Bully

“Ring, ring. Ring, ring,” sounded the phone yesterday morning. I answered it.

“Hello, this is Annabel from the Estate Agent’s office. We will be holding an open house at your unit on Saturday between 11 and 12 o’clock.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” I thought. The estate agent insists that we leave the premises when he holds an open house; apparently, he can’t sell a property with people sitting in it. And yet we have gone away for the past two Saturdays, and still he hasn’t sold the flat, which I take to be a reflection on the rather high asking price, but of course, I’m not an estate agent.

“Fine,” I said. “But we’re not going to be out this Saturday. It’s the hottest time of the day, and we’ve got a small child. We rent the flat for all the hours of the week so we expect to be allowed to sit in it all the hours of the week.” I was not in a good mood yesterday.

“Just a moment,” said Annabel. She put me on hold while she went to get the chief estate agent.

“We're going to hold an open house on Saturday,” he said.

“Fine,” I said. “But we will be there.”

“I’m going to ring the landlord, and he’s going to terminate your contract,” said the estate agent.

“I feel that you are bullying me,” I said.

“I’m not bullying you,” said the estate agent.

“Well, I feel bullied,” I said, and there the conversation ended.

When I got off the phone, I re-read the rental contract. It states that we have to let people in to view the flat, which we have been doing, but it says nothing about us having to go out so that the estate agent can hold an open house, in which he sticks a notice board in the street, inviting all passers by, which of course includes passing petty criminals, to come in and take a look at the property, with a view to buying it, or perhaps returning later and burgling it.