Back in the heady days of 2005, I was a bright-eyed junior negotiator working for a corporate estate agent in leafy Beckenham, South East London, brimming with ambition and nerves in equal measure. Everything felt new, every conversation a chance to shine, every handshake a potential turning point. Even now, twenty years on, little from those early days surprises me - but there’s one experience from that innocent, eager time that I promised myself I’d carry to the grave…
The Setup
It was a Saturday morning, and I was on my way to show a tidy three-bed semi. The owners had already moved out, which, in our world, is a gift from the heavens: no slippers lying around, no mysterious smells wafting from the fridge, no family members hovering and telling me how “this room looks much bigger when the sun’s out.”
The house was perfect. Neutral décor, freshly cleaned carpets, even a little patio garden that could charm the socks off the most discerning of first-time buyers. I had a lovely young couple booked in - keen as mustard, full of questions, ready to fall in love with their forever home.
What could possibly go wrong?
The Moment
We breezed through the downstairs. I pointed out the “spacious lounge,” the “modern fitted kitchen,” and the “ample under-stairs storage.” They nodded, smiled, and even whispered to each other - always a good sign. Upstairs, bedrooms two and three were equally impressive and the conversation turned to how they would set one as a nursery for the imminent arrival and the other one as an office.
Then came the grand finale: the master bedroom.
I swung the door open with the confidence of a man who knew he was about to seal the deal.
And there he was.
The vendor’s 20-something year old son. Lying on the bed. Headphones on (but little else). Laptop open on the bed. Eyes glued to the screen. I won't paint the whole picture but the phrase "rabbit in the headlights" doesn't come close.
Reader, I have never shut a door faster in my life.
Damage Control
Behind me, the couple froze. There was silence, apart from the faint tinny sound of whatever “educational video” he was enjoying through his headphones.
“Ah,” I stammered, my face turning redder than Main Street on National Day, “that’s… um… the master bedroom. Very…er... spacious. Good natural light... Shall we head to the garden...?”
I practically herded them down the stairs like sheep, my folder pressed to my chest like a shield. My brain was screaming: Do not make eye contact. Do not explain. Stick to the script. Just keep moving.
The Buyers’ Reaction
Of course, the couple had clocked everything. The husband gave me a look that said: Did that really just happen? His wife, meanwhile, had bitten her lip so hard trying not to laugh that I thought she might need medical attention.
Halfway through the garden pitch, she cracked. “So,” she said, tears of laughter in her eyes, “does he come with the property?”
At this point, I realised my dignity was beyond saving.
The Vendor’s Explanation
Later that day, I phoned the vendor. “We had… a bit of a situation,” I said delicately.
He groaned down the line before I’d even explained. “Oh, for God’s sake. I told him you were coming!”
Apparently, he’d given his son a spare key to “keep an eye on the place.” Clearly, the son had interpreted this as an opportunity for a private Netflix-and-chill session of the solo variety.
The Twist
And here’s the kicker: the couple ended up buying the house!
When I asked, out of curiosity, what had swung it for them, the wife smirked. “Well,” she said, “we know the bedrooms are good for... relaxation.”
What I Learned
That day taught me three valuable lessons:
Always knock, even when you’re absolutely certain the house is empty.
Buyers love a memorable story almost as much as they love a south-facing garden.
Never underestimate how inventive young men can be when left unsupervised with Wi-Fi.
Final Confession
So yes, my confession is this: I once tried to sell a house while accidentally walking in on a grown man enjoying his own company in the master bedroom.
Did I recover my professional composure? Barely. Did the buyers ever let me live it down? Absolutely not.
But do you know what? The house sold. And at the end of the day, that’s all an estate agent can ask for.
Even if I’ll forever be haunted by the faint sound of tinny headphones and the knowledge that some things are better left behind closed doors .png){kind=small}