From Crazy Prices to Condo vs Duplex vs Townhouse Mess: I Can’t Even Anymore
Okay, listen up. It’s Jessica. Yeah, that realtor who’s always yapping about houses. Look, I gotta get this off my chest or I’m gonna lose it.
I Swear, This Market is Trying to Kill Me
So, yesterday. I’m showing this house, right? Total dump. We pull up and I kid you not, there’s a line. A freaking line! For a house that looks like it’d fall over if you sneezed too hard. I mean, what the heck is going on? And the prices? Oh my god. Had this couple look at a place last week. They see the number and the husband goes, “Jessica, darlin’, did you accidentally type an extra zero?” I wish, buddy. I really freakin’ wish.
Everyone’s Lost Their Minds, I Swear
You wanna know what’s really cooking my noodle? I’ve got people calling me at midnight asking about real estate rates 2024. Like, seriously? I can barely predict what I’m having for breakfast, let alone interest rates next year. And don’t even get me started on the sellers. Had this guy… I swear I’m not making this up… wanted to list his she-shed. His she-shed! Said he saw some fancy luxury homes in Kansas on HGTV and figured his backyard hangout was basically the same thing. I nearly spit out my gas station coffee.
I’m This Close to Changing Careers
Look, if you’re crazy enough to buy in this circus, here’s my two cents: Get your money lined up faster than I can down a cup of QuikTrip coffee. Be ready to jump on anything with four walls and a roof. Had a client lose out ’cause they wanted to sleep on it. Sleep? In this market? That’s a luxury, sweetie. And for the love of all that’s holy, be flexible. That weird smell? It’s “character.” Heck, I’ve even got folks asking about Kansas City industrial property for sale. I mean, who says you can’t live in a warehouse? It’s all “open concept,” right? I’m telling ya, I’m running on fumes and false hope at this point. This market’s got me stress-eating day-old donuts at 3 AM and seriously considering a career change. Maybe something less stressful. Like alligator wrestling. If you need me, I’ll be the one in the wrinkled blazer, talking to myself in the Dillons parking lot. Probably crying into a slice of pizza. Or laughing maniacally. These days, it’s a real toss-up. Hang in there, Wichita. We’re all losing our minds together. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a bottle of cheap wine and my pillow. Gonna scream into one and drink the other. I’ll let you guess which is which.
