I, a female in my early 50s at the time, arrived at the subject property which was in more of a rural area with larger lots in a neighborhood in Northern California. The male homeowner answered the door, and after our introductions I started measuring the outside perimeter of the house, which had a wrap-around porch on the front half. The homeowner then went to a toolshed in the backyard, close to the house. He pulls out a shovel, a ball-peen hammer, and some duct tape, and sets it all on the deck railing as I’m measuring. He didn’t say anything. He went back inside. I quickly finished measuring and hesitated about going back inside to plug in the floor plan and finish my information. The owner was sitting watching TV with his back toward me as I tiptoed in, quickly went through the smaller one-story home, and made my way to the front door very nervously. I wanted to run to the car and just leave. I should have. Instead, I spoke to his back as he was watching TV as I was getting closer to the front door. Told him I was done, he got up as I was walking through the front door. He came out as I was heading to my car to quickly get in. He stood by the deck railing and the shovel, hammer and tape, and said goodbye. I locked the doors and quickly backed out of the long driveway, my heart pounding. When I told my husband about the day, he was not pleased that I didn’t leave immediately before finishing the appraisal. The sentiment was the same from my fellow appraisers back in the office.
SEPTEMBER 26, 2019
How Do You Measure That Feeling in Your Gut?
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