Dirty laundry

Sometimes it’s not lack of curb appeal that keeps a property from selling. Sometimes, it’s something that won’t be apparent from photographs or a driveby.

I was showing condos in Diamond Bar, and one of them was in a gated complex with multiple swimming pools and a tennis court. There were trees and flowers, and some of the units had a view of the golf course down the hill. One unit in particular was priced low and had been on the market for a while, so I decided to give it a try.

Now, I had managed to preview quite a few properties for my out-of-area buyer, but I had run out of time, and so we were going blind to this complex. I told Henry (not his real name) upfront that we would be “discovering” these particular units together. Luckily, Henry was very positive despite the rain and a bad cold, and so we tramped round and round, trying to figure out where the different units were hidden in the maze of buildings.

At last, we came to the one that was priced lowest. As I opened the door, we were greeted by an extra, extra large screen television that dwarfed the living room. There were various basketball posters and related paraphernalia, and we soon realized that the residents were Lakers fans.

In the kitchen, there was a folding door, behind which we found the washer and dryer. No detergent or softener scent. That should have been a red flag.

As we walked down the narrow hallway, things started to go downhill. The hall bath was dingy but not too mildewy. Still, there was something in the air. Then, we found it. Opening the closet of the second bedroom, we gasped at the sight of a 3-foot-high pile of smelly laundry. He liked sports all right, but he didn’t like to wash.

We pinched our noses and stumbled backwards out of the room. I shut the door, and we went on to the master bedroom and bath. The bed was in disarray, and there were clothes scattered about, less smelly but somehow more desperate looking. There was a photo of a child on the night table, and that’s when it hit me.

“It’s a divorced guy and his roommate,” I told Henry. “And they’re really helpless.”

“No,” he said, “men aren’t that helpless. We use it as a ploy to get women.”

“No woman is going to find this attractive,” I told him.

He had to agree with that one, and we left as quickly as discretion would allow.

I continued to watch that particular unit sit on the MLS for the next 2 months until Henry’s escrow closed and he was able to move into his new place across the street from the golf course. The bachelor pad eventually sold but only when it was about 20k below everything else in the neighborhood.