In love with home, not location

Flickr photo by mugley.

I never understood the appeal of the accident-and-explosion genre of television show. You know, those hour-long, testosterone-mongering episodes comprised of scene after scene of car wrecks, airshow disasters and building demolitions gone wrong. In fact, while showing houses last weekend, near a street known for amateur (read: illegal) auto racing, my client and I witnessed one of these underground racers cause a six-car crash worthy of one of those shows.

I heard the vroom of his engine and hesitated to make my turn; good thing, too -- about four seconds later, he sideswiped two cars, lost control, and smashed into a car in oncoming traffic, causing it to crush about three parked cars before he flipped his own car, just missing the crowded pedestrian foot traffic as he came to rest upside down on the sidewalk.

And you know what? No music played, there was no replay and no voice-over as an announcer wrapped it up with a witty "bon mot" (French for "clever remark") -- nothing but the voice of my client (a medical professional) as she calmly called 9-1-1. There was nothing but some very scary moments as excited bystanders (inadvisably?) pulled some elderly people out of the hit car, and even scarier moments as my client listed off some of the serious, delayed effects such a trauma could have on people of a certain age.

We had just seen a darling, fully restored and remodeled Craftsman bungalow with intact original wood moldings, a large backyard and -- the holy grail for single female homebuyers in my area -- an attached garage. And my client had already decided that, while she was game for lots of things, the neighborhood was a deal-breaker for her.

And then the wreck happened. And as we watched the police stride up to the scene, my client leaned her head on the window and sighed, "I wish I could pick that place up and move it somewhere else."

Oh, if only I had a dime -- scratch that, let's fantasize big -- $10 for every time a client said, "I wish I could pick that house up and put it down somewhere else."

I like to think that post-recession we're all focused on things that matter enough to have evolved beyond over the excessive political correctness of yesteryear, but in a nod to the 1990s, I'll call them "location-impaired" or "pick up" homes.

It does often seem like the owners of would-be "pick up" homes know what they have on their hands. Perhaps that's why they tend to invest so much time, energy, money and style to make them over-the-top desirable; they know they have something to compensate for.

Like the grand colonial with commercial chef's kitchen, remodeled bathrooms, soaring coved ceilings and a room-sized walk-in master closet -- oh, yeah, and that 128-unit apartment complex next door. ...CONTINUED

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