After 20 something flawless showings in two weeks, something had to give - and it finally did. On Wednesday afternoon I got a call from the excellent showing service that Wedbigs uses, Showing Solutions. They informed me that a Realtor had scheduled a showing for 6:45 p.m. I said something along the lines of, “Dude, that’s in 3 hours,” and then, of course, moved Heaven & Earth to make it happen.
The house was in good shape and the children had tickets to the Children’s Theater to see their hilarious production of The Magic Mrs. Piggle Wiggle. I was supposed to throw my hat in the ring to perform at a story slam for the Minnesota Public Radio show, “In the Loop” — an event my husband had driven 150 miles to accommodate, but there was the problem of the dog.
If you’ve read my previous posts, you may know that our mostly lovable Rottie-mix has been frustrated by being stashed in the vehicle during showings - and chewing his dissatisfaction. So, do I go to the event and risk the mini-van interior (we’re down 2 seat belts) or do I wait for the showing to happen and be late to the show?
The Toyota Sienna won out in the end. After tidying, I drove to our nearby library and parked where I could get a decent wi-fi signal. The minutes clicked by and after an hour steeped in dog breath, I was happy to drop him off.
But when I got home, I could tell the house hadn’t been shown. Nothing was out of place and it lacked that “people have been in the house vibe.” I was crest fallen, but what could I do? I sighed and raced off to my MPR gig.
The next day, my little girl came off the bus flopsy & feverish. After setting her up on the couch and getting my little guy a game to play, I stole 15 minutes to squeeze in a bath. (As a pseudo-single parent, personal grooming often falls by the wayside, but I remind myself it bathing isn’t luxurious, it’s a social contract.)
Then came the knock and it wasn’t a neighborly knock. It was a “bang, bang, bang, bang, bang” knock. The kind that puts your heart in your throat. The dog was doing his job, barking like Kayser Soze was behind the door. I flung myself out of the tub, threw on my bathrobe and came dripping to my entryway. There was the Realtor - 24 hours later than I expected.
She seemed like a nice gal and she showed me her confirmation form, but all I could do was dance in a pool of my bathwater, restrain the dog, keep my robe closed and attempt to explain. I declined the showing. She was rightfully annoyed, but we were dug in with zero inclination to clear the premises. It was a bad situation all around and I honestly feel terrible about it. In the unlikely event she reads this: I’m sorry.
No one likes to be caught pants down - or in my case, completely pant-free. All I can say is mistakes were made and I’m trying to the best I can. I’m often away from my house 4 hours at a time to accommodate Realtors. I clean, I stage, I leave out flowers & candy, make baked goods - but show up at the door without clothes - even once - and all that good will is wiped away.
I’ve learning a lot from this experience, mostly that selling isn’t for sissies.
Lucie B. Amundsen, a housing writer in St. Anthony Village, who tries to be a good seller and not scare potential buyers away at the door.