I Woke Up to a Realtor Showing My House to Buyers
It was a Saturday morning like any other. Or so I thought. I had no alarms set, no responsibilities screaming for my attention, and my only plan for the day was to stay in bed as long as humanly possible. You know that perfect kind of sleep where you’re just beginning to float back to consciousness, still tucked in a cozy cocoon of blankets? That was me—until I heard voices.
At first, I figured I must’ve left the TV on. But as the fog in my brain started to lift, I realized the voices were inside my house. Real, human voices. Multiple. One was clearly a woman giving some sort of tour. The others sounded like a small group murmuring in response.
I froze. Was I being robbed… by a well-mannered gang with an eye for real estate?
I grabbed my phone, which luckily was on the nightstand, and tiptoed to my bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. Peeking through, I caught sight of a man and woman peering into my living room, nodding appreciatively as a sharply dressed realtor gestured toward the fireplace like it was the highlight of a museum tour.
“That’s original stonework,” she said proudly, like she lived there. Which she most certainly did not.
At that point, I was so confused I didn’t even feel angry—just disoriented. Was I dreaming? Had I somehow agreed to this in a sleep-deprived haze?
I cracked the door open a little wider and, before I could think better of it, blurted, “Excuse me, what the hell is going on?”
All three heads snapped toward me like I was the intruder.
The realtor’s eyes widened. “Oh my God—I’m so sorry! We were told the property would be vacant!”
“Vacant?” I said, hair a mess, wearing a hoodie I may or may not have slept in for three nights straight. “I live here.”
She stammered through an apology, fumbling with a clipboard while the couple exchanged an awkward glance. I noticed the woman whisper something like “I guess we should go” to her partner.
The realtor, still clearly mortified, told me she’d been sent by the listing agency after getting confirmation from the owner that the place was empty. Only, here’s the twist: I rent the house. I’d been living there for over a year, and my landlord—without telling me—had decided to sell the place. Apparently, they’d scheduled showings through some management company that never thought to inform me.
I stood there in my socks, trying to process the fact that total strangers had just toured my home while I was sleeping in it. My laptop was still open on the couch, laundry in a pile on the floor, and the fridge contained nothing but condiments and expired almond milk. The glamour of real estate, folks.
Eventually, the visitors left, and the realtor apologized again—genuinely. It wasn’t her fault, really. She gave me the listing company’s info and told me I had every right to be upset. That part, I already knew.
Later that day, I contacted the landlord and made it very clear that if they were going to parade people through my home, I at least deserved a heads-up. Apparently, they “didn’t think I’d be home.” Right. Because clearly I just vanish on weekends?
Since then, I’ve been keeping my doors locked, sleeping a little lighter, and looking into a new place to live—preferably one where the only people walking through my house are people I actually invite.
Lesson learned: if you hear voices in your house and you’re not dreaming, it might be time to check the real estate listings—you could be living in one.
