Realty, really

So Julia and I are looking for a house, again. (To buy, that is — if we just wanted to find one to admire from across the street, we’d already be set.)

We tried this house-hunting routine in 2005, in order to have a place to move into after we got married. That didn’t work out so well. The house part, that is. The marriage is fine, thanks.

Back in 2005, people in Portland were, as they say in the real estate business, bat-freaking insane. We’d find out about a house in the morning, race over to see it in the afternoon, and have to decide instantly whether we wanted the house or not. If so, we’d race down to the nearest coffee shop to fill out the 700 forms necessary to make an offer.

Because of the irrational exuberance then in vogue, we would offer something like $10,000 over the asking price of the house, only to be told a few days later that ours was one of the lowest offers and had been rejected. Over and over. I think we made five offers before giving up. I think the other, winning offers may have included firstborn children.

At the time, it was a grueling process, visiting dozens upon dozens of houses, and signing my name more than I had done cumulatively to that point in my life.

But, as so often is discernible only when looking back on things, it was a blessing to not have found a house in that market. To all those whose bids trumped ours, I have this to say: suckers. Of course, you’ve probably all defaulted on your mortgages, anyhow. Jerks.

But things have calmed down since then — if not in terms of prices, then at least in terms of sheer insanity. And with a wee one on the way, I feel it is our turn to be the suckers/jerks.

Of course, having only recently started looking at houses, there isn’t a lot to report. We certainly haven’t yet found the perfect house, but signs are promising.

But the real reason I started this entry was to let you in on one of our little inside jokes. Now you, too, can revel in the hilarity that is the Stadler humor inner sanctum. (?)

You see, back in 2005, we had a realtor who, while very nice, pronounced the key term of her profession in a way that is a pet peeve of mine.

She would say the word “realty” as “REE-lit-ee” and refer to herself as a “REE-lit-ur”. I know, I know, I’m nitpicking. But it did seem odd, given how key that word is to being a real estate agent.

So it was that when we first met with our agent this time (a different guy), and he asked us if we had any more questions, I actually quizzed him on the pronunciation of these terms. He passed with flying colors, which clearly augurs well for our house hunt this time. (?)

And now, our inside joke. I have often said (with no seriousness whatsoever) that I wanted to open my own real estate agency, named King Realty. And the agency’s slogan would be: “At King Realty, we treat you like royalty!” (You can imagine your own insipid, yet catchy, tune to go with it, something along the lines of a jingle you might hear for a mattress commercial on daytime TV.)

The joke being in the pronunciation, of course: “At King REE-lit-ee, we treat you like ROY-lit-ee!” It still makes me giggle. Me, Julia, and, like, no one else, I’d guess.