Love's Real Stories

In the aftermath of the column I wrote about my buddy Brino, the ace Contractor, mandolin-playing, instrument-building, member of the band, great guy, with whom I claimed to be in conflict; I received a lot of feedback from the readers of this fine paper. The overall slant of the feedback is that the readers do not seem to think my job in Real Estate is as big a deal as I make it out to be. That I, in fact, come off as a whiner.

I’m thinking I’ve written one too many columns about my self-perceived, self-important plight of going to work every day throughout this Covid-19 pandemic, locked in my office in a darkened building, on a mission to heroically guide the Essential Business of Real Estate through these turbulent and troubled times, while other people, namely my Buddy Brino, are sheltering in place, comfortably watching the movies of their choice. In that last column, I portrayed Brino as some lazy slacker, and me as the only guy who ever had to go to work.

One lady, Donna, left me a voice mail, pretty much telling me I’m blowing things out of proportion: “Thanks for all the information about the Real Estate market. It is evident you’re tied up all the time, dealing with all those complicated forms and contracts you keep hollering about. Hard times for you, I guess. But my daughter and son-in-law just bought a house, and it wasn’t hard at all. Their Real Estate agent took them to the house, they walked around, wrote an offer, and bought it. Not all that complicated. The only difference in the whole thing is that they wore face masks. Not as bad as you tell it. Anyway, don’t work too hard.”

A comment by a Realtor friend of mine went along the same lines as Donna’s voice mail. He said, “Dude, by the gist of your columns you write in the paper, you would think you’re in some secret undisclosed location working for the FBI on top-secret files. Or in some laboratory somewhere curing cancer. Hey, it’s just Real Estate, right? You ought to lighten up a little.”

Another guy, Bob, left a soft-spoken voice mail, which was very complimentary, but I think he perceived me to be fragile because of all my whining. He said, “I just wanna comment on your articles you have in the E-R on Fridays. I appreciate your efforts.  Hey, are you gonna be able to keep it up? You hang in there. Okay? I wanna wish you a happy day.”

In that column about Brino, I wrote, “If Brino would put down the mandolin long enough to listen, and pull his eyes away from his home movie screen long enough to focus, I would show him the picture of the Real Estate business and tell him about my job.” 

See, I made Brino out to be some guy who sits around on his couch all day playing his mandolin and watching the movies of his choice. Now, maybe he has done that during this pandemic. But he also works hard, has always worked hard, has earned a life of semi-retirement and still goes out and helps people with projects, bids jobs, does jobs, and has a sterling reputation as an all-around excellent human being. He’s also a great musician and makes beautiful musical instruments. And he plays lots of instruments, too, not just the mandolin. Like I said in that last column, I should hate him.

Brino left me a sarcastic voice mail the day after the column appeared in the paper: “Hey, Doug, I’m putting down my mandolin long enough to call you. Call me back.”

I did call him back, and my buddy Brino hit me with his sense of humor. He can take a joke. But he also zinged me for zinging him.

The truth is in an email I received from another reader, Mrs. Albert, who wrote, “That was a good one about your conflict with that mandolin playing friend of yours. But you sound like you need a vacation.” 

She went on to talk about her friends from Paradise who are looking for homes in Nevada. Then she said:

“Another thing about that column and your friend. You’re just jealous.”

Zing.

John Prine wrote these lyrics in the last verse of his song, “Hello in There”:

“So, if you’re walking down the street sometime, and spot some hollow ancient eyes; please don’t just pass ‘em by and stare, as if you didn’t care. Say, ‘Hello in there, hello.’”

In these Coronavirus days you must be careful how you say, “Hello in there.” Don’t lean in any closer than six feet!

A good sentiment by Mr. Prine, however. It’s good to check in on people. Especially with everyone in some form of lockdown because of the hated Coronavirus, Covid-19.

There are a lot of reasons to hate the Coronavirus. A big reason for me right now, and millions of other people, is that the virus took John Prine. Iconic American songwriter and performer, Prine gets the nod from all the Greats in the music world as a Master. The Greats love the man and they sing his quirky, funny, sentimental songs. He was 73 years old with a busy touring schedule.

I leaned in closer than six feet to a lady who was driving her wobbly shopping cart down the parking lot of Raley’s the other day. The cart was piled abnormally high with goods, and she was out of balance, burdened by a couple of purse-like bags dangling on straps from her shoulders. As I passed her, a plastic bag fell off her cart and hit the pavement. A clear-topped container holding a rotisserie chicken spilled halfway out of the bag. The lady was in a helpless position, gripping her cart which would roll away downhill if she were to let go. I instinctively took the few steps to the bag and picked it up for her, instantly realizing I had breached the social-distancing zone. I held it up in an offering gesture, apologizing for intruding into her space.

The lady’s eyes widened above her face mask and she leaned back from me, in apparent horror. She snatched the bag from my hand with her gloved hand and wobbled quickly away down the parking lot.

“It’s a different world right now,” said Bruce, a retired buddy of mine, who called to check in on me. “You must be hanging out at the homestead, doing nothing, like everybody else.”

“Far from it,” I said, “I’m busy every day trying to stay on top of the crazy Real Estate world. We have new Coronavirus Advisory forms people need to sign, and we’re finding new ways to do this business electronically, so people keep the density down and social-distancing up.”

“But no one is buying right now,” said Bruce.

“Surprisingly, there’s an amazing amount of stuff going on,” I said. “Buyers still want to buy, and Sellers want to sell. We’re figuring out how that gets done.’

“Yeah right,” said Bruce. “Everybody’s freaked out and staying home.”

“You’d be surprised,” I said.

“Okay,” said Bruce, “surprise me. What gives?”

“Hang on,” I said. I had spotted one of our Agents, a twenty-year veteran at her desk in the gloom of our darkened office. I stood at least 8 feet away from her with my mask and gloves on and asked her what she sees out there.

“I just wrote an all-cash offer on a house in the $900,000’s that came on the market three days ago. We were beat out by another all-cash Buyer who pushed the price up to $1,000,000.”

“Holy cow,” I said.

“And I wrote an offer for another Buyer today on a house in the $500,000’s, all cash,” she said. “Somebody pushed the price above asking and my Buyer lost out on that one, too. It’s still crazy out there. We need more Listings!”

I reported the news to Bruce. He said, “Oh. Hmm. Well, anyway, did you hear John Prine is sick with the Coronavirus? Such a bummer.”

That was day before yesterday. Last night the news came down that John Prine passed away. My house speakers and my truck speakers have been all John Prine ever since.

One old song of his, “We are the Lonely” speaks in its refrain, to our current time: “We are the lonely, all together. All together we’re all alone.”

RIP John Prine. Thanks for everything.