"You're doing it backwards," the pretty blonde lady said to me this afternoon. "You're going to undo all the good you did. You should have scheduled it the other way around." She was a realtor who brought her clients to my open house in Loveland, and we were talking about how many people were waiting for me to start when I arrived. I set the hours of the open house from 2 to 4 this afternoon to accommodate my massage I'd already had scheduled for 11 to 12:30. By the time I arrived at the house in Loveland at quarter to 2, there were two cars in the driveway and three adults standing there chatting. I paused in the street and rolled down my car window and asked them, "Do you have a showing or are you here for the open house?" They told me that they were there for the open house and wasn't it supposed to start at 2? I told them, "Yeah, that's me. Let me go set a sign out on Wilson Street, and I'll unlock the door." By the time I'd set two signs each two blocks away, and returned, I pulled in behind a minivan parking across the street, and there was another car pulled up next to the first group of people. I grabbed my kit out of the trunk and politely threw a couple elbows (okay, I said, "Pardon me" and they moved) to get to the door. If I recall correctly, nine people followed me inside. For the next 50 minutes, there were close to that many people milling around at any given time. The hour that followed that was only slightly less crowded. It was hectic and I know I didn't get to speak to every single person who came through. But I talked non-stop. I never once sat down. And yes, I probably wrecked everything that Slow Hand had done to make my muscles relax by pacing around for almost three hours, speaking without thinking too hard, until I had used up all the words in my head. When the pretty lady told me I should have saved the massage until after, I didn't bother to tell her I had to do it this way. I'm fairly sure that I wouldn't have survived the day if I hadn't stretched out first. (I say that like I was the one who did the stretching, like a kid at a track meet. No, I was stretched like taffy. It was done to me. And I was grateful for it.) I was sore by the time I drove home like a robot, making all the moves mechanically, with no creative thought firing through my brain. It would have been worse without the prep work.
This open house today was the third time I've held open a place remodeled by the same man, all three times in Loveland. If I hadn't used up my pretty words this afternoon, I'd be able to come up with a better analogy for him than to say he is our brokerage's family friend. The first closing I was invited to attend in a professional capacity was for the house he bought for a song overlooking the sculpture park. I went along on the final walk through, and saw the disaster that house was, and then four months later I held court in the sparkling diamond he had polished out of the lump of coal that it was. It was like hosting a party in a magazine feature home. Later in the summer, I had another one in a house of his about a half mile from the first, and my advertising game was not on point. I forgot the Craigslist ad and I didn't put out enough signs. The only person who walked through it was the neighbor across the street. Today was a happy medium between the two experiences, as was the house. The remodel didn't have the huge budget of the first nor the tight margin of the second. The home was newer than the others (only 24 years old). But it was open and airy and beautifully done. It was also aggressively priced. I expect a bloodthirsty bidding war on this one, not that I think I'll be involved in the offer-writing. I do not believe I captured a single new client today. It was just too hectic and I didn't feel that spark like I bonded with any one person. It's okay though. I learned a new neighborhood in a nearby town that I really think is an emerging market. I just wish that for the second time I hadn't forgotten to retrieve my doormat from one of this guy's houses. I may remember to ask for it back, I may not.
If I'd had the choice, I would not have driven myself home from the showing. I can only hope I didn't do anything dangerous like cut anyone off in traffic. I had no business being on the roads in that fatigued condition. When I made it to the house, I told the Mr that I was starving and needed to be fed. I also insisted he was going to drive. We went to the same restaurant where my daughter and I went after last week's open house. The food was as good this week as last time. I've continued to wander around in a daze, even hours later, after we came home. We watched Saturday Night Live, which was fun, but when the local news came on afterwards, I started wondering whether my brain really was compromised. Either the people who wrote the scripts for the teleprompters and for the human interest pieces were illiterate or non-native speakers, or I was having "An Episode." None of the syntax or word choices seemed to make sense to me. Even the ads started sounding wrong. It is most likely just mental fatigue from all that I did today, but if I start smelling burnt toast, I am going to start to worry.
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