The real estate agent: negotiator or circus performer?
Years ago an agent I didn't know and her client caught my eye as they left my office, quietly yet somehow purposefully. I noticed the pair because the agent was smiling like the cat that ate the canary, and the client, right behind her, smirked like she'd just heard a dirty joke in church. A few minutes later I discovered that the agent had presented a low-ball offer and, when it met predictable resistance, exploded in anger, marching out of the conference room with her client in tow.
Judging from their expressions, the explosion was anything but spontaneous. In fact, now that I think about it, that's why the agent took the unusual step of having her buyer sit in on the offer presentation. Teamwork!
Pretty slick, huh? The buyer's agent thought so, but her acting "worked" only because the listing was overpriced and stale and the listing agent not that strong. And it played well with her real audience, the buyer. But her cheap theatrics permanently alienated two agents, two agents still around today who'll consider themselves warned the next time they see her coming.
On the other hand, I wonder how many referrals that thoroughly jazzed buyer has sent her? And I have to admit that recently, for a split second and for reasons I can't imagine, I found myself admiring her histrionics. After all, they had worked: she did prevail, and her client did get a nice home at a good price, and after all, isn't that what being a buyer's agent is all about?
My admiration didn't last long, however, just long enough for me to hearken back a few years to when I was tasked with presenting the Mother of All Low-ball Offers, $300k below list. On the way to the listing agent's office I showed a gift for understatement by warning him that the offer "isn't exactly what your clients are looking for". Even so, his reaction in the conference room was not encouraging. Anger was expressed, but now it was real. How did I react? I didn't explode out of his office—gosh, why didn't I think of that?—but I didn't slink out either.
Well, he and I worked it out over the next several months, off and on, casually yet somehow purposefully, with no corny emoting, and my clients ended up buying the home, although by then they'd knocked another $100k off the offer. Hard feelings? A few weeks ago I saw him at an open house and he seemed genuinely glad to see me. And why not? We'd worked past our emotions—anger, grief, fear—to accomplish something not only highly important to our clients but highly rewarding for ourselves.
Just the other day I presented an offer that was no world-beater but was the best my clients could do. The listing agent, who wasn't handing out A's for effort that day, started raging about the length of the contingencies. She quickly stopped, maybe because it was all for show, or maybe because I looked as pissed as I felt, but the damage was done, the misstep noted and permanently recorded in my mental little black book. For some reason I can't put my finger on—the high stakes? the high emotion? the big egos?—there isn't much room in real estate for the low theatre of the village bazaar. Collegiality is greatly valued, even if it's faked. You shoot the messenger at your own risk.
But it's not like the real estate profession has a monopoly on theatrics. Recently I was invited to play the role of Daddy-figure/long-suffering doormat in an amateur but well-played family production that melded Dr. Phil with Victorian melodrama and the Hallmark channel. The story line consisted of seeing how long a young woman, supported by a cast of three middle-aged enablers, could keep me, the landlord and two other applicants guessing as to whether she was grown up enough for her own apartment. "To leave the nest, or not to leave. That is the question." She'd still be soliloquizing if I hadn't twirled my villain moustaches and nudged her off the stage and toward adulthood. Curiously, no one seemed grateful.
Yes, it's a sorry old world when people don't have the time or inclination to watch you ham it up, but that's what happens when you perform for the toughest audience of all, real life.