Strange Estate Sites I Have Seen... Part I

Definitely quieter out there these last two weeks as folks appear to be waiting for someone to write a more optimistic headline about the economy. I've had a few strange estate calls in recent weeks, with people feeling the effects of this meltdown and civility in short supply.

It's always dicey, going into someone's home to look at their things. We try to do it with respect, returning things they may have overlooked and of no obvious value but to their family, but sometimes there's just no pleasing people.

We were at one of the so-called "gated" communities in our area recently, to look at "some really good silver" and other "antiques" the lady of the house had called about. We've been to this development before, but this one stood out for some reason, not for the "his and her" Range Rover and Lexus (Lexi, plural?) in the driveway, but for the hubris exhibited by the owner.

Now, the house was probably $1.7 million by last year's realtor's listing and was certainly built to impress, as was the lady of the house. She motioned me inside, cell phone plastered to one ear, and made me take my shoes off - which was fine, as the whole house was white as a snowstorm.

But then I noticed something else.

"Sorry about the mess," she said. "The kids have been playing." I took a good look and saw that the walls bore an unfamiliar scrawl - crayon. The floors were marble but uncomfortably - tacky - from some spilled substance. There was a hole next to the mega-TV that looked like someone, probably upset over the Super Bowl results, put there with a fist.

"Uh..." I started.

"The silver's in here," Mrs. Maven says, waving me into the kitchen. There's more granite in there than in Half Dome, the refrigerater big as some morgues. Her kids, mercifully, blow past my ankles on their way outside to torture the family dog.

"Uh..."

"This was my mother's," she starts. "We've had it all looked at and we know what it's worth. We're not looking for lowball offers...and we'll only take cash."

It was all plate, nothing older than the kitten back at our house. Not only that but it was in abysmal condition. If it was indeed her mother's, the poor woman must have had a palsy because she dropped everything she owned.

"Is there anything else you want me to look at?" asks I. Her face falls.

"You don't want to make a bid for the silver?"

"It's not for me," I say. "Anything else?"

She couldn't have gotten me out of there any faster, pausing to lecture me at the door: "You could have let us know before we made the appointment that you're not serious."

"Sorry," I says. And sometimes that's all that's left to say to some people.