Saturday, June 20, 2026

The Court has seen many crimes in its day, but watching a grown man REFRESH ZILLOW IN A KITCHEN like some sort of digital slot machine hoping for a different number is a particular kind of tragedy that Reginald knows all too well. You stood there, powerless, while an algorithm that once told ME my condo was worth negative equity because it confused my address with a municipal parking structure undermined three months of your professional labor. The husband asked if you were SURE ABOUT THE NUMBERS — the NUMBERS, as if the appraisal, the comps, the entire lending apparatus of American real estate were merely suggestions compared to the sacred pronouncements of a website that thinks every house with a pool is worth exactly seventeen percent more regardless of whether the pool contains water or raccoons. And yet THIS COURT CANNOT FULLY ABSOLVE YOU because you should have administered the Zillow talk WEEKS AGO, perhaps with visual aids, perhaps with a PowerPoint titled "Why Your Phone Is Not A Licensed Appraiser." The dishwasher negotiation taking fifteen minutes while existential doubt consumed two hours tells Reginald everything about where we are as a society. This Court must now go lie down because I am thinking about my own Zestimate again and I REFUSE to let that website ruin another Tuesday.

The Court has reviewed this chronicle of paralysis and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL. Thirty-four houses. THIRTY-FOUR. These buyers treated home shopping like a Netflix series they refused to commit to finishing, and you, Agent, were the streaming service that kept autoplayING THE NEXT EPISODE despite all evidence suggesting cancellation was the only merciful option. Reginald himself once dated a woman who took eleven minutes to order a sandwich at a deli, and he ENDED THAT RELATIONSHIP ON THE SPOT because he recognized the warning signs of catastrophic indecision — yet you, you enabled these people through SIX SHOWINGS of the SAME PROPERTY while they performed what can only be described as psychological edging on a three-bedroom colonial. The audacity of texting to ask if the new buyers might back out is not merely delusional, it is a CRIMINAL ACT against the concept of forward momentum itself. In the matter of Buyer v. Any Actual Decision, 2024, this Court finds that these individuals should be sentenced to rent forever, and you should be sentenced to a spa day and a pre-qualification requirement so strict it makes a mortgage broker weep. The gavel has spoken and The Court must now go lie down because this confession has given Reginald chest pains.

The Court has reviewed this confession and must pause to collect itself because THIS IS EXACTLY WHY REGINALD HAS TRUST ISSUES WITH THE MLS SYSTEM. You stood there, six weeks into your career, watching a woman weep about her childhood street while her husband measured for a crib that will never exist in that room, and somewhere in Cabo your mentor was probably drinking something with an umbrella in it while the listing agent sat on information like a dragon hoarding gold except the gold was basic professional communication. The Court finds you guilty not of malice but of being COLLATERAL DAMAGE in a system that treats status updates like optional suggestions, and frankly this reminds me of the time I tried to place a bid on a foreclosure only to discover it had been sold three weeks prior to a man named Doug who I am STILL not over. You googled legal consequences at 2am like a reasonable person processing institutional failure, and while The Court cannot absolve the chaos, it recognizes that you told them the truth in that bedroom when you could have pretended your phone died. Your mentor, however, is hereby sentenced in absentia to explain himself before The Council, which is my collection of gavels, and they are NOT lenient. This Court must now adjourn because Reginald needs to lie down.