The worst-best condo walk-through I ever went on
If you plan to sell your home, skip partying the day before
I side-eyed my real estate agent.
“Just keep an open mind,” she said before I spoke.
I was in the middle of trying to find a new condo to purchase, and we’d arrived at a condo with a Christmas wreath on the door — in April. I expected this place to be interesting, but I was not prepared for what was inside.
She opened the door, and the first thing I saw was a massive photograph of Al Capone above a large-screen television. My first thought: A man owns this place. I looked from the framed picture to four La-Z-Boy chairs in the center of the room. Next to each chair was a table filled with a bowl full of sunflower seeds. But these weren’t sunflower seeds that you could pick up and snack on like the amount that fits into a candy dish. Nope, these were just the seeds that someone spit out—and they towered over a cake bowl. My second thought, My gawd, how much sodium does this guy inhale in a day?
“Oh hell no, let’s go,” I said to my agent.
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She repeated her original line, “Just keep an open mind. You can redecorate it. Let’s just imagine it’s empty.”
I sighed, wiggled my nose like the genie in “I Dream of Jeannie” and hoped the living room would magically be clean. It didn’t work.
The next room was a pretty large bedroom with a master bed. While that was impressive, it was the huge Marilyn Monroe poster on the wall that made me shake my head. This isn’t just a man. This is a very single man. The closet nearby had a broom and mop in it, so I knew he had the potential to clean, but when I closed the door, there were wedding photos inside of the hallway. Who puts wedding pictures inside of a hallway closet by the mop bucket? All right, maybe this was an involuntarily single man.
“Are you sure he knew we were coming?” I asked. “If he’s trying to sell his condo, he’s not doing the greatest job of presenting it as livable.”
“Well, I mean, look how much space there is though,” my agent said, with a smile so optimistic that it made me want to pluck her forehead.
But even she couldn’t justify bedroom number two. It was empty outside of a weight bench and a glorious hole in the wall.
“My gawd, The Hulk lives here,” I mumbled. “Why is he punching holes in his walls?”
“No, it could totally be a set of weights that fell down,” my agent explained. “You just need a painter and some patching. Two bedrooms though for this price. Good deal, amiright?”
“No, you’re not,” I responded, still staring at the gaping hole big enough for a foot to fit inside.
Then we got to the kitchen, where I pointed to her and said, “Now defend this for me.”
Leftover chicken bones were all over the place, in and out of styrofoam containers, sprinkled around the stove and counter. The Hulk knows voodoo. I’m outta here!
I turned on my heels and stood at the front door. I was done looking at this place. But then it hit me. If there were wedding photos in the closet — in all of its hidden glory to not outshine Marilyn Monroe and Al Capone — and a Christmas wreath on the door, this must’ve been when the relationship went sour. She left. He demoted her to the broom closet, and Scarface took her shine.
Say hello to my little friend!
My agent looked sheepish as we walked out the door, understanding that this was a big fat, “Hell no.” But on my way out the door, I kept thinking of a quote from Marilyn Monroe, “I am not interested in money. I just want to be wonderful.”
This was clearly not a man who gave a damn about selling his condo and did everything in his power to make me not bother looking at my checkbook. But there was that “wonderful” part I couldn’t ignore.
I looked my agent dead in the eye and said, “Please don’t ever bring me to a place like this again. I don’t want to live anywhere that looks like a gym gone awry or a movie theater in the living room. But this place would be amazing for game night. You tell that man I’ll be his best friend when Netflix releases new movies. But after that, I’m going home — and this ain’t my home.”
Every blue moon, when I look at my boring couches with their fancy throw pillows, the fold-out bed, footstools and food-free laminate floors, I daydream of four La-Z-Boys in my living room. He may be The Hulk, but his movie night beats mine every time. I just wish I had some sunflower seeds right now.
Did you enjoy this post? You’re also welcome to check out my Substack columns “Black Girl In a Doggone World,” “BlackTechLogy,” “Homegrown Tales,” “I Do See Color,” “One Black Woman’s Vote” and “Window Shopping” too. Subscribe to this newsletter for the monthly posts on the third Friday. Thanks for reading!