Unreal estate: A potential deal that didn’t turn out all that ‘gr-r-reat’
2026
In my years as a real estate agent in San Francisco, I’ve met some colorful characters. And I’ve seen what seemed like solid deals fall apart at the last minute, for the craziest reasons. So along with the advice and trends I share with you in this blog, I thought I’d serve up an occasional tale of unreal real estate, too.
It started at an open house
Early in my career, I was standing in for the seller’s agent at an open house out in the Avenues. A woman approached me and asked if I was interested in working with new sellers. Definitely, I responded. She told me she had a house on 38th Avenue she might want to sell. Being fairly new to the business, I wrote down her phone number eagerly.
Not long after, I went to check out her house. I was a bit disheartened by what I saw, I have to admit. The woman had lived in her house for over 30 years, she said. And I don’t believe she’d ever cleaned it. It was super cluttered—a mess.
Friends or family in the business?
At the end of our visit, I told her I’d research comparable sales and activity in her neighborhood so we could determine the best asking price. Before I left, I asked if any of her family members or friends were real estate agents. I learned early in the business that sometimes people will use Realtors for their information and then list with a family member to save money on the commission. She said no.
So I spent the better part of a week putting together some killer comps, along with a pricing and marketing strategy. I returned to her house and presented her with my report. We discussed it at length. She seemed impressed by all the work I’d done and I handed her the report.
And then: the twist
“But I think you should know,” my would-be client said sweetly, “my niece is a real estate agent.” Her niece will be the listing agent for the house, she said, and thanked me again for my report.
The woman couldn’t help but notice my disappointment. As I headed to my car, she called after me and asked me to wait. Within a few minutes, she returned, hauling a Costco-sized box of Frosted Flakes. There was the familiar Tony the Tiger on the box, all excited about his corn flakes. “They’re gr-r-reat!,” I could hear him roar.
Just as I was about to ask what the cereal has to do with anything, she handed me the box. “Thank you,” she said, “for all your hard work.” That cereal box sat in the trunk of my car for the next three years as a reminder…
