People have a lot of theories about what real estate agents do all day.
The prevailing assumption seems to be: drive a nice car, look at cool houses, drink coffee, post on social media meaningless content, and collect a commission check.
I'd like to offer a different perspective.
Specifically, I'd like to offer the perspective of a woman sitting in a lawn chair in a deceased woman's driveway, arm in a sling, two days post-fracture, making change for a stranger buying a set of vintage Tupperware for $2.
That woman was me.
And I would do it again in a heartbeat.
The House That Had Everything
A while back, Chuck and I took on a listing that was, by any objective measure, a situation.
Our client had just lost his mother. The home was filled with decades of a life well-lived — furniture, keepsakes, collections, and the particular beautiful chaos that accumulates when someone has lived in the same house for a very long time.
Before we could list it, we needed to deal with all of it.
So we did what any reasonable real estate team would do.
We helped the client host a garage sale.
Chuck worked it like a seasoned pro — pricing, moving furniture to the driveway, chatting up buyers, hauling things around. I supervised from my lawn chair, broken arm resting in a sling, running the cash box with the one hand that still worked. I had fractured my arm two days earlier at Pilates (yes, extreme Pilates). Staying home didn't really feel like an option.
We were there because our client needed us to be there. Full stop
Then It Got Interesting
Here's the thing about inherited homes that have been sitting for a while — sometimes you discover things.
Mid-process, we discovered that homeless individuals had broken into the property. And made themselves quite comfortable. In the bathroom.
I will spare you the details.
What I will tell you is that Chuck cleaned it up. Because it needed to be done. Because our client was grieving and overwhelmed and had enough on his plate. And because "that's not my job" has never once been a sentence either of us has been able to say with a straight face.
The Bike
One of my favorite stories about going above and beyond that tells you everything you need to know about Chuck Robinson. The one about the bike.
Before we even had a signed listing agreement — before the paperwork, before the commission was guaranteed, before any of it — Chuck and the client were talking about the client's daughter and her bike that needed some love.
New tires. A little tune-up. Some air in the wheels.
He fixed the bike.
Just because it was there. Just because he saw it. Just because that's who he is.
He fixed a little girl's bike before he had the listing.
The Finish Line
Chuck has trimmed trees in the rain — standing on a step stool balanced against a horse trailer in weather that had no business being outside in, loppers overhead, completely unbothered.
He has mowed lawns. Spread out fresh bark. Countless dump runs — solo and with clients. He has hauled, packed, loaded, swept, and on at least one memorable occasion, done the dishes.
I once heard him tell a client who was completely overwhelmed and running on empty:
"You've done a great job. It's time to walk away. I'll take care of the rest."
The rest was doing the dishes, packing up a couple more cabinets, and taking a load to the dump.
He just did it. No fanfare. No invoice.
What Real Estate Actually Is
Here is what people don't tell you when you're thinking about selling your home:
Selling a home has a lot of moving parts. A lot. And a truly great Realtor is less a salesperson and more a project manager, a problem solver, a fixer, a therapist, and occasionally — a bike mechanic.
The really good ones don't wait to be asked. They show up to the open house with a leaf blower because they noticed the leaves. They mow the lawn because it needed it and the house was vacant. They sit in a lawn chair with a broken arm because their client needed help at a garage sale.
It's not that our clients take advantage of us. It's a level of service we are proud of — because we understand that selling a home isn't a transaction. It's a life event. And the people who trust us with it deserve everything we've got.
It's never "that's not my job."
It's always "I'll do whatever it takes to get us across the finish line."
Even if that means fixing a bike first.
