I've only told one person all the dirty details about what my search to purchase a home involved.
Limited by residency restrictions, rather than discourage those out there in the same boat, let's leave it at this.
It was tough. But we prevailed.
The not so funny part was what prompted house hunting. After several years of renting, the present buyer's market popped up and failing to come up with any good reasons not to buy, I pulled up the multiple listings in my area.
What's for sale around my neighborhood? I search on my street address and clicked enter.
Well, look at that. My house is up for sale.
And my landlord hadn't bothered to tell me so.
If that doesn't prompt one to buy, nothing will. After jumping the legal hurdles and all the headaches partnered with pursuing a home loan, we closed and immediately picked up the phone and gave notice to the landlord.
He was about as happy as I was upon finding the rental up for sale, but hey, oh well, so much for tenant-landlord trust. To show just how pissed off he really was about us tossing him the keys first, he kept every penny of our security deposit. I was mad as the hornet who stung my face in three places at age 6, but after consulting with an attorney, I let it go.
At least we were out and safe in our new home, in a nice neighborhood with understanding neighbors. And I got a lot of satisfaction that the FOR RENT sign stood out in the front yard of the rental for four long months.
Fast forward to this past Friday.
We are out the other night and there's Mr. Landlord throwing back a shot of celestial bad karma. He looks our way, giving me the perfect opportunity to shun him with a icy look in the opposite direction.
Before too long, a waitress comes up and hands me a note. For you, she says. It's been some time since I've been passed a note in a bar, so I figure, it's Mr. L., the guy who came on as our big friend for years and only if the house had sold, may have mentioned such while booting us out with thirty days notice.
I unfolded the note.
Scribbled in the way only the drunk can, the message read:
We had a problem renting the house. Finally after months of looking & people loving it, they & there (sic) realtor would unexplainable (sic) disappear. Finally the realtor called me & informed my (sic) that there was a registered sex offender at that address and her clients were spooked. If this is your family member pls list your new address so that we don't have to deal with this problem again. Thax
As. If.
Before I had a chance to scribble back a quick in my circles, this is what we call an unintended consequence or a witty go cry to your state legislator, or what, Family Watchdog gets it wrong yet again, Mr. Wonderful had turned tail and left.
He couldn't blame the glut of rental properties because folks are losing their jobs and bunking up in packs. No consideration of the buyer's market (it's cheaper to make a house payment than rent) or the fact, he wanted to live in the back of the house and rent out the front, so he didn't have to live with his wife any longer.
Nope.
Blame it on the sex offender.
The house remains for sale. But does the new tenant know... hmmmm?
***
Apartment vacancies hit a 30-year high in the fourth quarter, and rents fell as landlords scrambled to retain existing tenants and attract new ones.
The vacancy rate ended the year at 8%, the highest level since Reis Inc., a New York research firm that tracks vacancies and rents in the top 79 U.S. markets, began its tally in 1980.
(...)
Such oversupplied markets as Florida, Phoenix and Las Vegas are hurting, even though housing sales have picked up. "Landlords aren't benefiting because jobs aren't recovering," said Hessam Nadji, managing director at Marcus & Millichap, a real-estate firm
