One Down, Two to Go
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Did you hear a huge sigh of relief this morning? If so, it was me. After three and a half months, I’ve finally closed on the sale of Regina’s condo (the friend who died of breast cancer). There were concerns that it wasn’t going to take place (contingenies, unresponsive attornies, etc…). But everything worked out in the end.
It was kind of funny, actually. EVERY single person involved in this transaction (besides Karl the honky) was Italian or Brazilian. It was wonderful. My broker was second generation Italian and the lawyer handling the closing was the same. They’d never met, but the second they heard the last names and the accents, they became fast friends (talking about their childhoods in East Boston and the North End). One of the things I loved about the broker was that she had “connections”. No matter what was going on, she had a “friend” that could help me. Whether it was buying Regina’s used books, taking out the furniture, selling the car, repairing the car, insuring the car, cleaning the condo, helping me buy a condo or getting myself a haircut. Then she kept giving me connetions for other things I wasn’t even asking for: the best produce, best jewelry, best butcher, best mortgage company. She had friends in all of these places that could find me a deal.
And the minute after meeting the lawyer, she started working on him (she had friends to remodel his office, to fix his front steps, etc..). I love that! That sort of connection is very lacking in my uptight English background.
Similarly, the buyer of the condo was Brazilian…and she had hired her Brazilian cousin to do her mortgage, a Brazilian friend to be her attorney and another Barzilian friend to be her broker. My broker soon found out that the buyer’s broker was also a waiter at Armani Cafe and they’ve worked out a deal, of course, so she can dine there.
Anyway, I really enjoyed it. It reminds me of my childhood holidays. Everybody on my Mom’s side of the family married Italians. This type of warmness and helpfullness and loudness is just so fun for me. When Matt and I were together, he hated going to Pizzeria Regina in the North End because it was staffed by people yelling at each other in their heavy Boston-Italian accents. – it made him tense. For me, though, it relaxed me and made me feel right at home.
And that’s just how I felt around this broker. It definitely made a difficult transaction much easier. And now I know where to by cheap fruit!
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Yeah!
There’s something about that italian blood.
That’s why my Mom, says were italian (1/2 actually) because it out ways the Polish from my dad…….:)
C’mon Karl… You’re the cheap fruit! ;-P
Baaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!! Nothing I can write will compare to Dave In Chicago’s comment… I’m going to defer to him… haaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaa…….
Awww yeah, I love that sort of thing. Very similar in the Jewish community – being a yenta (any kind of matchmaking, not just relationships but matching anyone with a need to someone else who has something to offer).