Honestly! What’s the big deal? It’s always made sense to me that the show
was staged to a certain extent; that by the time the people “chose” their dream
home toward program’s end, not only had they long since selected it before the
program was even taped, but they’d already signed the papers and been
mercilessly wrung through that meat-grinder known as the mortgage application
process. (If you’ve ever bought a home,
then you know it’s really not too different from making sausage.)
For instance, you
know those scenes where the couple is playing hearts in the cramped
old apartment they hope to vacate soon, and his cell phone rings. “I wonder if
that’s our agent,” he says, picking up the cell without even bothering to
check his caller ID. “Hello? Oh hi,
Agent!” He leans across the card table and sotto voce, tells his wife as if
she hasn’t already figured it out, “It’s the agent!”
She
gasps. “Maybe it’s about the offer we made on the house!”
He
returns his attention to the cell. “What’s up, Agent? Really!
That’s great news!” Whereupon he rudely cuts off the real estate agent and says to
his wife, “Guess what, honey? The seller
accepted our offer! We got the house!”
And the wife shrieks in delight as playing cards go flying.
Seriously! Did anyone out there ever think for a moment
that THAT wasn’t staged? That the
videographer didn’t move in with these people and keep the camera running at
all times till the phone call came?
Really! It’s not as if House Hunters is some old game
show where a favored long-term contestant is furtively being supplied with
answers to trivia questions. So the
participants’ life stories are embellished!
Who among us hasn’t padded a resume, exaggerated an employee
evaluation/performance report, or cobbled together composite characters in our
memoirs?
Frankly,
I’ve never cared about the participants’ life stories. I watch House Hunters for—are you ready for
this?—the houses! I love looking at different houses, and how other people live. I like to imagine that
I’m the one checking out those houses and picking out my favorite. For the record, the participants rarely pick
out the one I like, but then I’m not looking for the same features they
are.
It
seems to me that for most of these prospective homebuyers, their primary
consideration is choosing a house that will best impress their friends. They say they like to do lots of
entertaining. To this end, they want a house
with an open floor plan. They want the
kitchen configured in such a way that they can talk to their guests while they
prepare food and sip from a glass of wine. I’ve lost count of how
many episodes I’ve seen where they say this.
The kitchen could have cabinets galore and acres of counter space and
fully upgraded appliances and recessed lighting to die for—but if there’s no
way their guests can sit on barstools on the far side of that counter, slurping
margaritas and listening to their hostess pontificate while she slices and
dices and juliennes and takes an occasional sip from her glass of Zinfandel,
then it’s thumbs down on an otherwise perfect house.
Maybe
I can’t relate because even though I do have an open kitchen, I can’t talk and
prepare food at the same time. Nor do I
want people watching me do it. It leaves
me open to unsolicited comments and suggestions and critiques—but maybe that’s why I’m
supposed to keep them plied with alcoholic beverages. I do know it’s why I’d keep the bottle and
the glass of Zinfandel handy, and all my knives sharpened.
Of
course, they also insist upon a guest room, preferably secluded with its own
private entrance to the pool out back.
The wife wants it for when her mother comes to visit. (Mr. Lucky: “Just give her a sleeping bag and
a flashlight, and put her in a pup tent in the backyard.”) Every episode
invariably ends with an elegant dinner party or backyard cookout attended by all the
friends for whom the couple with their growing brood really bought the house.
Because
of Baby Bear, Mr. Lucky and I just want a house that’s built solidly enough
that we’ll have a roof and at least four walls still standing by the time the
mortgage is paid off and our Ursine Terror has left to rampage and ransack
elsewhere. I suppose if we wanted to buy
another house and went on House Hunters, the producers would embellish our life
story by portraying us as wanting an open floor plan not to give the Bear
plenty of room to run around and fewer walls to knock down, but because we want
to throw lots of parties for our many friends.
Apparently
viewers will find that more fascinating—and certainly less horrifying.
2 comments:
I don't know, Karen -- I think it would be kind of fun watching the expressions on the real estate agent's case as you test the house by bouncing off the walls to see if it would withstand normal Baby Bear activities, and examine bathroom fixtures to see if they encourage flooding. You could also note that you want a floor plan and patio conducive to entertaining beagles. Might be a very interesting show . . .
Funny you should mention that, Phyllis--recently we were looking at sofas (didn't buy one) and got some very strange looks from sales people who wanted to know why Mr. Lucky was examining all the sofas backs and checking them for durability, because Baby Bear has destroyed two of them with his constant rocking--a self-stimulatory autistic behavior. Another blog topic!
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