Well, here is the conclusion to my story about Paul—a man I never want to hear from or think about again.

I’m sure one day I’ll laugh about it….

….after consuming much, much alcohol.

I was at my wit’s end with Paul, the “IQ-of-90” Realtor from the suburbs.

It had now been eight full days since I first showed his property, and three times already I had told him “Okay, we’re done here,” only to have him call me back.  Each time, he would essentially “cave” and agree to my terms, only to renege later on.

It was almost as if this man had no formal real estate experience whatsoever.

On Monday morning, I spoke very frankly with him, and told him that my clients would pay $1750/month, and give three months rent as a deposit, and I reiterated my disdain for his suggestion that they pay FIVE months rent up front.  What a joke!

He asked me what my clients names were again, and I told him.  He asked me about their credit, and then told me to hold on while he looked through their “file.”  He began to shuffle some papers over the phone, and then said, “Oookay….soooo.  I have Jordan’s credit check right here.  And here is Tyler’s credit check.  I see, I see.”

“Okay, and?” I said.  “You see what?”

“And, um, that’s all.  Right now I’m just looking them over, I’m just saying…” said Paul.

AAH!  What was this man’s deal?

We had now regressed to the point where he was simply narrating his every move to me over the phone.  I didn’t tell Paul, “Hey Paul, right now I’m driving my car.  Oh, right now I’m at a stoplight, so I’m going to pick my nose for a bit because the air is really dry in here.”

“Paul, what are we doing here?  Are you going to take this offer?  You have a few days before February 1st or else you’ll lose a month’s rent.”

“Well, it’s just that, I need more money for this unit.  It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” I asked.

“Well, it’s not fair that I have to rent this place out for less money than my monthly mortgage costs.”

Wow.  It was like I was giving a five year old child a free bowl of vanilla ice cream, and he was complaining that it wasn’t French vanilla.

If all the condos in Toronto could be rented for an amount that is more than the monthly mortgage, everybody and their grand mother would own a dozen investment properties.

“Paul, I could not possibly care less about your financial situation.  I’m working for my clients.”

“Well, don’t Realtors have a bond?  Aren’t we supposed to work together, allow the free flow of information, and share resources?”

Now Paul was just uttering complete jargon that made absolutely no sense, and had nothing to do with what we were talking about.

“Paul, this is it!  I’ve had it with you!  If you don’t take this offer, you’ll be flushing a month’s rent down the toilet.  You have FIVE SECONDS to say ‘yes’ and take this offer, or we are going to rent 393 King Street East.  What’s it gonna be?”  (I wonder if there was actually anything for lease at 393 King Street…..)

I could totally picture Paul kicking some imaginary pebbles with his hands in his pockets as he stared at the ground, and he said “Ooooohhh…..shucks…..al-right.”

I faxed him the offer, and he signed it and faxed it back to me……two full days later!

That was about two days longer than it should have taken, but now I had the signed offer in my hands, and Jordan & Skyler were moving in on Friday, February 1st.  They booked the freight elevator, rented their moving van, and…

…..Paul was nowhere to be found.

I still had to get the keys from him, and he was once again not answering his phone.  All day Thursday, and all day Friday I tried to reach him, and he was incommunicado.

So, I did something I have never done in five years in this business: I called his broker.

Yes, I ratted on Paul, and I’m proud of myself.

I told his broker the abbreviated version of the entire story, and she told me “I think I’m going to throw up.”  She promised that she would have Paul call me within ten minutes, and like clockwork: he did.

“You called my broker!  Why did you call my broker?” asked a rather upset Paul.

“Paul, my next call is to the Toronto Real Estate Board.  My clients take possession today.  Where are the goddam keys?”

“I have the keys, but I can’t bring them to you.  I’m very very sick.  Yes, sick.  From head to toe, I am so sick.  My whole body aches.”

“Paul, right now behind me, there is an enitre band of violins playing just for you.”

“Huh?  Violins?”  Paul said.

I guess Paul wasn’t very caught up on his everyday metaphors.

In the end, Paul’s wife drove the keys down to their office at Bayview & Sheppard, and Jordan’s mother went and picked them up.

Saturday, February 2nd, Jordan moved into the unit.

That day, Paul called me, and I let the call go to voicemail.

He called me again on Sunday, Monday, and once more on Tuesday.  Each time, he left me a message asking me “Please give me a $200 deposit for the keys.  I forgot to put that in the offer, but it shouldn’t be a problem if your clients just give me $200 please please.  Thank you.”

What a joke.

I haven’t returned any of Paul’s calls, and I’m not going to.

I can honestly say that this three-part story about this incident does not do the actual events any justice.

Each year, 18,000 people enroll in the Ontario Real Estate College, and only 3,600 get their licence.

At the end of the first full year, only 1800 of those 3,600 people are left as agents.

And after five years, only 300 are left.

I have absolutely no idea how long Paul has been in the business, how long he’ll stay, or how much business he actually does.

But how he dragged a simple lease on for twelve full days before coming to an agreement is beyond my comprehension.

I have seen many things in real estate, and gone through more headaches than I care to describe.  But this experience was one for the books….

….and one for my blog, as well.