Since six grade, I’ve been an avid news hound. I recently became aware of an item (which earned me a temporary suspension of my current event card). I became aware of the premise that St. Joseph could assist one in selling a home.
My future wife’s aunt, Patty, from western Pennsylvania, suggested enlisting St.Joseph’s assistance in selling my abode. This Episcopalian scratched his head. I went to Google and pecked – “Saint Joseph selling house.” The response wasn’t sparse, there were 7,350,000 listings! For me, St. Joseph didn’t ring many cathedral bells. My reference point was the manger and the tiny orange aspirins I chewed as a sick seven year old.
I then surfed to e-Bay where I invested in a St. Joseph house selling kit for $7.95. Four days later my kit arrived from Georgia. St. Joseph was tiny, pale, and plastic. The kit also included proper burying procedures and a prayer. I went to my shed, got my trowel and buried St. Joseph upside down, facing my house, near the curb. I then placed the “FOR SALE BY OWNER” sign directly above him. The prayer was rather draconian and dark, but I prayed it, and re-prayed it (as did my prayer circle).
I placed an ad on craigslist. It proved a supreme waste of time. The most common response was a flurry of “helpful” spam, suggesting better advertising options (interspersed between Canadian erectile meds). I fielded a few inane phone calls, and it ended there.
The best advertising is always word of mouth. A neighbor who lives at the end of my street told a buddy from the Keystone state that my place was available. He flew down, saw it, and stroked a check right at my kitchen table. I had one prospect, which resulted in one sale. With this ratio, I’d be the best compensated hitter in the major leagues (and without steroids)!
A cynic will say that it’s all a bunch of Bravo Sierra, and poppycock. In the end, I wasn’t Lee of little faith. After the out of state check cleared, I got my trowel and dug St. Joseph out. I humbly thank Saint Joseph and Aunt Patty as well.