A few years ago, TRREB sent out an email soliciting opinions on new “fields” for MLS listings.

Being able to specify “Engineered Hardwood” instead of only “Hardwood” or “Laminate” might be a worthwhile endeavor, for example.

A friend of mine had a funny response, as she said:

“Why don’t they have a checkbox for sellers where you can say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to those personal letters that buyers want their agents to present on offer night?”

To be fair, this was three years ago, when the market was absolutely ripping and every property seemed to solicit double-digit offers.

Once upon a time, the “personal letter” was an under-the-radar tactic that a savvy buyer agent might use to differentiate his or her offer from the pack.

But by 2022, we’d routinely review eighteen offers on a house, and sixteen of the offers came with a full family biography.

To each, their own, I suppose.

I’ve had many sellers tell me, “I don’t need to see any letters from the buyers,” and I’ve had others say, “Oh, I’d love to know the people that are offering!”

The point is: every situation is different.  In anything from a lukewarm to a red-hot market, it’s essential for buyers and buyer agents to understand how the sellers want to review offers on their home.

Today is a story that underscores a part of the human psyche that fascinates me.  The best way to describe it is when you witness something and you say, “That behaviour can’t be unlearned.”  Some people are just born with “it.”  It’s that cluelessness that is so frustrating; it’s almost humorous.

Was it Forest Gump that said, “Stupid is as stupid does?”  I can’t remember.

And while I don’t want to use the s-word (that’s the parent in me now…), I would love some reader insight here as to the word you would use to describe the protagonist in the following situation.

Earlier this year, I listed a property for sale that was essentially “entry-level” to a very prestigious neighbourhood.

My sellers were two brothers in their mid-40’s who had recently lost both parents.

They were both born into this home and lived here their entire lives, from the late-1970’s through the early 2000’s.

Their parents continued to live there and were both staples in the community until they passed away.  Everybody loved the parents, and everybody knew them.

The brothers were in no rush to “deal” with the house.

They didn’t care about the real estate market, the economy, or what the Bank of Canada was doing.  They needed to come to terms with the loss of their parents first and foremost, then settle their parents’ estate, and all the while support each other and their respective families.

It took the brothers weeks just to work up the courage to walk through the house.  They slowly worked through the probate process, started to take inventory of what was inside the house, and eventually had me come in to talk about the sale process.

Over the course of several months, we emptied the house, donating a slew of items to charities and furniture banks, and completed some cosmetic renovations that would help showcase the home in the best possible light.

We listed the property for sale for $3,495,000.

That might sound like a lot to be called “entry level,” but this was a very exclusive neighbourhood, and even though the house needed a ton of work, we thought that the property would be sought after.

When we listed the property for sale, we noted the following on the MLS listing:

Offers Must Have 48 Hours Irrevocable As Per Seller Direction

This means that the seller insisted all offers must be “live” for forty-eight hours after submission.

You might ask why, and a cynic might suggest, “Well, David just wants time to ‘shop’ any offer around to other buyer agents.”

Sure, that’s a fair response.

But the real reason for this was that the brothers didn’t want to be rushed.

It took them a full year after the loss of their parents to bring the property to market, and they were incredibly anxious and emotional about the sale process.

One of the brothers said, “Look, I don’t care if somebody offers me double list price, I’m not doing this with a gun to my head.  I’m just not.  I need time to process this.”

The other brother said, “I want to know who’s buying the house.  I actually care what they’re going to do with it.  I would be gutted if somebody tore it down, and while I know that’s a possibility, I just want to get to know the buyers before we put pen to paper.”

And that’s their right, isn’t it?

The brothers also excluded the dining room light fixture and the primary bedroom light fixture, as both had sentimental value to them, and this too was noted on the MLS listing.

We came to market and had a flurry of appointments booked right away.

The feedback was mixed, to say the least.

This house was not for everybody.  It needed a ton of work, and there were $8,000,000 houses on both sides of it, so many buyers felt it was too expensive to tear down and build new, but not nice enough to renovate as is.

On the second day of the listing, I received an offer on the property.

It was submitted around 8:30pm by email, but I had never heard from this agent prior.

That’s not exceptionally unusual, but in this area, and for this type of house, I would think any agent with an interested buyer would communicate with me.  I had spoken to a dozen agents previously, many of whom didn’t have clients who liked the house, but just wanted to say “hello.”

The offer was for $3,200,000, which was quite poor.

But that didn’t bother me since I knew that the brothers wouldn’t care, wouldn’t be offended, and would be just as happy if the house sold in six weeks as if it sold in two days.

The major problem I saw with this offer was the irrevocable, which was 10:30pm that evening.

I called the buyer agent and thanked him for his offer, but before I could really get into the crux of the matter, he began to speak over me about how many problems there were with the house.

“That house needs a ton of work,” the agent said.  And for sake of ease, we’ll call him Groucho.

“Not a lot of buyers out there with cash in this market,” Groucho said, adding, “My guys are solid.  They can do the renovation in cash.”

Then he added a line that’s become a staple of annoying agents in 2025: “You can feel comfortable with my guys because I know they can close.”

I’ve been in the business for twenty-one years.  I’ve had one deal that didn’t close, and that was in 2020.  This idea that we’re in a market where every seller needs to worry that a buyer won’t close is one of the biggest misnomers in real estate today.

I didn’t tell him this, of course.  I let him have his say, and then I explained our position.

“The listing clearly states that 48-hours irrevocable is required on all offers,” I told him.

He shot back, “Yeah, but nobody listens to that.”

That’s so 2025.  People love to explain rule-breaking by noting that everybody’s doing it.

I told Groucho, “I have a signed Seller Direction.  We require forty-eight hours on the offer.”

For those who aren’t aware, this refers to a standard document offered by real estate boards, often referred to as “Seller’s Direction re: Property/Offers.”  This document specifies how and when sellers would like to have offers conveyed to them.

Then I decided to provide a little more background in an attempt to appeal to his common sense.

“Look, I’m not saying that it’s impossible for me to reach my sellers in less than forty-eight hours, but rather this is how they have decided to receive offers, for better or for worse.  If somebody balks, and it costs the guys a buyer, then so be it.  It’s their decision.”

I added, “These guys are selling their late parents’ home; it’s emotional for them.  These guys grew up here.  There’s a lot going on behind the scenes, they might want their lawyer to review the offer, they might want to talk to other family members, and one of the sellers lives in Europe, while the other one lives in Western Canada.”

This was completely lost on Groucho.

He said, “You’ve got the offer.  You know what to do.”  Then he hung up.

I spoke to one of the brothers, and he completely blew it off.

“That’s not our buyer,” he said.  “I have zero interest in that offer, him, or his clients,” and the brother gave me direction to let the offer lapse.

At 10:45pm that night, Groucho called me and said, “What’s happening with our offer?”

I said, “It expired.”

He laughed arrogantly and said, “Wow, really tight ship you’re running over there, Mr. Bosley.  We give you a bona fide, good faith offer, and you just kick sand in our faces.”

Any time people say “good faith,” you can almost guarantee that it is not.

And is there a more meaningless term than “bona fide” out there today?  It’s like any food product described as “artisan.”

The next morning, I received a phone call from another agent, one who worked for a brokerage in the area and whom I had dealt with before.  For the sake of ease, we’ll call her Teresa.

Teresa showed the property the same afternoon that we listed it for sale, and then she showed it again for a second time the next day.

Teresa asked about the brothers and how they were doing.  She displayed this thing called “empathy,” and, whether you want to believe that it was genuine or not, she chatted with me about the late sellers and their place in the community.

We ended the call with her saying, “I’ll try to get something on paper for you tonight.”

A few hours later, I received an email from Groucho.

The subject line said:

FW:

That’s it.

The body of the email said:

(empty)

Empty, as in nothing.  There was nothing in the body of the email.  Just a forwarded PDF from somebody on his team, per the email signature below.

I opened the attachment, and it was a revised offer.

Two items were revised:

1. Irrevocable: from two hours to forty-eight hours.
2. Price: From $3,200,000 to $3,150,000.

That’s right.  They offered less than the day before.

I called Groucho and said, “Your offer is received, thank you.”

That was all I had planned to say, since I knew the sellers would have even less interest in working with him now.  But Groucho interjected, “Yeah, well, you know, the buyers had to do something, right?”

Something?  In what respect?

I asked him what that meant, and he said, “You kicked them to the curb last night.  They’re sore about it.  They’ll play ball with your stupid two days bullshit on the offer but it’s gonna cost fifty grand.”

I didn’t fight it.  My sellers wouldn’t want me to.  In fact, I didn’t say anything other than, “Your offer is received, I’ll get back to you.”

I called one of the brothers and told him about the offer, and he said, “Yeah, that’s fine.  We’re not interested, so just do whatever you want at this point.”

I did nothing, seeing as we had forty-eight hours on the offer and I knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

Later that evening, Teresa called me.

“David, I have an offer for you!” she said.  This phone call was before she sent the offer, which is always a nice heads-up.

She walked me through the terms of the offer, told me about her clients, and said she would email the offer with a letter from the buyers as well.

Her offer was for $3,495,000, which was the full list price.

Accompanying the offer was a scan of a handwritten letter from the buyers, who were a young couple with two children, living in the adjacent neighbourhood, always eyeing an opportunity to get into this neighbourhood.

The offer had a forty-eight hour irrevocable period, which should come as no surprise.

The agent said, “If there’s anything your guys need, anything at all, just let me know.  My buyers are perfect for this house, and they really want it.”

Having already registered Groucho’s offer, I went into our BrokerBay system and registered Teresa’s offer.

Sure enough, Groucho called me and let out a lot of hot air.

“What’s this second offer?  From who?  You have this, or this is somebody from your team just trying to drive up the price?”

I told him that the offer was registered, received, and under consideration.

He said, “Who is it from?  I want a name or I won’t think it’s legit,” and I told him that I didn’t care if he thought it was legit and that I didn’t have to provide him with a name.

He muttered about how he “could have had the property for less” or something nonsensical, and then added “something something bullshit irrevocable.”  He was on a roll!

“Let me talk to my people,” he finally said, and hung up.

My next call was to my sellers, and given it was around 10:00pm, I was only able to get one of them on the phone.

He was quite pleased with the offer, and I sent him the bio on the family who was purchasing.  He looked them up on LinkedIn, found their Facebook profiles, and emailed me around midnight, concluding, “I would love it if this family purchased our home.”

The next morning, I received an email from the other brother who also felt that this family would be an excellent fit for the home, and they decided to review both offers (and any others) at 4:00pm that day.

I called Groucho at 8:30am and told him that we’d be reviewing the two offers that afternoon at 4:00pm.

He said, “Oh, so you don’t actually need forty-eight hours then.”

I ignored his comment and said, “If you’d like to provide a revised offer, please do so before 4:00pm today.”

He grumbled about something and hung up.

I then called Teresa and told her the same thing.

About two hours later, Groucho called me, which was something he hadn’t done before, and said, “I’m sending a revised offer.”

To his credit, he emailed an offer for the full list price of $3,495,000, however, it seemed like he or the buyers just couldn’t help themselves.

Why?

How did they get in their own way this time?

They included the two light fixtures that the sellers had purposefully excluded.

The note in Groucho’s email said:

“If the buyers are going to the full list price which is way too much money anyways then they’re not going to have the sellers nickel and dime over light fixtures so we included those.”

Why?

It doesn’t make any sense.  It’s beyond comprehension.

Is this machismo?  Is it stupidity?  I couldn’t understand.

But they did one more thing that amazed me; they made the irrevocable 4:00pm.

Again, I ask why?

Their previous offer was open until 8:00pm the following night, ie. the 48 hours irrevocable.

When revising an offer, we don’t expect the buyer to extend the irrevocable to a fresh 48-hours, but we certainly expect them to keep it the same.

He had now given us a deadline of 4:00pm when we said we would start reviewing at that time.

I called one of the brothers to tell him about the revised offer, and I had to explain that the irrevocable was 4:00pm, and he said, “I don’t care what his deadline is.  As far as I’m concerned, we’re not selling to this guy.  Don’t call him.  Don’t do anything.”

So I didn’t.

At 4:00pm, I set up a Zoom call with the brothers.

We went through both offers, including Groucho’s expired offer, and took our time doing so.

My phone rang three times while I was in the Zoom meeting with the brothers.  It was Groucho, likely calling for an update on his expired offer.

We decided to accept Teresa’s offer, although it really wasn’t much of a “decision.”

The brothers said, “Tell that first guy to get lost.”

I told them, “I will, but we should accept the other offer first, then I’ll call him.”  But one of the brothers said, “Call him, seriously, get rid of him.  I want him behind us so we can move on.”

So I sent the brothers Teresa’s offer to DocuSign and then called Groucho.

As you would expect, Groucho was not gracious in defeat.  He grovelled and grubmled like it was a sport and he was the reigning champ.

He told me I didn’t run a “fair process.”  He told me that I was “costing my clients money.”

I wished him all the best and hung up.

I was sitting in my office, probably making a giant paperclip-chain or working on my ball of rubber bands, awaiting the completion of the DocuSign from my sellers.  But then in an absolutely shocking turn of events, I received an email from Groucho.

There was an attachment.

It was a revised offer.

“See attached, this oughta do it.  GET IT DONE!”

All caps.  Keeping it classy.

I opened the PDF, and it was an offer for $3,575,000, all other terms and conditions the same (including the two light fixtures that the sellers wanted, of course).

This offer was $80,000 above the list price and thus $80,000 more than Teresa’s offer, which my clients had not yet accepted.

I sent the brothers a Zoom link and texted them to jump on.

They did, rather quickly.

I said, “Guys, the other agent just sent a revised offer for $3,575,000.  I know we said we were going to accept Teresa’s offer, but you haven’t signed it yet, so legally speaking, the proverbial door is still open.”

There was silence on the call, as neither brother really moved on the screen.

The older brother asked his younger brother, “Do you mind if I share my thoughts first?”

The younger brother agreed.

The older brother said, “David….” and then paused for a moment like he was gathering his thoughts.  He continued, “I wouldn’t sell to that fucking guy for all the money in the world.”

The younger brother laughed.

Then he immediately got emotional.

“My dad absolutely hated guys like that, David,” he said.  Then he added, “My mother would have described him as ‘poor company,’ which, if you know my mother, is about as bad a thing as she could possibly say about somebody.”

The older brother laughed and said, “Poor company.  Yeah, that’s what mum would say.”

They virtually signed Teresa’s offer while we were on the Zoom call and asked me to send her the completed agreement right away.  They then asked if they could have the buyers’ contact information so they could set up a Zoom call of their own, to introduce themselves, talk to them about the house, and thank them for buying their parents’ home.”

I called Groucho and he tore a strip off me.

He told me, “I’m taking you to RECO,” although months later, I still haven’t received a complaint.

This story got a little long in the tooth, folks, but the moral of the story is this:

You’ve got to learn to read the room.

Groucho had no clue what room he was in, or who was in it with him.

He never understood that the sellers weren’t motivated by money, and they despised bad actors.

But more to the point, I think Groucho is the type that would rather lose than win while acquiescing to anything or anyone in the process.

Teresa is the very definition of a “professional.”  She knows the business, knows the game, and knows the players.  And in the end, she read the room like she was born into this business.

So what’s the word I’m looking for here?  How would you describe Groucho?

Go ahead, folks.  I’m all ears…