“Welcome to orientation!” Wendy Reas beamed. It was Tuesday, my first official day as a real estate agent with Metro Realty Professionals. “I am so excited you wanted to join us,” she clapped her hands together as she said, “us.”
Wendy reminded me of a first-year junior high teacher. Full of excitement and possibility but too naïve and inexperienced to realize there was a cruel world of preteens out there ready to eat her for lunch.
Wendy had met me in the lobby, after I had waited for fifteen minutes, looking at outdated magazines after giving up attempting small talk with Val. She strode over to me with long purposeful steps, taking command of our relationship from the moment we met. Her handshake firm and she confidently held my eye.
I had read about these basic sales techniques yesterday. After my interview, I had buzzed straight to the library looking up anything I could find on sales. I had a quick moment to glance at chapter one of a basic sales-how-to book, sitting cross-legged in the library aisle, before my Price Bargains shift. Watching Wendy, I half-wondered if she had read the same first chapter of the same sales skills book I had.
Despite her warm and bubbly demeanor, Wendy was all business. She started our training by giving me her impressive background—another top selling agent with plenty of awards and designations. Now, secure in her 20-year career, she proudly told me wanted to give back to the real estate community by providing guidance to new talent. I translated this to mean Wendy had struck a deal with Ira to stay in the office for a portion of the sale agent’s commissions in exchange for a cushy training job.
Wendy’s role at MRP was sales manager and cheer-leader. Her job essentially was to teach me how to sell the “Metro Realty Professionals Way.” After her pep-talk, Wendy walked me around the office, reintroducing me to Ira and Val. She then brought me to the back room where a handful of the sales agents congregated. Wendy fluttered around, as if she were mingling at a cocktail party, giving me ever agent’s sales resume. It was intimidating. Everyone there was a multi-million dollar producer. There were Accredited Residential Specialists, a Neighborhood Expert, a graduate of some prestigious real estate agent school and other distinctions that just made my head swim.
The back room, called the bullpen, was made up of several open desks, a work table, four computers, a photo copier and a fax machine. On the walls were motivational posters all related to success, achievement and persistence.
“Which desk will be mine?” I asked, looking for something to break up the silence as we walked back to her office.
Wendy cast me a side-long smile. “You can use any desk you want while you are here handling paperwork or doing research. But, the majority of the time, you really should be out in the field, handling client appointments. Because if you are in the office, it means you aren’t selling.” She said. “Of course, our headquarters is always open as a resource to you and you may meet clients in our conference room.”
After making it back to her office, Wendy explained the basics of being a real estate agent. I am my own boss. I set my own hours. And, more importantly, I find my own clients. As my own boss, I pay for my own supplies—business cards, access to the Multiple Listing Service, association dues, signs, sign posts and key boxes. And, once I find a seller I pay for the newspaper ads, and advertising. I listened, silently horrified. I wasn’t sure I could afford all these expenses.
Wendy read my mind. “But don’t worry,” she said with a dismissive hand cutting through the air, “It will be worth it when the commissions come in.” She purposely leaned across the desk. “The goal of our orientation is to give you the knowledge you need to find your own clients. Metro Realty Professionals has proven and successful methods to help you find buyers and sellers. It is easier than you think,” she said with an automatic hand clap and a wide smile. “Soon you will be on your way to helping everyone you meet take part in the American dream.”
And, with her motivational speech, Wendy presented me with a three-ring binder. I had been looking forward to this moment. Finally, after weeks of real estate school, there was someone out there to tell me what I was missing. Here is what I needed to get my new career started. Where was the person who would want to buy a home from me?
With reverence Wendy started, “Here is your bible.” She paused a moment while I took the plastic notebook. “It has all the tools you will need to help you get started.” I leafed through it and my chest fell. It filled with workbook pages. There were more motivational sayings printed on every page, including great clichés such as “No pain, no gain.” I dutifully opened to the page Wendy requested.
She said crisply, as if she were a bureaucrat giving me forms to fill out in triplicate, while pointing to the blank top half of the page, “Now then, let’s get started. You want to find people to buy and sell homes. The best place to start is with those you know. So, you will want to list your sphere of influence.”
About mid-way down the page it read, “Send a touch once a week for the first three months to your sphere of influence.”
“What is a touch?” I asked.
“A touch, simply means contacting your sphere. You can do this with a letter or a phone call.” Wendy’s smile wasn’t as bright this time. I got the impression I had missed an easy question.
I pursed my lips, I started tentatively, “What exactly does all this mean?”
“When we start this business, we need to tell those in our sphere—” She caught my dumb stare and flashed me a pitiful look. “Sphere of influence means those in your life you influence or who influence you. Simply put, they are your friends and family. You need to let these people know what you are doing so they can help you. They want to help you. They are your sales force.” She emphasized this point by touching the tips of her fingers together. “Your sphere wants you to succeed. But, they are unaware of what is expected of them. You need to tell them you need help. When they find out you have all of this real estate expertise, they can then refer members of their sphere to you.” With the words ringing in my ears, she smiled brightly, expecting the topic closed.
I turned the page. It said, “Members of your Team” and then more white space.
I glanced at Wendy with a raised eyebrow. “Team?”
Wendy looked at me this time with a half-patronizing smile. “Of course! No real estate agent can possibly be successful without a team.” She waited. I suspected this new bit of information was supposed to make me delve further. Instead, I waited too.
Finally she said, “Your team consists of all affiliate members, such as your title officer, loan officer, termite inspector, home inspector, pool inspector, roofer and the like. They work with you to develop mutually-pleasing lead generation ideas.” She had a definitive look to her smile, daring me to ask anything else.
I went for it anyway, “What do you mean by mutually-pleasing lead generation ideas?”
“Well, they can give you third-party endorsement letters, sponsor your advertising and refer their clients to you.”
I paused. Surly I missed something. “So,” I said, carefully selecting my words, “If I understand you correctly, I need to ask a termite inspector to only refer his clients to me.”
Wendy was obviously pleased I finally caught on. “You’ve got it,” she said clapping her hands again on “it.”
“Well, why would they do that?” I asked.
Wendy looked confused. “Well, why wouldn’t they? They are members of your team.”
One of us wasn’t getting this. I feared it was her. “No.” I said with more frustration in my voice than I expected to convey. Slowly, I began, “A termite inspector must get calls all the time from several agents. Why would they refer their would-be home owner clients to me?”
Wendy, who no longer had the same level of enthusiasm I had seen thirty minutes earlier, took a deep breath I suspected I wasn’t supposed to see. “Because,” she said slowly, “they are on your team. They know you are a top real estate professional. They want to give business to you because you will, in turn, give them back the business.”
“But I haven’t proven myself.” I said, exasperated and confused. “I don’t know these people. They don’t know me.”
Wendy shook her head in pity. “That’s the beauty of sales, Tina. They don’t have to know anything about you. They want to help you, because you help them. You send your clients to them, they send their clients to you.” She looked at me warily. “That does make sense right?”
No. “Right.” I said with a weak smile. Wendy beamed, positively thrilled I had finally caught on. “Where do I start?”
She gave another joyous, yet annoying clap, “This is where your sphere comes in. Let’s make a list right now.” She said grabbing a pen from her desk.
“That’s it?” Wendy asked moments later, all pretense of enthusiasm long drained from her voice. She looked at my list. I had initially put Laura, Kayla and Matt on there. With Wendy’s prodding, I added Ed and Carl. (“Think about people you only met once or twice where you might have had meaningful conversation. They would be ideal.” Though, she was hard pressed to explain how they were ideal, instead encouraging me not to ask anything else). And, with more prodding I added more names. Buddy, Bruce and Roy. (“How about the people you pass every day and say hello to? What about someone you met when you first got here?”). I drew the line at the prostitutes I talked with coming out of the heat at Taco Loco Express those first five days.
“I just moved here seven weeks ago.” I flashed her an apologetic smile.
Wendy waved her hand, dismissing my excuse. Her smile brightened again. Completely ignoring my statements, she said, “This next part is so easy. Now, you need to write these people a letter.” She opened my training manual to some page. Pointing with her well-manicured finger, she said, “Here you will find a sample letter you can use. Send everyone in your sphere a letter explaining your new career. Let them know how you can help them. Make sure to stress you are a real estate expert.”
“How am I an expert?”
She snorted, “Because you have a license.”
“But, having a license doesn’t make me an expert.” We were back to this again. “It isn’t true. I am not an expert.”
Wendy leaned across the desk, her hands firmly planted on the smooth cherry finish, “Tina, they aren’t the agent. You are. Therefore, in their eyes you are the expert.”
Resisting the urge to scream from Wendy’s stupid circular logic, I asked, “Are there any agents in the office who I might be able to follow around and maybe can offer me advice?”
Surely there had to be more realistic ideas out there than these. Surly there were big-time agents like Amy out there, only nicer, who might be willing to let me tag along. My thought was simply, if I could get away from Wendy and her “mentoring,” I could find out how real estate was really sold. I just didn’t see the point in asking people either I didn’t like, already owned homes or were four years old to please think of me when they were ready to buy their next home.
Wendy laughed a hearty belly laugh. When I didn’t seem to share in her joke, she wiped an eye. “Honey,” her tone had changed. She slightly shook her head, adding a touch of pity and then began as if she were sharing with me an old family secret everyone knew but preferred to keep buried anyway. “All other agents are your competition. This is a cut-throat business. They aren’t going to teach you.”
To emphasize this point she reached across the table, and squeezed my hand. She purred, “Other agents want your business and will do whatever it takes to get it.” Another pause. “You need to understand, this is the nature of sales. Every agent in here is your enemy. They are vying for the same clients you are.” She gave me her last piece of sage advice with a knowing smirk.
“Ugh.” I groaned at Laura, when she asked how it went during orientation. I had walked in the door, turned off my apartment alarm and kicked off my shoes before traipsing into the kitchen to say hello to Laura. It was 2:45 and I was babysitting at 3 p.m.
“That good?” Laura asked, handing me the glass of water I hadn’t asked for.
“I am to annoy everyone I know once a week for the next three months, asking them to bring me home buyers and sellers—sellers, it turns out, are actually better by the way. Instant inventory. Guaranteed a commission when it sells.” I said. “Then, I am to form a team consisting of—well I don’t exactly know—who will miraculously think of me when their clients have ‘real estate needs’.” I used my fingers to quote. “Oh,” I groaned and took a sip. “You and the boys are each getting a letter tomorrow from me.”
“Mmmm” Laura said. “There are hot dogs for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.” She wiped the counter, absentmindedly. I gathered she hadn’t heard a word I said.
“No trouble. Do you mind if we walk to the video store. I was thinking of renting something with Buzz Lightyear or a dinosaur in it.”
Laura stopped wiping and a look of concentration came over her. She pursed her lips, deep in thought. I was surprised. Normally when I asked, she readily agreed. I had walked Bruce and Buddy to the video store many times.
“Not today. Bruce is still getting over his cold. Maybe you should stay home.” She said with an air of finality. I shrugged. Bruce seemed like he had gotten over his cold a week ago. I could hear him sparring with his twin in the living room. “Be sure to lock the door too. And,” She added with an afterthought, “set the alarm. Ok?”
I nodded, slightly annoyed at her constant reminder about the alarm. I reminded myself of Laura’s many virtues. And, if being an over protective mother was something she wanted, why not? Besides, I had an alternative movie for me in store. Once the kids were settled, I planned to curl up in the family room with popcorn and watch the training video Wendy had given me, “Selling Success: The Metro Realty Pro Way! Part 1.”
“Selling Success: The
Metro Realty Pro Way! Part 1
Metro Realty Pro Way! Part 1
I was jotting in my Metro Pro Realty bible Wendy had provided me, wondering, if enthusiasm is what made these folks such great sales people? Everyone I had met so far, from Amy to Wendy definitely was eager. But, I just didn’t see how it had anything to do with helping someone buy a home.
The video’s host, Don Kublensy, who dubbed himself my “life coach,” was a thirty-something, attractive, well dressed man who claimed to be a multi-million dollar producer. The main thing I noticed about him was his annoying habit of gesticulating with ever major point he made. Don reiterated everything Wendy told me almost word-for-word (which I thought was quite convenient of her). He smiled wide, explaining his credentials on the video as a top agent who had been in the business for several years and was generous enough to teach me his techniques, so I too, could be a success like him.
I must have dozed off. The last thing I remembered was Don prattling on about how he started by gathering clients through his sphere, with me thinking nobody says “sphere” to refer to people they know.
Now, hours later, the house was dark. Laura must have gotten home. The television was off and the boys were no longer at my feet.
I yawned as I rolled off the couch, thirsty, wondering about the time. Fumbling through the family room towards the kitchen, I tripped over something large with plastic wheels. Recovering from the near fall, I caught movement in Laura’s formal living room’s front window.
I froze mid-step. Adrenalin pumping, forcing myself to look again. The movement had been subtle, almost as if my mind had played tricks. But, I was certain.
I held my breath as I slipped around the kitchen corner for a better view. From across the room, I focused on the front window. Why hadn’t I closed the curtains? Why hadn’t Laura?
I was still. The city lights bounced off the cloudy sky. It gave the outside a surreal black and white look. The shadows of the trees moved lightly in the gentle wind. I stood there, taking it in. What was there?
Whatever it was vanished into the night. I knew it wasn’t a cat. Cats aren’t six feet tall and don’t wear ball caps. My senses were on fire. If he hadn’t moved, I might not have noticed him, just assuming it was one of the night’s shadows. How long had he been there? Why?
Inching through Laura’s formal living room, I moved, protected by the dark corner of her front door. I peeked slowly window towards the drive way. Laura’s truck in full view. My car’s hood sticking out behind the Chevy.
I waited. Watching the outside shadows. All was still. Nothing.
I tossed and turned that night, finally dozing off somewhere in the early hours. By morning, I was second guessing myself. I did not want to foster Laura’s paranoia. So, I said nothing over coffee. I decided as I had walked out the door on the way to the office it was my imagination playing tricks.
After one more hug to the twins, I turned around and stepped out. There it was. A cigarette butt and what I took to be a large dusty footprint on Laura’s normally pristine front porch.
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