Driving A Bargain - Friday

Arrive the requisite five minutes early at my next valuation in order to compose myself, and arrange my presentation literature. Then I see a familiar car and let slip a fruity expletive that resonates through the open car window, just as an elderly lady shuffles by, pulled along by an excitable little terrier-type dog.

I keep my head down, cheeks flushing red in shame, hoping a) she doesn’t recognise me and b) her hearing is so shot she didn’t pick up the barked guttural swear word. The dog gives me an angry snarled lip look although most of them do anyway, but thankfully the ancient woman continues by, seemingly oblivious. My shaky reputation remains intact for the moment, then I see the driver of the subject car exit my target property in a cloud of effusive promises and a gushing hope to hear from you soon, style goodbye.

‘Oh it’s you.’ Snaps the other agent when he sees my car behind his, punter-friendly face long wiped clear. ‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you mate, I’ve got that one in the bag.’ I offer the sleaze-bag a single digit, too tired to waste energy on the traditional v-sign and he skulks to his car, smirk slightly less supercilious.

I know the owner hasn’t committed yet, or he’d have waved the agency contract in my face triumphantly – just as I’d have done to him. Agents may co-operate grudgingly when checking chains and holding together fragile multiple-vendor transactions, but in the final analysis we’re all chasing the same instructions to sell – our raw material – and it’s winner takes all.

Ringing the bell, I’m still trying to second-guess where I am in the sequence. Most potential sellers have three or more valuations before appointing an agent – usually on a sole agency basis. You ideally need to be last, to try and trump the opposition on price, fee, or a combination of both, or first and really good, to persuade the client to appoint you and cancel the others to follow.

‘I know what I want price-wise so you can dispense with the sales pitch.’ Announces the sour-faced man at the door, skipping any formalities and cutting right to the chase. ‘Just have a quick look round and give me your cheapest fee.’

Now I know estate agents are famous for spurting out more bull than a cattle ranch’s stud pen, but my spirits always plummet when some smart-arse predicates their whole moving experience on cost and cost alone. This is a service industry, so crude fee only comparisons ignore the benefits a skilled practitioner can bring to your move. If you bought a car under the same criteria we’d all be spluttering around in tinny Korean motors with comedy names, and BMW would go bust.

‘I told you already.’ Grumps the man when I attempt to enlighten him on the difference a quality agent can make to someone moving or not. ‘You are all the same, so just give me your rock bottom commission.’

I’m in a beauty parade of agents and as my fee will never be the cheapest, my looks have sagged faster than my career, and I have no interest in working with children or animals – I’m about to be voted off. As if to confirm the point, I recognise the next car approaching as the door slams behind me.
Another, softer this time, expletive slips from my lips as I watch the next agent unfurl languidly from her car, all feline fluidity and the sort of confidence that comes rubber-stamped by the transitory power of youth and beauty combined.

Women, in my experience make fantastic estate agents, something I’m working on with S my pneumatic negotiator. This foxy lady has been doing good business since arriving in town, despite the downturn, taking market share from the failing firms ruthlessly. If she sticks at it and doesn’t burn out or fall in love, she’ll go far.

She flashes me a dazzling smile as I try not to stare at the whip-sharp two-piece skirt and jacket business suit - and those endless legs.
‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you.’ Comes a reedy familiar refrain, I belatedly recognise as mine. ‘That one’s in the bag.’

It’s not convincing. Pretty sure I’m f***ed.