1st of December 2005:When I lost the… “chance of my life” | Ilias Papageorgiadis’ blog for Real Estate in Romania (and not only)

1st of December 2005:
When I lost the… “chance of my life”

Friday, December 4th, 2009

Part 4

(for part 1, please press here,
for part 2, please press here, for part 3, please press here)

Why should we allow to reality destroy such a nice story?
The agent who knew the property and gave it to the ladies (who gave it to me…) did not know that I am an agent too. The ladies told him that I am the client. I tried to explain to him, but he didn’t want to listen. Ok, then “why should we allow to reality to destroy such a nice story?” I thought and accepted that I would be the client that day, I did not really have any other option. The agent had a problem with his car, so a colleague of his volunteered to drive. While we were ready to leave, another colleague of them heard about “a client” and volunteered to come too, so as to show me some more lands…

A happy driver was driving us to North…
We entered in the lovely Renault Clio of the driver. Soon we were on Calea Grivitei, passed the bridge… I looked around me in the car, as we were heading to Bucuresti Noi and from there to DN1A national road. The driver, an agent actually, was tall like me, but even fatter than me, over 20 kilos! His dress code was similar to “strong” guards of clubs. He was driving as if he had just taken drugs… He was speeding up just for 50 - 100 meters, until to stop furiously, bringing our stomachs to our throats… He was also a delicant gentleman, who considered logical to have next to him a plastic pet bottle of beer (2 liters) so as to drink continuously, while driving…

The other agents and the… Cypriot hero
Next to him you could see the agent with who I really had meeting. He was wearing his new suit (so as to impress me, I guess), being dressed in the correct dress code for someone who would show extravillant lands out of Bucharest, at the end of November… (suit, tie, expensive shoes). He was really struggling to make me feel better, talking and explaining to me lots of useful tips (why his company was the best, what were their advantages towards the competition and other interesting details).
Last but not least, a third gentleman next to me. His home probably did not have water for some days, this was why he didn’t have a shower for such a period of time. He had heard about me and forced the others to take them with us and now he was happy but attentive. He was sitting behind the driver, controlling every move of mine…

Like a Cypriot partisan…
After the 20^th acceleration and brutal pressing of the break, I felt bad. Not because the agent in front of me had stopped talking to me and he had opened a discussion with the others, talking non stop in Romanian. I could not stand this way of driving, it was making me feel sick. After the 100^th repeat of this procedure, my mind traveled back to the late 80’s… it was the time when I watched a documentary on Greek television about the liberating war of Cypriots against English. There was a great Cypriot partisan who refused to reveal the secrets, even after all kinds of tortures. But he was a villager and they found his “button” too. He didn’t last being driven around with a car which was accelerating and then immediately stopping, while turning left and right non stop… In the end he said all…
“But I have nothing to hide, I told them that I am not a client, what is my mistake if they did not want to listen to me? What else should I reveal so as to stop this torture?” I was thinking…

“Buftea AREA, not exactly in Buftea”
Was it my destiny to become a modern hero, here in Romania? “God, noooooo” I thought and asked the driver to drive a bit more relaxed. Mistake, big one. He replied to me using very bad Romanian words, I did not understand good, but I felt that he was swearing at me. “Shut up Ilia and enjoy the ride, he is the driver and he really feels like King…” I thought, surrendering to my destiny of that day, to count all the holes on the National Road DN1A, with direction to Targoviste…
We passed Mogosoaia and entered Buftea. “Finally we are here” I screamed from happiness! “Not yet” the agent in front of me said. “How come? I was told that the property is in Buftea”. “I never said Buftea, mister. If the ladies transmitted to you something else, this is their fault, not mine”. “But I also asked you and you told me yes”. “You asked me if we will head to the area of Buftea, not exactly in Buftea”.

(to be continued on Monday…)

1st of December 2005:
When I lost the… “chance of my life”

Part 4

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