Value Added Investment Grade? One step at a Time

Agents live for broker tours. For those not of the "cognoscenti", a broker tour is like an Open House, except it is an Open House for the "elect" -- read that for only brokers. It is a chance for a listing agent to show a property to other agents in the hope they may well have a client who would like the home. Agents going on tour do not necessarily like the Broker Tours for this -- they like it for the free food that is usually spread out by the Listing Agent to entice the traffic. For example, in my corner of the world, "lunch" is served in Belmont, Arlington and Cambridge on Tuesdays, Wednesday it is Newton, and Friday it is Watertown and Waltham (yum yum). Other towns in my area have their days...check an agent's GPS history and you can figure that out for Medford, Lexington, Wellesley, Brookline and so on.

The other day, I go to this broker tour. I am cheerfully met at the door by a sprightly young agent (I know she is young...the low cut sweater [a Cashmere Over Sized Cowl Tunic from Michael Star; $326] that she wears is slightly amiss at the left shoulder exposing not just a maroon bra strap [Victoria's Secret], but also the wing of an angel tattoo pricked into the skin, I surmise, after a long night with some Brown University frat boy(s?) -- I recognize the work...Ronnie's Tattoo, Providence, RI; $89.99).

"Welcome," she says, and, "Oh, could you please remove your shoes?"

Now readers, at my stage in life and in this place and time, I should be excited when a woman asks me to remove ANY article of my clothing, in this case, if for nothing else, for the one second of fantasy that this person has a foot fetish. Alas, sadly, she spoke too fast and cut all "fantasm" to the quick.

"It is the rugs," she imparts, "they are collector quality."

For the first time, I looked below the agent's torso, passed the Eileen Fisher Stretch Ponte Pencil Skirt (Sak's Fifth Avenue, $158), down the finely waxed calves (Li Kim Thuy's Nail and Wax Shop [bikini lines a specialty], Dorchester, perhaps?) and down to the bare feet ("Shoeless" Joe Jackson; Chicago White Sox, 1919). Off to the right was an imitation brass scupper (Home and Hearth, $68), and neatly resting in it were the agent's shoes; black high heeled "court pumps" from Redoute Creations, Paris (40 Euros or 60 bucks at current exchange rates).

"You see," she continued, "the rugs are all quite pricey. This one is an Isfahan and over there in the sitting room is a Bakhshaish. This runner is a Hussainaba. They are investments!"

Now folks, I really do not want to talk rugs here, but rugs as an investment?...I mean if you want people to just stamp and stomp all over your investments, that is O.K, but why not just give your money to Wall Street? That's what they down there everyday.

"Uh, huh," I say as I remove my shoes (PayLess $14.99 Buy-One-Get-One-Free [BOGO]), thanking God for the wisdom of that trip to Marshall's the day before (New black socks, slightly irregular, 6 pair; $3.99). As I am doing this, I am searching about for the route to the kitchen and the free lunch platter laid out. After all, all I want, all ALL agents want is a sandwich and maybe a Coke to go (free at Broker Tours; $1.59 at 7-11; remember to cash in the can and you come out a nickel to the good!).

"And," she points out, "all the collectibles on the walls!", and she directs my attention to the shelves and cut outs and nooks and crannies filled with bric-a-bracs, porcelains and potteries of all manner of invention.

"Listen," I say, still looking beyond her slender posterior for the platter (do I smell roast beef!?), "I don't know, kiddo...you are going to bring a lot of people into this house and with all these nicknacks about, well...I'd be afraid that some of them are going to get 'paddy-whacked'...and you'll be the one that will have to, shall we say, 'give the dog the bone' if you get my drift". She didn't, apparently she is too young for the "This-Old-Man-He-Plays-One" joke motif.

"Come again?" she says, and I reply something to the effect that at my age, I would need a good dose of Viagra to do that (she didn't get that joke either).

"I don't understand," she says.

I tell her, "What I mean is...it's the stuff...no one -- not even you!!! -- will be looking at the house. It is ALL stuff. First you ask folks to take off their shoes...what if they have a hole in their sock?" (Thank God [again] I went to Marshalls!), "then they walk into this museum. Let me tell ya, honey, people want to live in a house, not a museum. You know who lives in a museum?...King Tut lives in a museum, and for him that's an upgrade, 'cause before that he was living in a freaking hole in the desert for 3 thousand years!. Folks want to see if their entertainment center from Jordan's Furniture will fit here. They want to see the glow of the hardwood floors; they don't want to tip-toe around some magic carpet smuggled out of Pakistan. For your sake and for the sake of your client, you need to get this place cleaned up. You're not selling admission tickets here...you are selling a house."

She begins a retort of some sort, but I am gone; I see the snake route to the kitchen and the spread; catered by Rebecca's!!! ooooh!, Turkey, Tuna, Veggie, and ROAST BEEF on SOUR DOUGH ROLLS ($7.99 each), a bag of Cape Cod Chips ($1.19)...and a Diet Coke.........TO GO.