ESTATE ASIAN

Selling my house in north west London last year, (2008), I went to see three estate agents for valuations, as you do. Trouble is, apart from Andrews, who we bought it through in 1986, they are all asswipes. Haaaaart didn’t really have much of a clue, telling us to put it on with a guide price ranging £30,000 between bottom and top price. What’s the point of that? Any buyer is surely only going to offer the lower price, or below.

Then there is the classic – Bairstow Eves.

I walked in and sat down in front of an Asian kid and explained I was putting my house on the market, would like a valuation, and would then consider which estate agent to appoint.

“OK Sir, I just need a few details.”

There’s something about this bloke. Apart from the incredibly strange hair, which seemed to have boot polish marking out a ‘hairline’ on is forehead, he must be no more than 21, full of self importance and attitude right from the start. I took an instant dislike. Nothing to do with him being Asian, you understand. I was living in a predominantly Asian part of London for more than 20 years. Shit, I even had a shopkeeper say hello to me the other week, and I’ve only been going in there for my avacados and limes for the last 15 years. I was really beginning to integrate.

Anyhow, this little wet behind the ears snot-nosed fucker starts to log down the details. “How long have you owned the property?”

“Twenty two years.”

“OK, so there is no mortgage on it then.”

“Scuse me?” “Yes there is mortgage – why would you be so presumptuous to assume there wasn’t?”

“Well, after that length of time, most people have paid their mortgage off.”

Do you ever find yourself in a situation where you know you are taking some shit, but it’s not until after the event and you start to think about it more, that you become really incensed with what was said? This was one of those moments.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I remortgaged a couple of times to finance other properties. OK?”

He continued, “What was the price you paid originally?”
Again, none of his fucking business, and of no relevance to conducting a valuation 22 years on, but I replied, “£82,500 in 1986.”

Eyebrows raised, and, “Hmmm…”

“What now?” Beginning to get seriously irritated by now.

“It seems like a lot to pay at that time.”

A LOT TO PAY AT THAT TIME? WHAT THE FUCKING BUGGERY BOLLOCKS WOULD THIS STUPID LITTLE GOBSHITE KNOW? IN 1986 HE WAS STILL UP HIS MOTHER’S FALLOPIAN TUBES WAITING TO BE FARTED OUT.

This was my cue to get up, tell him to poke it and walk out. But incredibly, I sat there, dumbfounded.

Anyway, they sent round a proper bloke to value the house (if it had been little Mr Boot Polish I wouldn’t have let him through the door). To be fair, this chap went through his schpeil and offered some valuable comments, priced it in the region I expected and so on. In fact he conducted himself in a very professional manner.

I told him this and complimented him on his knowledge and professional approach. I also told him his firm would not be getting my instructions. I said, if there is any possibility of that ignorant twat at the front desk getting a single penny of the sale commission, or crawling over my property, spouting off like the asshole he is, to prospective buyers, then you can forget it.

“What are you doing employing fucks like him? He needs to go on a course in basic manners and diplomacy, learn a little humility in front of people he is dealing with. Especially people like me who have been around the block once or twice.”

“He does your company no favours whatsoever, and as far as I am concerned, is the sole reason I would not go near Bairstow Eves to flog my house.”

Apparently, I am not the first person to be aggravated and wound up by this kid. “Yes, we have had one or two complaints about him in the past, but he was nominated junior estate agent of the year, north west London regional heats, runner up, or something, and he does speak fluent Gujarat, and as so many of our buyers come in here not speaking any English, he is an asset to the company.”

For Fuck’s Sake.

What can you say to that? Fuck all.

Bill Turnip