never never never ever will I let a child of mine become a real estate agent. That is an easy call as I don’t have any, but still. I should probably say: lie to me and… yes well, you catch my drift. We have been here before. Brigitte has the rope ready, for when the revolution comes. I’m ready to give the order. Yesterday there was that thing with the remote for the gate. It’s in the middle of a very long blog post, so I don’t expect you to read it all. I can summarise by saying that EVERYONE I met yesterday were sour pissy-faced people, it went BOOMM in my head and I blew. I managed to maintain my anger within the household and tamed it with tea, music and a new seat with a view.
Today I got the fabulous idea that I would chase up on that remote thing. No North Queensland patience in our household. So I rang the real estate agent who said: “this is the first I hear of this. I have no record of this. Why were you asked to call us? They are responsible for the remotes” – I said something in the genre of sscchhhsssss (contained hissy fit) and explained that I had already explained everything to the secretary I talked to yesterday, that I had used the word urgent (who knows? it might work, even in North Queensland) and gave her the whole story. Oh she was going to get onto it straight away. I did not have to worry. OK well, thanks.
I then went looking for rosemary in three new places and bought some new glass dishes instead (one guy at the largest garden nursery I have ever seen said: “Rosemary? Nah mate, we can’t sell fresh herbs, no one uses them here. Try Bunnings” – ppffffth).
I return home, sit in my car, in the car park outside the complex and stare at the monsoon rain. Then I get the idea: they must have a spare remote. In a complex with 100+ flats, they just must. Maybe I can borrow it. I look in the mirror, check my face for unfriendly attitude and decide I can pass. I will kill that management lady with overwhelming joy if I have to. Determined I walk to her office and HELLO – the sour pissy face from yesterday is gone and she is back to her good old friendly self (it confirms to me that something was really wrong yesterday – with everyone). OF COURSE I can borrow a spare remote. OF COURSE she can see we are caught in something, which is not really our problem. That is also why she called our real estate agent, 5 min after I left yesterday to explain everything. HANG ON? you called the real estate? OF COURSE! Yesterday? “SURE! I explained everything to her and she said she needed the owner’s permission to buy a new remote, but would get back to her. It’s all sorted”.
Lying fucking scum I tell you.WHAT is so hard about telling the truth? I can see them in their stupid office (which we, the customers, pay the rent for, together with their salary) going: there is a customer on the phone, oh dear oh dear, what-to-do-what-to-do: WE’RE NOT HERE! IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!
I sincerely thanked the management lady for the remote; she didn’t want me to sign for it, would just write a note and leave it on her desk. She saved my day and my belief in people. My trust in the universe has been restored. BUT! Needless to say, I will not say “Aww, that’s nice” when you tell me your child is a real estate agent. Forgive me.