Is it just me, or are open houses slowly dying? Not gone — just standing at the podium, freezing mid-sentence, staff members quietly closing in to walk them off stage before anyone asks if they're okay.
I hosted a couple this weekend, hoping to scrounge up some business. One person showed up. One. And of course it was the guy who does this for sport — walks in like Kramer bursting through Jerry's door, critiques the crown molding like he's on a design show, then casually mentions he's got eighteen more open houses on his list today. These people are the Costco sample table of real estate. Not buying anything. Just wandering the aisles looking for a reason to exist, one toothpick-speared meatball at a time.
I've got a love-hate thing with open houses. Love, because once in a blue moon you snag an unrepresented buyer wandering in off the street. Hate, because you will never — never — see a top producer hosting one. Watching them post "need someone to hold my open house Sunday!" is like watching a bell ring at a soup kitchen. I show up anyway. Feral raccoon energy. I hate it, but a guy's gotta eat out of somebody's trash.
More reasons open houses make me want to lay down in traffic:
Where the hell do I even stand? Someone walks in and I don't know if I'm supposed to greet them, ignore them, or pretend to be mid-important-phone-call. I’m like a nerd staring at a hot girl drooling and peeing my pants.
Agents lie through their teeth for a contact. My first year, someone told me to tell people the sign-in sheet was "for insurance purposes." It is not for insurance purposes. It has never been for insurance purposes. I said it anyway, because I’ll do anything to get business.
I don’t want to get caught on the toilet. Last open house, I had to poop and I was so scared someone would walk in mid business. I did not shit my pants. But I will be wearing depends from now on.
Say what you want about open houses — the parade of tire-kickers, the crushing silence between visitors, the constant threat of bathroom-related humiliation — but when business is slow, you show up anyway. That's the job. Nobody's coming to save you. You go sit in an empty living room for two hours and hope somebody wanders in who isn't just there for the Keebler crackers and cheese.
Things I've learned the hard way that actually make open houses less miserable:
Bring a speaker. Silence is where awkwardness goes to breed. A little background music and people stop tiptoeing like they're at a funeral.
Host in the off-season. Counterintuitive, but this is when I've found the most unrepresented buyers — the tire-kicker-to-real-buyer ratio actually flips in your favor.
Ditch the business cards. When someone asks for one, tell them you're out and ask for their info instead. You walk away with a lead, not a stranger holding your name in their coat pocket forever.
Give an honest tour. If it's not your listing, don't sell it like it is. Point out the weird step down into the kitchen. People remember the agent who didn't bullshit them.
Bring toilet paper. I cannot stress this enough. Learn from my near-death experience so you don't have to have your own.
Open houses might be dying a slow, undignified death — still up there, still talking, nobody quite sure if the lights are on. But as long as brand-new agents need a way in and desperate ones need a warm body in an empty house, they're not going anywhere. So set up the speaker, stock the toilet paper, and go stand awkwardly in someone else's living room. It's the job. Nobody said the job was dignified.
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