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.

Taking clients out this Saturday and what’s # 1 on their wish list? Being within 3 blocks of a Chipotle. That’s a first.

Chipotle-Burrito

Every Wednesday night I tune into Million Dollar listing on Bravo . It’s fun, mindless entertainment. However, because I’m in the business, occasionally I find myself feeling stressed out for the three key players (OK. Louise not so much but for the other two).

For example, on last Wednesday’s episode, Fredrik wed his longtime beau on a private island. While this should have been a blissful time for them, Frederik succumbed to the pressures of trying to sell out his exclusive building, 250 Bowery for record prices. When his fiancee demanded that he put his phone away for the long weekend, I actually started to feel nervous and agitated (which I know is ridiculous) but when you are a real estate agent your smart phone is your first love.   It’s the gadget that’s essential to our livelihood.   So, needless to say,  when the fiancee flung it into the ocean, I actually felt my blood pressure rise. I might’ve even started to sweat.  In the end they celebrated a beautiful wedding, but wouldn’t it have been nice, just for that one weekend, for Frederik not to be the self proclaimed listing machine that he is and just thoroughly enjoy life uninterrupted? Alas, as Gordon Gekko famously once said:  ”Money is a bitch that never sleeps”!

Back in New York, Ryan was dealing with his own set of problems when he agreed to co-list a high-end property for sale with an inexperienced agent.  While he invested his time, money and resources to market the property, his co-agent spent her time fixing her hair and doing her make-up. It all came to a screeching halt when Ryan brought a buyer to the apartment and discovered it full of beds, towels and bathrobe-clad mannequins. Unbeknownst to him, his batty partner had leased it out to a home furnishings company which ultimately led to his firing himself from the listing.

Every now and then we find ourselves in situations like these where we finally have to admit that it’s just not worth it. Whether it’s the pressure of selling out a building, dealing with a difficult client or agent,  when your health and quality of life are suffering then it’s probably time to walk away.

I’ve had a few experiences like these and that episode got me thinking of one in particular…

A few years ago an agent friend from another firm asked me to help her co-list a two bedroom condo that she was having difficulty selling. The apartment was purchased by a wealthy real-estate mogul for his wife (we’ll call Shelly) as a hobby. See, Shelly fancied herself an interior decorator and as soon as she got the keys, wasted no time garnishing it with the gaudiest wall paper, paint, furniture and “fine art”. From ceiling to floor, not one inch of the poor apartment was spared from her fatuous touch. (Think giving a blank sheet of paper and a box of crayons to a 3 year old. The outcome would probably be more attractive then the apartment was). Once Shelly had completed her “master-piece” it was time to sell and move on to her next project. The catch was that she wanted to sell the apartment fully furnished with all the trimmings for 700k over what the price should be!

Never one to back away from a challenge, I agreed.

I spent hundreds of dollars having the apartment re-photographed, on new marketing material and countless hours hosting open houses. When it was clear we weren’t getting any takers, I recommended selling some of the more valuable art and furniture separately and lowering the asking price. Shelly agreed that this was a smart idea so I contacted a gentleman we’ll call Steve from a prominent Soho gallery specializing in the works of Paul Evans, the supposed creator of the precious art.  Steve was eager to see the treasure trove of this artist’s items displayed in the apartment so we made an appointment to meet there the next day. You can imagine his and our disappointment when he gently informed us that none of the pieces were real, rather very good (and probably quite expensive) replicas’ of Paul Evan’s work.

When we delicately broke this news to Shelly she was incensed. Not that she had been ripped off (or caught telling people she owned genuine Paul Evans pieces) but at us and the art dealer. Clearly he must be mistaken! In the end, she refused to drop the price and I politely removed myself from the listing.

From WikiHow: Carpet beetles are persistent pests that can cause severe damage to your carpets, clothing, and other fabrics. Getting rid of carpet beetles takes patience and persistence, but the job can usually be done without calling professional exterminators.

I’ve done hundreds of rentals and this one is still fresh in my mind even though it happened several years ago.  It’s a great example of how very successful people can have very little common sense.

A few years back a young lady was referred to me whom we’ll call Linda. Linda was a young professional in her early twenties, lived with 2 roommates in Midtown West and was looking to move out on her own into a studio apartment in Chelsea, one of Manhattan’s pricier neighborhoods.

Linda’s well-healed parents would be her guarantors since she did not meet the annual income requirement. And so on a nice summer day, Linda, her parents and I set off to visit studio apartments in some of Chelsea’s most luxurious rental buildings.

That same afternoon she fell in love and applied for a studio on the 12th floor of a very swanky building off 26th street. The 400 sq ft apartment had been vacant for weeks, was newly renovated and clean as a whistle.  I should also add that there was no carpeting anywhere in the unit.

Three days later Linda was approved (as I knew she would be) and was ecstatic. Everyone was happy – she got her dream apartment, her parents knew she’d be living in a secure building and I would earn a one month commission paid by the landlord. All in a days work right?

Wrong. Two Friday’s later, on moving day, as Linda was unpacking her boxes she made a shocking discovery. On the OUTSIDE of her windowsill sat a tiny black bug. This bug, she determined, was the infamous, pesky Attagenus unicolor, otherwise known as ‘Carpet beetle’.

Consequently, all hell broke loose.

At approximately 5pm that afternoon my office phone rang. I answered to a static connection and a blustery male voice on the other end shouting that he was in London, his daughter was moving in to her apartment and had an infestation.

Once I was able to calm him down, I established that this was Linda’s father, on a business trip –  calling me from London(!!) because they had an emergency situation on their hands and his daughter would not – under any circumstances – move in to her new apartment until it was exterminated thoroughly and deemed livable by beetle sniffing dogs.

When he finally admitted that he had not seen the louse in person , I decided it would be best to conference-call Linda and her mother who were in possession of the pest.

The four of us then spoke at length. Linda obligingly texted me a grainy picture of the bug which, after seeing it and googling the words: ‘carpet beetle’, I suggested could be any number of completely harmless vermin. Not to mention, it was on the OUTSIDE of her windowsill. By the end of the conversation they all reluctantly admitted there was a small possibility that it might not be a carpet beetle but they needed assurance nonetheless.

Now, the last time I checked, I’m not an exterminator nor did I ever give them that impression so the only thing I could do was try to get one in there that evening, which proved to be impossible. The landlord, who had the building treated regularly, wanted nothing to do with this ridiculous situation and literally laughed out loud when Linda requested that her rent be pro-rated for the time she couldn’t reside in the apartment. After several phone calls that evening I reached a very pleasant entomologist who studied the grainy snapshot. He positively I.D’d the critter as a common, garden variety beetle that posed no threat to Linda or her apartment.  Although I conference-called Linda and her mother in with the entomologist who gave them the good news, they still needed more proof which they received the following Monday from an exterminator that they hired.

Did they apologize for grossly overreacting? Surprisingly yes, which I appreciated immensely. Most people would’ve felt too stupid to admit they blundered. I of course laughed it off, told them it was no big deal and was just glad that Linda could now relax and enjoy her fabulous new apartment. But here’s the thing- it was a big deal. As silly and ludicrous as it was, they were coming to me. If they couldn’t be satisfied I would be the one they blamed and my reputation was on the line. That whole weekend I angst-ed over it. Luckily it all worked out.