Wit Stop

The Real Estate Broker of Betatakin

Carved into the wall of Tsegi Canyon in the Navajo National Monument are the ruins of Betatakin, a cliff dwelling that was home for about 150 Anasazi from around A.D. 1250 to A.D. 1300. Gazing at these ancient, primitive abodes fills the tourist with wonder. For instance, I wondered whose idea it was to carve a residence into the side of a mountain? Who determined which family got which suite of rooms? Did they buy through a real estate agent? Was there an Anasazi broker whose melodic tribal name translated to “One Who Is Not Worth the Six Percent Commission”?

I pictured a young Anasazi couple guided through the cliffside condominium by One Who Is Not Worth the Six Percent Commission. The husband and wife would be wary, questioning, skeptical. The real estate person would be positive, enthusiastic, a total winwin salesperson. The broker asks, “What do you think of the place? Perfect, isn't it?” The young husband says, “I don't know. It's a lot of steps to climb.” Not Worth says, “True, but it's great exercise and look at it this way: you'll only be here for 50 years, tops.”

The young wife asks, “Why up so high?”

Not Worth answers, “It's for protection, Honey.” She says, “Who wants to live in a neighborhood where you have to climb halfway up a mountain to be safe?” Not Worth doesn't reply. She adds, “Besides, wouldn't it be easier to just put a sign outside the entrance that says, “This abode protected by armed response?” This Anasazi woman was hundreds of years ahead of her time.

Then she spots another sign of a deteriorating neighborhood: graffiti. She expresses her concern to Not Worth, who says, “Honey, this is not graffiti. Heavens no. These are petroglyphs.” “What are petroglyphs?” she asks.

Not Worth says, “They're ancient carvings in the face of a cliff or a rock. Very valuable.” She says, “They look like they were carved yesterday.” Not Worth says with a touch of annoyance, “They're not petroglyphs yet. Give them a chance. All ancient carvings have to be new sometime.” Mr. and Mrs. Anasazi look around a little bit more. Not Worth says, “Maybe I shouldn't put my two cents worth in, but I think you can be very comfortable and content here.” She says, “Do they come in any other colors? I've never been crazy about sandstone red.” Not Worth patiently explains, “Look, you're going to have children. Everything around here is red sandstone. If you do the place in saguaro green or Colorado River blue, you're going to regret it. You'll have red footprints all over the house. The furniture will be covered with bright red smudges. Trust me, go with the sandstone red.” Do you notice how Not Worth the Six Percent Commission has a response for everything? Things haven't Things changed much in 700 years.

My bride and I recently shopped for a new home. Our real estate agent was Jane Doe. We didn't want a home carved into the side of a canyon wall, nor did we want one that was 700 years old. So Betatakin was out.

We definitely did want a full dining room, a fenced yard, and a swimming pool. Of course, we also established a price range.

Jane showed us plenty of places that fulfilled none of our requirements. Finally she called and said, “Come into the office. I have the perfect place for you.” We went.

Jane was on the phone, asked us to wait, and handed us an information sheet on the place we were going to tour. It had no swimming pool.

When she got off the phone, I said, “I don't see a pool in these plans. Does it have one?” She came very close to my wife and me and whispered as if the information were extremely confidential. She said, “No, it doesn't have a pool. But the people next door have a pool, and they don't mind at all if you use it. So you see, you don't really need a swimming pool.” I got very close to Jane Doe and whispered back at her, “If the people next door have a dining room, then maybe we can use that, too . . . and their kitchen . . . and their bathroom . . . and their bedroom . . .”.

On the drive home, my wife and I called Jane Doe several intriguing and creative names, all of which, in the aggregate and given the kindest of interpretations, translated to “One Who Is Not Worth the Six Percent Commission.”