Selling your house is a weird experience isn’t it?! Firstly, you have a pride issue with how much you’ve put into the house in renovations and upgrades. It doesn’t matter if your cousin Roco did your ceramic tiles with a couple of boxes that he managed to snipe from a job site, or if you paid a case of beer and a bag of weed for your drywalling… you want top dollar damn it, and you’re not going to bend over for ANYONE!!
Then you have the RealEstate agent, you know her… she’s the egomaniac you see plastered all over the newspaper with her salon-fresh hair and shifty eyes that you shouldn’t trust, but you do. She’s likely someone who stumbled into real estate after she realized that she was too old to go back to school but too bored to stay home anymore. You just know that she has some sketchy deals on the side with other agents, she reaks of dirty dealings.
Next you have the would-be design professionals who come to inspect your home and comment on your taste in paint colour, art, and choice in furniture. You know these folks, they probably have garden gnomes and wicker at their home… but your ox-blood Red walls are just too “poor taste” for them. They don’t share your appreciation for modern minimalism and would have instead opted for a floral textured wallpaper and plaid furniture. These folks are pieces of work, they wouldn’t know style if it jumped down their throat, got digested and was shat out!
When you do finally find a buyer, someone who shares your appreciation for style and likes the neighbourhood, you enter into the mating game. The buyer knows that they don’t want to pay what you’re asking and you know that you don’t want to accept what they’re going to offer…. and so begins the dance. They lowball you thinking that you’re desperate and will just be happy that you found a poor motherfucker to buy the place. You get the offer, laugh…. scratch out their insulting offer and enter a counter. This goes back and forth until you finally come to an agreement and bid your house a farewell.
Moving… now that’s a whole other story. You haven’t heard my rant yet about lazy, fat movers who don’t speak English, stink like garlic and fuck up your walls while they uncarefully move your shit into your freshly painted new house, not to mention the additional hour and a half they took to arrive at your house, which you “the sucka” will pay for… OR ELSE, you don’t get your shit back! Anyway, another time another dollar.