When I first entered the real estate profession, I was awed by the top producers in Montclair, NJ who seemed to have listings pouring from their gills. How'd they do it? I wondered. Would it ever be as easy for me?
My first listing came from a phone call to my office. The little house, weathered on the outside, was comfy and neat inside, with a nice, new conservatory-type den recently added to the rear, leading to a cute deck surrounding a small above-ground pool that took up the whole yard. The gentle owners had lived there most of their adult lives and were moving one town over to lodge with their daughter. They didn't seem to care that I was a newcomer. I didn't exactly tell them I was. Simply put, we liked each other. Papers were signed. I even sold the property myself in the weeks to come.
It was a long time before the next listing presented itself and I don't remember a thing about it now. Meanwhile, one of those glittery top producers seemed to be making her signature brownies once or twice a week and, as they melted in my mouth at her prolific open houses, I marveled at her ability to make business where I had none.
Jump ahead more than a decade. I get my share of listings these days and I'm still grateful for each and every one. As many as I have, there are those that I'm "up for," as the lingo goes, and don't get. One, recently, in a very nice, local condo community, seemed a slam-dunk. I was called in. I asked if they were interviewing anyone else. No, they said. We found you; we love your website, NJDreamHouses.com, you're obviously a Top Producer; RE/MAX, your broker, is so visible, too; we think, with your base in Montclair, we'll get a better flow of the upscale traffic we need than if we go with a local agent. (This was going to be an expensive unit and their reasoning was sound.)
If I could have signed them up that minute, I would have, but their timetable was a long one. We agreed to talk after the New Year. I called and left a message at that time, with no response. I called the following week and reached the owner, who said she was on another call and would ring me back in minutes. When she didn't, I knew I was out; someone else was in.
Because I like closure, no matter how painful, I called still again and reached the owner. "Hi, this is Roberta Baldwin, The Realtor, just checking in as promised. Are you plans to move still going forward and, if so, should we talk about listing the property?"
Silence. "Or, perhaps you've gone another direction?" (Love that euphemism.) Indeed, in a blunt tone of voice, devoid of interest or empathy, she told me they were about to sign with another Realtor, someone for whom they had "at least had a referral." Unlike myself, whom they just thought would be a good choice. I said I was sorry they hadn't asked me back, to ask me more questions, for me to reiterate my talents and skills.
Well, they hadn't. I wished her well. She didn't wish me well. In her mind, no need. As a service provider, I'm not always wished well, just as your local appliance salesman won't get the pat on the back that might make his day even if he didn't sell a refrigerator.
Today, I'm sure there are other agents, newer in the biz, who come to my Realtor open houses, where I'm serving Archway cookies (soft oatmeal a preference) or a nice lunch, and think how easy it must be to get those listings. In my dreams! And, so, deep thanks to all those clients out there who do call, do follow through, do respect the individual and the process. Couldn't survive without them.
