If you think going into the property market is stressful, try having two real estates agents for parents. It’s double trouble: double price bubble, and double demolishing and removal of rubble, double curbside appeal of your shrub-bles. Okay, I’m losing it a bit… which just corroborates what I’m trying to say. It’s a constant vicarious mind-crumble.
Why, exactly, is it so very trying? For starters, I don’t know what they’re on about half the time. It’s like they speak this language that I’m not privy to. You’d think I’d have picked up more of the real estate lingo, having been in this position my whole life, but no. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about their beloved Sale of Land Act 1962, and I wouldn’t know a Section 32 from District 8. It’s all a big old mashup of random numbers tacked together with officious-sounding joining words.
What else? Well, there’s a lot of pressure on me to participate in my parents’ passion for property (I’d much rather augment my antiquated affinity for alliteration). Seriously, though – I’m just not that into it. You’d think they could learn something from me, their millennial son, about our reservations regarding getting help with property transfers. Melbourne might have plenty of house to be bought and sold, but the people who are able to buy them are getting older and older… and then what?
I get that I’m probably not making a huge amount of sense here. In truth, I’m having a minor freak out because my dear folks just informed me that they expect me to own at least one property by the time I’m 30. What do they think I am, some kind of mogul? The president of the US? Both? At any rate, given that I’m 28, their expectation seems likely to lead to disappointment on their part.
I guess there are probably perks to the situation, like potentially getting first dibs on any particularly good deals that might arise, as well as genuine insight into how real estate agents actually think. Most prospective buyers don’t get the benefit of that.