Miami Dade Real Estate Scoop

Here's someone who knows how to get what he wants. Beth, do we have any open positions?

This is not a trained bird folks! This is a seagull in Aberdeen, Scotland who has discovered he can just go into the convenience store when the shopkeeper's not looking and steal his daily bag of chips (always the same, Doritos)! Resourceful, no? Once outside, he tears into the bag and his friends dig in as well. Customers find it so funny that they pay for his stolen chips. Notice how he looks around to make sure the coast is clear and how he speeds up once he's outside. Hysterical!

I received an email from a friend in Jersey the other day.  She mentioned the picture on my website and I had to ask her:

"What picture?"

I don't have a picture on my website or my blogsite so she piqued my curiosity.  She replied that she was keeping up to date on what was going on in my life by reading my website. 

Oh this was just getting better and  better!  You see, my website isn't updated and my blogsite is mostly about real estate. 

I realized she was referring to Active Rain!  When I asked her how she found it she said she googled my name.  I thought that was so funny.  She apparently hasn't bookmarked AR.  She just googles my name and reads up on my latest tale.  Hi Claudine!!

Just another of the 1001 uses for Active Rain. 

I know as Real Estate Professionals, we are expected to work odd hours.  But I haven't had a life lately!

Don't get me wrong.  I spend time with my loved ones.  But when do I get to do stuff that's just for me?

Is this just because I am still paying my dues as I'm fairly new and still building my business?  Or will this continue even after I am a "seasoned pro?" 

Wait, could it be we're all working even harder because of the market we're in?  I've been busting my tail lately!

A builder who listed 17 homes with me has dropped his prices dramatically.  This in turn required that I get the word out there.  I can't just change the price on the MLS and hope the word gets out!  I am in the middle of a huge marketing blitz and preparing a Grand Opening for this weekend to maximize these new prices.

To do this, I had to become my own advertising department (short notice); party planner; caterer; printer; party supply shopper; balloon blower; sign installer while at the same time servicing my other listings; finding properties for buyers, drafting offers for buyers; handling all the paperwork necessary for a sale this week (can I stick a YAY in here?) and on and on it goes.  I'm pooped!

I step up to bat each and every time it's required.  I'm not complaining.  I would just like to know that someday soon I may have a semblance of a life back.  Some adult conversation that doesn't revolve around the real estate market would be nice.

Hugs and Prayers from Miami.

I received a message from a friend.  "Hey, sorry I missed your call.  I was showing a property.  Dazzling.  Dancing on the ceiling like Fred Astaire.  I don't know, you have to bend over backwards for buyers nowadays.  Anyway, call me."  He made me laugh.  Charley always makes me laugh.

But I started giving some thought to what he said.  I have been doing some dancing on ceilings myself lately.  Rescheduling appointments, especially with only 1 hour's notice, can be considered accommodating, no?  Heck, I spent 3 hours with a new buyer, on my birthday, on a Sunday, who has never bothered to return my calls or emails.  Hmmmph!

I think I'll sign up for Salsa classes instead.  =)

This is a Just Because post. Just because I like it. This song always makes me smile. Catchy tune. Keeps me humming it all day. And on my honor, it has nothing to do with anyone who may think they're all that and a side of fries.

The inimitable Chip Skylark:

Yesterday as we left church my eldest asked if she could drive the car.  She's not yet 16 and I'm just a little scared about her driving.  Not because of her.  She's a level headed kid.  It's the other drivers in Miami I don't trust.

She has a restricted license.  We call them Learner's Permits in New York, where I grew up.  But I've learned most of the Miami lingo already.  Because of her restricted license she can't drive without a licensed adult in the car.  That would me moi. 

I agreed and as we took off I asked if she wanted to try the Turnpike today.  "No way!"  came her reply.  I reminded her that she had to do it sooner or later and there was no better time than a lazy Sunday morning.  Most folks were still sleeping off whatever they'd had the night before so the Pike wouldn't be as busy.  I also reminded her that she already possessed all the necessary skills.

I watched her carefully as she processed my encouragement.  She knew I was right and reluctantly asked which was the shortest way to the Turnpike.  As we approached the on-ramp her nervousness was evident.  "I can't believe I'm doing this!"  But it wasn't said in excitement as much as sheer terror. 

I reminded her that she had been driving for months and knew what she was doing.  I reminded her that I was there guiding her.  I reminded her that she didn't have to venture into the left lane.  "Just stay here on the right and you'll be just fine."  I urged her to pick up speed though and even got her to the speed limit of 60.  At any spot on the Turnpike, if you're doing the speed limit, folks are passing you left and right anyway.

As we drove along and she gained confidence I realized we were going to pass a toll-booth on the way.  We have a Sunpass in the car and the Sunpass lane was on the extreme left.  I broke the news to her gently.  "Mom, I can't do that!"  I didn't need the kid freaking out on me.  I kept my voice cool and reminded her that she had switched lanes many, many times before.  It was always the same.  Check your rear view mirror; check your side mirror; check your blind spot and go. 

Encouraged once again, she did what she knew she was capable of and we heard the beep-beep as we cruised through the Sunpass lane.  Of course, this meant she now had to get back over to the right lane.  I have explained to my child the genius of using each lane for what they're meant.  I've even had passionate discussions with her as to how amazing I think our Interstate highways are.  They connect all of us.  Imagine that.  I find a certain wonder in that fact.

As she switched back to the right lane and we neared our exit I saw the triumph in her face.  The kid was positively beaming.  As we got off at the exit she broke out into a huge "Whoop," and started laughing.  She couldn't believe she had done it.  I reminded her again that she had been capable all along.  As I did so I was struck by a thought.  How many times had I questioned my own capabilities?

• Had I ever held myself back from contacting a luxury home owner because I didn't think I could sell their home as well as a mid-range one?
• Had I ever not made the phonecalls because it was all going to be a waste of time anyway?
• Had I ever told myself that there was someone better suited for the job than I?
• Had I ever lost out on something absolutely wonderful because I was too chicken to try?

I made a mental note to myself for the next time: check my rear view mirror; check my side mirror; check my blind spot and GO!

Regrets are for sissies!

Most of us Realtors® have them.  Well, we should. 

I'm talking about our Realtor® pins. I personally have 11.  I have no excuse for not having mine on.

Did you know they don't only come in the blue we see all the time?  The blue is for residential Realtors®.  They also come in a snazzy red for commercial Realtors®.

If you have your pin, I'm sure you try to wear it all the time.  Many posts have been written about the marketing opportunities opened up by doing this on a daily basis.  Standing on line at the grocery store, returning a book to the library, picking up the take-out pizza...the possibilities are endless.

But did you know that there's a preferred place to wear the pin?  if you look around, of those who proudly wear their pin, most wear it on their left side, over their heart.  While this may have some sentimental value, I'm here to tell you there's a better place!

Your pin whould be worn on the right side indstead.  Why?  Because when you shake hands with someone you use your right hand.  As you reach out your hand to shake hands, you will create a visual line that draws the person's eyes up that line (your arm) and they will notice your pin much more readily.

Easy, no?  Yes!  Who says good things have to be difficult?

I got a letter from one of those property investors.  As real estate agents who probably own more than just your primary home, I would think most of you have received one at some point.

The letter reeks of direct mail "insider tricks."  You know, the kind we all use:

• Handwriting font on the envelope to make it look like a "real" letter.
• No name on the outside return address to make it even more intriguing.
• My real name used in the letter.  No "Occupant" for me, no Sir!
• Handwriting font inside too.  Isn't he thoughtful to take the time?

I can just imagine him sending these off to all the absentee owners in a decent area hoping to get a nibble.  I decided to give him a call.  You see, I've been contemplating selling that property anyway.  What harm can it do?  So what if they offer 60-70 cents on the dollar and prey on folks who are down on their luck?  I wanted to know for myself how much he would give me for the house so I can consider all my options.

I dial the number and get a woman's voice.  She sounds like she'd rather be doing anything other than answering the phone.  "Hello-o-o-o-o?" 

"Hi, may I speak with Christopher please?"  (that's all he put on the letter.  No last name.  No company name.  No wannabe LLC name.)

"You have the wrong number!"  Click!

OK, that was rude.  Maybe I dialed the wrong number.  Let me try again.

This time she didn't even allow me to get the first word out.  Screaming, at the top of her lungs, "I told you, you have the wrong number!" Click!  She's either a lousy receptionist or has been getting shortchanged on paydays lately.

I look up the number online.  Unpublished land line.  I look up the street address that is on the outside of the envelope.  A mail processing place.

I decide to write my dear old friend Christopher, who was so thoughtful to take the time to send me a hand-written letter, a real handwritten letter.

I explained what had happened and asked him to get in touch with me if he was still interested in purchasing my property.  I also offered a word of advice:  proof-read his mailing campaigns or alert his secretary (cough..cough..girlfriend?..cough) that he's expecting some calls.

Poor guy probably gave up investing after he got no responses from this mailing.  My heart breaks for him.

It took me 2 hours to get home tonight.  It usually takes me 40 minutes.  I'm not complaining.  I know I arrived at home, safe and sound.  A Miami-Dade police officer was not so lucky.  Officer Jose Somohano was gunned down this morning while on duty on robbery detail.

Three other officers were also shot during the same incident.  They were hurt but they survived.  Supposedly shot by an AK-47.  The alleged gunman, Shawn Sherwin Labeet, is still on the run.  The manhunt continues.  That was the reason for the delay getting home.

I got off the Florida Turnpike as usual.  A few blocks closer to home I realized I was probably in the midst of the police efforts.  There were a lot of police cars at that point.  Many going against traffic.  I saw a lot of Ford Tauruses.  I guess they do use those a lot.  I had heard that once.

It took 20 minutes to get to the next light.  Upon getting there I saw we were being detoured South.  I needed to keep going straight.  I travelled in a stairs pattern until I got somewhere I thought I could swing around and get back to the main road I needed.  At the 4-way Stop they were turning most cars the other way.  Cops were everywhere, in all different uniforms.  Federal, State and local.  Many different local departments were represented here. I personally saw the Miami-Dade police, Coral Gables, Homestead and Florida City.  There were many more.  They all sent their own to hunt for the man who had killed one of their own.

I gave the policewoman my drivers license.  She asked where I was going.  I just wanted to get home.  She signaled up ahead that they should let me through.  As I slowly turned I wanted to tell her that I was mourning with her but she moved quickly to the next vehicle.  I was rushed by another officer.  How could I rush when I had no idea how I was supposed to behave in a situation like this?

At the next Stop sign I signaled left and marvelled at how little traffic there was at 6:30 PM on this main artery.  Even so, I was cautious turning onto the road.  There were undercover lights coming toward me and I waited until they passed.  I wanted to cause no more work for these officers than they already had.  The officer driving the other way looked right at me as he passed.  They were looking everywhere for him.

At the next intersection I waited at the light for directions from an officer.  He, too, wanted my license.  He was very courteous as he told me that I was being detoured yet again.  This time North.  I needed to show him that even though I did not put my life on the line when I left for work each morning I still supported what he and his colleagues were doing.  "We're mourning with you," I told him.  "Ma'am?"  He seemed surprised and wasn't sure he'd heard me correctly.  I repeated myself.  "Thank you Ma'am."  I drove slowly down this foreign street. 

I could tell the next roadblock a mile up was different.  They had firearms drawn at this one.  When it was my turn they didn't want my license, just to see inside my car.  I put all the windows down.  They asked me to pop the trunk open.  I did and they checked.  I somehow felt that I had to singlehandedly show my support to these officers.  Who the heck had commissioned me to be the goodwill ambassador?  I told this cop that I was sorry about what happened.  We spoke briefly and I continued down the road and waited at the next light. 

I encountered no more roadblocks but police were everywhere.  When I finally arrived at home the TV was tuned to a local channel covering the incident.  I was surprised by how sweet the assailant looked.  He didn't look like a hardened criminal.  His boyish looks belied the fact that he could point a high powered weapon at 4 police officers and shoot without regard for what happened next.

I hurt for him too.  Why would he give up rights to his life like this? Where was he right now?  Was he afraid at the realization of what he'd done?  Was he hiding in the underbrush somewhere?  Was he in one of the aqueducts at a canal?  How does a police officer check one of those and not be afraid that he'll be shot in the face?  Had he made it out of the county as some were thinking?  Did he have people helping him?  How did his mother feel being told that her son had killed a police officer?  He was going to die for it.  Either during the capture or later at the hands of the state.  No matter how I played it out, I didn't like it.

Many questions.  No good answers.  One life ended.  Many lives shattered.  I'm glad I'm home.......