13 April 2006
Fascist Capitalists II
"This building has laundry, elevators..."
The voice trailed off in my head as I patiently waited for the elevator. I had held the door for the man in the bike who now appeared to be a real estate broker of sorts. I casually fake-sipped my black cherry vanilla diet coke from the bottle (it was my first time tasting one - not bad!). I hate being around brokers for fear that they will ask if they can slip into my apartment and show their clients an example of a lay-out. Aside from my place being a dump at the moment, I would hate for strangers to poke around with all my belongings in such a small space.
And so, when the elevator came, I quietly stood in the corner. I made eye contact with the broker as the doors closed and debated whether to ask about rents. I took a chance :
"You showing an apartment?" I asked, knowing full well that he was showing one on the 11th floor, as that was confirmed by the client before pushing the button.
"Yup."
"What kind?"
"What kind? What do you mean?"
"Studio... One-bedroom..." I wondered to myself if he was playing dumb or just plain stupid.
"Oh, it's a one-bedroom."
"Oh, how much is that going for?"
"Umm... I don't know. I have it written down," he said as he patted his bag.
How can he not know the rent of the flat he was showing? I considered asking if he didn't know or if it was confidential. If he didn't know, well... ha. If he did and it was confidential, then that reiterates the stereotype that you can't trust brokers because he should have just said that. But so I refrained from asking and instead, I stepped out of the lift and looked back with a grin while streaking a slow wave at the two other people en route to the 11th floor. They were about to lose money - on an expensive apartment, on an equally expensive deposit, and on a commission fee to a stupid or dishonest man. I wonder how I could go about confirming which of the two he is? Regardless, I'll be on the 11th floor sometime this week - scouting out the property. Care to join?
The voice trailed off in my head as I patiently waited for the elevator. I had held the door for the man in the bike who now appeared to be a real estate broker of sorts. I casually fake-sipped my black cherry vanilla diet coke from the bottle (it was my first time tasting one - not bad!). I hate being around brokers for fear that they will ask if they can slip into my apartment and show their clients an example of a lay-out. Aside from my place being a dump at the moment, I would hate for strangers to poke around with all my belongings in such a small space.
And so, when the elevator came, I quietly stood in the corner. I made eye contact with the broker as the doors closed and debated whether to ask about rents. I took a chance :
"You showing an apartment?" I asked, knowing full well that he was showing one on the 11th floor, as that was confirmed by the client before pushing the button.
"Yup."
"What kind?"
"What kind? What do you mean?"
"Studio... One-bedroom..." I wondered to myself if he was playing dumb or just plain stupid.
"Oh, it's a one-bedroom."
"Oh, how much is that going for?"
"Umm... I don't know. I have it written down," he said as he patted his bag.
How can he not know the rent of the flat he was showing? I considered asking if he didn't know or if it was confidential. If he didn't know, well... ha. If he did and it was confidential, then that reiterates the stereotype that you can't trust brokers because he should have just said that. But so I refrained from asking and instead, I stepped out of the lift and looked back with a grin while streaking a slow wave at the two other people en route to the 11th floor. They were about to lose money - on an expensive apartment, on an equally expensive deposit, and on a commission fee to a stupid or dishonest man. I wonder how I could go about confirming which of the two he is? Regardless, I'll be on the 11th floor sometime this week - scouting out the property. Care to join?
