Do You Want to Live Near the Russians?
By that title, I am not talking about the 49th state admitted to the Union, no, no, no. I’m speaking directly about Sacramento. I’m a Sacramento real estate agent, and I could say that I know where the Russians live, but that would only send the CIA after me, and having the FBI hot on my trail is bad enough. I don’t need one more government agency chasing Elizabeth Weintraub all over Sacramento. No, Sirree. Oh, wait, I didn’t mean to say the FBI, it’s just a California district attorney’s office who wants more information on the bad guys that I sometimes write about.
But the other thing is I do know where the Russians live, but I can’t tell you. If I tell you, I could be accused of breaking the Fair Housing Law. The Russians are a protected class. Put that into your Eisenhower pipe and smoke it. I’m not going to say anything bad about the Russians, either. Some of my favorite people hail from Russia. I’m trying to think of some Russians other than my housekeeper and a REALTOR from Daytona Beach, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.
I got to thinking about this because a) many people demand that real estate agents perform acts that would get a real estate agent investigated if the authorities knew or watched the agent do it, and b) people don’t know much about real estate agents, and that which they do know for certain, absolutely certain, is often absurd. Like John Oliver said at the Crest Theatre last night, and I paraphrase, about 50% of Americans are positively devastated and at odds with each other 100% of the time. This is just regular people. This is not real estate agents he’s talking about.
When we got on the elevator after Oliver’s performance to rise to the fourth floor and find our car, I looked around at the people on the elevator. Usually, I don’t like standing in close knit quarters with a bunch of strangers. But these people at least had something in common with me; I mean, they had been to see John Oliver, which means if the elevator suddenly got stuck between the floors, I probably would not mind having to participate in a sudden crisis with this particular group of strangers. It would be better than, say, being in a bus load of Republicans that flew off a cliff while on vacation in Utah.
Call it the LOST syndrome. You know, there you are on a plane flying to some exotic place like, oh, maybe French Polynesia, and the plane suddenly nose dives. Next thing you know, you’re waking up a beach splattered in palm fronds with a bunch of people you wanted to kick while standing in line to board. Do you like these people? Would you rely on these people to strangle a pig with their bare hands so you could eat something other than coconuts? That’s something to think about the next time you are standing in a crowd of people whom you do not know. Why, a meteor could hit the earth and spare this circle of people and you.
Do me a favor and think about that the next time you ask this Sacramento real estate agent where the Russians live. You want a real estate agent who has more than 30 years of experience and is a top producer representing you? Sure you do. Then, call Elizabeth Weintraub at 916.233.6759.