Broker Fun!

The "lobby" of The Front Lofts, Greenpoint. "NEWLY RENOVATED!"

April 1, 2009

With every cocaine fueled party in the hallway, every out of tune guitar lick that blares from an overpowered guitar amp down the hall, and every pilfered mail package, our search for a new apartment becomes more desperate.

Despite an odd Myspace-style glamour shot at the bottom of the Craigslist ad, Deborah called the broker pictured about a two bedroom apartment in TriBeCa that was listed at a seemingly impossible price.

“Can rents really be coming down that much?" we wondered.

It wasn't a particularly posh part of TriBeCa, and we were prepared for it to be a small two bedroom, but we figured it was worth investigating. Deborah called and left a message at the real estate office, and another on the broker's cell.

The broker called back later that night from what sounded like a crowded bar. "I don't know what listing you're talking about," she yelled into the phone.

"The two bedroom in TriBeCa. You listed it today."

"A two bedroom? I have a one bedroom, but I'm not sure it's still available."

"You put an ad up today for a two bedroom. I'm looking at the listing right now. It says real two bedroom. TriBecCa."

"Send me an email," she said. "And I'll send you a couple of listings."

"Honestly, I'm interested in the listing I'm looking at right now. Can you just tell me if this apartment even exists and if it does, is it available?”

The muffled sound of a loud after-work crowd clinking glasses, spilling drinks, echoed in the phone. "Send me an email with your information and I'll find something for you." the broker yelled.

We both agreed the broker was full of shit and the mirage wasn't worth pursuing.

The next day a broker called from the same real estate office to follow up. "Lorna is out of the office for the week,” he said. (Recovering from the previous night, no doubt.) “Perhaps I can help you. What was it you were looking for?"

"A two-bedroom in TriBeCa Lorna listed it on Craigslist yesterday."

"You're dreaming," he said. "You won't find a two-bedroom in TriBeCa for that price."

"If I'm dreaming, it's only because Lorna listed this apartment."

"Well, if I can be honest with you, remember when I told you that Lorna was out of the office for the week? We actually fired her."

It was a little satisfying to know the broker had been fired, but unfortunately it didn't help our apartment search.

Deborah had the day off yesterday and made an appointment to see a newly converted loft building in Greenpoint that sounded promising — rooftop access, a fitness room, laundry in the building, a short walk to McCarran Park, and so on. The photos we saw looked great, the prices seemed reasonable (for New York, that is) and again, worth a shot.

Deborah sent me a text while waiting for the real estate broker to arrive. "I’m supposed to be meeting the broker, but I can't find the entrance," she said.

There was a graffiti covered door with the building number spray painted on it, but it was padlocked with a heavy chain. Every window in the building was boarded up. The building just came on the market and when the brokers (two of them) finally arrived, they were a little confused themselves. They managed to get inside, but could only show Deborah a couple of spaces since many of the doors were padlocked.

Deborah questioned them about the photos she'd seen online.

"That's what the place will look like, I promise you, but the photos are an artists rendition."

"An artists rendition? But they were photographs . Where were the photos taken? Not in this building, that's for sure."

None of the windows were in, none of the appliances were in, the floors weren't finished, the walls weren't finished, nothing in the building was finished. Barely even started as a matter of fact.

"I know it looks a little rough right now, but it'll all be done by May 1st."

"You realize May 1st is only four weeks away, right? It won't be done. There's no way."

Deborah took a few photos — for no other reason than to show me what a shithole it was — thanked the brokers for wasting her time, and started to leave. "If you're interested, we have another place in East Williamsburg, near the Graham Avenue stop," they said.

Deborah was extremely skeptical, but the Graham Avenue stop was closer to home so, if nothing else, she figured she could get a ride.

The brokers took her to a neighborhood not nearly as close to the subway as they made it sound. They had a GPS unit in the car and tried to follow it, but for whatever reason were having difficulty. After circling the block and cruising just a little too slowly, they were pulled over by undercover cops. When the brokers finally convinced the police that they weren't cruising for drugs, the cops let them go.

"You guys need to be careful," they said. "It's pretty rough around here."

"You know what?" Deborah said, "I'm really not interested in this place. Would you mind dropping me off by the subway?"

"We have one more place we can show you in Brooklyn Heights," they said.

"Some other time."

When I tell you we've been looking at shitholes, I'm not kidding.