That’s a question mark at the end of the sentence, not an exclamation mark as you might expect.

It’s my way of saying, “I was happy…….I guess.”

It was an odd day from a real estate perspective.  A lot of very strange happenings, with very strange people, and all of this on the day of love!

Let me channel my inner 13-year-old girl for a moment, and vent on a public forum…

That’s what the Internet has become, right?

It’s a place for people to complain about trivial, first-world problems, and for others to sympathize, right?

We all have “that friend” on Facebook that constantly updates his or her status with obvious cries for help.

Jane Smith: “Just wanna crawl into bed and hide…..”

And then underneath that status, there’s a half-dozen comments from people who took the bait!

Debbie says: “What’s wrong, Janie?  Bad day?”

Kyle says: “Don’t let the world get to ya!”

Katie says: “Me too, Jane!  Worst day ever!”

I’ve never changed my “status” on Facebook since I signed up in……..2007?  Has it been that long?  In any event, Facebook is the main offender when it comes to airing one’s grievances, but the rest of the Internet collectively is a very close second.

So it’s with that mindset that today, I turn my blog into a forum to vent about people.

People are the worst.

They are the single biggest variable on the planet, and you just never know what you’re going to get.

In my business, every day is different, because you meet so many people, and it keeps you on your toes.  Those who want to come into real estate say things like, “I’m a people person!  I’m perfect for this business!”

Those of us who are more experienced know that while it’s the people who make this business fantastic, it’s also the people who make this business, at times, insane, and often unexplainable.

On Saturday, I worked a standard 8-hour day, and interacted with a ton of people, but on this particular day, it felt like the planets just weren’t aligned, or it was a full-moon, or something.

Everybody I interacted with seemed to be just downright nuts.

Here are three stories about “people,” and tell me if I’m being a 13-year-old girl…

“Good Morning, F*** You.”

Last week, I sent out a flyer in my area (I flyer St. Lawrence Market, Corktown, Distillery regularly), which most of you better know as “junk mail.”  I’m sorry, but real estate agents do it, and while 80% of my business comes from Toronto Realty Blog, new listings come from people knowing that I live in the neighbourhood.

I wanted to do something different, so I sent out a “Free Starbucks Coffee” promotion in the flyer, which was basically a reward for people actually reading the newsletter, and not just tossing it directly into the recycling.

I got the idea from Doug Fister, of the Washington Nationals, who did this at Christmas:

Now, in my opinion, Doug Fister screwed up by allowing people to see the account number starting with “6030,” since they can basically just transfer the money on his card to their account.

I was much more diligent in my endeavour, as I only showed the bar-code so that a Barista could scan it, but nobody could steal the money.

My flyers hit mailboxes two Friday’s ago, and we monitored the account, and saw that people were using it.  The promotion worked, and I was happy!

But by Monday of last week, the money on the account had all been used up.

That’s fine, really.  My flyer said, “first come, first serve,” and noted that this would only last a couple days.

So fast-forward five days, and when I was having my morning coffee (not Starbucks…), my phone rang.

I answered, “David Fleming?” and somebody said, “Where my coffee?”

I said, “Who am I speaking to?” and the person said, “Not mind that.  Where my coffee?  I have your paper here, where my coffee?”

I asked again, “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name, what is it that I can help you with.”

She replied, “YOU send out flyer for coffee and it no work.”

I said, “I’m sorry ma’am, but that was a first-come, first-serve promotion, and it ran out.  We had a lot of really happy people use the card though – a couple hundred, and I’m very pleased!”

I figured I would try to change the tone to something more upbeat, but it didn’t work.

With authority, she then said, “You send out card with no money??? FUCK YOU!  FUCK YOUR COFFEE!”

Perhaps something was lost in translation there, but really, I think it was just somebody who really, really wanted $2.

Was I naive to think people wouldn’t think the promotion lasts FOREVER?

How did Doug Fister’s experience go, I wonder….

Ah, right.

So when I put “first come, first serve” on my newsletter, I figured people would get the picture when they go seven days later, and there’s no money left on the card.

But would you believe that the incident I described above was not isolated?

As I was showing houses to a client mid-day on Saturday, I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize, that said:

“At Starbucks.  No money ur card.  Pls put some on asap as I’m here now.  Thx.”

Did I mention that my cell phone number was on the newsletter?  I guess I made it simple for people to voice their displeasure.  I went on with my day, and then four hours later, I got another text from that number:

“Bought my own coffee. Thx for nothing bitch.  If I ever buy a house you’re the last person I’ll call.”

Right.

Totally, totally normal course of action, wouldn’t you say?

If I personally went into Starbucks with a week-old flyer advertising a “first come, first serve” coffee, and the Barista said, “Sorry, looks like there’s nothing left on the card,” I would assume that the promotion had run out.

Isn’t that the logical thought process?

How desperate is today’s average person for $2 that they go to such crazy lengths?

“Is It Hot In Here, Or Is It Just Me?”

I took my clients to see a condo on Saturday that was inhabited by tenants.  I told them, and their parents, “expect the worst, just in case.”  I’m not saying all tenants are messy, but they are more so than the average owners.

We opened the door to the unit, and we were overpowered by the smell of moth-balls, and the heat.

It was probably close to 80-degrees in there, and eventually the smell became a combination of the moth balls and the tenant’s own natural musk…

The door to the bedroom was closed, so I knocked, and there was no answer.  I opened up the door and, like a punch in the face, it hit me with heat!  It had to be 90-degrees.

For some reason, they had a space heater running full-blast, but they also had a dehumidifier (or was it a humidifier?), which was odd.

The temperature on Saturday was about -19, and maybe it was the combination of that, plus the insane temperature in the unit, but the window was dripping with water!  And the window sill was covered in water, like somebody spilled a 2-litre bottle of Evian.

It was nuts.

I have no idea why the tenants needed the room 90-degrees, but if that was a dehumidifier, then it shows me they know that by cranking the heat on a -19 day outside, that it’s going to cause moisture on the window.  And if it was a humidifier, then they’re trying to create moisture in the air!

Nuts!

We left the unit, and I went on with my day.

I went home to my wife on Valentine’s Day, put 24 red roses in two vases (women always want the card, which I forgot…), and as she cooked me dinner, I worked on my computer for two hours.

That was the plan, believe it or not.  She wanted to stay in, and cook lasagna, and watch a movie.  So don’t tell me I’m an awful husband, even though I kinda felt that way…

From 8:30pm until midnight, we relaxed, and watched “Wentworth” and then a movie, with no disruptions from work.  As my wife was falling asleep on the couch, my phone rang – at 12:05am.

I picked up, and somebody was screaming into the phone.  I thought it was a wrong number, but then somebody said, “Hello, this is Mr. David?”

I said, “Yes,” and the person said, “This is So-and-So from XXX Street, #2107, you come into my apartment today…”

Ah.  It was the tenant.  The really, hot, sweaty, moth-bally tenant.

Calling ME at midnight?

“What can I do for you,” I asked.

His wife was screaming in the background so loud I could barely hear.  “You come to MY apartment and you mess things around?  You touch stuff and leave stuff and we come home and it cold inside!”

I was so confused.  “What stuff?” I asked.

“Bedroom door!  Bedroom door open!  It now freezing in bedroom!  What you do, mann?”

Maybe this made sense now?  Maybe 90-degrees is normal to them?”

I tried to calm him down, but he wasn’t having it.  His wife kept screaming in the background, pushing him even more.  “Bedroom freezing, mann.  I going to complain.  I ruin you!  I tell landlord.  I tell property management.  I tell concierge – he come for you, mann.  You don’t do this in my apartment; you don’t make cold inside.  Bedroom door – WIDE OPEN, mann!  Why bedroom door open?”

Maybe I was tired, or maybe I’m just too goddam nice.  But I didn’t fight back.  If he wants his bedroom 90-degrees, then that’s his right.  I guess…

It’s not like there was a sign on the door that read, “We are two insane humans who like our bedroom 90-degrees, and dripping with water.  Please shut door upon exit.”

Had I seen that sign, then yes, I would have shut the door.

12:05am on Valentine’s Day, er, slightly after Valentine’s Day.  This phone call.  Really?  Is this normal behaviour?

“Wood, Jerry.  Wood.”

Seinfeld reference, anyone?

I have a conditional sale right now, with three conditions that should be waived any day now.

On Valentine’s Day, I got a call from the buyer’s agent, who said that they had just “inspected” the property (they had a clause on “Home Inspection,” which you never see for a condo), and he told me “We have a problem.”

He added, “Don’t worry, it can be fixed.  With money.”

He said that they “inspected” the flooring, and it wasn’t real hardwood, but they made their offer predicated on the fact that it was real hardwood.

I failed to see how this was my problem…

He said, “Our offer, and the agreed upon price, were both made under false pretenses.  The hardwood is not real, and thus the price needs to be adjusted.”

I took a long, long, deep breath before answering this one.

“If your buyer wants out of the deal, then sign a mutual release,” I said.

“I’m not a flooring expert, and I’m sure you, and your buyer, are not either.”

I mean, who is?  Somebody that works for Home Depot, maybe.  What’s the difference between hardwood, engineered hardwood, and laminate?  Price, obviously.  Quality, okay, sure.  But there are a lot of “laminate” floors by definition that are better quality than engineered hardwood, and many hardwoods can’t be installed in condos anyways.

I asked the agent, “How come you’re just bringing this to my attention now, two days before your conditions are up?”

He said, “We only noticed it now.”

Ah right.  Thanks for playing into my hand…

“So you didn’t notice the type of flooring the first time – when you made the offer?  And now you noticed the flooring?  So the issue is with your buyer, his eyes, and his tastes and preferences?”

Come on!

This was a ransom demand, and nothing more.

The condition was set to expire, and they figured they may as well try to extort $3-4K out of us.

I told him “Your buyer is being exceptionally cheap right now.  This is not professional.  It’s petty.”

Maybe this is normal to some people.

But I get asked for an abatement on price less than once a year, and when I have been asked in the past, it’s been after a home inspection was done on a house, and something major has been found.  I’ve still never given an abatement, however.

In this case, the buyer was trying to say that HE didn’t notice that the flooring was this, that, or the other thing, and now HE realized it was different.  So, how about some cash for HIS mistake then?

–

Honestly guys, I have five other incidents I wanted to talk about that all transpired on Saturday, but I’m already over 2,000 words here.

I had a guy call me on Valentine’s Day to complain that the blog I wrote about West Side Lofts in 2010 was going to “hurt his investment” and that he wanted me to take it down.  He said, “I won’t stop until you lose your real estate license.”

A woman emailed me on Friday night at 8:05pm, and said she was prospective client and wanted to chat, and when I called her on Valentine’s Day – probably 2’ish, she said that my “response time was unacceptable” and I shouldn’t “talk about being professional on the blog” because people should know that I take over 12 hours to get back to people.

And there’s more.  And more.  And more after that.

Do I expect too much of people?

Don’t we all, sometimes?

People are the greatest variable on the planet, I swear.

Just a crazy, crazy Valentine’s Day!  Oh – and “Lucy” is an awful movie, by the way.  But if you ever need a recipe for spinach lasagna, ask my darling wife! 🙂