June 12 09
The Hunt Continues
Yes, we are still looking for a home. Just like every other renter in this city with a decent-paying job, we can only afford a low-end house that needs some work, or a mid-range condo, preferably in a steel and concrete building. And since we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives, and half a million in interest paying it off, our choices are very limited.
The months of May and June have GOT to be the worst time of the year to buy real estate. Even though our economy is tanking, and a record number of Canadians are signing up for EI, people in Victoria have forgotten all about that and, to the delight of the Real Estate Board, are jumping into the market with fervor. New home-owners are readily signing up for 25 year mortgages at an interest rate that won’t last.
Recently we went to look at a charming little place in Fernwood. The yard was exceptionally small, and upon closer inspection, we discovered an addition that had been tacked on haphazardly in god-knows what era. It was the kind of place you’d want to inspect VERY carefully before buying to ensure you weren’t investing in a nightmare. But it was cute, had a great kitchen, and probably lots of potential. Half an hour after we walked through the place, and before we’d even had time to talk about it, our agent called us to say someone was putting in an offer, and if we were interested, now was the time to do so as well. Um . . . great, thanks. I think we need more than an hour to make the biggest decision of our lives.
This past weekend we looked at three places. The first seemed hopeful from the listing. The pictures were quite delightful. It looked well-taken-care-of and it had a suite! When we got there, the smell of “febreeze” nearly knocked us out. The place had been tenanted for quite some time, and although it was now vacant, you really got the sense the renters had been hard on it. And it had some very strange attributes. At least two additions had been put on, and maybe not thought out well judging by the floorplan. The carpet in two rooms was filthy and covered in animal urine. In the upstairs “master bedroom” which was only accessible by a (inspector alert) wobbly spiral staircase, loomed a massive claw-foot bathtub. What the hell?
The back yard was a mess, with crap stacked everywhere, including an old motor, a pile of wood and a forgotten patio table with one empty can of orange crush on it. And then, to top it all off, the tenant from the suite downstairs materialized. He took one look at us, grunted and proceeded to tinker with his sports car which was in pieces in the driveway, and his mororcycle which was in pieces in the front yard. And he wasn’t even wearing a shirt. Thank god our agent has a sense of humour. She was probably wondering why the HELL we’d asked to see this place.
The second place we looked at turned out to be one half of a duplex. Sneaky. It was an open house, so we didn’t have our agent in tow. The place (which was the upper half) was brand new, and bland, with its unimaginative, characterless fixtures and floorplan. “European-inspired kitchen, stainless steal appliances blah blah blah . . . “
But the selling agent was quite a piece of work, and really stepped up to make the experience more than ordinary. He introduced himself with a limp shake of the knuckles while gazing over my shoulder. He was old, brusque, and crusty, and I felt like he was reading our financial situation with an x-ray, and judging us by our age.
“Is the downstairs-half zoned for commercial or residential?” my fiancé asked, as we wandered around, taking note of the plastic floor that was made to pass as hardwood.
“It’s a duplex.” Replied the agent gruffly.
“Right, but is it zoned for commercial?”
“It’s a DUPLEX, that means TWO homes.” Right. Got it. Thanks. Maybe learn what zoning means.
Cleverly he took note of the fact that we didn’t have an agent with us, and saw an opportunity.
“What are you looking for?” He asked.
“Mmmmm, a house or a condo.” My fiancé replied.
“What price range?” Pause.
“Low to medium-”
“Sign my guest book!” He said, sweeping his arm in the direction of the book. We looked at him for a few seconds, blinking. The awkwardness thickened.
“ . . . No.” My fiancé replied.
"Why not?"
". . . Because I don't want to." Thank GOD my fiancé isn’t a pushover, and was willing to stand up for himself. We left.
The third place we visited was also an open house, and it was our kind of place! But I won’t get into it. That would be pointless because when we walked through the door we discovered from a shrewd mouse of an agent that it was already sold, and in case we were hopeful that offer might fall through, it had a backup offer by someone who hadn’t even SEEN the place yet. But we were warmly invited to make a second backup offer if we wanted! Thanks. For wasting our time.
I figure the stream of eager-beaver-first-time-home-buyers has to dry up eventually, and when it does, it might be our turn. We refuse to get too excited or emotional, and certainly WILL NOT play any bidding-war games. Not in this economic climate. Until then, it seems I’ll just have more material to write about.
