Roman and Jared not aside, which is worse--the tribe, or the realtors? I chatted recently with a woman who'd "bought" "her" "first" "home," and it was one of those pseudo-heartbreaking modern moments where you listen to someone's long story of struggles and sacrifices, and you can't tell them how utterly easy it would've been to do it all with an hour on the internet, a couple hundred for the inspection guy, and save 6%--to split half between you and the foreclosed-upon family that is probably scattered in pieces across the Jersey tenements about now, awaiting collection of the remainder from the next seven years' worth of paychecks.
You can't tell her, because if she knew she could have a little over ten grand in her pocket right now, she'd feel like she'd gotten violated, and then she'd have an instant counter-reaction, rationalizing it all something fierce, talking about how incredibly nice the realtor was to get the "contract" done by 5PM on this one particular day, and "showing her" the house literally four times (from her eminently practical but luxurious Hyundai Sonata with the tan leather package, omigod omigod am I good enough to take up her time?) to be sure it was "just right." And the Title Company was so nice because they gave her a bottled water and her kid some crackers, and Jesus himself would weep tears of wine if he knew how they promised to rush the recording ahead a day so that she'd only have to wait until Tuesday to miss work and rush out of her existing apartment to grab those coveted "keys" and jam eight years of post-parental furniture into those creaking sixteen hundred feet.
So what do you do? You shut the fuck up and let the proles take the shaft, maybe offering a little motor oil for next time, like, "Sure, I'd like some of her cards." And no matter what, you don't sue the local real estate place for running a nasty cartel of intimidation and buttfucking, where these amazingly redundant storefronts blanket the entire fucking country, producing even less benefit, yet somehow far more goodwill, than a Chase glioma or a payday loan osteosarcoma.
It shouldn't get one upset, anyway. The drug cartels kill off at least as many people per month as the realtors rape per year, and in the former case, the suffering is of the very literal, visceral, screaming kind, whereas the realtors only bleed people in the initial netherspace of confused financial arcanisms. Close enough to the surface for even some of the proles to understand, gnome sane yoh? But still, it's colossal, a lesser giant among greater giants, like a cluster of three dozen writhing ticks sucking fluids from under an alley mutt's floppy ear. Something about the "up front" nature of the realtors' screw-job, though, makes some observations of the process sting a little more than the subtle skimming of a trio of rattling pharmacists.
Like, why do savvy commercial landlords still kick cash out to the realty club? To some extent there's a family and marriage link issue, and the forming of coalitions to control mayorships and councils, wrest developer tax incentives, and use Sec. 8 to blockbust the cubicle analysts into yet another suburban paradise, but even so, you'd think that the occasional eccentric, the rare localized Trump as it were, would stand up against the Long gang, run his own transfer outfit at 1%, and pocket the remaining 5 as a savings to himself and his terrorized clientele. I'm not even asking for a revolution; just a bit of small-scale counter-corruption.
Workable, and eminently imaginable, especially to dog-shit developers in dog-shit tracts. And yet, you never see it, which means of course that the realty capos are using their local governance and their boondocks "publications" to ensure that Joe Cheap Condos and Sally Revitalized 80s Stip Mall take a few falls down the stairs before leaving town in disgrace. Why are some roads mended and others not? How many months and how many ex-roughnecks does it take to blacktop a fifty meter stretch to nowhere? As many as we fucking say; that's how many. Now take all that little capital of yours and go open an offramp Subway in Nevada before you end up behind on your County library fines, know what I mean?
When you look at these things sticking together, it's pretty hard to believe there aren't Satanic gray alien leptorizoid sauranimals with little rosaries actually running things, after all. Because the local bishop and rabbi, god bless them, are always "working in partnership with" the long-timers on the business commission, handling the assignments on the zoning and tax policy councils, and god knows they're fingering children while they do it. Toss a few more imams into the mix, and horror of horrors, you'll see Coldwell-Sharia Real Estate Brokerages signs cropping up everywhere, golden crescent moon against a starry blue backdrop, while the Baptists and the Sunni join each other in winning a twenty year sales-tax moratorium for the new Walmart megacenter with the educational annex and the bike path.
Oooh, Sharia, a magical word. The first stains of Jenomic corruption begin to touch our pristine sheets! God forbid politics state and local become controlled by a bunch of thieving pedo rapists with souls scarred by the desert god! Imagine those vile hordes flooding this land, defrocking preteens without consequence while they incestuously control every function of speech and trade, propagating lies and misdeeds on the public purse...just imagine those cousin-marrying pervert freaks growing fat on kickbacks and establishing public morality laws--in this country! To arms, free secular Mormijewthic Protesbyterians; to arms!