When I was becoming a fresh-faced newly-minted realtor twenty years ago I was accepting, in perpetuity, a chosen career path which would entail my being available most every Sunday for the rest of my working life. After all, back in the day before the rise of the self-employed consultant and flex hours, most people worked a solid Monday to Friday 9-5 PM (or even longer of course) leaving only evenings and weekends to view prospective properties. To some degree this remains true today but back then, and until 1992, the Retail Business Holidays Act of Ontario also prohibited most stores from opening on Sunday. This meant the majority of people had to squeeze in all their errands and shopping on Saturday, leaving Sunday as the default day to house hunt. This created mayhem for realtors, who found their busiest day for showing properties coincided with droves of leisurely Sunday drivers going half the speed limit! Oh the Sunday insanity!
And then, every year, out of the blue comes Fluke Sunday. This is the day where you, the consummate realtor, suddenly finds his appointment book empty, his pager quiet and his telephone silent for the entire freaking day. Usually Fluke Sunday occurs in July or August, where maybe a heat wave hangs thick in the air, an event like the Indy car race has discouraged drivers, or your entire roster of clients has headed to a wedding, family reunion, picnic barbecue or cottage escape.
Yup, Fluke Sunday happened to me yesterday.
Having an unexpected Sunday off is both wonderful and disconcerting for me. Given it’s the peak of summer with all its egg-frying-on-a-sidewalk scorchiness, there’s an increasing chance one will have no appointments. This is the time when our market is always its quietest. And it’s not just the real estate market. It’s literally every market right down to the green grocer. I kid you not. While purchasing the last bag of ice at a major metropolitan grocer yesterday, I witnessed most every checkout person leaning against their cash register bored out of their minds killing time chewing gum while twirling their hair and reading the National Enquirer. I get it. Who has an appetite for eating in this kind of heat? During weather this humid and hazy, I eat ice cubes for dinner.
But for all the wonder of having an unexpected day off, it can be disconcerting to a realtor to receive nary a phone call or a page. In my “But I’m Supposed To Be Working Sunday!” conditioning there were moments I had to confirm the ringer on my phone hadn’t accidentally been switched to ‘Silent’. And yes, I occasionally double-checked my wireless to make sure I hadn’t missed a page from someone keen to find out the asking price on any of my amazing listings. Which, by the way, are refreshingly cool places to enjoy summer both literally and figuratively. In fact, why not check them out on our Current Promotions Page and get back to me…. on Sunday, ok?