I liken the process of securing an apartment in NYC to The Amazing Race, especially when it comes to renting. With a less then 1% vacancy rate, clients better be ready to sign on the dotted line when you find them the right place. Often, it’s a literal race to the finish line.

Recently I had a single, well qualified renter looking for a one bedroom apartment in Murray Hill. During our first two outings I showed him several apartments which matched his criteria but none that he wanted to call home.

Yet, I had an ace up my sleeve. I knew that any minute, the perfect one bedroom was going to become available in a certain building that he would love. Sure enough, a week after our last appointment, a beauty popped up within his budget. I wasted no time calling him and in less then an hour we were face to face in the lobby of said building.

In the elevator, on our way up to the 26th floor, I waxed on about how terrific the apartment was, how great the renovations were and what amazing views it had.  He was already smitten with the building so by the time we reached our floor, his excitement level was through the roof and I knew we’d soon be signing leases.

When we reached the corner apartment, situated at the end of a long hallway,  I opened the door and saw we had company. Another agent and his client, a smug looking fellow with a leg cast and crutches,  were already in the apartment. I gave them the requisite head nod and grabbed my dazzled client, hustling him into the bedroom (while still making sure to point out the generous closet space), then looked him square in the eye and asked if he wanted the apartment. He enthusiastically said: “Yes”!

I could hear our competition whispering fervently to each other in the other room so I knew that Crutches wanted it too.

GAME ON.

My client and I walked casually into the living room making our way to the front door but not before catching murderous looks from the twosome. Shutting the door behind us, we sprinted to the elevator banging the down arrow button repeatedly while Crutches and his agent quickly hobbled down the hallway towards us. The elevator wasn’t coming fast enough and when it finally did the four of us awkwardly shuffled in. Not a word was spoken but the air in that metal box was so thick with resentment you could cut it with your show sheet.

After what seemed like an eternity the doors opened. We tore off past Crutches and his agent to the management company’s office, which if your leg wasn’t broken, was only a 5 minute walk up the street. As we hurried down the sidewalk I turned to see Crutches and the agent in hot pursuit but I knew we’d get there first so I wasn’t sweating it. Yet.

All of that changed when we arrived at the management company where the leasing agent apologetically informed us that Crutches’ agent had already called to say they were on their way (albeit very slowly) and would be applying for the apartment. My client was deflated but luckily I knew this leasing agent well from having rented many apartments in the building and therefore felt comfortable telling her that was absurd since we were there in the flesh, fully qualified with paperwork in hand.

At that instant her phone rang. On the other end was the receptionist informing her that Crutches had arrived. She looked at us, took a deep breath and told us to wait. Moments later she ushered Crutches and his wary agent into her office with us.

It was time to duke it out. We each pled our case – Crutches being that the apartment would be for him and his wife, both with great careers and perfect credit. Ours being that the apartment was for my client alone, who also had a great career and stellar credit.

The leasing agent took a moment to review each parties credentials, then looked up at Crutches and asked where his wife was and had she seen the apartment yet? Foolishly he told her that she hadn’t but that they would see it together later that evening when she was back in town and he was certain she would love it.

As soon as those poisonous words left his mouth I knew the apartment was ours.

The leasing agent responded asking ” what happens when your wife sees it and doesn’t like the kitchen or the bathroom? Then I’ve lost your deal and this other one” (meaning ours). She was right of course. When you’re dealing with couples it’s imperative that both are on the appointment because rarely are they ever on the same page.

If looks could kill my client and I would be toast, but no matter, the apartment was ours and Crutches didn’t have a leg to stand on.

Successful Real estate agents are typically attractive, well dressed characters often with inflated egos. Think Annette Bening in American Beauty or the cast of Million Dollar Listing. When you’re in sales, being attractive gives you an advantage over your less attractive counterparts.  Why is this you ask? It simply comes down to sex. According to University of Chicago’s professor, Dr. Dario Maestripieri, from his article in Psychology Today,  “a door-to-door insurance salesman  is better able to sell to customers who find him attractive because the customers will be more likely to buy if they think it will increase their chances to have sex with him”.  

How primal.

But no matter how attractive and sophisticated you are, underneath the shiny clothes we all share the same very basic human functions:

• Eating
• Sleeping
• Shitting

Sometimes that last one creeps up on you at the least opportune times…

A couple years back a good friend from my firm and I listed a gorgeous 2 brm triplex in a chic Greenwich Village condo. Our first open house was on a Thursday evening from 5-7p. I had a scheduling conflict at that time so my partner held the open house solo. Everything was going well until approximately 6:30pm when he called me in a panic.

Frantically he explained that while showing the apartment to some prospective buyers he started to feel quite ill. He quickly rushed them out, locked the front door and ran up to the en-suite master bathroom where the call of nature took over. And take over it did. So much so that the state-of-the art commode couldn’t handle the mass and up it went, stopping dangerously close to the edge of the seat.

While I felt for my partner and our precarious situation, I couldn’t help but laugh. I don’t think he’d ever plunged a toilet a day in his life and the thought of doing so was like something out of Fear Factor. Regardless, the clock was ticking. In less then 30 minutes the sellers would be home so he had to get to work.

I stayed on the phone with him like a 911 operator as he plunged his heart out, sloshing malodorous toilet gravy all over the bathroom floor (luckily there were no rugs in there). When it was clear plunging wouldn’t work it was time to wave the white flag of surrender, let every last ounce of ego go, and call the building’s superintendent.

He did, hastily explaining the dire situation to the kind fellow who thankfully came quickly, fixed the toilet, and promised not to tell the owners. My partner tipped him generously, lit a bunch of matches and let out a HUGE sigh of relief.

The sellers came home and never knew any different but it was a humbling experience for my partner to say the least.