Auction day today.
I spent last night not sleeping very much, having strange dreams and visualising a successful house auction that net us slightly more than the price we were after, and that the agent had vehemently reassured us was doable, achievable and that he “wouldn’t tell you otherwise, because that’s just wasting my time”.
“Manifesting” if you will.
We spent the morning do more “don’t touch that”ing and stuffing dirty clothes into hidey holes. I took Chippie to parkour with Monkey Boy and I, to reduce the incidence of a fleet of Tonka trucks adorning the hall way, driven by Trash Packs and LEGO Star Wars Clone Troopers.
Arrive home just in time for the auction, and we’re given a brief rehash of discussions had on Thursday; how the auction was going to run, the theatrics he was going to pull to get the price up, the drama he was going to create and, if needed, more theatrics and drama should the auction fall short pricewise.
Let me just add that we changed agents some five weeks ago, due to having Mr Depressive work towards the first auction in November and leaving us wondering whether we shouldn’t just burn the house down and slit our own wrists with the feedback he provided us with, and the demeanour in which he did so. We requested a new agent, within the same company, the next day, she left after a few months due to pregnancy and … well, we lost hope at about the same time the principal agent used words like “you really should consider this offer” at a rate $200K lower than he assurred us he could easily get for us, even though we felt the price he suggested was a farce.
By the time we got this current agent, I’d moved on; emotionally and physically, with work and … life. So when he spoke to the Grumpy one and gave him the big sales spiel, complete with emotional blackmail and other salesy bullshit I wasn’t convinced. GrumpyPants declared we meet, and the agent copped an earful of my apathy. Also the fact that I knew every sales like he could throw my way, and that I didn’t want any bullshit. If any bullshitting – oh, and selling – was to occur, it was not to be directed at me in any way, shape or form.
No, indeedy. If we were going to sign with them to sell our house, they could fucking well use all their sales lines, emotional bullshitting and magic words on those who walked through the door to inspect the house, with the intention of buying a house.
They could actively sell the house, using all the lines they learnt in sales school. After all, I wasn’t signing the contract so they could sell to me.
And try every sales line he could pull out of his arse as he sat across the table from me he did. I made it quite clear, each and every time, that I’d heard it … then he started telling lame jokes. I’m going with “to build rapport” … because he thought I wasn’t aware of that trick, either.
Either way, he was a much greater pleasure to work with, and gave me a little bit of a challenge. It was almost enjoyable.
There we are, listening hard from the other end of the house to see how it was all going. It was going, but not up as much as we’d have liked.
Thus, the theatrics and manipulating began. He brought the