Location, Location, Location

Up top there is the hackneyed expression, dare we say Mantra of real estate folk. I've never used it myself, for it smacks of late night Real Estate infomercials, but here below is a tale of a small broker who learned the lesson of "location,location,location" the hard way.

The small broker operates out of her house, does, maybe one buyer rep transaction a year, mostly cajoled out of her bridge club or soccer mom connections. A nice little business.

In this particular case, our broker harrangued a friend for weeks about listing a house. The friend had, in passing, mentioned that they were going to sell, and our little broker sprung into action.

Bought a listing post, had a sign printed up, figured out how to do the boston.com thing.

The friend had intended to go to a big office to list her home, but, well, our little broker offered a deep discount on the commission, and she got the listing.

Gave her husband the signage and told him to get a rubber hammer and bang that sign into the front yard of the house.

And our little broker is ready! The phone rings within an hour and our little broker is set with her appointment book. She takes the call:

"How may I help you?" she asks.

"You're the one who needs help," a disturbed voice wreaks, "What the hell is that crap doing in my yard?"

"Pardon?" our now timid little broker replies.

"The 'For Sale' sign, you dope! What the hell is that doing in front of my house. I'm not selling my home. Your sign is up in front of the wrong house."

Now our little broker is a bit flustered, but the selling instinct kicks in -- never let a prospect go before YOU go for the sell. "Well, since it is up," she asks, "are you interested in talking about selling? I am sure the home is lovely and will..."

At which point she is met with a tirade of words not meant for "the King's English."

She is told her sign was, of late, posted on Rolin Place. It may be found in the trash of the subject house on Rolin Place. And, of course, her friend's home is on Rolin Street. Location, Location, Location.

One wonders what the husband had for breakfast that morning, or for that matter, what he had for dinner that night.