I decided to get my real estate license after buying a home here in Middle Tennessee. I was very disappointed in my agent and felt I could do a much better job than her. I’ve carried that with me until this week when I finally realized that everyone loves to pile hate on real estate agents. Everyone wants to find a reason to complain.
Let me be clear that I’m not talking about our beloved Aunt B. or other blog buddies and acquaintances. Something else entirely came to me through the grapevine that I found … what’s the word … petty? It was a comment that belittled me because I don’t only sell McMansions, but also sell homes under $150,000 to people.
In one sense I should be encouraged because – by law and by my own moral obligations – I will treat EVERY client the same whether it’s an $20,000 land deal or a half million home. But on the flip side, it really aggravates me that someone would be so pretentious to judge me because I don’t only work with the nouveau riche.
I wonder if they’d be impressed if they knew of my ancestry to Uchtred MacDowell, whose great-great-great-great-great something was probably born to one of the many illegitimate daughters of Henry I of England.
Enh. Probably not even though somewhere down the line of Uchtreds, one married King Fergus of Galloway in Scotland. I wish I’d named one of my children Uchtred.
