The other day, I had the privilege of dealing with a client from North Vancouver who was upset that my company had delivered to him the service that it advertized, rather than the something-for-nothing product that men of his extraction have come to expect from the common people. “Privilege”, because that was clearly how the disgruntled gentleman saw the exchange: didn’t I know who he was? he demanded. He was an established member of the community! He was a successful businessman, and – in case I was unclear about what that implied – he knew how to run a business! By gum, he had a house worth half a million dollars!
This last point was even less germane to the issue at hand than the others, as my company is not in the real estate business; but what could I do? I responded in the way that I’ve learned to respond to such folks: by murmuring the sorts of empty platitudes that are generally misconstrued as obsequiety by those who cannot fathom being on the receiving end of condescension. The fellow relented, and I got rid of him without losing my job; but the house-hunting part of me was almost unbearably tempted to snark, “You live in North Vancouver and your house is only worth half a million? Where do live – in a shack by the sewage plant?”
I’ve started looking for a new place to live, the sort of place that I own, in earnest. Tales of this city’s housing market, I’m sad to report, have not been exaggerated at all. The only affordable place in my neighbourhood went to the other person viewing it with me the other day, but I’m not sure it was much of a loss: did I want to replace the carpet in the kitchen as soon as I moved in? The affordable place with the huge windows sounded promising, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to live in the suburbs; but no matter, it’s off the market anyway. And I’d have grabbed the place close to work in a heartbeat, were it not for my refusal to sleep in a bedroom without a window.
It’s a seller’s market, and it’s discouraging to see how the various sellers I’m dealing with are reacting to that reality. There’s the mild-mannered realtor who phoned me apologetically this evening to let me know that the place I saw four days ago has been sold, sorry about that, he’ll let me know if anything else comes up; there’s the hyper one who phones me every other day to tell me of a hot new place! that I’m going to have to view right now! because it won’t last long! – something I’d chalk up to hyperbole if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been right every other time; and then there are the many laid-back agents who don’t even get back to me to arrange a viewing, because if I can’t make the open house, they’ll have no trouble selling to someone who can.
So…anyone in the Lower Mainland got a condo they want to get rid of? I’ll, like, make you pottery and stuff.