Wendy greeted me on Wednesday with an enthusiastic handshake and a brand-new white and red Metro Realty Pros name badge, as I walked into her office room with my manual under my arm. “How’d you like the video? Wasn’t it exciting?” she asked, oozing cheerfulness from every pore.
I nodded, trying hard not to give away my feelings of confusion and dread. She manically motioned me to sit. After I obliged she met my eye and said, “I think you are ready to delve into building your team.” She presented this news like she had just offered me a million dollars.
I nodded again, not sure what to make of it.
It turns out, what Wendy had in mind, I decided, was her way of getting me out of the office for the day. I wasn’t going to complain. I did not want another day of Wendy reading the Metro Realty Professionals manual to me. I could read my loose leaf notebook myself and be just as clueless on my own as I could with Wendy giving me inane responses.
My assignment was to go out and pound the pavement, shaking hands, passing out business cards (which she proudly presented me as she gave me this assignment). She handed me a printed list of every conceivable “team member” I was to find. It included a lender, escrow officer, pool maintenance service, air conditioning repair person, (“Very important!” Wendy cooed), handyman, pest inspector and a variety of other occupations. After Wendy’s responses to my questions yesterday, I was afraid to ask why I needed a dry cleaner on my team.
With my list in hand, I was to drive around in the Arizona
My scavenger hunt— (Wendy frowned when I called it that)— would begin as soon as Wendy scooted me out of the office and was to be wrapped up, thank you notes and all, by tomorrow at 9 a.m., where I would proudly bring my pre-written thank you notes and team member business cards to Wendy. What I didn’t ask, either from lack of courage or from sheer frustration, was how this was actually going to bring me a client, generate a commission and pay my bills.
“Any questions?” she asked as I stood up.
“Actually, I do. Did this work for you when you first got into the business?”
Wendy let back a belly laugh. “How do you think I got to be a multi-million dollar producer?”
As I walked out of her office, I realized she never answered me.
It was 9:30 when I walked out of Metro Realty Pro’s office. I had to be at Price Bargains in five and a half hours for my shift. I figured I had some time to work this out. I drove around for a half-hour, looking for my first destination.
Coffee was phase one. Phase two came to me as a wildly brilliantly idea while on search for phase one. I would merely jaunt to the library where I could spend 20 minutes Googling addresses for a variety of potential team mates. I would then stop by and pick up my future potential teammate’s business card before heading to my paying job.
As I was searching for a coffee shop, I phoned Laura. “How’s things?” I asked casually, shuddering at the memory of the footprint and cigarette butt. I could hear some squealing in the background and what sounded like Frieda and Laura’s step-father, Evan.
“Ok here. What are you doing?” she said.
I gave her a thirty-second earful. “That’s cheating.” She chuckled when I told her my grand plan for the day.
“Got any better ideas? It is already over 100 degrees and I can’t imagine any air conditioning guy worth his pay is sitting around waiting for me to just drop by.”
She agreed and then added, “I have a handyman. His card is at the hotel. I will bring home tonight.” I thanked her and clicked off. Mission
After three strip-malls, my caffeine search was fruitless. No java. As I pulled into the next driveway, “fourth time’s a charm,” I muttered. Truer words had never been spoken.
My iced double latte hit the spot as I walked around the cluster of storefronts, window-shopping. It was a non-descript strip-center past its prime. The architecture was 1970s concrete and stone, with low eaves and no landscaping. The original retailers had long closed, moving to better and newer locations, leaving a smattering of independent shops to take up residence in their place.
I walked while sweating in the heat and enjoying the remainder of my cranberry scone. I passed a music store, veterinarian and a host of other small businesses. As I got to the end of the center, there was one last door with gold lettering on it. “JET,” it read. I sipped my drink, looking at the door.
There was a travel agent on my team list. A travel agency seemed like a good place to practice this team-thing. Travel agents were bubbly. They liked to talk. I could then honestly tell Wendy I had pounded the pavement. I blew out some air, threw out my empty cup and wiped the scone crumbs from my face. What the hell. Thinking I would rather be anywhere else, I walked into the office.
JET was a dingy one-room office with a lone desk in the middle, several over-stuffed filing cabinets behind it, with a variety of what looked to be volleyball trophies on top. In the far-right, was a rickety television stand housing a fax machine and an ancient Mr. Coffee. The walls held none of the expected posters of exotic locales, enticing the would-be traveler. Instead, they were industrial gray, in need of a good coat of paint. At the back of the office was a door presumably leading to storage and a bathroom.
The tall wiry late 20-something guy behind the desk didn’t look up from what he was typing, but nodded in my direction as a formal greeting. He had a mop of black hair in dire need of a cut, and was decked out in shorts and a loud Hawaiian shirt. I could see his bare feet resting on top of a pair of flip-flops under the desk. He looked like he would be much more comfortable on the beach. I glanced around for a travel brochure.
I was still processing what kind of person would possibly brew his own coffee with a gourmet coffee shop a stone’s throw away when the spoke. “Help you?” He asked, turning away from his computer.
“What kind of place is this?” I asked.
“A mortgage company.”
Jayson Ellery Tyson (known as Jet by everyone who knew him), was a loan broker who owned his own company, somewhat cleverly dubbed “Jet Mortgages—Not your fly-by-night company.” As he explained, he had gotten into the business a few years earlier as a way to supplement his income until his professional volleyball career took off. Now, volleyball career behind him (and quite successful, he boasted) he had taken some of his winnings and opened his own mortgage brokerage.
I looked around the modest office. “It isn’t fancy.” He said, reading my mind. “I just need a place to use the computer and fax documents to lenders. I am pretty much no frills.” He added sheepishly, “I meet my clients at the coffee shop.”
I could feel my forced smile widen. “That’s great! Because I just got my real estate license, and I am supposed to build a team, see? I could use you as part of my team. This would be great.” I was aware I was babbling. I fished in my purse for my card, forcing myself to shut up.
Jet stared at me for a bet. “Team?” He asked.
I explained to him what I was supposed to be doing, giving him the Metro Realty Pro sales methodology of team building (though I left out the solicitous part about him giving me referrals and mutually-beneficial whatever Wendy said). “I am in training today and my job is to find others who I can work with. You know, build my team,” I finished breathlessly, hoping he understood how this team concept worked.
Jet stared again. “Uh huh.” I handed him the business card I had finally retrieved. “Tina Cavanaugh…” he read from my card. “Your real estate expert for life?”
I froze in horror. Holy crap! I hadn’t read them before I threw a handful in my purse. Had Wendy added that to my card? My cheeks burned. He leaned back, hands clasped behind his back, eying me. “What do you want? And, why should you be my real estate expert for life?”
Flustered, I ignored his last question. I started my story, beginning from my quest for coffee, explaining how I had just been walking around looking to build my team and thought his office was a travel agency.
He nodded, “It happens a lot.” He said knowingly.
I blushed again. “But, it worked out well, because I was just wandering around, trying to figure out how I was going to build my team and collect these business cards.” I said, chirpily waved my paper I had also fished out of my purse.
Jet reached out and I handed him the paper. “Chiropractor... Florist... Masseuse…” He scanned my paper, “You know, I don’t see mortician on the list.” He said.
He motioned me to sit, pointing towards the lonely folding chair in the corner while he simultaneously began leafing through his rolodex. Within a minute he thrust a stack of business cards at me. “Here.”
I leafed through them. Real estate attorney, appraiser, pipe fitter were the top three. “Don’t you need these?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nah… I just went digital.” He said patting his computer. It is all stored here, with backups in my home office and the safe.
“Thanks.”
He waved a hand, dismissing me. “No big. So, what do you think of real estate so far?”
Of all the questions he could ask, he picked the most maddening. I went into an undignified rant. “I have no idea what I am doing. I am supposed to be meeting people who will comprise my team. Then, I am expecting these perfect strangers to refer me when their clients are selling or buying a house. Like some mold inspector I don’t even know is going to tell his clients, ‘hey sell your house! I have the agent for you.’ Then, I am supposed to be pestering the people I’ve only known for two months, asking them to somehow trust me. Me! The expert—”
Jet cut me off. “What makes you the expert?”
I looked at him for a beat. “I have no friggen clue. My sales manager just tells me I should act the part and the rest will come.” I expected him to laugh. Instead he just nodded, the same way someone nods at a funeral when Aunt Muriel dies.
I looked down, afraid to catch his eyes. I didn’t know where to go from here. Was he willing to be part of my team or not? Which brought up a more frightening thought. How indeed was I supposed to get people to agree to this team thing? After all, if Jet said no, another loan officer might say no too.
I took a chance. “So, um… Would you like to work together some time?” It sounded more like a bad pick up line than a business proposal.
Jet shrugged. “Sure, bring me a client and you got a deal.” Conversation closed, he stretched out his hand for me to shake. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything,” he said.
I left Jet’s office in a dreamlike stupor. I had my first teammate! I had a lender on my team—which I presumed was the key person I needed. And, I had at least 50 cards in my hand. I certainly could fake some thank you letters to these folks. I didn’t have to mail them, right?
My mind started wandering as I left Jet. I thought about Amy and who might be on her team. Amy (sadly) was currently my standard for real estate agent. I knew she would sooner drop dead in a no-named brand pair of shoes than work with someone so casual as Jet. Nor could I imagine any of the handful of top agents working with someone Dad dy would, self-righteously refer to as a “bum.” I starting thinking about the people Mother and Dad dy knew in the financial arena. They were always forty something professionals in tailored suits. They were the types you just knew read the Wall Street Journal for fun. They weren’t retired volleyball pros.
Jet was nice enough, although if I had met him on the street, a loan officer would not be the occupation that came to mind. It occurred to me, the person I wanted to entrust the kind of money necessary to buy a home, would be a bit more polished. The one thing I definitely got from Jet was he had a strong case of I-don’t-give-a-damn. He had told me he had no expenses to speak of, so he picked and choose his clients. It made me wonder about what would happen if I brought him someone who needed a loan. What if he didn’t like them and turned them down? Would he refuse to work with me? What then?
The cell phone ringing took me by surprise. “I just want to remind you, your payment is due Friday, Miss Cavanaugh,” came the hiss of Carl’s sleazy voice from the other end of the line. A chill went down my spine as I assured him his payment would be there Friday—on time. Just like every Friday. “I don’t worry. You do. And, have a great day.” He clicked off, his hiss still buzzing in my ears.
My shift at Price Bargains went quickly and best of all, it was payday. There had been a larger-than-expected bonus for some cases of lemonade I promoted two weeks earlier. The money was already spent. I planned on giving Carl a bit more, hoping to show him I was serious about paying him back sooner than later. Another portion would go towards my apartment. Laura had given me permission to decorate my studio as I wanted. In this case, I planned on painting the drab walls. Purple sounded nice.
Visualizing purple, I pulled into my driveway. The house was dark. Damn, I thought. I forgot to turn my light on. Because I worked the late shift, the boys were staying at Frieda’s.
The path to my apartment door wasn’t far, but tonight, eerily shadowed. I opened the car door, with one foot on the pavement, listening to the silence.
A dog barked. I jumped back, locked the doors and switched the on headlights. Cocooned in my driver’s seat, and now the headlights flooding the area, I had a great view of my door.
I admonished myself for being such a chicken shit. My self deprecation didn’t keep me from sitting in the car for another few moments staring at the side of the house. The driveway went up to the edge of the house. The side yard started where the driveway ended. My apartment door was in between. There was nothing there.
I sucked in some courage, disentangled myself from the seatbelt, ready to finally leave the safety of my car. Without the wash of headlights, I bolted to my door. Hastily inserting the key into the lock. It wasn’t until I got inside, door bolted behind me and the alarm off, that I realized I had been holding my breath.
Just keeps getting better and better!
ReplyDelete