Funny comments about brokers from Rupert Everett article in the Times

"Outside the building, a co-broker waited. He was a young man in a long black coat that was, to put it plainly, filthy, covered with lint and short white hairs. “Are you having chemotherapy, or is that a dog?” Everett asked, deadpan, as we got into the elevator. The co-broker half-laughed; he didn’t seem to know what Everett was talking about. The apartment was very large, decorated atrociously,... [more]

"Outside the building, a co-broker waited. He was a young man in a long black coat that was, to put it plainly, filthy, covered with lint and short white hairs. “Are you having chemotherapy, or is that a dog?” Everett asked, deadpan, as we got into the elevator. The co-broker half-laughed; he didn’t seem to know what Everett was talking about. The apartment was very large, decorated atrociously, with oversize paintings and sculptures. After a quick walk-through, Everett said, “Thank you very much, it’s lovely,” before turning to go. The co-broker pressed him for a decision. “It’s not my kind of design, to be honest,” he said. “Very nice space, though.” We left him behind and got into the elevator. “Did you see his shoes?” Everett fumed. “I think a Realtor should have good shoes, especially in this climate.”" and " The broker on the last apartment was Barbara Godson of Halstead Property, a British woman of a certain age, who, it turned out, rented Everett the house he eventually bought, in the late ’90s. It also turned out that she knows how to make an entrance — by bicycle. To see Everett interact with older British women, as I would twice, was to see an exercise in hand-to-hand combat, white-glove division, that doesn’t exist in America. Everett, who grew up a son of a military-officer-turned-businessman, chafes at orders of any kind. Women of that age, no matter how polite, tend to give them. As he resists, Everett’s manners are sterling, but he gives as good as he gets. As she got off her bike, recognition dawned. “I remember you,” he said, once we were inside the apartment. “I asked a friend to see the house for me, and you screamed at him because I didn’t go. You said, ‘I don’t show to assistants.’ And he was a friend.” Godson stiffened her upper lip. “You have a bad view of me, then,” she said. He parried. “No, not at all, very good actually,” he said. “That place brought me luck.” She recovered. “This place could, too,” she said instantly. He looked vaguely sorrowful, contemplating the living-room walls. “Not in the same way,” he said, finally. “Avocado could never give me good luck.” He wandered through the bedrooms, each with child guards on the windows. “It’s a bit family-ish,” he said. “From what point of view?” she asked sharply. “From my point of view,” he retorted. Babst and I burst out laughing. This wasn’t conversation. It was dialogue. She pushed some more. He pushed back. It was time to go. The parting shot was his. “Be good,” he called as we headed down the stairs. “Careful on the bike.” from http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/22/magazine/22everett-t.html?ref=magazine&pagewanted=all " [less]