"Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking..."
We were grousing at the office the other day about how poorly offers are presented, and one of the agents says, in this you-and-I-are-the-only-good-agents-around-and-I'm-not-too-sure-about-you tone of voice, "When my wife worked for me she used to sit in on offer presentations, and she'd say, 'I don't see how these agents keep their jobs'".
Something inside me snapped, maybe the something that wants to be fair to anyone who's trying, even if trying isn't enough, and I shot back, "They're nervous, and they're not used to making presentations." Of course, neither nerves nor inexperience are good excuses for a poorly presented offer. If your client's success hangs on how well you present, you had darn well better act cool, calm and collected, even if you're feeling anything but. Because that's what you do. And if a big part of your job description involves singing, dancing and joking your way into the hearts of the listing agent and her sellers, well, start putting together a decent lounge act.
So he's got a point—it wasn't what he said, but how he said it. More accurately, it irks me that some agent's assistant who's never presented an offer in her life would diss a foot soldier in the real estate industry. Let her walk in an agent's moccasins for a few years, instead of drawing a steady paycheck from a millionaire top producer who has more free cash flow than a Fortune 500 company, and she can make all the snide remarks she wants.
Because there few moments in an agent's life as stressful as presenting an offer.
I say this as someone who's routinely complimented on his offer presentations. I get these props not because I live for karaoke night. I detest presenting, and as my wife will tell you, I get cranky and preoccupied in the hours before my execution. But two things happen when I walk through the door of the listing agent's office. First, I remind myself that presenting offers is, after all, a big part of how I get paid, so enough with the negativity. Second, I repeat a line I read somewhere (Mark Twain?) years ago: "The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast." Moral: why let a little unpleasantness in the immediate future spoil the joie de vie of the present? And if that thought ever loses its ju-ju, there's always Samuel Johnson's "Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it focuses his mind wonderfully". All this flashes through my mind as I slip comfortably into what might be called "pro-active fatalist" mode, which for me is no mode at all but a healthy lifestyle choice.
This attitude tweaking is probably in some very small way like the one a soldier makes just before charging a machine-gun nest over open ground.
There are a few other things I like to do before presenting. For instance, I try not to come charging into the conference room direct from a thirty-five minute wrestling match with a jammed copier. I make the copies and package the offer the day or morning before, not when I'm already late for the presentation. The idea here is to come into the conference room looking like something more approachable than a hunted animal. Second, I always script the offer highlights. The important offer terms come first, then a brief bio of my client. I'm concise: get in, get out, leave 'em wanting more. Quick body blows wear down the opponent better than a knock-out punch that misses. And always I'm mindful that less is more when it comes to rambling discourses on how swell my offer is and how swell my client is and how much she wants your swell home, Mr. and Mrs. Seller. Here's another hot tip: always drive to the appointment with your tunes off and your mind turned down low.
Or you can do it this way. Beat yourself up all day knowing your client's offer won't be accepted, and skulk into the conference room lower than a well-digger's boots. Or have your commission check calculated down to the last penny, and have it spent before you walk through the door. Or tell the listing agent your office voted you Most Likely To Succeed. Or tell the listing agent you don't know exactly when you'll be at her office because that's the day you always scrub your shower. Or toss your card on the conference room table and expect the sellers to curtsey. Or smile winsomely and wink at Mrs. Seller.
And if your knees won't stop knocking, just email it in.