Eager to Buy? Join the Club

Time to reorder. The slip that marked the halfway point of my money market account checkbook told the story. It reminded me that I had written five checks already. None of them had been cashed.

“What would you like me to do with your check?” the voice on the other end of the phone would ask apologetically. “Oh, just mail it to me,” I’d reply. “I’ll tear it up.”

Repeatedly, so-called good-faith deposits written from my realty nest-egg account were unnecessary. I didn’t get the latest house, either. Same story--not the little carriage house in Echo Park, nor that one in Pasadena with the built-ins whose charm overshadowed the asbestos ceilings, nor the cottage in Burbank with the granite kitchen counter tops and gleaming hardwood floors, assets that helped one overlook the fake rock siding from the ‘50s.

My offers, counteroffers, counter-counteroffers came in second or third or were not even in contention. I was the one who needed the good faith.

I’m a first-time buyer. I have a respectable 10% down payment (give or take a few dollars, depending on how high the bids go). I have a good job with a paycheck that comes every two weeks. I am pre-approved by several lenders. Oh, and get this: I have a FICO score of 777-plus. I fax it proudly with my offers, like a college applicant with her SAT scores, in case other factors haven’t proven I am house-worthy.

A loan broker in Texas I speak to often to get my pre-approval letters for various amounts on different properties said I could have more money if I wanted, lots more. “Is it really that bad out there?” he asked. I no longer gave him my file number. He knew my voice. Ah, yes, that woman in California who kept begging people to sell her their property.

There were others. One in Ohio. Another in Orange, who said, “Oh, please let me bid on your loan. Don’t get a loan without talking to me.” I didn’t need their loans, even if mortgage money was--at the lowest rates in years--practically free. I had nothing to buy.

My friends and family at first asked, “When are you going to buy a house?” Then, when I tried and failed and tried and failed again, they would joke: “So, bought a house lately?” My real estate transactions became a taboo subject. They were afraid to ask.

The counsel I did receive went something like this: “Maybe you should try [insert town name].” “Maybe you should go to my Realtor.” “How much? That’s ridiculous.” “Maybe you should try to find a house no one else wants.”

I tried that. I went to see a major fixer in the mid-city area where drug dealers were waiting outside to make their next buy from the current renters, who wouldn’t let anyone in to see the house except for a few hours of the day. The place was crawling with real estate agents and would-be buyers traipsing over filthy velvet couches.

I decided my budget wouldn’t allow me to buy the house and make it livable. I declined to make an offer on that one (although I brought along a pre-approval letter, just in case). Those sellers didn’t need my offer; they already had eight.

I had participated in an eight-way offer in north Pasadena. It was a cute house, and I wanted it, so I stretched my budget and offered $16,000, or 6%, more than the asking price. As it turned out, I wasn’t even in the running.

At first, I read about home buying voraciously, hoping to find a secret plan I hadn’t thought of. What could that be? I was already stalking Realtor caravans. I had four agents--one in every community in which I was interested in living--just to cover the bases. I carried a wallet-sized card that allowed me to calculate my monthly payment at today’s going interest rate at any given price.

Over time, it’s gotten easier. It’s become a competitive sport, although I admit I’m playing on a losing team this season.

I used to tear up when that rejection call came. But I knew I had evolved when my agent’s voice cracked upon delivering the news that the fifth check wouldn’t be needed either. We had reversed roles.

“It’s OK,” I told her. “There will be other houses.”

And I have five checks left.

*

Karen Nikos is a Los Angeles-based freelance writer.