimps. They think they have "heavy traffic." They think it is hot. They think they have illegal immigration issues. Stand in line behind us Zonies!

Now that we have that out of the way....

I left the hotel today at 8 a.m. only to find out that my Leeds house was also not where I left it. And, if you want to know the whole truth, Ashville Road--one of the main drags into Leeds--had also taken leave. Thanks to a nice gentleman who gave me directions like, "stay on this road a spell, then turn left at the fourth blue mailbox and then two rights and another left at the second church you see," I was able to successfully find my way back to I-20 in only three tries.

I also inspected four houses today.

Home number one: the tenant told me some seriously personal information that should only be reserved for a therapist. I am not sure how I was supposed to react. I chose to skedaddle. Before all that though, I did get a chance to check everything out. The house was in good condition. She asked if she could paint and would I be willing to fix the rotted wood in the deck. Yes to both. The rotted wood was a bit of a concern to me. How long had she been living under those conditions?  She swore not long.

The next homes Kirby came with me. The first one is my only foray into Section 8 housing. The place was clean, and well cared for. However, this tenant and I had gone back and forth about her dogs, with my answer being no, she could not have them. Her dog wasn't there. But there was evidence he had been there very recently. Good old Kirby can look into that.

Another interesting note about the Section 8 tenant: she drove a Suburban. She also had an Escalade in her garage. She also had nicer furnishings than I, including lots of expensive toys. Her children were in daycare--though she doesn't work.

When I mentioned to Kirby that she sure did live well for someone on Section 8. He pointed out that she doesn't actually own anything. Rent-to-own places call his company all the time trying to track down wayward tenants. It made me slightly sick to see this. I work hard for my money (or lack thereof) and here we have someone living on the tax dollars of someone else. I really do feel like I have compromised my principals on renting to her. At the time, this was the best we could get. I am not sure I want to renew her lease when it comes up.

The second house Kirby and I went to is out in the country. I actually had never been there before And, ironically, Kirby told me the house had moved since he had last been there too, as we drove around on the top of the mountain, through the woods to grandmother's house my rental home. I had seen pictures, and I kinda knew what to expect--two acres, in good shape, cute house with a full front porch that is aching for a swing. But I was pleasantly surprised anyway, It was all of the above and then some. The tenants never want to leave (tenants always say that--and you know what, I don't always agree with them on that particular point). The house was spotless and was it ok if they put up a fence at their own expense?

The last home was my Fultondale property. The family that lives there now grew up in the area. They have six kids and the place was spotless, sans the plumbers who were fixing the leaking master shower. I knew about the master shower and wasn't surprised to see them. I was surprised to see the pit bull-great dane mix that was living in the back yard without a fence. Kirby gets to deal with that too.

The tenants were too chatty for my taste. I find that overly friendly tenants in general like to win me over, but don't have a lot of substance. Kirby agreed. He had noticed that about them too. The wife was a bit miffed and repeatedly let me know it. Apparently the plumbers she requested a couple of weeks ago came out today to fix the shower and what a coincidence that I just happened to come in town too. Again, I wasn't sure what to say, so I said "I'm glad it is getting fixed" and "I'm sorry Mr. Kirby didn't take care of it before this" (Earlier, in his office, Mr. Kirby showed me the work orders, including the number of times his staff called them to set appointments and the tenants didn't call back or postponed the plumbers.). Whatever I said didn't seem to satisfy her. Sorry her shower leaked. It is being fixed. Can we please drop it now?

The tenants asked if they could paint. Sure. Why not--especially if it means we can talk about something other than her broken shower. Then they asked if we would be willing to sell. I'm not sure how I feel about that. The house needs some general maintenance. The tenants like being there. The place cash flows, but I could use the equity elsewhere. We left it with 1: the dog goes and 2: let me check with Marty Sunshine. And if we decide to sell later, than sooner, they can have first rights of refusal.

I rounded out the day with dinner with friends (more on that later) and made it back to the hotel in time to see the Braves annihilate my Diamondbacks.

Off to bed so that I can get ready for my big date with Flip.

My Trip To Birmingham So Far

The second most annoying aspect of my trip is that Birmingham has moved everything. The car rental place was no longer located where it was last time I was in Birmingham. The hotel I have stayed out countless times before wasn't where I thought it would be. The freeway exit I used wasn't there. In fact, the freeway exit I accidently took dumped me off into East Lake. ("East Lake" is synomous with a very creepy part of town. Jack told me a story once of him owning rentals in East Lake and watching a mob riot through his rentals with him helplessly watching. As a general rule, I stay out of East Lake.)

And, after going out this morning to view my rentals, the three I found were not where I left them last year. However, from what I could see when I finally did track them down, they were all in reasonable condtion. I noticed Ms. Angie's roof looked really great--and then I realized we just put a roof on her home, so it better look great.

The most annoying aspect of my trip is a nasty stomach bug I picked up. And for the record, it wasn't Carolsue's fault.

Fried Chicken, Her Granny's Southern Baked Beans, Banana Cream Pie and Something with Bourbon

Carolsue is feeding me dinner tonight. Apparently she has been slaving over a hot stove for two weeks. I am getting a six-course Southern meal. Which is very useful because my flight is timed so that I don't get lunch.

When Carolsue sent me the menu last week, she wrote the following: "Here's the menu. What aren't you allergic to?" Of course, the answer was I am allergic to just about everything. But no matter. Dinner with Carolsue will be a good way to start my Birmingham trip. I hope to be a good guest and not go into anaphylaxis.

Flip Flop*

*Ok, seriously? You didn't see that coming?

Word got to Flip through his second cousin's fifth grade teacher's barber's brother's son's piano teacher that I wanted to spend 30 minutes of time with Mr. Flip. And I now have an appointment.

Flipping Off*

*Come now, you knew that headline was coming.

Did I mention nothing, and I mean nothing, happens in concurrence with the Roman calendar in the South?

Still trying to get in touch with Flip. I have resorted to stalking him via e-mail (with me politely explaining how I got his e-mail in the first place), smoke signals and carrier pigeons. Still nothing. What I haven't done is hunt down his first cousin's next door neighbor's best friend in sixth grade who might get a message to him. That's how things seem to work in the South. It is faster than a telephone.

I know I have a few other options, including but not limited to:

• Contacting the Alabama BAR
• Contacting another lawyer
• Suing Attorney Jon's estate for malpractice
• Forgetting the whole thing, because after all this particular issue hasn't been resolved in years--though it should have been.

I am not against any of the above. In fact, right now I am voting for all of the above in no particular order. However, it seems like it would be easier to just have Flip respond to my message.

Flipping Out

Getting to see Flip, the lawyer I really need to see, is an exercise in patience and perseverance. So far I have gotten an introduction from Legal Eagle--with his blessing for me to call him. Then I called him and was ignored. Then I called again and spoke to his partner's paralegal (his apparently was on vacation) who relayed a message to Mr. Flip.

Mr. Flip, in turn, relayed a message to his partner's paralegal that he "might" be able to see me but first he needs to get my file from the Late Mrs. Attorney Jon--who has all of the Late Attorney Jon's files. And, what was this about exactly?

I managed to summarize the brief synopsis I sent to Legal Eagle a couple of weeks ago, into a more condensed version, which included words like, "a simple matter that can be easily resolved" and "no big issue really" and "I am only going to be in town for just a couple of days." However, I suspect this is going to be a huge issue that won't be easily resolved and will require more patience and perseverance. But I am trying to keep positive thoughts.

I am supposed to call back Friday if I haven't heard from Flip by then.

And I am guessing I know exactly what I will be doing on Friday.

Strictly Business

There really is a method to my madness. I promise.

Before lawyer costs, assuming I can get the home rented within a month, and assuming Ms. Kathy leaves the home in reasonable condition, I stand to loose about $3000 in the next year if I let her leave. Why?

Ms. Kathy pays a premium for her neighborhood. Rents dropped about two years ago. They are leveling off, but they are still lower than they were when she moved in. But, then again, I pay a premium for Ms. Kathy.

I don't have to hire a property manager to manage Ms. Kathy. But, I will with the next tenant. That alone is a drop of 10 percent (or whatever I negotiate) of what ever I get for rent.

This home is a three bedroom, one bath with no carport or garage. I didn't know that when I bought it. The realtor lied. I get more than market-share for rent, so I don't have a case to go after the realtor for lying. However, three bedroom, one bath homes with no carports aren't as desirable as a three bedroom, two bath home with a garage. If you see what I mean.

So, when Ms. Kathy came back to me--on her own mind you--saying she wanted to stay, and here is her realistic plan for being current, I was willing to entertain her offer. What she didn't know is that I will loose money if she leaves. What I knew (but didn't tell her) is that she has very strong ties to the neighborhood, having grown up a few homes down the block and her sister lives next door. That was motivation for her to figure out how to make this work.

What I also didn't tell her was in early July I will evict her out on the street if she doesn't follow through like she said she would. It really is only a few weeks away. But, we can keep that to ourselves for now.

Flipping for Joy

In keeping with a quirkiness I have only experienced in the Southern part of the United States, this new lawyer has stereotypical weird nickname generally reserved for 1970s game show contestants clad in leisure suits. If you are a lawyer, should you do business by your nickname? Even in the South?


I am pleased to tell you that my 17 paragraph "brief synopsis" was enough for Legal Eagle to pave the way for me to call Flip* (new lawyer) to set a possible appointment. The message I left made me sound like a 14 year old wallflower. I cringed as I spoke into this guy's voicemail, wondering if I sounded professional and not desperate--though I am pretty sure I sounded neither. Hopefully he will call me back.
 
*As with almost everything on this blog, names are changed to protect the unassuming. But, his name is sorta-close to "Flip".

Rules of Engagement

Apparently it is easier to crash a White House State Dinner than it is to get an appointment with this lawyer. Legal Eagle sent me an e-mail on Tuesday asking for a "brief synopsis" of what Attorney Jon was working on for me before his untimely passing. She wants to give this to the lawyer as part of vetting me.

The "brief synopsis" of course will not be brief. And, of course, what will naturally follow is an extended version of the synopsis which will be entitled "Epic Novel Volume 1". All this to get an appointment--which I am not guaranteed to get.

One might ask why I don't just call this lawyer guy myself? Because, believe it or not, going through Legal Eagle is faster and I have more credibility. That's how business is done in the South.

The Important Stuff

I am starting to make my list of things I need to do while in Birmingham. At this moment, the brunt of my schedule hinges on when Legal Eagle can get me in front of this lawyer, if Ms. Kathy is going to move out quietly (here's hoping. Still no word from her on my modest proposal) and Kirby's schedule. I heard from Kirby's third cousin's recptionist's hairdresser's babysitter that he is expecting me. But, I haven't heard it from Kirby.

I'm also planning my free time: which usually consists of dinner with Jack, avoiding arrest with Carolsue (we've come close a few times) and probably walk around a charming little park in Trussville, Alabama just to avoid staring at my hotel room walls for hours on end.

Mr. Wonderful, my newest tenant--he lives next to Mr. 114 in Alabaster--asked me to stop by if I had time and say hello. I am not sure I want to drive an additional 40 miles one way just to say hi and then have an awkward silence for the next 20 minutes trying to find some reason for me to be there. Maybe on my next trip.

To my relief, it turns out knitting needles are permitted on the airplane in my carryon bag. At least now I will have something to do on the airplane and while in Birmingham if I can't get my appointments scheduled.

I Did It

There has been a shift in universe.

For once, Ms. Kathy actually gave me a sob story when I wasn't in the middle of dealing with six other tenants moving, the holidays, me refinancing my home and needing a good-standing lease in place or other drama that caused me to focus my energies elsewhere.

In fact, to her credit, she actually e-mailed me three days after rent was due. This was an awesome change from the months in the past where I would have to hunt her down to hear her sob stories (and shock of shock to Ms. Kathy, I already knew the rent promised wasn't showing up), let her make amends and promise to deliver.

This month's sob story was complete with a subtext that said: "Paying rent is not a priority." Her e-mail was of the friendly sort, disguising a an epic drama about how she had other bills due and her daughter is knocked up and Ms. Kathy is having to pay her bills too. All this was leading up to the anti-climatic point: could she send $50 a week for the next few weeks and then pay me a bit more next month? Of course, she quickly bypassed the part where she didn't have this month's rent. But, I figured it out.

Ms. Kathy's e-mail ended with this bit of brilliance, " I love living where I do. I really don't want to move..." 

I wrote her back something equally as friendly, suggesting our relationship just wasn't a win-win at this point. And, perhaps it was time to find a place to live that wasn't as financially cumbersome as where she is now. Therefore let's plan on handing over keys on July 6, shall we? I also mentioned I was coming to town and wanted to do a walk through while I am there. So, let me know what day was going to work for her. And by the way, no hard feelings. Okay?

June 4

Today is June 4. Last month I had this crazy idea that I would be in Birmingham on June 4 to take care of Birmingham business.

That hasn't happened. I haven't even bought my ticket. Though, I am pleased to say, I have managed to contact Legal Eagle and Kirby and tell them I am thinking about coming to town. What would work for them?

Legal Eagle got back to me and told me if I wanted to see her, she would be at the beach. Bummer. I won't be. She also told me there is someone handling Attorney Jon's unfinished business--which hopefully includes my issue he never took care of two years ago. But, I will settle for getting it handled now. Hopefully it will be resolved. I hate having to start this over. Legal Eagle offered to set up an introduction and get the ball rolling. Bless her.

I am waiting for word Kirby will be available before I book my ticket. Then I will fill in all the ancillaries--dinner with Jack and Mrs. Jack, driving by a few of my homes, etc. That's the easy stuff.

So...

This is what unemployment looks like...

So far the only revelation I have had is that unemployment hasn't really opened up much in the way of additional spare time. I had wild fantasies of spring cleaning, watching baseball and sleeping in.

I haven't cleaned out my closets yet. Or reorganized my cabinets. I have gone down to Tucson, once again reaffirming my belief that Marty Sunshine was adopted. I have done this and that, but not in the slow, leisurely pace I was dreaming of.

I am hoping to take the next few days and sleep in, take care of some real estate, yell at Kirby and Mario and clean out my closets--and maybe, if I dare to dream, even watch more than two innings of baseball.

Then I will figure out what my next adventure might be.

Undercapitalized or Not

I might be willing to consider, that possibly, maybe, perhaps there might be a slight chance I am burning the candle at both ends. Possibly.

Undercapitalized issues be damned! I gave my notice at Y'all yesterday.

Update

This is Crazy Week at my Y'all job (Crazy Week is the week where I drive 45 minutes one way downtown to train other people to be fabulous at thier job--as opposed to the weeks where I just roll out of bed, grab some iced tea and sit in front of my computer and make reservations). And, just to completely erase any semblance of free time, I also have two buyers closing. So, I am not expecting to spend much time contemplating my accidental business in the next five days--unless the people in Bama make me. And here's praying they don't.
But, for those of you playing along with the home edition of Sage Business, I did want to send a quick update about Ms. Kathy. She came to the conclusion that paying up was better than being homeless. She was even so charitable as to thank me for working with her. I wasn't really "working with her," per se. I was just dealing with enough other things to shove Ms. Kathy a bit lower on the to-do list.

Fortunately, there isn't much nuttiness to chat about today--and let's just keep it that way, shall we?

Time to Go

Marty Sunshine seems to think I need to go to Birmingham to check things out. His reasoning includes, but isn't limited to, the teensey tiny little fact that I have managed to avoid going for more than one year. 

I suggested he go. He explained he has that whole pay check thing going for him and couldn't get away.

I also suggested Mr. Partner go. Marty reminded me that I was already not on speaking terms with Mario, property manager number 2, and Mr. Partner probably wouldn't help relations much. Besides, I would also be doing errands that are not related to the LLC we have with Mr. Partner.

Though I have no idea when I am going to find time to do this, I am pleased to say there isn't any major pressing issues to handle in Birmingham--which brings up why I should have to go at all. However, I can probably come up with a list of errands if I tried real hard.

I guess I should try real hard.

Ms. Kathy's Lucky Break

Ms. Kathy won the landlord lottery this month.

You see, Marty Sunshine decided to take advantage of the lower interest rates and various mortgage voodoo to see if we can refinance the home we live in.

Normally, when one refinances the home they live in it is a simple process, consisting of filling out a loan application, joyfully delivering past 1040s and a few bank statements to the mortgage loan officer.

But of course, not in my case. My mother swears if there is an easy way to do something and a hard way, I won't even blink. And just to prove my mother true, I have a gazillion rental homes in another state. But I digress... What were we talking about? Oh yes, getting a mortgage.

When one gets a mortgage and owns three LLCs, an S Corporation, is self employed by an entirely different vocation and also receives a his and hers pay check, the process is similar to the aforementioned process, with the exception that a small Peruvian jungle is sacrificed for the paper alone.

My loan officer needed bank statements for the past 12 months. And of course we started this process in February, so they now have 14 months of bank statements.

I also needed to show the financial records for the LLCs. Except only the properties in Marty's name. The ones in Mr. Partner's name were sort of cast aside in the "Dear Underwriter, kindly have a soul. These properties don't matter to you so please don't ask. Thank you." Which did not fly with the soulless underwriter, so I had to sacrifice a jungle in Borneo to write a detailed letter explaining about the properties in Mr. Partner's name.

I also had to show the legal ownership of said properties and show the articles of organization registered in Arizona for said LLCs.

Then there was the matter of the underwriter wanting cancelled checks from every single mortgage payment (for the homes in our name--not Mr. Partner's--that was clarified early on). One night I stayed up until 2 a.m. sifting through bank statements trying to get this together for the loan officer. In my defense, the reason it took me into the wee hours was not from a lack of competence, but rather, the night I did this, I started after I got home from work at 11 p.m.

I pointed out to the loan officer the silliness of needing the cancelled checks, suggesting that if I didn't pay my bills my credit score wouldn't be so high and wasn't the act of just showing the bank statements enough? I was greeted with a "bless your heart" and spent an additional three hours in the office of my loan officer combing over the payment histories to prove that loan x on the bank statement indeed matched the payment made on March 28, 2011 for the Waterford home, and so on. Now multiply this by half a gazillion homes.

The other item needed to make this special bundle given to the underwriter all pretty, was the sacrifice of a Honduran rain forest for the sole purpose of providing lease agreements for each and every tenants. Those on month to month leases, needed a special detailed letter explaining why they are month to month (because the lease states this wasn't a sufficient reason). I carefully timed this part of my rain forest deforestation around Mr. Wonderful's arrival into my Alabaster home. Vacant homes do not make for happy underwriters (if, indeed, there is something called a "happy underwriter"), What I was also counting on was Ms. Kathy would pay like she said she would at one time.

Of course Ms. Kathy can't keep her word to save a roof over her head so Ms. Kathy unless Ms. Kathy comes through, she is probably about to find a new place to live. But, not so fast! I need her lease in good standing until my refinance closes. I did not go through two months of jungle destruction to have it all fall apart over Ms. Kathy. So, lucky for her, I am not dealing with Ms. Kathy for a few more weeks.

Kirby's Lucky Day

Remember Mario? He was the other property manager I brought in to manage my home on Hysteria Lane--only taken away from Kirby because of Kirby's company's incompetence Kirby's company's inability to find a qualified tenant for my lovely home.

Mario and I started out breezily enough, with him renting my home in a mere six weeks. However, Mario has nickled and dimed me since then. When I called him today to once again question the unusual amount of repairs coming from a seven year old home, he spoke to my lack of understanding by telling me twice because I wasn't male, I could not possibly have any earthly idea how to read the income statement or make decisions. Let's leave that to Marty Sunshine, shall we?

I am not an overly sensitive person by nature. Nor am I one to interpret a man saying this as a condescending comment on a regular basis. I guess if I think about it, I should be more astonished it took more than eight years of doing business in the South for someone to suggest to my face I was incompetent because of my gender.

Marty Sunshine is none too thrilled about this either, as he got an earful from me and now gets to solely deal with Mario on a regular basis. But it is for the best, I don't have anything professional to say to him anyway.

My original idea was that I was transition my homes from Kirby to Mario over time. So far that hasn't happened. And at this rate, I am guessing it probably won't. Kirby may not be real responsive, but at least he is afraid of me.

Just Something Fun

I think I may have seen something like this on my rental applications. (For those of you young'uns... the guy in the denim blue shirt was "Doc" in Back to the Future)

How I Spent My Monday

Monday morning, I was contacted by the owner with the fabulous home but crummy kitchen cabinets. He had another application for the house, but if my folks wanted it, my folks could have it. Just say the word. In a last-ditch effort to get a commission from Sunday's rental lunatics, I contacted them and passed along the owner's message.

The man said no they did not want the fabulous home. But they were still interested in the dump. Or, at least he was. Either she had come to her senses and decided that the master bedroom was not a most desirable egress to and from the parking spaces and the back yard or she had found some other minor thing wrong with the home. There is, of course, lots of things wrong with this home--including but not limited to health and safety hazards. But my educated guess is she decided the flooring was the wrong shade of taupe to match her Christmas tablecloth.

The man also kept me on the phone for way too long telling me way too personal information about the problems in their relationship with me changing the subject every time he came up for air. Finally he said, "I shouldn't be telling you this. You aren't my therapist."

My personal rule is that one should not admit they have a therapist. Call me old fashioned, but it isn't really any of my business. Of course neither was everything else he included in the moments before. Or for that matter everything that was said Sunday in my car right after they broke up on State Route 51.

Anyway, I did get back to the owner of the fabulous home they weren't interested and sent him on his merry way. I didn't tell him he dodged a year of high-maintenance hell from these folks. But he did.

A couple hours later I received an e-mail from the woman client. Since I had last heard from them, they had decided they might want to pursue the fabulous home after all and could I make this happen? And while I was making it happen, would I please call the agent who has the dump for rent and find out all they were planning on doing to make this place more wonderful. Just in case the fabulous home didn't pan out.

Then I fired them.

I wasn't rude (Marty suggested I take out the snarky parts). But I was direct. And wouldn't you know it, the man wrote me back. He was utterly befuddled that I found his behavior unacceptable. Perhaps I have a different memory of the days events than he and his lady friend did?

Yep, perhaps I did. And so did the neighbors at the second house who were gawking at them as they unloaded a ton more personal information that should only be reserved for his therapist.

Hours later, the man wrote me again. Completely ignoring my resignation, and the fact he acknowledged earlier that day I had fired them. He told me they decided they want that last home: AKA "The Dump." Would I help them secure it?

I thought about it for around nine seconds. If I represent him I get a commission. If I walk away, they can live in their own karmic retribution. (Did I mention this place is a rat hole with a new coat of paint?) I passed. I have my sanity back and at least this way I won't be going to jail any time soon.

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.

Le Sigh

I am corresponding with Ms. Kathy. I am using words with lots of syllables. I am not happy. She probably isn't either. Or she won't be after she breaks out her dictionary.

Here's Hoping For Twelve Months of Bliss

Ok. So this is a tad late. But, let me tell you about my new tenant.

Mr. Wonderful was the second person to answer my ad about my vacant home in Mr. 114's neck of the woods. The first person and I had a bit of discussion, where she agreed to be a bit cross with me and I agreed not to rent the home to her. Bless her heart...

But enough about her! Let me tell you about my new tenant. After talking with Mr. Wonderful for several minutes on my Birmingham cell phone, I started doing my happy dance, jumping up and down all the while Marty Sunshine watched, wondering if I had to go to the bathroom. When he heard me tell Mr. Wonderful he needed to call Mr. 114 so he could view the home, Marty knew I was hooked.

Not only was I hooked, but Mr. 114 called us immediately after Mr. Wonderful left and positively gushed about Mr. Wonderful. He is a civic leader. He has a well-known business in the area. He isn't Ms. Shirley... and the list went on and on. I think if we passed on Mr. Wonderful, Mr. 114 would have offered to let him move into his own home.

But no need, Mr. Wonderful did want our home. Apparently, Mr. 114 sold him on how awesome we are too.

In addition to Mr. Wonderful being just about as ducky as he can possibly be (did I mention he owns a lawn mower?), he is also willing to remedy the big paint splotches Ms. Shirley left on every single wall for the cost of supplies and beer for his buddies. There was no need for me to get the interior painted.

I am loving Mr. Wonderful. Did I mention that?

The great news is I am going to get an awesome tenant (I hope). The bad news is I will probably only get him for a year because he is planning on buying a home next year. I am already missing him.

Today's Bit O' Ruminating

My tenant screening process is to figure out who I want babysitting my asset for the next year. I am listening for what a tenant tells me and what a tenant neglects to tell me--because the last thing I want is 12 months of scheduled headaches.

In my real estate life, when I help tenants find homes, I gently remind them even though they may find the home they really want, the landlord might not want them, so make sure everything is neat and pretty on the application, make sure your kids are well behaved while you are walking through a potential home and by all means, as you are strolling through the home in earshot of the landlord, make sure you don't mention you hate some personal aspect of the decor (such as the owner's personal Barbie doll collection which is proudly displayed in the living room). Somehow this advice always seems to come a major surprise to potential tenants. Coincidentally, the ones who are most surprised are the ones who have the most baggage.

What I find even more amazing is how little a tenant seems to care about the landlord. A tenant's screening process should be more thorough than it is. Generally, from their perspective they just want a place to live. Will the home's bedrooms be big enough? Will the landlord throw in the refrigerator? Most tenants don't think about will this landlord be a cheapskate and not replace the missing blinds? Or will the landlord show up on their door three times a month to check on me? Yet, they should.

I am always impressed with potential tenants who take the time to find out about me. Do I have local references? Am I current on my mortgage? Are my property taxes paid? Once in a while I find a potential tenant who asks these types of questions.

I like tenants who think this way. They are telling me they pay attention. They don't want trouble. And neither do I.

And on a personal note, Happy Birthday to Carolsue!

Amateur Hour

I won't go into the particulars in the Phoenix metro real estate market right now, only to say there are bidding wars on just about everything. I--and every other active real estate agent--am utterly exhausted.

I am currently working with a first time investor and we finally found a home that I thought was priced well, would provide a great return on her investment and would be in a neighborhood to attract desirable tenants.

When I presented it to her, this first time investor responded that the pictures weren't very "pleasing to the eye."

Ok, seriously? She saw a picture of the garage door, completely bypassed the fact there was a ready made tenant who wants to stay and pay a sizable sum of money for rent every month--with a lease already in place. She also missed the part of about the substantial cash on cash return and a great cash flow every month.

All I can say, for those of you with half an interest in buying a rental property and don't like the color of the garage door, is $60 in paint might be worth it for a good investment.

Teaching an Old Tenant New Tricks

There is a certain level of dysfunction I am willing to put up with from Ms. Kathy. Part of it is expected--because I swear she can't stay on the straight and narrow for more than about three months before she gives me fits. And part of it surprises me time after time. I tolerate Ms. Kathy for two simple reasons:

1. Dealing with Ms. Kathy gets wrapped up quicker than kicking her out and finding a new tenant who will probably have a whole new set of baggage that I will hate more

2. Ms. Kathy comes through in the end and her baggage is tolerable

Recently, Ms. Kathy reverted back to her old ways, making me curse her name. And, because Ms. Shirley is out of my life (hooray!!!), Ms. Kathy is holding the honor of being my highest maintenance tenant. And, let me tell you, she didn't disappoint.

Last month she forgot to tell me she forgot to mail the rent in. She only remembered when I sent her a text saying, "where the hell is my rent"  "I haven't seem to have gotten your rent check yet. May I inquire as to what day it was mailed?" At which point I found out she has new bearings on her truck.

And, for about the 2,373,981 time, I reminded Ms. Kathy that by letting me know these things up front and not making me hunt her down, I am more inclined to be in good humor to her last-minute emergencies and less likely to pellet her e-mail with veiled threats and multi-syllable words.

Apparently Ms. Kathy took my advice to heart. Today I was utterly shocked when Ms. Kathy e-mailed me and asked if she could pay most now and the rest in a couple of weeks. That is a major break-through in the landlord-Ms. Kathy relationship. She actually asked first.

I told her yes. Because it really is easier to work with her than deal with a vacant home for two months and a new tenant's baggage. And because (historically) Ms. Kathy does come through in the end.

Could It Be True?

Now then, I don't wish to jinx anything here. But... I think I found a tenant for my vacant home. Crossing my fingers and toes, lighting a candle and saying a prayer. Hopefully the possible tenant won't have a change of heart before I can get the credit run.

Tuesday's Winning Call

Susan called this morning on my Alabama phone and left a delightful message. She was articulate, used reasonable-sized words and her subject-verb agreement was spot on. She gave me a number where I can call her back. The reason for her call, she knows of "several people who might have an interest" in renting my home and for a small bribe fee she would be happy to pass those names along for me to find out for myself. Please call back immediately if I was interested in her list.

Stupid Questions

You may have heard that adage: "There are no stupid questions." I disagree.

And let me tell you, screening tenants brings out the stupid questions.

My favorite on Monday was the woman who e-mailed me and said, "How flexible are you on the rent?"

Mind you, she didn't say, "Hi, I have seen your lovely home and have an interest in renting it in a multi-year lease. I am currently gainfully employed, have no unreasonable debt and own a lawnmower." All she wanted to know--without seeing my home--is will I take less for the rent.

Marty Sunshine suggested I was being a teeny tiny bit judgemental about this woman. I say she has already broadcast she is trouble. Loud and clear.

My response back was the rent wasn't negotiable. But it doesn't matter what she thinks at this point. She has already told me more than enough.

Prequalifying

One of the many handy-dandy things I have learned from Jack is the power of prequalification. In the past when I had a vacant home, I would run an ad in the newspaper and hope for the best.

Generally that netted me endless voice mails from a good portion of Birmingham's soon-to-be-homeless who were willing to divulge their life story for a chance to rent my home. It also took up a lot of my time listening to Birmingham's soon-to-be-homeless.

Jack gave me a great idea the very first time we met: leave a voice mail greeting with all the particulars and tell those whom I have no interest in renting to not leave a message. This cut down on my time and energy, though there are still an optimistic few who seem to be in denial about my whole process. Generally those are the ones who leave me messages saying, "What is the rent and the deposits?" "Do you accept pets?" All of which is clearly outlined on my voicemail.

In fact, my voice mail right now says something like,

"Thank you for calling about my awesomely wonderful home. I think you will love this three bedroom, two and a half bath beauty. It has a fenced back yard, a two car garage and hardwood floors. The rent is this much. The deposits are that much. There is also a credit application of x amount. That is a total of this much money to move in.

If you have had a short sale or a foreclosure recently, please don't let that stop you from applying to rent. I am happy to talk with you. If you have been evicted, just hang up now. That goes double for those of you with pets or those of you who think I want a Section 8 tenant. The address is 123 Main Street. You are welcome to drive by, if then want to set an appointment to see the interior, feel free to leave a message."

I have had wonderful success with this method in the past. But now I am going a step further. My application now includes the following: "Do you own a lawn mower? Do you own a vacuum cleaner? Do you own a screwdriver?"

As I write this, I wonder who will be responding to my request--if anyone. The first week of looking for a tenant is always the best. It is full of joyful hope and anticipation. I always believe the right tenant is out there RIGHT NOW looking for a place to call home and it will be a snap to rent out. However, usually by the fourth week, my voice mail will say, "If you have a pulse, leave a message."

Hopefully I won't need to worry about week four.

Howdy

My general rule about this blog is that topics discussed must in some way be about the following:

• Running an accidental business
• The South
• Investing
• Renting
• Baseball

Though there are times I throw a few other odd topics in (hey! It's my blog I can do that), I like to loosely tie these ends together. Such as: I am running an accidental rental business in the South, which I started with way too little capital and started with way too many investors. To improve our capital position, I don't have time to watch baseball.

See that nicely fits together.

In any case, I haven't had much of a chance to write this blog lately because most of my life doesn't fall into the aforementioned categories or any reasonable tangents thereof.

This past week was so nutty that I can only sum it up with the following phrases:

• runaway backhoe
• coerced electrician
• stolen Porche
• dysfunctional employees scraped from the bottom of the 9 percent unemployment barrel
• secret korma recipes
• Words With Friends withdrawal

Sadly, none of the above has anything to do with baseball or the rest of the first list. However, at this rate, I am going to start a new blog or expand my topics.

And by the way, how is your week going? Please, please tell me!

In other news, Ms. Angie, who has been the proud recipient of new roof, new furnace and new air conditioner in the past few years is also now the proud recipient of a solid gold hot water heater. Though I haven't exactly figured out how it will be paid for just yet. Apparently the only kinds of water heaters installed in Birmingham Alabama are the solid gold variety. Seriously. That's what I asked the plumber when he told me the cost (and to my credit, he broke the cost to me immediately after the runaway backhoe incident, so I thought I was keeping it together nicely).

I am sure there will be more items to blog about next week (if you three readers are still around), as I am running an ad in the Birmingham News for a tenant for my Alabaster house. Tenant screening always brings out the same personality in me that I use when I coerce electricians. Maybe there will be a fun story out of that. Here's hoping.

An Open Letter

Dear People In Alabama,

Arizona doesn't celebrate Daylight Savings. And, we don't understand why you do have your silly custom, but we respect the fact that you do. We would like to ask in return, that you please respect our custom of agreeing to disagree about Daylight Savings.

There is now a two hour time difference between where you are and where I am. I promise there is nothing you need to say to me at 8 a.m. your time that can't wait until 10 a.m. your time. If you have a leaky faucet leaving me 16 messages between 6 a.m. (my time) and 8 a.m. (my time) will not make me find a plumber any faster. If you (heaven forbid!) have a fire. You can wait until 1) the fire is out and 2) a reasonable time to tell me about it. Please understand: I am very grumpy at 6 a.m.

If you are a property manager... well, never mind. You don't call me anyway. But if you did, please remember there is now a two hour difference. If you don't call me at 6 a.m. I promise not to call you at 6 p.m. Deal?

Sincerely,

The Landlord

In the Red

It is tax time. And finally--when Bliz doesn't have any more free weekends to deal with my financials--I have a free second to admire at her miraculous bookkeeping skills.

My 2011 financials are not pretty. What will also not be pretty is the purple blotches on Mr. Partner's face when he sees the financial statements Bliz so lovingly compiled for us.

I was very much aware what I would find. It isn't a big secret Kirby brought us to the brink of financial ruin through his neglect we have had several vacant homes that were harder than expected to rent out. And to be fair, Mr. Partner was aware of these too.

Though this might be hard to believe, I want to see a loss on my financials. And lucky for me. I am seeing just that. A loss is a tax break. A gain is not a tax break.

For my pride's sake, I would prefer my loss wasn't as horrific as it is. But we seemed to have weathered another year and the loss will look nicely on my taxes. However, if it is all the same with you, for 2012, I would prefer to see something a little closer to zero.

For Miss Number 4

I ran across Attorney Jon through a ton a happenstance. I was working with the Rajun Cajun--the world's sleaziest real estate agent--and she had her own closing attorney she liked. I didn't like her closing attorney. I started asking around and found Attorney Jon.

When I talked to him initially and explained my business model, he replied with a guttural "uh huh" (complete with drawl) which I learned through time was his trademark way of saying, "please continue." He completely understood my business model. That was a far cry from the Rajun Cajun and her attorney. They just smiled politely and said, "bless your heart" every time I patiently explained what I was doing. Not Attorney Jon. He asked relevant questions and showed a genuine interest. Through time his seal of approval on anything I was doing became as imperative as a stamp is to the US Postal Service.

Attorney Jon and I had a professionally friendly relationship. He always made himself available to answer my questions. He offered sound, professional advice and he introduced me to some amazing people: Jack; Legal Eagle, Matt the Loan Officer; John the Loan Officer and a few others I am blessed to have met along the way.

I knew all along Attorney Jon was special--though I can't give you a specific reason why. It wasn't just me. Everyone who knew him thought so. It was the way Attorney Jon would remember details and take time to help with the simplest of tasks. It was the extra things he did. For example, one time he called me from his car at 8 p.m. in the parking lot of the local school while waiting for his daughter to finish her basketball practice. In the backseat was his youngest and he vacillated between polishing up a contract I was writing and giving attention to his child. He never billed me for that hour. In fact, he rarely billed me at all. Even when I asked him to.

Back in 2008, right before the economy tanked, he met with Marty and me, endorsed my new and improved business model and got me an appointment with a major SEC attorney.  Though that didn't pan out (and looking back, it is definitely for the best), the experience was amazing. All because of Attorney Jon.

I only met Attorney Jon out socially twice. The first invitation was extended through Jack. Apparently I was sufficiently charming enough that Mrs. Attorney Jon invited me over for dinner a couple nights later. I had an opportunity to meet four of Attorney Jon's five daughters.  He numbered them when he spoke of them: 1 through 5. Number 4 is Polly's age and the night I visited she melted my heart with her charm and sweetness.

I think about Number 4 now and then. Legal Eagle tells me she watched Number 4 the day of Attorney Jon's funeral, in front of her daddy's casket, her chest heaving, crying inconsolably.  My heart aches for her. She's 11. That's too young to loose a father. She's too young to have do deal with the whys of the world and navigate through the scary. 

Someday, Miss Number 4, you may happen upon this blog and know another piece on how awesome your daddy was. He was a brilliant and generous man.

These past few weeks, I have run across many Attorney Jon items in my life. I got an e-mail from Loan Officer Matt, asking if I knew about Attorney Jon. I found some paperwork Attorney Jon handled for me. I found a pen he gave me with the name of an accounting firm during the time I was working on the SEC business plan. I have found e-mails. And I relayed a story about how my GPS got me lost in Birmingham back in 2007 and Attorney Jon's secretary had to help me find my way. Just silly memories. But lots of them.

Four people I know left this world last year, ranging in age from 21 to 87. Two of those where expected two were not. Attorney Jon was one of the unexpected and his death hit me the hardest. There is nobody to talk with about that fact that I miss someone I had a professionally friendly relationship with. He was a well-respected and admired man by me and by others. But I am on the outside. I am grieving his loss all alone.

It doesn't seem proper to ask Jack--a Southern man through and through--how he is doing with the death of his friend of 30 years. Though I consider Jack a friend, I am under the impression if he wanted to share, he would. When I inquired once about Mrs. Attorney Jon recently, he changed the subject. I hope she is coping. I hope they all are.

Where's The Catch?

My tenants on Waterford Lane have surprised me. Last I heard, they were month to month. I was told they wanted to stay long enough to buy a home. I was also told they needed to move because the home they are in (about 1400 square feet) isn't really big enough to encompass their growing family. Fair enough. They pay their rent on time. They only complain when the air conditioner doesn't work (which, hopefully has been permanently fixed now).

The Waterford Tenants are part of the conglomeration of homes Kirby manages. So, if there is more than the above going on, I just don't know.

However, I got a work order today (one of the "no-reply" e-mails Kirby sends out when there are repairs needed to the property). It said: "CAN SHE PULL UP CARPET & REPLACE WITH LAMINATE FLOORING AT HER EXPENSE?"

This doesn't sound like someone who feels the need to leave in 30 days. This sounds like someone who wishes to make their lives a bit better and their home more comfortable. I am ok with this. More or less.

I did reply to Kirby and to the only other contact I have at Kirby's office with the following:

"Probably. What rooms will the flooring be in? What color laminate? Can we see a picture of the flooring prior to putting it in? Who will be hauling away the carpeting? Who is doing the work? Will it be inspected after completion by a member of your staff?"

Still waiting to hear back. I am all for this. But I would rather have my questions answered first.

The Kitchen Sink is Still There

Great news! Ms. Shirley left. Mr. 114 swears she left the place in moderately decent condition. The carpet is dirty, but not stained. She (apparently) was thinking of painting so she left a painted color swatch on the wall of every single room. However, I am 95 percent sure there is touch up paint at this house.

And lest you been lulled into a sense of relief because the worst item on that list so far is dirty carpet, let me just say--that is probably the best item on that list.

You see, Ms. Shirley took the blinds. Ms. Shirley took every single stinking light bulb. Ms. Shirley took everything that was not nailed down. She also didn't return the keys. She gave me some other keys (possibly to her new home?). 

Ms. Shirley is also MIA and won't return e-mails or phone calls about the keys, so I am guessing I will be rekeying. And there is probably no chance of getting the window coverings back.

I am so over Ms. Shirley. In fact, I find that I am more annoyed about the pettiness of the light bulbs than I am about the window coverings and keys. My priorities are probably screwed up here. I'm ok with that too.

Good-Bye Trouble

You might have heard that quasi-melodious sound coming from the west? No, it wasn't a chorus of off-key angels rejoicing. It is me rejoicing.

Ms. Shirley is leaving my life!!!!!!

Allegedly she is moving out today. Mr. 114 (I adore him) tells me there was a big orange and white do-it-yourself moving truck outside her home yesterday and activity was abuzz. 

Of course she opted to stiff me on rent in the process, but at least she is leaving (let me just add: I really feel there is a special place in hell for tenants who think the security deposit is their personal savings account and they don't need to pay their last month's rent because they give a security deposit. That is stealing. Anyone who does this is a thief. You signed a contract, honor it.). I am banking Ms. Shirley will leave the place moderately clean. At least I hope she will.

I am so burned out on property managers that I decided not to give this home to Mario or Kirby. Neither deserve it. Nor do I feel like finding a third property manager at this time. Mr. 114, who lives right next door, is going to get it move-in ready for me and offered to show it. I am hoping this will result in a tenant Mr. 114 approves of and less of a hassle for me.

Fear the Awesome Power of the Bendy Straw

Tuesday, Marty Sunshine forbid me to discuss Kirby any further while holding a kitchen knife in my hand. I am however, allowed to hold a soda straw in my hand when his name comes up. Apparently Marty doesn't feel any real damage can come from that.

Did you know October was the last time Kirby actually called me back? Now, he has e-mailed me--only when I write things such as, "the courtesy of a response would be greatly appreciated."
Kirby has a distinct voice. He sounds like Randy Travis. On Tuesday I called his office. His secretary told me Kirby wasn't in, but I have to tell you I could hear through the phone one interesting party going on in the background. Apparently Randy Travis was standing nearby talking to someone else.

Marty Sunshine says that Kirby is afraid of me. Marty's reasoning is he has failed me and Kirby knows I am upset. I am a middle-aged overweight woman who lives 1,700 miles away. My only weapon is a plethora of multi-syllable words--especially now that Marty has banned knives. In my book, fear does not seem to be a good enough reason to ignore someone.  Even someone who can wield a mean soda straw.

Begging for Mercy

Dear Bliz,

I am sorta, kinda hoping you don't hate me yet. But, I am truly sorry I have ignored your texts and e-mails. If it makes you feel any better, I am ignoring your texts and e-mails a lot less than I have been ignoring everyone else's.

I think it is Monday. I am pretty sure it is still February. At least I hope so. Last time I checked it was February 11th. I haven't stopped moving since then.

You see, last week alone I managed to work about 95 hours alone and--provided it really is Monday--I will probably clock slightly less than that this week. I do all this to avoid tax season so we we can fix, or at least put a sizable band-aid on, our undercapitalized issues.

I will admit, I took a few hours off on Sunday and joyously dragged Marty Sunshine around the garden center of the large big box retailer. I even managed to plant some of the gladiola bulbs I bought. But, other than that, all I have been good for is promising you things I haven't delivered--like the items you have asked for so that we can get the financials to Diamond Jim. In return, he can do my taxes one last time.

I have one more promise for you that I intend to deliver. So, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being a bigger flake than usual in the 25 plus years we have been friends, there will be answers to your very reasonable and well thought out questions as well as toffee in your future.

Sincerely,
The Landlord

It's Just Super

Random SPAM comment I got for this blog:

"Thank you very much for your cool article. After analyzing your contribution I understood the significance of the intention which you was trying to deliver to your subscribers. One more time thank you for this super essay."

Jeepers Creepers

When I wrote my post a couple of weeks ago, suggesting Ms. Shirley might be moving, a) I was having a very bad week and b) I was actually thinking of asking Ms. Shirley to go because she can't seem to figure out how to pay her rent on time.

It didn't really matter. Because Ms. Shirley actually e-mailed me about an hour after I posted my blog and told me she was moving.

It has occurred to me on a few occasions that Ms. Shirley might read my blog. She tends to know a bit more about my business than I have told her. And she lets comments slip now and then. Or she might just be some sort of creeper stalking me. If that's the case, I'm glad I am 1700 miles away.
Oddly enough, Ms. Shirley telling me she was moving didn't really put a damper on a very bad week. In fact, it actually brightened my mood. I wish Ms. Shirley well. But I am not sorry to see her and her drama go.

My Third Call Monday Morning

So, I have a tenant with an electrical issue. The tenant has been calling around, looking for an electrician who can fix the electric box. On Monday, it was 20 degrees, and her hope was someone would take care of it right away.

Her dilemma was thus: my normal electrician was taking a world tour, courtesy of Ms. Angie's and Ms. Kathy's homes, and wasn't available until Wednesday. As far as my tenant was concerned, Wednesday was 48 hours away and she could freeze to death by then.

So, being innovative, Mrs. Roebuck opted to call around for another electrician. One perhaps that hadn't already bled me dry and might have time to work sooner than later.

She found Marvin the Electrician.

As she explained to Marvin the Electrician when she called him, I am out of town. I pay my bills. However, I don't just hop over on the first hot air balloon heading to Birmingham to whip out the check book. Marvin has to fax me a bill. Then I pay it.

Marvin clearly understood Mrs. Roebuck, but asked for my phone number as a way to counter this. And then Marvin called me.

I really wasn't expecting Marvin's call. I was still pondering Cassie the Appraiser and what that was about. I wasn't really focusing on smoke in the walls of Mrs. Roebuck's house (which probably was much more urgent but a lot more scary. I wasn't ready for scary Monday morning).

Anyway, Marvin starts our call by telling me Mrs. Roebuck needs electrical work done and he's happy to do it. But to pay him first. Instead of telling me the scope of the project, exactly how much said work would cost or when he would get it done, Marvin tells me about how other "landlords have shafted him in the past" so therefore please hop on the first Birmingham-bound hot air balloon and bring my checkbook.

I am sure Marvin didn't really mean to suggest I was a thief.

Probably.

What I did tell Marvin was there was no need to concern himself with this any further. My normal electrician would be back from spending all of his hard-earned money on my behalf soon enough. I am sure Mrs. Roebuck has plenty of blankets to keep her warm between now and when he returns. So, thanks for calling. Bye-bye now.

For the record, my fourth call Monday was to Mrs. Roebuck. I let her know Marvin and I just couldn't see eye to eye. That was ok by her. Marvin wasn't even free to do the work until Thursday. And as it turns out my normal electrician would be available on Tuesday to deal with her electrical issue.

Fortunately he trusts me enough to fax me over the bill.

My First Call Monday Morning

So... I was woken up Monday morning by Cassie. And damn! Was she ever perky! You see, Cassie was an appraiser. She was "ordered" to do an appraisal on Ms. Shirley's house. And when could she get inside?

"The house isn't for sale." I replied through a sleepy fog.

"Oh, I know it isn't for sale!" Cassie replied with way too much enthusiasm, and acting like we were just the best of friends sharing a funny secret. "But the bank has asked me to do an appraisal anyway. So, when can we make an appointment to get in?"

We can't make an appointment for a myriad of reasons. Now I was awake, I started with the most obvious: "I don't know who you are..."

"I'm Casie the appraiser," she interrupted, like that somehow added a certain amount of credibility to this phone call.

I started over, "I don't know who you are and the house isn't for sale. So, if the bank wants an appraisal, they can call me and tell me they want an appraisal." Cassie started to interrupt with her credentials again, but I stopped her. "So, have the bank call me, tell me why they want an appraisal first, and then we can talk."

Cassie didn't seem to think this was a very good solution, but that's ok. If the bank really wants an appraisal done on my home (which can happen--but usually that only happens when they are calling the note due. I pay on time, so there is no reason to call the note due) the bank is welcome to call me to discuss.

But more to the point, I am not buying this. Something doesn't smell right. Hopefully the bank will get back to me soon. Otherwise, Cassie the Appraiser can just call someone else and be perky with them.

My Second Alabama Call Monday

An actual quote from a tenant at 8:03 a.m. Monday morning, "If it wasn't for the smoke and the burned wires, I wouldn't have bothered you."