John L. Scott

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. In an old neighborhood office of John L. Scott, a regular noticed something peculiar one morning. As he signed papers on his desk, his young daughter peeked in and pointed excitedly at the ceiling. ‘Daddy,’ she whispered, ‘is that a ghost?’ The father looked up, squinting against the early-morning light. ‘No sweetheart,’ he smiled, ‘just our new air conditioning unit.’ The girl giggled, then ran outside to join her toys. Meanwhile, the delivery driver whistled as he carried in another box, thinking maybe this place was haunted after all—until he saw the smiling realtor greeting him with a cup of coffee.

2. In a dimly lit corner of the John L. Scott office, a young realtor named Alex was diligently organizing listings when he heard a familiar voice from behind. "Excuse me, miss?" asked a delivery driver, holding up a package. "Did you order a large wooden crate today?" Alex looked puzzled and shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she replied with a smile. The delivery driver shrugged and said, 'Just checking, ma’am.' As he walked away, Alex turned back to her computer and noticed that the crate had been delivered to the wrong address across town. She laughed softly, thinking, 'Another day, another mystery!'

3. In a John L. Scott office, someone asked aloud one day: ‘Who keeps leaving those tiny keys under our listings?’ Then, one evening, a delivery driver arrived with a box of miniature keys, explaining he was compensating for his clumsy colleague who kept dropping them off. Since then, everyone in the office jokes that John L. Scott must be the fairy godfather of local real estate.

4. In a John L. Scott office, someone asked aloud one day: ‘Why does every listing photo look like it’s been taken in slow motion?’ A delivery driver piped up with a twinkle in his eye: ‘Because they film them on Sunday afternoons when everything moves slower!’ The room erupted into laughter, and from that day on, whenever anyone saw a listing photo, they’d whisper, “It must be Sunday.”