Monday, April 03, 2006
Assault on Södermalm
. . .Continued from April 1, 2006
12:10 Saturday morning. We land at the first apartment viewing of the day with our reconnaissance mission clear in our minds—Invade, scout it out, and move on to the next target as swiftly as possible. A rag-tag army of young couples, families with kids, some singles, and several elderly couples are already jamming the elevator, with the overflow storming the stairs. Before we join the march, KA grabs my arm:
“Remember, these people are not your friends. They’re your competition—the enemy. If you see something you like, you’ll be bidding against at least some of these people. So don’t act like you like anything, no matter what. If you can, you want to scare them off by acting like there could be something wrong with the place.”
“Scare them off? Should I growl at them?”
“That shouldn’t be necessary, but don’t rule it out. Ready?”
“Ready!”
!2:15. We’re now just in front of the door of the target apartment. It’s a mine field of unoccupied footgear of all varieties. We kick off ours and tiptoe awkwardly through the obstacle course to the entryway, where we’re greeted by a smartly dressed realtor standing in the doorway like an MP, passing out info sheets. KA gives me a discrete nod that’s code for, “You take the kitchen and living room, I’ll take the bedroom and bath—and for heaven’s sake, don’t get all excited and jump up and down like a ninny if you like the place.” I touch my earring in acknowledgement and head off to carry out my assigned mission, ever careful to exude an air of studied distain as I examine the newly renovated kitchen, its sleek appliances looking more modern than the stealth bomber.
12:25. After executing a room-to-room search, KA adds our name to the realtor’s list as a potentially interested party. We meet outside, slip into our shoes, and are back on the street, jogging to the next viewing scheduled to start in five minutes three blocks away. We take the opportunity to assess the first viewing, and decide the place could be our next home. I ask why someone left a compass on the coffee table—the floor plan was not as open as I would have liked, but it certainly wasn’t that hard to navigate. KA informs me that the compass wasn’t for navigational purposes, but instead to indicate from which direction sunlight could be expected to strike the balcony. This makes perfect sense. Seeing that Sweden doesn’t get all that much sunshine, it’s good to have intelligence about the trajectory of any potential incoming.
12:30. We arrive slightly breathless at the next viewing, only to find that the realtor is AWOL. We join the restless company assembling outside on the street. A few stragglers from the viewing we just left show up to round out the group. Everyone is on edge and getting increasingly restless. Those who have cigs take the lull in the action as an opportunity to light up.
!2:35. The realtor pushes his way to the front of the crowd, mumbling his apologies for being detained. We notice it is the same realtor from the viewing we had just left.
12:55. We follow our standard operating procedure. When we meet outside this time, we compare intelligence gathered on our competition. KA observes that the pimply-faced couple who looked as if they were barely out of high school probably could not afford this place. He says that another couple, who looked to be about our age, could be providing financing. He bases his assessment on the fact that the older couple had what appeared to be dog hair from a German Shepard on their clothes, and the woman definitely had garden dirt under her nails. They were certainly “house and yard” people and would not likely be interested in a small apartment in town for themselves, and besides, the older and younger man both had the same cowlick, proving inarguably the older man’s paternity. He asks me what I think. I tell him I didn’t notice all of that, but ask if the fact that the two couples left in the same vehicle could mean anything.
20.00, four weeks later. This “house-hunting offensive” seems to have gone on forever. Worn down by the battle, we were beginning to wonder if we’d ever have peace. Then, after yet another 10-minute viewing, we scored a direct hit! We found the place for us! Now it is time to prepare for another type of war. . .the bidding war!
. . .to be continued.
12:10 Saturday morning. We land at the first apartment viewing of the day with our reconnaissance mission clear in our minds—Invade, scout it out, and move on to the next target as swiftly as possible. A rag-tag army of young couples, families with kids, some singles, and several elderly couples are already jamming the elevator, with the overflow storming the stairs. Before we join the march, KA grabs my arm:
“Remember, these people are not your friends. They’re your competition—the enemy. If you see something you like, you’ll be bidding against at least some of these people. So don’t act like you like anything, no matter what. If you can, you want to scare them off by acting like there could be something wrong with the place.”
“Scare them off? Should I growl at them?”
“That shouldn’t be necessary, but don’t rule it out. Ready?”
“Ready!”
!2:15. We’re now just in front of the door of the target apartment. It’s a mine field of unoccupied footgear of all varieties. We kick off ours and tiptoe awkwardly through the obstacle course to the entryway, where we’re greeted by a smartly dressed realtor standing in the doorway like an MP, passing out info sheets. KA gives me a discrete nod that’s code for, “You take the kitchen and living room, I’ll take the bedroom and bath—and for heaven’s sake, don’t get all excited and jump up and down like a ninny if you like the place.” I touch my earring in acknowledgement and head off to carry out my assigned mission, ever careful to exude an air of studied distain as I examine the newly renovated kitchen, its sleek appliances looking more modern than the stealth bomber.
12:25. After executing a room-to-room search, KA adds our name to the realtor’s list as a potentially interested party. We meet outside, slip into our shoes, and are back on the street, jogging to the next viewing scheduled to start in five minutes three blocks away. We take the opportunity to assess the first viewing, and decide the place could be our next home. I ask why someone left a compass on the coffee table—the floor plan was not as open as I would have liked, but it certainly wasn’t that hard to navigate. KA informs me that the compass wasn’t for navigational purposes, but instead to indicate from which direction sunlight could be expected to strike the balcony. This makes perfect sense. Seeing that Sweden doesn’t get all that much sunshine, it’s good to have intelligence about the trajectory of any potential incoming.
12:30. We arrive slightly breathless at the next viewing, only to find that the realtor is AWOL. We join the restless company assembling outside on the street. A few stragglers from the viewing we just left show up to round out the group. Everyone is on edge and getting increasingly restless. Those who have cigs take the lull in the action as an opportunity to light up.
!2:35. The realtor pushes his way to the front of the crowd, mumbling his apologies for being detained. We notice it is the same realtor from the viewing we had just left.
12:55. We follow our standard operating procedure. When we meet outside this time, we compare intelligence gathered on our competition. KA observes that the pimply-faced couple who looked as if they were barely out of high school probably could not afford this place. He says that another couple, who looked to be about our age, could be providing financing. He bases his assessment on the fact that the older couple had what appeared to be dog hair from a German Shepard on their clothes, and the woman definitely had garden dirt under her nails. They were certainly “house and yard” people and would not likely be interested in a small apartment in town for themselves, and besides, the older and younger man both had the same cowlick, proving inarguably the older man’s paternity. He asks me what I think. I tell him I didn’t notice all of that, but ask if the fact that the two couples left in the same vehicle could mean anything.
20.00, four weeks later. This “house-hunting offensive” seems to have gone on forever. Worn down by the battle, we were beginning to wonder if we’d ever have peace. Then, after yet another 10-minute viewing, we scored a direct hit! We found the place for us! Now it is time to prepare for another type of war. . .the bidding war!
. . .to be continued.
# posted by Karen @ 11:43 AM 
