This is just a warning and a disclaimer. This story is more mean and harsh in nature than usual. If you are easily offended by such things and/or if you work in real estate, STOP READING right now. I'm dead serious.

October 2008

I have spent much of 2008 here in the city, in pursuit of that green, man. Some of my exploits have been fairly successful (getting paid $15 an hour to sit in an office in Brooklyn doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING), but the majority have not (Sports Betting). And, there was one recent financial disaster, which I will write about shortly. As of lately, I've been trying hard to get my money right, after getting it very wrong, which you will read about in my "Scotty Gets Scammed" section. But that's for another story. Right now, I'm gonna let you in on a little not-so-secret. I haven't lived on my own in 3 years.

I recently attempted to get out on the street, but instead I learned of the harsh and shady world that is real estate brokerage. During the summer of 2008, an old college acquaintance of mine (who happened to have huge boobs) named "Shirley" told me that she had just obtained her real estate liscense and would be willing to help out any of my friends who lived in the city and needed an apartment. I thought to myself: "Hmm, sounds like someone is looking to me for a boost in self-esteem." Common theme among people who bother to contact me these days.

So I decided to play along and told her that I would potentially need a place for the fall. A couple months later, I ran into Shirley on the street, and the next day she sent me one of the weirdest messages I have ever recieved in my 5 years on Facebook. I am going to copy it verbatim: "It was really good seeing you the other day, and really random hehe... but maybe it was meant to be, maybe it's a (spiritual) sign that i am supposed to help you with apartment search, I totally believe in signs... glad i saw you!"

Is this girl on CRACK? OK, at this point I was thinking Wow- is she really that desperate and low on self-esteem that she's resorting to spirituality to get me to look at apartments with her? Sensing a potential watershed of story material, I... wrote some bullshit reply and forgot about it. A few weeks later, she messaged me again, telling me she's been "thinking of me" and my apartment search. Realizing that this girl will not shut up until i agreed to meet up, I sent a tentative date to come by her office and look at places she has available. That date came and went, with the excuse that she was "too busy" (On a SATURDAY? Hmm...) so she rescheduled for the following weekend.

I arrived at her office on one Saturday afternoon in early October 08', and was immediately reminded of a morgue. Her boss was a sketchy guido Italian, and she was the only female in sight. Within 5 seconds of my entrance there was a clipboard on my lap asking me to fill out detailed personal personal information. I BSed most of it. Then, almost instantly there were three apartments for me and Shirley to check out. Just like that.

So me and Shirley spent an afternoon walking around, looking at random apartments and talking about college stuff, living in the city, etc. After each apartment we saw, she took note that i was interested in it. Then, she cordially invited me back to her... office. As soon as I got back, there was a clipboard in front of me to sign something. At this point, Shirley and her scumbag-in-training boss gave me all this crap about how great this apartment would be for me and my current situation. One side of me wanted to get the hell out of this office and try desperately to enjoy the rest of my Saturday. The other side of me was blinded by the gravity of the situation, and the possibility of grabbing my own place no matter what the extensive cost may be. By the way, including broker fees this apartment would cost over 3,000 dollars a month, way beyond anything I can even come close to forking up in this shithole economy.

But at the time, I did not put two and two together. So I signed myself into a contract worth me paying 3 fucking grand a month. At the time, thanks to a little incident I barely even had 3 grand in my bank account. So we left it that I would have to sign some shit and have my parents sign as well. I lied and said it would be "no problem". All the while as her boss was explaining this to me, Shirley was sitting there giving me seductive glances, her boobs hanging front and center like the good little prostitute she is.

Then I got home and realized I had dug myself into a hole that would be hard to get out of. I realized I just couldn't pay what I would have to pay. I called Shirley then and tried to cancel. But she put forced logic into me, just telling me to get the damn money and documents into her, then quickly ending the call. At this point I realized that this was a much deeper and wider hole than I had imagined. My defensive guard had let me down, and now it was time to go into the offensive. I went into my playbook and came up with something John Madden wouldn't dream of in his prime. And it is an offense that has worked fairly well for me in the past.

I am talking about the legendary Fake-Out Offensive. This means I was to give the impression that I was totally committed and excited to do what they want, get myself the apartment and get Shirley her nice, handsome commission fee. Then at the last possible second, completely bail on them and not even give a fucking callback. So I immediately called Shirley back and told her I would get all my "stuff" in by tomorrow and was excited, ready to close on this place. Then I just went to sleep that night and forgot i had said anything.

The following morning, I had to go to work for one of a seemingly endless series of dead-end jobs, which I will be writing about soon in my Office Malfunction section. But that, my friends, is also for another story. I got out of work early for some reason, only to look down on my phone, which had to be on complete mute (NO Vibrate, no beep) for the nature of my job, to discover a whopping 30 missed calls. Maybe more, who knows. The missed call directory on my phone looked something like this:

1) Shirley 10:17AM

2) Shirley 10:18AM

3) Shirley's Boss 10:21AM

4) Shirley 10:22AM

5) Boss 10:25 AM

6) Shirley 10:26AM

And so on and so forth. For 5 FUCKING HOURS worth of calls. Whoops. Did I just blow off this bitch, and put the Fake-Out Offense into full effect? I think I did. But when I came back home, I discovered an unexpected hitch in my plan that I had completely forgotten about. I had already PLACED DOWN a refundable charge on my parents' credit card for the first month's rent. And since I had placed down my mom's cell phone as an "emergency contact" on the papers I had signed, Shirley had called my mom, who had no idea I even was looking for apartments, nor knew I had a broker or knew about any of the papers she was expected to sign according to the agreement, nor knew that I had placed down a payment of 3,000 dollars. Whoops. Looks like someone fucked up. And even after Shirley called my mom and explained her the situation, she called back 10 times just to punch it home.

These brokers are sharks, they are nothing more than common city scud. The kind I usually vomit on, spit on, and eat for my breakfast. I really wonder what is included in the training materials for being a broker. Whatever the case, I'm pretty sure "How To Be A Fucking Scumbag 101" is in there somewhere. Essential Reading. Also "Lie, Cheat, & Steal", "Real-Life Applications of Prostitution" (required reading for all female applicants), and "How Douchebaggery Can Pay The Bills". You get the idea.

So at this point, I had only one course of action. To go into the office, demand a refund, and never come back. I stormed into the office and demanded to speak to the boss. He came out with a furious look on his face, and took me into a private conference room. At this point I panicked, because he looked like the kinda guy who would go into his closet, get out the baseball bat and pound my head in like the Home Run Derby. I went in there, and made up some bullshit about how I "evaluated my situation" and realized I couldn't pay for this shit. I demanded a refund. He was very pissed off, but told me it was OK. He thought I was "changing stories" on him. Seems to be a common theme among my stories

He then told me I could do that, but needed to pay cancellation fees. Fine. I was stupid. You can have my money. I can chalk that up to having a really bad date with a gold-digging whore. But a hundred dollars out of my wallet is much better than having to pay 3,000 dollars a month and bullshit broker fees. I at least saved some face. Because if I hadn't gotten out of that, I would have been evicted already.

It turns out that what I did, a cancellation on something I already planned on, is a cardinal sin in the world of real estate. It's pretty much the equivalent of murder. And Shirley was beyond pissed. I did not find out the extent of exactly how bad her feelings were until I sent my friend "Phase" on a mission to do a little undercover reporting.

Through Phase's reporting, I found out that Shirley thinks I am an irresponsible asshole who made her look bad in front of her boss by being confusing and switching stories. Well I have an entire website of stories I can use, so I can switch em' to whatever I want if it'll keep my money away from those scum. Shirley also has had several other of her male friends use their "apartment search" as an excuse to spend a day walking around and talking to her, because apparently she comes across as too flirtatious for her practice. Well my friend, you do need to learn the fine line and limits between solicitation and just plain prostitution. If I hadn't taught her that lesson, I don't know if she ever would learn.