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.

Courtesy Call (Or a Lack Thereof)

This broker rides my ass for two weeks. Leaves long messages, keeps me on the phone chatting. I try to be polite, but soon enough I am dodging her calls. I tell her not to call me; that I’ll call her. Which is fair enough . . .I don’t yet have access to the space she claims her client is so eager to see. So there’s no reason for us to talk until I do have access.

It’s not like I enjoy talking to her, plus there is absolutely nothing to say until I have keys and can make an appointment for her and her client. She sounds like the stereotypical New York City Broker: thick local accent, a bit abrupt, very pushy and probably well over 40. I’ll be she smokes, too. I could be wrong, but she just sounds that way.

She gets snippy with me when I don’t call her to tell her there’s no news. Apparently she feels that leaving me multiple messages will change things, which it won’t. Finally I get access to the space. She’s very insistent on a morning appointment—the earlier the better because this "wonderful" client can only see things in the morning. Thinking to myself that I don’t get out of bed for early appointments, especially not for pushy a-holes like this broad, I offer her 10:30 one morning and she says fine. I’m glad this place is only about a seven-minute walk from my apartment.

So I get there. Soon enough I’m wishing the super would hurry and show up. It’s a cold morning. This place is in between a church and a liquor store in Harlem. Apparently the church has some outreach program, and all of its recipients are milling around outside waiting for the doors to open. Some of them cruise by me and get a bit too close as they’re asking for my spare change. Some of them start arguing loudly with each other. Uncomfortable, much?

Five minutes pass, then ten. Nobody but me and the locals in front of this storefront. This woman who was so “generous” with her phone calls to me before doesn’t bother to call me and say she and her amazing client are running late. I call this broker. She doesn’t pick up.

The super shows up. We look at the place, and still this winner of a broker hasn’t shown up or even bothered with a “Sorry, we’re running late” type of courtesy call. I call again. No answer. Fine. It’s been well over 20 minutes, so I bid the super farewell and head off to start the rest of my day. I leave her a message telling her I’m leaving and that it’s really too bad—it’s a nice, roomy space and she won’t get to see it. I wish her good luck.

A couple of minutes later, she calls. They’re on Broadway, which is quite a few avenues from where I am. She asks again where it is. I’ve already told her the exact location, down to “it’s between a church and a liquor store on the west side of the avenue—you can’t miss it” a dozen times. She says they’ll be right over. No apologies, mind you. So I start walking back to the spot, and who should call just as I get there? Yes, it’s her. The client doesn’t like the neighborhood, so we can just call the whole thing off, she tells me.

The first time or two something like this happens to you in real estate, you’re surprised, or at least I was. I was raised to value common courtesy and other people’s time, but apparently not everyone was. OR, common courtesy and time are only valuable if it’s THEIRS being called into question and/or violated in some way. I decide to call this bitch out on her behavior.

When she tells me they won’t make it, I start laughing at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You made such a big deal of this, called me all the time, getting upset when I didn’t call you back immediately, and now you couldn’t even be bothered with a call to let me know you were running late. I’m sorry, but I just find that funny.”

She doesn’t have much to say besides a lame, “Sorry.” The fact that I practically had to force it out of her speaks volumes.

“I’ll call you later?” she offers,

“No, thanks,” I say. “In fact, please don’t.”


Thankfully, she never did.

I Couldn't Have Staged It Better!

I got a listing that was really hot. A 2BR in Harlem for a little over $1400 a month. People must either really be desperate or finally picking up on what I realized over five years ago when I moved to Harlem. The neighborhood is getting better and better. It is not the North Pole. Much of Harlem is walking distance from Central Park and transit-friendly. Some of the most beautiful blocks in all of New York City are in Harlem. If you’re on the West Side just north of Central Park, getting over to Columbia U isn’t so difficult.

Now all of this doesn’t mean that the homies on the block have disappeared. Far from it. The neighborhood chefs often barbeque in the summer. You’d never see this sort of block party on the Upper East Side, but damn does that food smell good. The neighborhood DJs still blast their music, mostly in the warmer months. Street theater is just an argument away. Boy do I love pulling up for the evening show right outside my window. The start time of the show is never set, mind you. The performers let you know when they’re ready, usually by shouting and hooting and cursing at each other. Fun times.

What for me is “local color” is downright weird and scary to some of these yuppie college students and/or recent grads who are looking at apartments up here. Fair enough. I never lie when they ask me about the neighborhood. I tell them the truth—take a cab home late at night, and don’t go for 3 a.m. strolls. Check the hood out after dark, and see if you feel comfortable. If not, then look elsewhere. End of story. If mommy and daddy are paying, which they often are, they can look on the Upper West or East sides. It’s not the end of the world if you end up with a smaller apartment in Baby StrollerVille. Well, at least not the end of the world for them, though it would be for me.

Yet some of these brave pioneers persevere, and so it goes. However, I was quite unprepared for the number of my broker colleagues (I hate the thought that these low-lives are my colleagues, so I cringe whenever I type that) who were salivating at this listing. Hmmmm, they must be picking up on what a good deal it is. Anyways, the pestering started. Compounded by the fact that the apartment was under renovation and I wasn’t about to walk in onto sticky floors and ruin the contractors’ refinishing work, not to mention my shoes. So I told them there would be a delay. They beg me to get back to them the second I have access and then keep calling to check in to boot.

Now I’m starting to feel nervous. This is my exclusive listing, and an exclusive building of my company’s. This is how we make our money. The very thought of having a pushy broker in MY building (not that I live there, but you get the point) makes me queasy. Who’s to say they won’t try to butter up the super with some cash, get all cozy, and try to poach my rental listings? In fact, knowing brokers, that's exactly the sort of thing that would happen. Fuck that!

I decide that I’m going to make it hard for any broker who wants to apply for this place. Full fee. No negotiating. No “co-broking”—meaning that we split the fee. They must meet every landlord requirement to the letter. And I’m going to get an attorney friend to draft an air-tight no compete agreement for them to sign. No agreement, no deal. Hopefully by this point they’ll have found something else elsewhere and leave me alone.

This one broker is even pushier than the rest. Keeps dropping my boss’ name like it’s the keys to the kingdom. Claims he’s a friend of the boss. Okay, so you’ve done a few deals together and now my boss is your friend? Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Finally I get the keys. I schedule an evening open house, which was the only time I could do it that day. (Very hectic week—worse than usual). Of course this “friend” of my boss’ pushes me for an earlier time. I say no. He calls me before the open house, when I’m still waiting on the keys from the super. I don’t pick up. This guy is getting no special treatment, I don’t care if he is BFF with the Almighty him/her/it-self. Finally the open house time officially arrives. I get the keys literally five minutes before show time. He’s the first one in. He seems to want to take the place. Oh great. I start going through the breakdown of procedures: deposit, credit check, etc. That’s when he thinks he’s gonna wheel and deal wth me:

Him: “Maybe the landlord would do a lower rent?”

Me: “No absolutely not. Usually the apartment has to have been on the market for at least a week before he’ll consider dropping prices. And it’s only been shown for the first time today—right now, in fact. This is a rent-stabilized two bedroom. As you can see, it has just been gut renovated. I really don’t see the landlord dropping the price at all, to be honest. Someone will gladly take it at full price.”

Him: “I would like to move in around the first of next month.”

Me: “Sorry, can’t do that. We aren’t even through the first week of THIS month, and the owner wants it rented by mid-month if not immediately.”

Him, apparently not liking my answers and thinking he could do better by going over my head, “Maybe your boss would know better.”

I haven’t really been looking at him at this point. Sometimes I can't even look at these real estate agents, and this is one of those times. Instead, I’ve been organizing papers and greeting people as they stream in through the door. Now I turn around and fix him with my gaze. The look in my eyes can’t be kind. My tone has gone from casual and slightly miffed to stern.

Me: “No, boss would NOT know better. This is my exclusive account, and I’ve been working for this landlord for almost two years. So if anyone knows, it’s me.”

This fool is still trying to take a mile, even when I haven’t given an inch. He now wants to negotiate the fee.

Him: “This would be a co-broke, right?"

(Meaning we split the commission 50-50 with this idiot’s company.) Since he’s a broker and won’t be paying himself on this deal, then his company will get part of the commission, which still gives him a nice discount. And even though we’re taking a huge risk by letting a broker into our building, we still get only a partial fee. And apparently we’re supposed to negotiate a lower rent and later move date for him to boot. How appealing!

I tell him that I’d have to think about that, but full fee would be the more likely scenario. No splits.

He then mumbles something about how we might not be able to rent it right away, blah blah blah. In other words, he's trying to push me to take him and to accommodate his outrageous requests. This guy is way out of line.

Me: “That’s possible, it might not rent right away, but it’s also possible that some people could walk in right now and want the place immediately, for the price listed, for a full fee.”

He was still hovering around me five minutes later when that exact thing happened. Two roommates walked in, barely saw it, and breathlessly said, “We’ll take it!”

I couldn’t have staged it better.

Leases were signed just a couple of days ago. I haven’t heard from that broker since.

Duly Noted That a Picture is Worth. . .

1000 words. Minimum.

I know this blog is very text heavy right now. I will be working on figuring out how to get some pictures into NoVacancyNYC very soon. Like this week soon. (I hope).

Cat Calls

Apparently there is a stray cat who is calling a vacant commercial space I’m representing home. I know this because I have gotten three calls from a “concerned” neighbor about this feline. Now I love animals. Adore them. Ask me if I’d prefer to pet a kitten or a puppy versus holding a human baby, and the animals will win every time. But if this woman thinks I’m going to go chasing some feral cat around this dark, empty, and spooky space, she’s got another think coming. Yet that seems to be what she wants me to do, because she keeps leaving messages. I have called her back and told her that the building super has been alerted. That’s about all I can do short of grabbing a butterfly net and an open can of tuna and going on a mission myself. No thanks.

Evidently the cat is doing just fine…he had a pigeon as a meal just the other day, if the feathers behind inside the space are any indication. Plus he has full access to the basement and fire escapes, so even though the woman says “he looks skinny” and offers to rescue him and bring her to her home rescue—she imples that she runs a sort of halfway house for ferals—I’ll bet he’s doing just fine. In fact, he probably doesn’t want our help. He is living rent free in one of the most expensive cities in the world, can come and go as he pleases, and he has free range over a huge space—2000 square feet. HE gets to hunt wild game and doesn’t have to answer to any one. That has to be priceless. Why would he want to give up his freedom to live with this woman? Her apartment’s likely cramped, full of cats and fur, and probably smells of stale urine, cat litter, and that unique feline musk smell that can only be gotten out of a home by industrial strength chemicals normally used to clean places after long-decomposed bodies have been hauled away. Why indeed? Do me a favor, lady: If you really care so much about cats, let this one enjoy his freedom.