Diary of a Mad REALTOR® Woman

It is late fall, 2008. I have been left alone at the board office of the Iowa City Area Association of REALTORS where I am to watch the office for 2 and ½ days while the Directors spend the same at a lovely hotel in Decorah, Iowa. I have always wanted to go to Decorah – much as my mother always wanted to go to Norway, but never made it. I assume my fate shall be the same as I am a self-employed real estate agent in a down market, with a down car and a down husband who doesn’t want to go anywhere that requires being in the car longer than 45 minutes at a time, or out of the house more than the equivalent of a 9-5 work day.
As I sit at Shane’s desk I am reminded of the Steven King book, “The Shining,” and I think about how much I feel like Jack, the kid’s father who goes mad. I have been dropped off here - as caretaker of a summer resort for the winter months. Soon, the snow will begin to fly and I will be trapped here for the duration. I will begin drinking. I will see dead people.
It is deathly quiet in this office. I can hear the air blow from the furnace vents – although I can’t feel the heat and my toes are frozen. I can hear a “tick” off in the distance. I do not think it is a clock because it is not consistent. I think it is the building falling apart. I will be left in a pile of rubble, input forms and lost class sign-up sheets.

This office is so quiet that I can barely hear any noise from the outside. As I look
out the picture window, it seems like I am watching a big-screen television. The sun is shining in the parking lot. There are cars speeding up and down Highway 1. They do not even know I am here. There are no drivers. I see Becky and Kay’s cars in the lot. They are just sitting there, abandoned. I think the Langoliers abducted their owners and left their cars here for some sick poetic reason.

Greg Rockow stopped in to update his Sentrilock card. At first, he seemed very normal. He talked about how lovely Decorah is and how he was just there last weekend. Then he asked me if I wanted to see his video of an eagle eating a hawk. “No!” I screamed. Suddenly the room began reeling and I felt myself spiraling into a deep dark hole where hawks were pecking at my eyes. Greg Rockow laughed maniacally as he disappeared from the building – out into tv land.

Now I can hear a siren. Perhaps it is not really outside, as I do not see the emergency vehicle that is screaming. Perhaps the screaming is coming from inside my brain. Perhaps I will be drawn up into the return-air vents and be thrown out the chimney of the building – but not before my body is chopped up in little pieces for the eagles to eat.

In order to keep me occupied during my stay, I was left a scavenger hunt game. At each step in the hunt I am left a Weight Watchers snack with a note where I can go to find the next snack. “Heh heh!” I chuckle to myself, “I’m just wracking up the Points here!” I laugh at my own humor, not realizing how twisted it is that I am running through the building trying to find the next snack so that I don’t break into the classroom boxes of Oreos and Chips Ahoy. I wonder if I should pretend I am in a class and break out the Hawaiian Punch and Oreos. Then I remember that was when I was in kindergarten, not pre-license classes. So I avoid the cookies lest I lose a finger - or even a hand - when I open the package.

A few people have phoned. Tina Hershberger called and thought I was Shane. We both laughed. Really, my hero is Beatrice Arthur, so I don’t mind having a deep voice – look where it got Lauren Bacall – all those Tuesday Morning ads – in her eighties! If I could sell real estate in my eighties like Lauren Bacall can sell a suitcase, wow! …But then I thought what if I am Shane and I am really Shane losing my mind, thinking I am Katie?

People pop in and out all day long. Only one person actually told me who he was – and I really didn’t care because he wanted to sell Cheryl a copy machine. He told me about how he grew up in Illinois and then moved to Iowa, Wisconsin and back to Iowa. I smiled and said “oh, how nice” when I had to – things my mother taught me. He had a combination Chicago-Wisconsin dialect and really, it bothered me. He reminded me of my Polish/German/Dutch cousins from Mt. Prospect, Illinois. Really, it bothers me when I hear them talk, too. In the 7.365 minutes that I talked with the copy guy, I learned that he was a teacher in Wisconsin, he’s divorced from his wife who is also a teacher in the same school district, but he’s okay with that – well sort of. His son loves the Bears and they are going to a game in November and “boy was his son excited about that!” He really loves Iowa but doesn’t yet understand what the Corridor is (I think I cleared him up on that one). He isn’t good with names and was actually happy that “Steve” wasn’t here because he couldn’t remember his name for sure. I assured him that Shane wouldn’t mind being called Steve. Lastly, he just loves selling copiers and printing supplies. Inkjet can be expensive, but if that’s what you use, that’s okay. He said his name was John, but I think really it was Willie Loman.



Day 2
I arose and shined quite nicely at 6:00 this morning. I hopped out of bed, jumped into the shower and was on the road by 7:15 – dogs fed and ready to be walked by a slow-moving husband. “This is great,” I thought. I could really get used to working for the man again. Independent contractor? Pish-posh. I’m gonna get myself a job when this is over. I’m gonna buy everyone in the family, all my friends and all my bill collectors big Christmas presents.

A grumpy man came in this morning. He asked for Bonnie and grumbled when I said she was gone on retreat. “Well, what about Cheryl?” he churned. I told him she was on the same retreat. He gruffed out of the building.
No one leaves messages. No one says who they are. I guess it’s just none of my business, but I’m kind of taking this personally.

I left for lunch at 12:00 and returned at 12:45. I have a bit of indigestion because I kept looking at my watch during lunch, worried that I would be late in returning.

It’s funny how trusting people are. How come no one has questioned why I (a complete stranger to many) am here and no one who works here is visible? Think about it – Kay’s car is in the lot (being eaten by eagles), she’s not in the office, yet no one questions my presence.

Laura Soride stopped by. She was normal. Maybe I am, too after all.

They don’t have adding machines around here. How do they add?

Day 3

My alarm was mean to me this morning. I kept hitting the snooze button and it just kept screeching at me to get up. If it weren’t part of my $300 Blackberry, I would have whipped it against the wall. Finally I sauntered into the bathroom and saw a hideous picture in the mirror – what are these wrinkles under my eyes? Is this what happens when you work for the man for 1-1/2 days? I don’t know if I can go on like this. My poor dogs are wondering why we have been getting up an hour and a half earlier than normal. They will probably want to be fed an hour earlier from now on, as I have messed up their schedule.
It is dark at 6:00 a.m. How do people who work in banks, stores, libraries – all of my friends – do it? My God! This is insane!

I arrived at the office at 7:50. I would have been there earlier, but I was zoning out while I was driving and actually drove to my real estate office instead of ICAAR. Chalk it up to fatigue.
As I looked in the parking lot, I noticed 2 more cars frosted over. These must belong to other directors who were taken by the Langoliers. Why didn’t I notice them yesterday? Did they appear overnight? I began to wonder if anyone is coming back here.

People calling in are becoming angrier. They don’t understand why everyone in the office has left. Obviously I am an idiot and cannot help them. They just grumble and hang up on me when I offer my assistance.
People who come in think I’ve absconded with the bodies of Cheryl, Bonnie, Kay & Shane. They ask “What are you doing here?” I quickly remind them of the retreat – “Don’t you remember? You got an email that they are on retreat. Please don’t hit me!” “Oh, yeah,” they reply with a sideways glance. “I think I remember something about that.”

The toilet in the ladies room is trying to hurt me. Every time I try to flush it, it fights back. Yesterday, it tried to break my finger. Today it called out, “Ha! Ha! I dare you to flush me!” Finally, pushing on the flush handle with all my might, I flushed it. That toilet is not going to get me down.

The mail carrier just arrived. I was on the phone and couldn’t talk to him. I was hoping for a little conversation. Oh, well. Cheryl won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes, but I’m not going to tell her – I’ll just pretend I am Cheryl and pick up the prize. It’s too bad Ed McMahon is ill. I would have liked to have met him. Really, I would have loved to have met Johnny Carson. What a treat! My dad used to dress like him, you know. My dad was quite the looker – even at 80. But he didn’t play golf.

It is 11:45. Lunch is in 15 minutes. After lunch I will only have 4 hours left. I’m starting to panic because I haven’t finished my scavenger hunt yet – and I’ve been busy doing my “flooded property” work, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to collect all of my Weight Watcher treats. What then? All this and no treats? I’ll have to figure out my game plan over the lunch hour.

Back from lunch and a little 10 minute cat-nap. I’m ready to go.

For my mission I’m preparing
Little snacks they have been sharing
Off I go – just 4 hours more
My final treat is at the back door!

Finally, everyone has returned. Everyone has left again – except for Kay who is typing away in her office. It is nice to hear the sound of happy fingers running over the keys once again. I feel invigorated.

I am to leave at 5:30. The clock is as slow as the December calendar is to a 6 year old waiting for Christmas. Everything is coming around, though. The toilet has stopped trying to hurt me. The traffic outside looks happy – people are walking up and down the sidewalks. The spell is waning.
Kay has left. As I look into the parking lot I see my car – nothing else. The Langoliers have returned the Directors to their vehicles and I can go on with my life as if these few short days never happened.

I am saving my last Weight Watcher treat and a microwave pouch of popcorn for another day – perhaps some day when I am in need of some grounding in my life; some reminder that inside the human mind is a superfluity of imagination that can never really be measured, can never be weighed, can never be observed in the Twilight Zone.