The Back Story - Part 2

So we liked the house at Porter Street when we first saw it in mid-June.  And wondering how much it, or something like it, would sell for, we turned up at the auction on July 17.  There were seven or eight other parties present, also the agent's agents, and the vendor (peering anxiously through the upstairs verticals).  


We all waited, under a cloudy sky, and watched (no-one actually listens) while the auctioneer flapped his jaws and eventually, finally, got to the part where he asked for bids.


Nothing.  


So the proceeding was kicked off with a vendor bid, swiftly followed by a lingering, deathly silence.


It was instantly apparent that the assembly was comprised of observers not players, so the property was passed in on that opening vendor bid.  And we all went home.


A few weeks later we decided to go back for another look.  In the interim we'd seen two handfuls of possibilities, but none of them had sat as happily with us as the house at Porter Street.


This time, at the open, the agent, told us the sad tale of the vending family, now a family divided.  The house had to sell.  The people were eager to move on. I told him we didn't think it was worth what they were asking.  


Within a couple of weeks the House at Porter Street was taken off the market.
I was glad.  It bought us time.  No one new was going to know about it while it was  out of the mix.


After Mum's auction came and went without success, it took two long months ('til 22nd October) and a pricing tweak, for a buyer to finally be found. (Hurrah.)  


On Monday 25th I rang the scumbag agent and informally put a number to him.  "I know it's off the market, but I know they need to sell.  Would the vendors consider an offer in this vicinity?"  


The agent phoned me back a few minutes later. "Congratulations [pause] on your mum selling her property.  I'd like to help you find the home you're after, but the vendors of Porter Street want a further $100,000 on what you are offering.  Let's make an appointment asap to discuss the prop..."


I could've spat.  His stupid "when delivering bad news, open with a positive" strategy came off really really, REALLY badly.  I didn't want to talk to him and didn't want his help.


On the Thursday 28th, Mum and I had an appointment with the bank about my mortgage pre-approval.  When we got home we went straight to realestate.com.au, armed for the first time with a real clue about our budget.


The house at Porter Street was back out there, don't you know.  (It hadn't been there that morning.)  THE house, with a different agent, at $100,000 less than what the turd former agent had unequivocally informed me they wanted just three days earlier.


Spooky.  Wonderful.  Magic.


We had an advocate* negotiate with the new agent, (because I was having a heart attack) and on Sunday 31st we got the call that the deal was done, the house was ours.  And that was the end of the story.

Mum, Milo and Dawn (our advocate)

Except it's just the beginning of the story, really.  


*Our advocate is now no longer in real estate - because as an industry, generally, it stinks.


**When he heard about our purchase, the steaming pile former agent rang to congratulate me on the purchase.  I told him it was no thanks to him. I added that I know he lied misled me when he said he took our offer to the vendors. So the icing on this spectacular cake is that the rorter didn't get the commission.  HA.