The flip side

Are the odds really this much in my favor?

For those of you keeping score at home, you’ll know this is the second part in the two-part Real Estate Hunger Games series. This one is about the sale of my home in Denver. Spoiler alert: being a seller in these games is sooooooo much more fun!

With apologies to my talented writer friends who would never rely on such a cheap literary trick, I’m continuing my not-so-subtle parody of the oddly* popular “The Hunger Games” young-adult book series written by Suzanne Collins.** This time, I’m not Katniss Everdeen, the teenager who finds a way to destroy the morbid dystopic game. I am Effie Trinket, the posh host who kicks off the games with a good-luck line to her district’s tributes:

Given the near-zero inventory of houses for sale in my popular Lynwood neighborhood, and historic low listing numbers in Denver in general, anyone interested in buying my house would need some luck and pluck.

Indeed, a battle among buyers was waged.

Shortly after I decided to make the move to Minnesota, I met up with some friends for dinner, where I planned to drop the news on them. On the way to the restaurant, we picked up my friend Dawn Tieken, who is a real estate agent. In the car, she lamented the low inventory of houses available for sale and rhetorically asked, “Know anyone who wants to sell their home?”

I answered from the back seat, “Yeah, me.”

Her head swiveled faster than a raptor who had spotted a field mouse. “WHAT??? You’re moving? Like, out of Denver?”

And before I could tell her where or why or when and before she could say no you can’t move away, say-it-isn’t-so (which she did eventually say — she’s a good friend), she said this:

“Oh, my God, Holli. Your house is going to sell for a million dollars.”

“Bwahahaha! No it won’t! It’s a tiny little thing. It has no basement. It’s on a little lot. No one in their right mind would pay that much for it.”

I can’t remember if that’s exactly what I said out loud at the time, but it was certainly what I was thinking. I knew what homes in my neighborhood had sold for last spring, when the market was scorching hot. Homes that had far more square footage than my little 1,350-square-foot ranch were inching up past the 800s and even into the 900s but nothing had sold in the seven figures. An A-frame style down the street from me on a large corner lot that had a partially finished basement, which put it over 2000 livable square feet, had listed at the beginning of fall at $890,000. But then its price dropped twice down to $799,000, and it eventually sold for $800,000. Certainly, mine wouldn’t do better than that.

Well, Dawn knew better. After a little side Hunger Games that my relocation company makes multiple brokers play to win a listing, Dawn learned that she’d be the agent. She recommended listing at $850,000 with the thought that it would attract offers well over that price. The relo company agreed. It was Monday. She wanted the house on the market by Thursday with open houses scheduled for Friday and Saturday. She got busy.

The photographer was called — could he come out and get photos of the exterior before it snowed Tuesday? Yes. When could we squeeze in the stager? Wednesday afternoon. The windows would be cleaned during that same time and the house cleaner would come in an hour after the stager left. The photographer would then come in Thursday morning at 7:30 to finish up the interior photos and get them to Dawn so she could get brochures printed by Thursday night. The videographer put together a social-media ready file (it’s gorgeous — check it out). Dawn had already put the house on the “coming soon” list so showing slots were filling up. Thanks to an app that allows clients to see when showings are scheduled, my phone was pinging practically every hour during this whole process. The listing went live Thursday afternoon ahead of Dawn’s self-imposed Thursday night deadline. The first showing happened within about an hour after it hit the MLS.

About an hour after that showing, Dawn called. “We have our first offer. It’s for a million dollars.”

“WHAT THE???”***

I thought she was pulling my leg, a little joke harking back to her comment in the car just a couple weeks earlier.

She was dead serious. These buyers had tried to compete for one of the houses in my short list of comps. That house, which was about 250 square feet larger than mine, sold for slightly over $1 million. They had been heart-broken about losing out by only a few thousand dollars. They were determined to not have that happen again. What do we need to do to get this house, they asked Dawn. They were in love.

Would they waive inspection? Well, no, but we’ll get our inspector over tomorrow at 6:30 a.m. Would they do a 30-day closing? Yep. Would they cover an appraisal gap? Yep. Would they agree to earnest money of $15,000? Yep. Would they agree to forfeit their earnest money if financing falls through or they back out for any reason? Yep.

While we negotiated all these terms, the showings continued. The inspector did come at 6:30 a.m. the next day. No issues. Two more offers came in in the meantime. One of them also escalated to $1 million. The buyers on that one actually looked up my property in the public records, found my name and sent me a plea via Facebook Messenger to pick their offer. They adored my house and would fill it with their own vintage mid-century modern furniture and decor. In fact, they said, you know that Atomic Ranch Midcentury Interiors book you have on your bar cart? Our home was featured in the Atomic Ranch magazine before we bought it 14 years ago. It’s just too small for us now, and yours is exactly what we’re looking for. Your home has that same awesome design taste that we know and love.

They are probably the only stalkers I’ll ever have. I was a bit flattered. And abashed that I couldn’t make the dreams of more than one buyer come true.

After reviewing all the details and financing terms, I selected that first offer and the relo company blessed it. I’m still stunned and can’t believe it. But I’m also relieved that it’s over.

Because I don’t want to play these games anymore.

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*Honestly, I don’t understand why a book series about children killing other children is targeted toward teenage readers. Or readers of any age. [Shudder.]

**Apologies to Suzanne Collins, too.

***There was actually an expletive at the end of that quote.