Post-Apololyptic Real Estate: Agents Saving Face

I'd like to preface this: I've been known to write angry blogs. And I can as this rant isn't connected to my professional life, past or present, which is especially important with today's blog. As you guys know, the link is in every personal email I send. And I do that for a reason.

In Los Angeles, one of the first questions asked when you meet someone is, "what do you do?" In the past, I'd proudly respond, "I'm a Realtor." Things changed as the market plunged and I made less and less money. How did I, and many others like me deal with it? Read on.

Ahhh, the good life. Some of us got in at just the right time; identified a territory, worked it mercilessly, and tore it up. We bought houses, beach houses, BMW's, investment properties, hired personal chefs, sent our kids to $60,000 a year private schools...the good life. Fine dining, Armani suits, Barney's clothes at $500 a pop and up, first class airfare, $2000 seminars, learning how to make even more money...we were living fat. Well, a lot of us were.

And then it happened. I'm a numbers cruncher, specifically statistics. I make my own graphs. The ones available online are sometime bullshit. All the way back in late 2006 in Hawaii, the first to take a dive, I knew this. The mainlanders had stopped buying. Like a 747 colliding into the earth. I told a tale that other agents didn't want to hear: we were screwed. I called my friends in other states. My friends in Nevada told me their market was bulletproof. I asked, "how's your luxury home market?" The response, "um...a little dip lately." I warned them and they wouldn't listen, especially in markets with a lot of empty units. A year later, they all told me I was right.

Anyway, we all know what happened. Our 7-series BMW was traded in for one 7 yrs old. No more seminars, no more flying, not even coach. I watched my fellow agent lose their homes as I lost my own. It was partially my fault, one bad investment ruined me. I then noticed us responding a little differently when asked the "what do you do" question. And the subtle ohhh response, followed by the question, "so, how are you making out?" or similar. It was about this time we turned to lesser ways to make money. For me it was short sales, driving to far-flung places for very small commissions. My last one was $900, a house almost to Palm Springs. I figure I made $200 on the deal, far less than minimum wage. So I gave up. It was hard work for less than I'd make at 7-11. I think a little less than $2 an hour.

I encountered incognito agents doing jobs they would have previously considered beneath them; security guards, Starbucks...and lots of waiters, tucking their heads when I recognized them. One waited on me at Shakers in South Pasadena, and I wanted to reassure him that it was OK, plenty of other people were doing exactly the same. He was a former top producer. They do anything to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. They don't readily offer this info.
Some agents have managed to stay afloat during this disaster, and for that I give them my utmost respect as they are far more talented than I.

As for my own fate, don't despair. I'm writing sensational thrillers, my latest set in downtown Los Angeles. I believe my latest is the first to do so with gay main characters. The failure of my career has done spectacular things for my creativity, and I'm doing what I've always wanted to do. I'm an artist. Go figure. And I love what I'm doing. But lately I've been getting the itch. I thought I hated it, but what I hated was frustration, vacillating buyers, and failure, despite my best efforts. I was damn good. Damn good.

So the good news...I keep crunching numbers and the market is recovering. Just not in my neighborhood. We're still in a plunge. Too many units for the market, but damn good deals for buyers. But hard to get a loan. Paradox. So, fellow agents, shine that 7 year-old BMW, take a trip through Barneys and replicate the looks in Ross and the Fashion District...because your day will come. How soon? I'm not sure, but it's coming.

I'm getting a novel published. And then another. I owe my deepest gratitude to the burst of the housing bubble.