Day Twenty-Four. The Intern.

The intern stopped by my desk and tells me that he's working with another agent in our office on the next next million dollar idea, I ask him what that idea is and he said he didn't remember he has to call the agent. Priceless. 

Oy.To.The.Vey. 

Oh and still no heat - a full week. NICE!!!

Days Sixteen through Twenty. A Very Angry Desk Jockey.

Anger, it could be my middle name. I can't believe I am back to being the Angry girl. I am trying so hard to shed my scales of angry, but nothing is working. To think that I I went through years of therapy, ton of self-help homework to be back in the same fucking boat - an angry mother fucker.  I am angry that I have to work, angry that I choose this job instead of the other one, and angry that the people I work with are just mother fuckers.  For the last few weeks I've been nothing but angry and mean, it's not a fun way to be, and I am not an ugly person, being angry and mean makes you ugly.

This what I've dealt within the past week:

• The other desk jockey works part-time, but she doesn't drive in the snow so she hasn't been here in two weeks, you're 42 to years old, you've lived in this area - a four seasons area that gets hit by snow every winter and you don't drive in it...strap on some balls and get over it.
• One agent is so fucking mean, every time she speaks fire spits out of her mouth, this is the same bitch that brought me her dead mothers clothes. Which were all 1XL's, stretch pants and bedazzled up the fucking ying yang. She can lick my asshole.
• Mr. Black is as clueless as a sorority girl at her final exams.
• Intern boy came to worked stoned, again. I don't blame him he's not getting paid.
• Mr. Khaki is pissed that someone edited his marketing letter, well when it reads like my first grader wrote it, it needs to be edited.

I am going to try hard this week to not to be so mean, angry and ugly.

Wish me luck.

Oy.To.The.Vey.

Day Eleven. FUCKING REALLY?

I hate this fucking job. Really I do.

This is my day:

• An agent got snippy with me because I didn't have the coffee ready, um really? People are dying across the globe because they haven't eaten in weeks, get your own fucking coffee.
• Another agent asked me if I wanted her 83 year old dead mother's clothes because she couldn't bear to throw them away. I was actually speechless. Unless her mother is a slender 40 year old trapped in a 80 year old's body than no fucking way. Are you kidding me? Insulted on many many many levels.
• I visited my mother at lunch and she asked me if I gained weight - why is this revelant to my job? Because if I wasn't working I'd be at the fucking gym.

Oy. To. The. Vey.

Day Ten. I'm Alive.

I made it two weeks. I have officially been working for two weeks and I can't believe I am alive. I feel like I've been chewed up and spit out, times 10!  I have NEVER in my life experienced a business like Real Estate. It's a interesting industry that's for damn sure.

Oy.To.The.Vey.

Day 9. Meet Mr. Olive Green.

The Real Estate industry is certainly not a career where you graduate college and say "I want to be a Real Estate Agent!”, the industry is comprised mostly of women who are empty nesters and need something to occupy their time; kids flew the coop, and it's time for Mama to get back to work. It's a very hard business, and to tell you the truth there is  not much I like about it.  It's sales, and if you know sales, you know that either your're a hustler or you're not. 

Enter Mr. Olive Green. Mr. Olive Green is 66, stylish, extremely intelligent, dates a 32 year old gal, acts way too young for his age, and is a character.  He tells dirty jokes as often as he can, he hits on almost everyone, has absolutely no filter, speaks French, Italian, Persian, Hebrew, and Spanish and calls me a "Ho'" about ten times a day. Some days I care, other days I don't. I do know that he's not your average Real Estate Agent, and is very close to a sexual harassment law suit if he messes with the wrong broad. Time will tell. This could get ulgy.

Oy.To.The.Vey.

Day Six. Pole Dancing & Real Estate - A GREAT Combo!

Mr. Black I am told is a marketing genius, yes a genius.  Imagine I’m working for a marketing genius! Amazing, not sure how I got so lucky but nevertheless, I was told today that his ideas are like none other in the Real Estate industry – that he is a trail blazer, a leader, a luxury real estate marketing guru. My interested got peaked, I asked this source to elaborate, I got nothing, all I was told that he throws elaborate parties,  is able to barter services (not quite sure how you barter Real Estate services, that is still being determined) as if we lived in the 1800’s and his marketing tactics are like, really superior. Superior? Really?  I hate to be so jaded, but like the rest of population that went back to work at dead-end jobs to get a little cash, to be close to home so they won’t have as much guilt raising their children, while striving to become a published writer I am skeptical.   I actually worked for a marketing genius in a product development department of world-renown Fortune 500 Company, and let me tell you something Mr. Black doesn’t strike me as a marketing genius; he’s smart, he’s absolutely a very smart man who knows the business but the verdict is still out on the genius part. As much as I love to be right, I also don’t mind being wrong, so if I am indeed wrong and this man is actually a marketing genius than good for him.

Nevertheless, this conversation came up because Mr. Black is hosting a Broker Open House- as a cocktail party, definitely a different approach because Broker Open Houses are generally during the day and during the week, they are usually a “preview” of the home for all the Brokers in the area or that may have clients interested in the particular property – this is usually done before the home is open to the public. This Cocktail Party Broker Open House is for a $2.6 M mansion and will showcase the most significant part of home – the disco - the homeowner cut a hole in the middle of the living room and put in a full disco in the basement, the hole is so you can see the disco from the upper level, to view the the “Ultimate Bachelor Pad” – “Entertainers Delight”.  The disco has a bar, a stripper pole (but of course), two bathrooms, a wine cellar, a chandelier that is remote, and acts as a cage so you can have dancing girls dropped from the ceiling. Cool idea? Perhaps, but what happens now when you want to sell that $2.6 M disco in the middle of waspy uber class suburban neighborhood? Ummm… if you’re  Mr. Black you stage a Cocktail party for all the Brokers in the luxury market and you put girls on the strippers poles, and half naked hoochie mama’s dropping from a chandelier cage. And this is called genius.  I’d say it’s a bit tackier than genius? What do you think?  

Oy. To. The.Vey.

Day Three. Grammar Does Not Rule.

My Main Concerns With My New Job Were  1) Where Is The Bathroom? 2) Who Do I Eat Lunch With And/Or Can I Exercise At Lunch? Well, My Friends These Are No Longer Concerns Because The Bathroom Is Two Feet Away- (If I Have To Do A Number 2, It’s Before Work or After) And We Don’t Get A Lunch. It’s Eat At Your Desk Type Of Job. Yeah Nice! Crumbs All Over The Keyboard! Fantastic!

Today I Answered The Phones; I Made Coffee, Made Lots Of Coffee. I was Interrogated About "My Background", If "I Knew Computers”, I Answered The Phones Some More.  I Supported “Mr. Black” - His Crazy Demands (Screaming From His Office “Get In HERE, GET IN HERE, I CAN’T PRINT!!!” Nice Right?) And  Basically Wiped The Assess Of Over 30 Overbearing And Demanding Women, Oh And Don't Forget I Answered More Phones!

  

Why Am I Capitalizing All My Words? Because I Was “Told” That’s "How We Do It In Real Estate". Excuse Me Moi? I Guess The Basic Grammar Rules Aren't Followed In "Real Estate" Either. Duh.

Oy To The Vey!