Shrinking Violet

Fading

Yesterday was the last day that I both worked in the office and was not in law school. I still have plenty of work for next week and some even continuing after that, but I probably will not ever go to the office in the morning, work all day, and leave to go home knowing that I'll be back the next day. Maybe it's all the work I still have to do, (seriously I worked 5 hours today, Saturday, just got done, and next week, i don't want to even think about next week) but it doesn't feel at all real yet.

I have never been one for goodbyes. I've never left Utah for a long enough time to not be able to say "I'll come visit. It won't be any different at all" upon leaving a job, a neighborhood, a school. As I leave I say, "Oh, don't say goodbye now, I'll be back in a couple of hours/days/weeks to (insert excuse here) and we can talk then." And honestly, by the time I miss someone and want to talk to him/her, I just feel too silly to go back. Though some might not believe it, I really am the shyest girl when it comes to keeping in touch.

It was the last day for one of the office staff yesterday. She's a nice girl that I've talked to a bit especially recently because she is considering law school herself. Since it was her last day, meaning she has no work to do next week or next month that will cause her to return, she said her goodbyes and the end was final--a line of demarcation between this moment and the next in her life. Like me, when she wakes up on Monday morning she will start something Totally Different, but unlike me she won't be back less and less often until without notice, it's been a year since she talked to anyone from her old job.

It's like the difference between jumping into cold water all at once and walking in slowly. Zach always makes fun of how long it takes me to get into the water, toes first, ankles, shins, knees, thighs, waist. I shiver long after he's become accustomed to the cold.

Passive Income

Long ago in about 1985 somebody perhaps in the Reagan administration decided that rental income is passive income likeunto stock ownership.

I am baby-sitting my mother's apartments while she is in Argentina with my dad and two of my sisters. Besides a tenant with a stupid carpet complaint and two plumbing phone calls not much had happened with the apartments. Until last night.

I was quietly eating my whole wheat spaghetti with canned marinara sauce when my phone rang.

"Hi this is Mr. Tenant at your mom's apartment and my wife just ran into the apartment with her car. Like she was coming back from Tuscon and I don't know what happened but she was really mad and I was over at the neighbors and she just run the car right into the front door so I called the cops and now she's in jail so I guess I'm evicted cause your mom said if the cops come over again I'm evicted. I just thought you should know." Well hello to you too Mr. Tenant.

I also got a complaint from the neighbor who wanted me to know that actually, Mr. Tenant, he was there. I made Zach come with me to survey the damage and we found this. Mr. Tenant was nowhere to be found. Today should have been filled with calls to the police department and the insurance company, but I was so swamped with Other Stuff I get to deal with it tomorrow. Sounds pretty passive, no?

Hard(ly) Work(ing)

My dad/boss is in Argentina. He has left me in charge of the biz and his apartments. I worked 13 hours on Saturday so I feel justified in a little down time, which at work generally means shooting the breeze with office friends instead of making semi-important phone calls (the kind that can totally wait until tomorrow). So besides (honestly) intensely working from 8:00-10:30 this morning, my day has mostly consisted of talking to my loan officer about a v important investment property loan. And Fish and Owl Creek Canyon and Buckskin Gulch hiking trips. Yes, important business it is.

I was surprised and relieved that after about an hour away from my phones I had only missed two calls and a fax that were easily taken care of. Now I’m having a hard time moving on to the millions of little to-dos that really need to get done this week sometime. I’ve already gone downstairs (my office is on the second floor of our building) twice to get my diet coke fix.

I’ve noticed, as I’ve discussed hiking/backpacking with different people, that not too many women are interested in adventures that do not involve comfortable beds, frequent showers, and easy access to shopping. I do understand this to a certain degree but I’m so enchanted by the backcountry’s solitude and scenery the sacrifice of usual vacation amenities seems more than worth it. Perhaps I am lucky to have a husband that loves me even when I look like this? Perhaps this is more evidence of my “uniqueness”? Maybe I'll think about it a minute longer while I continue to avoid doing actual work.

Random Babble

Well, my client got the house, for now at least, though I am quite suspicious that he will be backing out on inspection. Ah, well, such is life.

And Pink Floyd, thank you for commenting. I have nothing to say about War of the Worlds because it has such a lame ending that any small bit of entertainment I got from the beginning and middle dissipated like air from an untied balloon. Also, I am not a big Tom Cruise fan, creepy little man that he is, especially in light of his recent puzzling (read: fake) relationship with Katie Holmes and rantings about anti-depressants and vitamins.

Today I am worried. I read this post on Times and Seasons that makes me think that, yikes, what if no professors at the U. like me just because I'm LDS. I took an excellent conflict resolution class up at the U. last year. I didn't mind that I was in the minority as a Mormon. In fact, after 4 years at BYU it was a breath of fresh air to have some different perspectives--not that there aren't different perspectives within the church but it's not quite the same thing.

However, one time I played the mediator in a role play that revolved around religious issues. Mediation ethics require the mediator divulge any potential conflicts of interest so I mentioned that I am Christian. One of the participants demanded to know which particular Christian religion, and when I told her, she scooted her seat over a little bit in disgust. My heart sunk. It might have been my first realization that a person may choose not to like me because I choose to be a member of the LDS faith. Afterward she told me it was part of the role play and her best friend is Mormon. I still felt bad in spite of myself.

I am also worried because my dad is going to Argentina tomorrow, leaving me in charge of the business. This in itself is typical, and even the length of the trip, twelve days, is little cause for concern considering I've covered for twice that long during my Realtor stint. So I'm not sure if it's because this time I only have a part time assistant who works according to her own schedule or if it's because one of our primary clients is a registered sex offender or if it's because I'm trying to tie together all of my loose financial ends before law school begins, but I am having trouble concentrating and I can't seem to fall asleep. But I'd best be trying to fall asleep so maybe I can come up with something more coherent to say tomorrow.

Only a Month Left

A couple of months ago my sister-in-law joked that I would probably end up selling real estate after I finish law school. Zach looked at her and without smiling said "No, really, it's not going to happen," and that is because he sees me on nights like these.

I have an asshole client. I tried to think of a nicer word than that, but none came to mind. He is supposedly buying a house for his sister who is getting divorced, but I am pretty sure he is hoping to actually not buy a house but make it look like he wants to buy a house so his family and friends are impressed by his generousity and financial prowess. He called me at 3:30 on Friday afternoon with no advance warning and wanted to write an offer RIGHT THAT SECOND on a house he'd already written an offer on two weeks ago but didn't buy because they wouldn't close when he wanted to close. Or something like that.

Quick-thinking-me started by trying to tell him I already had "appointments." When he obviously wasn't buying that any sane person has appointments on Friday night, I felt compelled to tell him that I was about to walk into the Huntsman Cancer Institute for surgery. His response "When can you be done?"  That's right, for all he knew I was DYING of cancer and he just wanted to make sure that offer got written.

After sputtering uh uh uh for a few seconds in shock, I committed a cardinal sin of real estate appointment making: I told him the truth. "Well, actually at 6:30 I am scheduled to play Chinese Checkers with my old widowed grandmother and she doesn't take kindly to rescheduling." Yes, I know, as it has been pointed out to me by others who have heard this story, that I should have stuck with the old "appointments" excuse, but COME ON WHO HAS APPOINTMENTS ON THE FRIDAY NIGHT OF A 3 DAY WEEKEND?

So I wrote the offer for him at 10:30 PM, but he didn't get the house anyway over $1000 which is, I must point out, much less than 1% of the purchase price of the house. ARGH! Anyway, so we spent all day yesterday looking at houses and wrote another offer. And tonight we countered back to the sellers $800. I am just waiting waiting waiting to hear that another offer came in on this house.

Excitement Involving Sirens

Our neighbor/tenant, single mom to one with another on the way, is moving out. Usually we mourn the loss of tenants, especially tenants with reliable state subsidized rent. This tenant, however, has been a little troubling i.e. gets in fights with the crazy lady across the street, so we weren’t too sad to see her go.

Yesterday as we came home from the matinee of War of the Worlds, we discovered 4 cop cars and several cops on the street. They were arresting a very young, very skinny man—seemed quite slight for the number of cops but I suspect based on a previous incident with excessive response by the fire department that the number of cops probably had more to do with the quietness of the Saturday afternoon than the severity of the crime. After poking around a bit—mostly eavesdropping on the possibly-high sailor-mouthed girlfriend of the skinny criminal—we learned that these people were friends of our tenant. The girlfriend of the skinny criminal blew him a kiss, made some threats under her breath regarding the crazy lady across the street—who was most certainly responsible for the arrest of skinny criminal—and drove away presumably to post bail or something. So glad our tenant is moving, right?

Around 10:30, we hear a loud bang on our back door. Usually people banging on the door either a. are stopping by to pay rent or b. have a maintenance request. Since I had surgery, this falls to Zach…haha actually it wouldn’t matter if I had surgery or not, I always make Zach answer the door especially late at night.  It’s the girlfriend and her friend. They tell Zach that they left their wallet and some money at our tenant’s apartment and they’d like to go get it. Then, since it is technically illegal to open a tenant’s apartment without notice so Zach refuses, they tell him louder to open the apartment. Louder and with threats.

Zach comes upstairs and asks me what to do (no idea), goes and checks inside the apartment himself, and finds a lighter, a pipe, and a small white pebble. But no wallet. After reporting this exciting new development to me, he goes down to engage our visitors in some more spirited discussion in an attempt to get them to leave.

In the mean time, I decide that perhaps maybe this is the kind of situation that should compel me to, I don’t know, call the cops. So I do. I ask the nice dispatcher to tell the cop to tell skinny criminal’s girlfriend that it was crazy lady who called. Of course, before the cops even arrive Zach has sort of calmed the girl, told her to leave and never return, and said goodbye. Zach is so calm in situations like these.

As he shuts the back door, the cop comes to the front door. “You’re having some trouble?” he looks earnestly at me and back into the house. I’m still somewhat frightened at this point since the skinny criminal’s girlfriend has most likely not left our property yet, so I say quietly “I think they’re around back, the people who are bothering us.” He’s obviously a bit confused and wants further explanation. Luckily, Zach comes to the front door at this point and takes the problem from there.

Long story short. The white pebble=crack. Our instructions: throw it away. Skinny criminal’s girlfriend? Gone for now but you’d better believe we set the alarm last night!

Getting Trunkie

Today was one of those days that made me happy that I only have 67 days until law school starts…and I am going on vacation for the 10 days before so only 57 days left of selling real estate. Zach says I’m getting trunkie.

Some clients of mine sold the condo that I sold them a couple years ago and bought a new house. When this woman’s 2 year old was playing with my keypad, I made some crack about how he’d grow up to be a real estate agent. It's one of those not-that-funny conversational items that usually gets a little courtesy haha while I try to get my keypad back--it locks up if too many buttons are pressed and then I have to jump through hoops to get a tamper unlock code. She, however, didn’t even smile, looked right at me and said “Oh no, he’s going to go to college like his father and I did.”

Right, so she obviously hasn’t paid too much attention to me. In the at least 50 hours I have spent with this woman recently and two years ago, I am positive I have at least mentioned college. Maybe she doesn’t think BYU is a real school because she is from out of state?? I don’t know. She also told me she generally doesn’t like Mormons. Yay.

She’s said to me at least 10 times during the course of this transaction that she’s going to call me up in a couple years to put this house on the market and look for another one. I haven’t bothered to let her know that I won’t be the one selling it.