This Court has witnessed many sins against the sacred institution of property transfer, but standing idly by while a bathrobe-clad mystic conducts a séance during an OPEN HOUSE represents a new low watermark for agent spinelessness. You arrived to find smoke detectors screaming and visibility reduced to "active warehouse fire" conditions, and your response was to GENTLY SUGGEST airing things out? Judge Escrow would have seized that sage bundle and declared martial law over the entire listing. Instead you allowed this woman to apologize to WALLS while buyers fled in terror, presumably assuming they had wandered into either a murder scene or a very aggressive essential oils demonstration. The fact that she later criticized YOUR professionalism while dressed like a spa escapee clutching geological specimens is merely the cosmic justice you deserved for failing to establish dominion over your own showing. This Court sentences you to forty-five minutes of listening to someone else describe the emotional significance of their breakfast nook while strangers judge your blazer. I need to step outside.