Continuing Scam, I Mean, Education

It's time for me to renew my license. Yes, every two years, in order for an agent to keep her NY real estate license current, she has to do continuing ed. Agents get to waste 22.5 hours most don't have and pay nearly $200 bucks for the privilege. The state gives a one-year grace period. As long as you're done with the class hours within three years, you're cool. Still, how annoying! Wasting hours of your life and a chunk of money in classrooms or with online classes. It's not cheap--a couple of hundred bucks is a royal ripoff, in my professional opinion. And the last thing I need is to be stuck in a room with people I can't stand for hours on end, and getting screwed financially in the process. That's what open houses are for!

Because it's so bothersome, I was thinking of killing two birds with one stone and getting my broker's license. The broker's course fulfills the continuing ed requirement, and also would allow me to open my own firm, which I imagine could happen if I ever went completely off my rocker. The only thing that worries me is my boss' reaction to me getting said license. They might think I'm preparing to leave or whatever. They're always eyeing me suspiciously anyways, and have made paranoid comments about me leaving in the past. In all honestly, I really don't want to open my own firm. My superiors are good people, but I don't look at them and say "Yes! It is my goal in life to be just like THEM!" In fact, having my own business sounds suspiciously like hell on earth to me. Anyone who opens their own biz thinking they'll work less--well, the joke's on you, buddy!

But I figured if I'm on the hook for this stupid course anyways, and the brokers' course only costs a bit more, I may as well force myself to go for it. It's a good deal--twice the annoyance for just a bit more money. Hey, that sounds like a New York apartment!

The Check is On its Way

I was expecting to get paid this week. It's been awhile between paydays, and this one promised to be a particularly healthy one. As per usual, my landlord was expecting to get paid last week. Naturally, I don't want to call them yet to discuss the latest pesky problems in my apartment. I feel sheepish telling them, yet again, that "the check's (almost) in the mail." Yes, my landlord is damn near a slumlord, but I still don't want them, or anyone else, for that matter, on my back if I'm a few days late on a payment. There's something just wrong about a slumlord feeling they have the upper hand morally on me, even if only for a few days.

Oh the joys of working on commission and doing so at a company where the payroll department is one overworked person who cuts checks on seemingly arbitrary days. The fee check from my most recent deal was in my boss's hands Tuesday. Yet for some reason, my paycheck from that deal won't be in my hands until Monday. Perhaps. If I'm lucky.

Often, I have to flat-out ask the people in charge "am I getting paid today?" In truth, there have been days when I've gone into the office solely to pick up a paycheck, only to find that said check isn't going to be cut that day, despite the fact that it's supposedly payday.

As you might imagine, this creates resentment. I'm sure the bosses have been paid already for my most recent deal. Their cut is probably already secure in their personal accounts. Meanwhile, I have to suffer through the weekend and knowing how many bills are screaming for my attention.

Our payday has changed so often--first it was Fridays, then Mondays--that I no longer am as hesitant to ask my boss for advances or simply to cut my check between official paydays when I really need it. This time, though, I will tough it out. If anything, not having money in hand will keep me from doing stupid things this weekend, like buying loads of junk food or blowing a wad of cash on designer knockoff clothes. Whoever said that "whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger" had the right idea.

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Enough Already With the Stalking!

For the record, I'd like to tell whoever is phonestalking me with calls to my cell at 6:30 in the morning, and also with 1 a.m. calls to Kindly FUCK OFF.

I know the doer has to be a client or a broker because my love life ain't that interesting.

That is all.

Manhattan or Bust. . .At Your Own Risk

A wise woman used to warn me to be careful what I wished for. "You just might get it," she'd say, with an arched brow and a knowing glint in her eye.

I should be so bold to say such things to some of my clients. Some people will do anything to stay in Manhattan, and some of them indeed live to regret their "Manhattan or Bust" ambitions.

A few months back I rented a steal of an apartment-- a renovated two bedroom for under $1500. Rent stabilized. Near transit, Central Park, etc. The renters were new to the City. They were kinda endearing--two sweet girls fresh out of undergrad, in search of jobs and doing their Big City Phase at the expense of their parents, whose pockets were deep enough to pay for the apartment until the renters landed jobs of their own. The girls hadn't been worn down or made cynical by this place. At least not yet.

They saw the unit shortly after dusk at a packed open house. They wanted it instantly. Another broker brought them, and I advised them all to check out the neighborhood in the night hours. I told them that though I lived nearby and had for several years with pretty much zero problems, that they should do as I do: take a cab home if they're out late. Watch their backs. Carry themselves with confidence.

They were eager. It was a good deal. I'd warned them, and assumed their broker had as well. We signed leases that same week.

Fast forward a few months. Through the grapevine I hear that the apartment is about to go back on the market because the girls want out. The place the duo loved so much is now a Life in the Big City Lesson to them. They wanted to be in Manhattan so badly, they underestimated how much of transition they could take in their still very transitional neighborhood. Forget that new bistros are popping up every couple of blocks in the 'hood and that clothing stores will soon outnumber dollar stores.

Even the landlord admits that particular block is rough. Someone was shot just steps from the girls' building a few weeks back. A makeshift shrine is still there. Just today, crossing the neighborhood park towards my own building, which is around the corner from theirs, I heard what I assumed were gunshots. Turns out that some kids were jerking around with fireworks, but notice that I assumed the worst. That's the reality of where we live. I guess they either didn't see that reality when they did their research (assuming they did research at all) or perhaps they chose to ignore any warning signs.

I don't know exactly what the last straw was for the girls, but I do wish them luck. I respect the fact that they rented a "cheaper" place with the intention of being able to afford their rent themselves once they had jobs. They easily could have rented a $3000 apartment and let their parents foot the bill indefinitely. Now they'll trade space for peace of mind. If only such tradeoffs weren't necessary. Welcome to life in the big city, girls.

Phone Rules, Part # 78849893981291801

Dear Potential Customer,

When leaving a message for me, please do not assume I have magical powers and can sense your number telepathically, especially considering that my phone was OFF and went directly to voicemail when you called. Please take five seconds to leave your number.

Please do not mumble. Slow, clear speech is appreciated. Especially if you have an accent. God Bless America and all of that, but the fact is I sometimes cannot understand you. Please speak clearly to at least give me a shot at comprehending your words.

I am not interested in listening to your life story, dissertations on your real estate needs, or tales of woe. If you start to ramble, your message will promptly be deleted.

Finally, one message is really enough. I don't need to be reminded that I haven't returned your call yet. Take a number and get in line. You're not alone.

Sincerely,

Your Friendly Local Real Estate Agent

Damn Progress

Jackhammers, jackhammers, everywhere. For the past few weekdays, I've been waking up to the sound of jackhammers outside my building. Lovely. I know they're "just doing their job," but the guys don't even have the courtesy to start hammering away after 8 a.m. They start at 7-something, maybe earlier. Earplugs only partially help. It's bad enough living with the noise. Try marketing an apartment when such construction is going on all around. Not easy, trust me.

About two or three avenues over, there is a new development going up, and that racket can be heard at all hours as well. Yet another new develpment was making our lives at the office miserable for a few months. And I'll post another day on that behemoth condo that is going up at the top of Central Park in Harlem. It's just gross to look at. Doesn't fit the scale of the neighborhood one bit. How did this happen? Sometimes I hate progress.

I especially hate it when upon flipping on NY1, I learn that four buildings in Brooklyn are slated to be demolished today, despite the fact that the stupid stadium and redevelopment project doesn't have an offical "go" from whoever decides such things. The possibility that these buildings will be knocked down and the land will sit vacant while the development plans languish is a real one. Please don't even get me started on that wretched Atlantic Yards scheme in Brooklyn. Arrogance, greed, and a lack of foresight come to mind. It's enough to make you want to crawl back into bed, if only you could shut your eyes and not hear and feel the horrible pounding of jackhammers.

Nice Try , But There is a Fee

Sorry for being MIA. I have been fighting a cold, had company in town, and skipped town for a few days. Now I'm back in commission just in time to file my tax return. Oh joy.

Broker fees are an inevitablity of renting an apartment in New York City. Even if you somehow luck into an apartment and don't pay a fee, you will likely see several places that require one. Most of your friends will pay the dreaded brokers' fee. Don't feel bad--even brokers often pay the dreaded broker's fee.

Why? Well, the laws are written in such a way that they favor tenants. Let's say I decide to stop paying rent. It will take my landlord six months to a year to be legally rid of me. He can't just lock me out. He has to go through the housing court system, which takes awhile.

So renters, in essence, are paying their brokers to perform due diligence for the landlords. If it sounds screwed up, it kinda is. Landlords rarely pay brokers' fees on residential rentals. They don't have to--the laws of supply and demand show that housing in NYC is in enough demand that renters will pay fees. We are getting paid by you to vet your application, run your credit, and essentially verify that you aren't a deadbeat or a deadbeat-in-training. That's also why so many apartment applications require so much paperwork: tax returns, bank statements, employment verification letters, and so on.

Many people bitch about this when they first start apartment hunting here.

"Why is there so much paperwork? It's easier to get a mortgage back home than it is to rent a crummy apartment here," some say.

Well, I can't disagree. Look at it this way--once you're done with this place, securing housing anywhere else in the U.S., with the possible exception of San Francisco, will feel incredibly easy.

None of these realities stop clients from sometimes trying to talk me out of my own payday.

A recent example:

"I really like this place. There's no fee on it, right?"

"There is definitely a fee. I don't post "No Fee" ads and I mentioned the fee to you on the phone when we made this appointment."

The guy looks defeated.

I shrug and say, "Nice try."

We both laugh. He doesn't rent it, but someone else who sees it after him does.

Supply and demand, folks.