I walked into the office Monday to find out, thankfully, Wendy wasn’t in yet. Val, who maintained her obnoxious demeanor with little effort, didn’t volunteer any information about Wendy’s whereabouts. “Do I look like Wendy’s personal secretary?” She sneered.
“Oh Val, get off your high horse. I need to see her too.” I whipped around to the voice behind me. A pleasant woman around 45, brunette, petite. She was cleaning her sunglasses on the edge of her blouse. “When will she be in?”
I missed Val’s snide retort, instead searching my mental file cabinet for the woman’s name. Reading my mind, she extended a hand, “I’m Dee Whittier. You’re new here?” Not waiting for an answer she said, “It is a tough business. Here is my card if you need anything or have any questions, feel free to call me.”
I read it, “Whittier buying or selling think of Dee ! Your agent for life.” She had the decency to look embarrassed. “Wendy.” I nodded, fully understanding. “What does yours say.”
I handed her one on my cards. “Expert for life. I guess she wasn’t at the top of her game the day she ordered my cards.”
I walked past the conference room, Wendy (door closed) and Ira’s offices (open with Ira on the phone, gesticulating wildly to accentuate some point to his caller) to the bullpen.
Waiting for Wendy, I parked myself at one of the vacant desks and went to work doing more reading. Selling real estate killed a lot of trees. Essentially, if someone wanted to sell or buy land, a house, apartment complex or a business, some thousand papers were signed. There was a form for everything. If the seller had a swimming pool both parties signed a form. If there was a question about the drinking water, a form was signed. If there were concerns the property in question was over a potential flight path of the space shuttle or would somehow negatively affect the scarlet breasted warbler’s natural habitat, a form was signed.
I spent the evening before at home nursing my teenaged crush, reading, re-reading and comprehending as many of these forms as I could cram into my brain. I finally felt I could summarize the gist of the fine print to even the most savvy client. I loved it. It was the first productive task I had done to get me closer to a commission. And, it didn’t require watching another cheesy video with Don Kublensy.
Wendy told me on the day she walked me around, agents in the office were unproductive. “Wasting your time sitting around the bullpen means you are not out there, actively pursuing leads.” It made sense at the time. Today, there were several people in the bullpen. Some on the phone and some on the computer. Roy and Nancy were in the corner, telling a riotous story. Their audience, three other agents, were hanging on every word.
I was jolted by a beep through the intercom system. I wasn’t the only one. The noise interrupted the mood. The folks talking to Roy and Nancy abruptly walked away. A few others picked up their files and scattered, like rats taking shelter when the kitchen light is flipped. “Wendy” Dee whispered. “Val sent the signal.”
I looked at her, silently, questioning. “I’ll explain later.” She patted my shoulder. “Call me later we will get some coffee this afternoon.” With an air of confidence, she walked over to Wendy and said pleasantly, “I need a moment if you can spare it.”
Wendy started our orientation session by asking me if I had made any progress over the weekend. I answered. “Oh yes, yesterday I read through most of the contract forms—”
She cut me off, “That is very nice, but terribly unproductive.” She was her usual chirpy self, but underneath I sensed impatience. “I mean,” she said with a simper, “How did you do with your leads this weekend? Did you follow up with members of your team, asking them if they had any leads for you? Did you practice your scripts? Did you contact your sphere?” I shook my head, self-conscious. I didn’t really think it was time to contact my sphere. After all, I sent out my letters just a few days earlier.
She sighed, letting her impatience show through, keeping her tone upbeat but firm, “Did you drive by homes where people are selling them by themselves to see if they were ready for representation?” I looked at her, confused. I didn’t recall her suggesting this one before today.
“You are reading your Metro Realty Pro manual aren’t you? It has all this in there.” She turned around, pulling a white three-ring binder off the shelf. Flipping it open she said, “see? Right here.”
I looked down where her finger dropped. The page read, “Making For Sale By Owners See it Your Way.” I said nothing. I hadn’t opened my book since Thursday.
Wendy sat back, quiet for a moment. “Tina, it seems to me, you aren’t terribly serious about your career. I know Ira thinks you have potential. But, the way I see it, you’ve had things handed to you way too long. This of course is just my impression.” She added quickly. “But, in any case, I don’t think you are ever, going to learn a thing about selling real estate as long as you are attached to me.”
Was she serious? Attached to her? I met with her four times—five including today. “It is just…” She paused, then waved a hand dismissively, “It seems you need some tough love. If you really are motivated to sell—and be successful—you will need to find your own way. I can’t do it all for you.” She paused, with a pursed-lipped grin.
She waited, letting the gravity of her statement fall on my shoulders. I waited too, wondering if I had heard her correctly. Was she really dumping me? After all, orientation was supposed to last three weeks. “I, of course, am always available to you as a resource. And…” another pause, “If you think down the road you would like to pick up where we left off, you let me know. But, you obviously just aren’t motivated to learn the ins and outs of a successful sales career.”
“I got lucky!” I said into the phone when Jet picked up.
“Why wasn’t I there?” He asked. Ignoring his comment, I told him how I had been let go as Wendy’s apprentice. I related to him Wendy’s bizarre conversation.
“How do you feel about it?” He asked.
“I think I was supposed to be upset.”
“Well, it looks like it worked out. Because I have an assignment for you.” He stopped, “You still want me to help you right? Because if I need to give you tough love, let me know.”
I did indeed want his help. It had to be better than memorizing stale conversations. My heart raced, at my first real attempt to go forward with my career. Then, he gave me my assignment.
“You are kidding.” I said sarcastically.
“I don’t kid.” He replied.
“I wish you would,”
“Let me know how it goes. I want to hear back tomorrow. Ok?”
“Um, Jet? One more thing.” And I gave Jet the highlights of my bizarre conversation with Amy. “She wants to meet you and have you do a loan.”
“I like to keep a low profile.” He said after a moment. “I like being the It Guy.”
“It Guy?”
“You know, the one everyone wants to invite to their party. The elusive one everyone has to know and be their friend. The cool guy. The man of mystery.” I rolled my eyes. He continued. “I know who Amy Schaefer is. I talked to her on the phone a few times. Her aura is all screwy.” I wasn’t sure I disagreed, but first I would need to know what a screwy aura looked like.
“She has issues, you know.” I knew.
“I am not sure I can work with her right now. I’ll need to check my charts.”
“Charts?”
I could hear him blowing out a breath, “Yea, like making sure our planets are in alignment. That sort of thing.”
After making Jet promise he would check to see if there was any possibility in the next millennium the Venus and Pluto might match up, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I could tell Amy I tried.
As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again. “Is this Miss Cavinagh?” the low voice on the other side said. After assuring the caller I was indeed, he continued, “My name is Mr. Daniels. Amy Schaefer gave me your name and said you might be able to help me.” My ears perked up. Partially out of self-defense and partly because I was astounded Amy kept her end of any bargain. “Amy said you were a good agent—though it is hard to believe you might be skilled as her--she is an expert. But, she suggested I give you a call.”
It turns out Mr. Daniels has several rental houses in the greater Phoenix
“What do you think it is worth?” he asked.
I assured him I would be happy to run the sales comps and get back with him after I saw the property. “Yea, about that. I don’t have a key. I am calling from Detroit
“When did you call the locksmith?” I asked.
“I didn’t. I don’t know one. I was hoping you might know one you can contact.”
I assured him I did (thank you Jet’s business card file). I offered to set up the locksmith. “As soon as I get a key I will go over and let you know.” I said. The conversation quickly flitted away but I felt ten feet tall.
Dee sat across from me at Selma Dee had been an agent for twelve years. She was a million dollar producer, but quickly dismissed this honor, assuring me it was no big deal.
“Anyone can be a million dollar producer in today’s market.” She took a sip of her tea. “So, how’s orientation with Wendy?”
I gave her the run-down on today’s tough love speech.
I swallowed a bite, nonplussed. “Why? Does that even sound sane to you?”
“She thinks this shows her if you are truly serious enough to learn the Metro Realty Professionals way.” Dee rolled her eyes. “Her level of sanity is one of the reasons nobody in the office likes her. Most everyone—anyone who is good—just blows off her training. She has some sort of warped impression that her tough love lesson makes for better agents because they are then ready to learn if they really want it.” She took another swig of her drink following it with a swipe of her mouth with the flimsy napkin.
“Did she tell you everyone in the office is rivals yet?” Not waiting for a reply, she leaned forward, “Don’t believe it. The agents in the office will always be happy to help.”
I practically choked on my potato salad. I gave her a quick rundown on my admonishing for talking with Roy and Nancy.
She let out a giggle. “That’s why we pay Val to sound the alarm when Wendy comes in the office. Wendy thinks if we are competitors, we will be better agents and it will increase our sales. Wendy actually discourages us from talking in the bullpen. Most of us work at home or just go in when she isn’t there.”
“The buzzer was an alarm?”
“Why does Ira put up with this? Doesn’t he know what is going on?”
“Wendy is his wife. I think his fifth actually.” Ah hah! “So,” Dee said changing the subject, “How is real estate going so far?”
“It looks like I have a potential client.” I said, barely containing the excitement I felt since Mr. Daniels called. I told her about the poor man’s situation and how I found a locksmith for him.
Before she could answer, my phone rang again. “Get used to it.” Dee said, motioning me to answer, as I made a face at my phone for interrupting my visit with my new friend.
It turns out it was the locksmith. He couldn’t get in touch with Mr. Daniels and wouldn’t hand over the keys until he was paid. I told him I would see what I could do and one of us would call him back.
I explained about the locksmith to Dee , while dialing Mr. Daniels. Dee grabbed my arm. “This is a big red flag.” I dropped the phone to my side and raised an eyebrow. Dee lowered her chin and put her fingers up to her temples, like she was doing a psychic reading. “This guy—your client—is going to tell you his credit card isn’t handy. And, would you please pay for this little errand and he will pay you back.”
She looked up, dropping her hands. “Even if he does pay you back, you are establishing a bad precedent. You don’t ask your mechanic to swing by the grocery store and pick up something for dinner during his test drive? That’s the problem with real estate agents. They whore themselves out. We must raise the bar here. If you do this one time for him, he will always expect it.”
Three minutes later, lo and behold! Mr. Daniels was telling me he had left his business credit card in his other wallet, and would I please be a dear and take care of it. His bookkeeper will immediately cut a check for me.
“Mr. Daniels, I can appreciate your position,” I started with as much honey as I could drip from my voice, “but you certainly wouldn’t ask your doctor to fill up your gas tank so you can make it to your appointment. I am more than happy to wait until tomorrow—after you pay the locksmith—and take a look at your property then.”
During his silence, I held my breath, fearing I just lost my first client. I should never trust Amy.
“I will call you back.” Without ceremony, Mr. Daniels hung up.
I slumped back into my booth, looking at Dee , hopeful. “You did the right thing.” She said in the solemn voice.
As we parted, Dee gave me a quick hug, reassuring me clients were always out there. “And, if he does come back, I will be happy to help you review the house.”
I had an hour before my shift at Price Bargains. Jet’s assignment loomed over me like Damocles sword. I couldn’t believe I agreed to this. In some ways, this was more disturbing than Wendy’s orientation.
I whipped my car into the public library’s vacant parking spot rethinking the viability of Jet’s hair-brained idea. Jet assured me this would work. And, it was defiantly unconventional. “You need to fish where everyone else isn’t,” his words ringing in my head. I managed to drag myself into the media center, asking for back issues of the Arizona Republic
Forty minutes later I had photocopied the Republic’s obituaries from the past six weeks. Jet’s idea was to call the survivors who had recently lost loved ones and ask if they, by any bizarre coincidence, might have property they were considering selling.
“The older the person who died, the better.” He coached, “usually family members don’t want to be bothered remodeling the 1950s kitchen and replace the turquoise carpet. They just want their money. It is a sure thing.” The idea had less appeal than toenail fungus. Lucky for me, I had to scoot to work, so darn! I wouldn’t be making these calls today.
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