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."

A "Bless Your Heart" Might Have Gone Down A Bit Smoother

An acquaintance of mine asked me earlier this week if something was wrong. In fact, there were a lot of things wrong. All were Alabama. My upset caused me to loose 8 pounds in five days (and I am not the kind of person who skips a meal). When I gave this acquaintance the reader's digest version of the events leading up to a blood pressure reading of 140/101 (that was after three aspirin) she began to lecture me on all she saw wrong with my Alabama business and her overall opinion of landlords. She didn't even preclude it with "Bless your heart."

Mind you, she doesn't read my blog. She doesn't have any history with the chain of the events that led to my particular stresses. She doesn't have any context for the information. Nor did I ask her advice. But she asked me at a weak moment what was wrong, and I answered her.

The lesson I took from this was simply not to share. So I haven't written this week. Though I know you readers aren't the type to kick a girl when she is down or ostracize her for decisions years earlier that led to this moment. And thank you for that.

However, I could use some really positive thoughts and a few prayers if you are up to it.

Things have been worse--as I reminded myself. And then I read a few older posts to really remind myself how bad things could be. I will be back next week to tell you the tale of the pit bulls. And possibly Mrs. Green's cryptic drama. And to tell you if Ms. Shirley is going to move involuntarily (she probably will stay). But today I think I will just take up knitting in my garden.

Have a great week!

Destruction

These are a couple of the photos from Monday morning's tornado. I believe these were taken by Mr. Little's and Mrs. Green's home.

By the way, Mrs. Green is safe and sound.

I have heard from Ms. Angie a few times with updates from the area (in addition to Carolsue's updates). Her place of employment was flattened. So, no job for Ms. Angie.

Carolsue tells me my bank branch over by her has one wall left standing.

I Recommend Tossed Salad Tartare

I have to tell you, I am just not feeling the love with this new diva tenant on Fox Circle. The week she moved in, she sent a big long report of all the items Kirby needed to do: including, but not limited to, taking the lock box off the home and stop advertising it. There were other items along this line as well, but they weren't nearly as significant as removing the lock box from the hose bib.

The reason I know about the list is that I get a copy of the "work order" each time she calls.

And then there was the issue with the utilities. The tenant didn't bother to turn on the water and electric in her name until I had them turned off. Classy.

And yesterday. I got another work order from Kirby, telling me the tenant's oven does not work. And because of health issues she has to bake everything she eats. Of course she does! She has to bake her milk. She has to bake her ice cream. She has to bake her salad.

So am I to understand, a tenant who has been in this home three weeks just now realized the oven is not working when she is baking all of her food?

My reply to Kirby was to suggest she make sure she turned on the gas to the house in her name. Maybe then her gas oven would operate correctly and she could go back to baking her food.