In September I will begin graduate school, and like all graduate-school-students-in-waiting without rich parents, that one inevitable question must be faced: How in the world will I make money while I’m going to school full-time? On top of that, I’ll be getting my Master’s in creative writing, where much of my spare time will be consumed by long, solitary hours on my computer, sipping inexpensive beer and chain-smoking bargain-brand cigarettes while attempting to evoke the spirits of the great writers before me.
What to do? Where would I find a job that would allow me flexible hours while still providing enough cash to keep the bill collectors at arm’s length? Having lived in Hoboken my whole life, watching surrounding property values soar like pigeons on Ritalin (much safer for the birds than Alka-Seltzer), the answer was right in front of me all along: real estate.
I registered for a real estate course where they would train me to pass the state exam. The classes were $300 and lasted less than a month. I could do this, I thought. Finally, I would be able to use my gift for gab (the same “gift” that had gotten me thrown out of many a high school classroom and church) for something positive. I would wow the prospective buyers with my in-depth knowledge of the city, showing them the best places to eat, the cheapest bars to inhabit, and the safest places to urinate on those post-bar nights when they just can’t make it home (you’re a sitting duck in an alleyway, believe me). I would show the out-of-towners all the houses Frank Sinatra inhabited while he lived here (and he lived in at least 200, didn’t he?), and I would be more than happy to show these nice people the house that had its window broken by the first homerun ball hit in the very first game of baseball ever played (any house with windows would do).
(Author’s Note: If an agent from the Real Estate Commission is reading this, please refer to my previous Current articles written under the pseudonym Bernard Merc in order to gain an understanding of my insincerity in all things written. In other words, please don’t suspend my license, because I’m only kidding. Besides, if you read on, you’ll learn I don’t even have my license yet.)
A couple of short weeks ago, before stepping foot into the world of real estate academia, I would have found no need to print such a disclaimer as the one above. But on our very first day of class, we, the students – innocent, na