About five weeks ago, I briefly mentioned in this column that I had written a new offer on a house for one of my clients. I haven’t mentioned it since then for a couple of reasons.

First and foremost, I’ve got to protect my client’s privacy: He doesn’t want details of his deal spread across the Internet.

But secondly, I haven’t written about the offer for a month because, frankly, I didn’t want to jinx it.

Boston has “the Curse of the Bambino,” which has punished the Red Sox by denying them a World Series appearance ever since they traded Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees in 1918.

Chicago Cubs fans are well aware of the curse muttered by a man who was turned away by ushers at Wrigley Field in 1945, when they wouldn’t let him bring his beloved billy goat into the stands. The Cubs haven’t won a championship since then.

Of course, there’s also the well-publicized Sports Illustrated jinx: Athletes who appear on the magazine’s cover almost always seem to quickly break a leg, pull a muscle, or suffer some other type of injury that prevents them from doing what they’re paid millions of dollars to do.

And then, there’s me.

Four times before, I’ve written in this column that I had made an offer on behalf of a client to close my first real estate deal since I obtained my sales license last autumn.

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All four of the offers failed.

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Strictly speaking, I’m not the “superstitious type.” Like that old proverb says, the harder I work, the luckier I get.

But there’s no denying that, every time I’ve written about my (supposed) first deal, the transaction falls apart faster than the oil leaked from the ’78 Gremlin I drove when I was in college.

Which is to say, pretty damn fast.

Brad Inman, who owns Inman News, is one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met. But even he can’t explain why, as soon as I write about a deal in this column, it almost immediately collapses.

I, however, have finally figured this whole thing out. If I write about a pending deal for Inman News and want it so badly that my heart begins to ache, the sale will surely be doomed.

Call it the “Curse of the Bradbino.”

Am I being superstitious? Maybe.

Or, maybe not.

The real estate business is full of superstitions. Many buyers won’t sign a purchase contract until they get a feng shui expert to check the property for good spirits or bad. Countless sellers plant a small statue of Saint Joseph under their respective yards, figuring it will produce a quick sale.

Developers have superstitions of their own, which explains why so few addresses end with “13” and many high-rise apartments and hotels don’t have a 13th floor.

So, it’s no surprise that some real estate agents are superstitious, too.

One agent I know says that, on the day that she expects a deal to close, she takes her husband to breakfast at a local diner and orders a “morning special” of two runny eggs, three sausage links and a side of burnt “home fries.”

It’s not a very appetizing meal, the agent says, but it’s the exact same thing she got from the exact same restaurant when she closed her first deal almost 15 years ago.

Since then, she’s completed something like 2,000 transactions. That works out to 4,000 eggs, 6,000 sausages and one heckuva lot of money.

Another agent I’ve heard about goes to Starbucks on closing day and orders a triple-latte. He then shovels in two extra scoops of brown sugar and exactly one-fifth of an ounce of cinnamon–I’m told he even brings his own teaspoon–because that’s the same way he drank his coffee when he made his first deal in 1995.

Sounds kind of crazy, huh? But like it or not, those two superstitious estate agents have sold a lot more properties than I’ve sold.

One more deal after the next one, and I’ll have sold two.

I’m not the superstitious type. But right now, I’m hankering for a pair of runny eggs, three sausage links and some burnt potatoes.

I’ll take care of the coffee myself, if only I can get a teaspoon and some brown sugar.


Got tips, ideas or advice for the Rookie Realtor? Send them to Rookie@inman.com.

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