The Upstory

“I will take or make an effort to remove your name and your phone number and your existence from any of my correspondence.”

Game. Set. Match. This was the text that signaled my long national nightmare was over. Finally, I was going to be taken off the mailing list of the pesky Realtor who had been dogging me for years.

Once upon a time this woman and I worked at the same company. She was, and probably still is, a charming, delightful lady who had managed to retain her thick Southern accent which she used to great effect in her business dealings. We were all mesmerized when she spoke and, in her world, we were all “honey” and “darlin’.”

At some point Honey-Darlin’ departed for the greener pastures of Real Estate. That’s when we transitioned from being colleagues to being clients.

ROUND 1
“Darlin,” she said when she called my work number, “I miss y’all and want to get together. Can you be a sweetie and give me y’alls phone numbers so I can set something up?”

Evidently, I wasn’t playing mental chess that day so I didn’t see what was coming next and did what she asked. Honey-Darlin’ set up a lunch and we naively showed up thinking we were going to break bread and gab. Our first clue that something more was going on was when we saw our group’s tables, looking quite different from the rest of the tables, decorated with colorful tablecloths and centerpieces. Our second clue was when we spotted her business card and a Real Estate brochure at each table setting.

We felt like suckers and it didn’t help that our no-host lunch included a presentation about why she should sell/buy houses for us when we weren’t using her for referrals.

Holy Sales Pitch, Batman!

Honey-Darlin’ either didn’t pick up on the bad vibe we were emitting or she didn’t care. Instead the turnout prompted her to send out a second invitation. Plus, she wanted to advertise the lunch in our company newsletter which had a much bigger reach than her measly phone list. Plus, she wanted to hold it in one of the company’s conference rooms “to make it easier for y’all to come.”

Yee gads! We’re rollin’ now.  Realtor 101: If they give you an inch, take a mile.

Of course, none of this was okay with Corporate. And of course, Honey-Darlin’ didn’t take “no” for an answer. Round and round we went in a sparring match that made Sonny Liston and Jack Dempsey look like amateurs. 

Honey-Darlin’ didn’t understand why she couldn’t solicit clientele from her previous workplace. Or why workplace facilities weren’t available to her. She was doing us all a favor. Getting us good homes for good prices. She was working to make our lives better.

Human Resources tried to explain company policy. Communications tried to explain its publishing guidelines. Phone calls and emails abounded. Somehow, she latched on to the idea that she was a company retiree and tried to use that as traction. “Honey, I know all the retirees and they know me. They know they can trust me to do the best job for them,” she told us.

Finally, the Corporate “no” prevailed. To appease her and give her something to send her on her way, we told her that as a retiree we would mail her the weekly company publication. It wasn’t what Honey-Darlin’ wanted but, being no fool, she knew a point of access when she saw one.

ROUND 2
I retired and thereupon became the administrator for my erstwhile company’s retiree Facebook page. My job was to check the bona fides of people asking to join the group, and accept them to the site if they were real-deal retirees. Also, I was tasked with monitoring posts. No politics. No commercial advertisements.

Y’all know what’s happens next, right? And with the Association’s “Along Comes Mary” playing in our heads let’s all together welcome: Honey-Darlin.

I didn’t even check the list to see if she was a retiree. She had always said she was and if you say something enough times it must be true, right?

She joined the group and behaved herself for awhile. Then, when I wasn’t looking because I was off somewhere remote without cell service, Honey-Darlin’ posted some MLS listings. Let me tell you they were big and bold and made quite the splash. By the time I got back to civilization, my phone had blown up with messaging. The retirees wanted the listings gone and so did Corporate.

It was easy enough to make that happen. But then I got word that I had missed a step in the vetting process. Honey-Darlin’ was not a retiree. Nope, not eligible for the Facebook group or to receive the newsletter. We excused her from both things and braced for impact.

ROUND 3
Nothing happened, so, we all, or “all y’all” lived to fight another day. Except for me.

Suddenly, without warning, I began receiving Realtor mailers from Honey-Darlin’. And not to my pre-retirement work address where I could shred and forget. No, indeed. She had gotten my home address. Like the Cosa Nostra, she knew where to find me.

For a couple of months, I pitched them out with the rest of the junk mail. Then I tried marking “Return to Sender.” Then I called and spoke with Honey-Darlin’s voice mail. “Please stop sending me stuff.” “Please take me off your mailing list.”

Nothing moved the needle.

I started saving her mail and when I had collected a specimen-worthy bundle, I paid her office a visit.

Honey-Darlin’ was pleased to see me at first, but then she realized I wasn’t there because I needed to buy or sell a house. She didn’t want to accept my bundle and couldn’t understand why I was there in person to cancel my subscription. “Darlin’ you could have just called me and saved yourself a trip.”

She assured me she’d take me off the list. And she did. For awhile.

Then last week, Honey-Darlin’s Realtor mail started filling up my mailbox. Cue the music from the shower scene in Psycho.

I re-visited her office and, since she wasn’t available, I left her mail with a note asking her to kindly take me off the list.

She did not. Instead she sent me more mail.

Maybe I needed to change my approach from “stop” to “here’s why you should stop.” Maybe if she knew that I had my own Realtor who I’d used as recently as last year, she would cut me loose and let me go.

Thus, began a text string that ended with Honey-Darlin’ losing something, but it wasn’t just me. She lost her cool.

Mind you I took a page from her playbook and I sweet-talked her. That got the ball rolling. And I told her about the Realtor we had and why we liked her. And I pointed out that we’ve never used Honey-Darlin’ and regretfully, are unlikely to ever need her services in the future. And I concluded with the question that only she could answer: Darlin’ what do you think it will take to get you to stop sending me your mailings? 

Honey-Darlin’ could have used a cross, a hook, a jab, or an uppercut. She could have got me in a clinch. But she opted to TKO me with the following unsweetened talk:

HD: You have received additional information from me unbeknownst to me that I would just as soon never have sent you. There is no need for you to send me any further notices or reminders.

I will take or make an effort to remove your name and your phone number and your existence from any of my correspondence.

Me: Okey-dokey. Sounds like a plan.