‘Here comes Sheller.’ Announces trainee F with unusual
confidence. There’s a long silence, as we look at him, each other, then follow
his gaze out into the high street.
Assistant manager T sighs then enlightens the imbecile.
‘It’s Bomber, his name is Bomber.’
‘The end result is the same though.’ Says negotiator S
with a shake of her head.
‘That’s what I meant.’ Counters F defensively. ‘Bomber.’
He hesitates then asks. ‘Remind me why he’s called Bomber again? He’s too young
for euthanasia but a controlled explosion at his desk might work.
‘Because he destroys sales.’ Answers S, saving me from
some witheringly sarcastic response that might involve another re-education
course with some touchy-feely woman from HR who doesn’t shave often enough.
Every town has a harsh-minded surveyor or two. Long in
the tooth practitioners who were sued until their professional indemnity
insurers threatened to withdraw cover, after the last property crash. Where
lenders who were all to happy to advance money rashly to those with dodgy
employment letters, or self-certificated borrowers proffering back of a fag
packet first year accounts, decided to retrospectively blame the surveyor for
signing off a value that some expected to only keep rising. 20-20 hindsight is
a real gift.
‘The twat just down-values every sale he looks at.’
Snarls T. ‘We agree a house at £375,00 he’ll value it at £ 350,000,’ continues
T hitting his stride as Bomber does the same across the road. ‘Tie a deal up on
the same house at £350,000 and you can guarantee he’s value it at £325,000.
Those bastards are frightened of their own shadows. I’m surprised he comes out
in the daylight.’
‘I’ve complained about him to my panel of lenders.’
Contributes tubby mortgage man M as he waddles across the office something chaffing
again unpleasantly. ‘Tried to get him struck off but they won’t play ball like
they used to.’ There’s a reason for that, I think glumly. My memory and
longevity is elephantine and I’ve repossessed more homes than I care to
remember.
‘If the sale goes down the pan, could you ask the owners
if they’d like to rent it out instead?’ Asks B from lettings unhelpfully. The
dagger-shaped looks just bounce off her. ‘What?’ She asks with an air of
innocence she lost a long time ago. ‘A girl’s got to make a living.’
‘Be nice to him.’ I counsel as Bomber approaches the
door. ‘You never know, he might value it up.’
‘Fat chance’ Says M without a hint of irony.
M is right. But I can’t afford to upset the surveyor,
despite the fact his caution, bordering on outright fear, has cost me thousands
this year alone. But then if it’s not Bomber, it’ll be one of his partners in
destruction. I know of a Dr Death, The Terminator and at least two Grim
Reapers, from discussions with sister offices.
‘Morning everybody.’ Breezes Bomber as he enters the
office. The response is colder than a long-abandoned house. I’m surprised his
damp meter doesn’t start pinging off the scale. I beckon him over, and he gives
me the address. Only two weeks ago I was punching the air with delight when the
sale was agreed, now I’m imagining the fractious conversation with the owner
and a call to the board man to re-erect the For Sale sign.
‘Set of the details and the energy performance report
please.’ Says Bomber with a forced smile I’d like to force back down his
throat. He’s the only person to show interest in an EPC since the last surveyor
came in to cover their arse.
I hand Bomber the information and ask him to sign for the
keys.
‘Got any comparable sales?’ He asks whiningly. So you can
work down from those figures, less ten percent, I think angrily. If you put
enough caveats and disclaimers in a survey it becomes as worthless as the EPC
he’s clutching protectively.
‘Hmm, price looks a bit full,’ speculates Bomber to an
audible pantomime-style hiss from stage left, right and centre.
‘It reflects the market. We had competitive bidding and
two disappointed punters.’ I tell him artfully.
‘Reckon it’ll be ok?’ Asks F after Bomber leaves.
No.
------
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1 comment:
Having had exactly the same shit happen to me in the 80's, I denied access to the surveyor saying I wouldn't give him the keys. He was most put out and had a bloody good whine about it. He did eventually see the error of his ways and never down valued one of my house again!
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