Work Experience - Friday

‘The guy from the local comprehensive school wants to come and see you later.’ Says assistant manager T, as I re-enter the office.

‘Been hanging around the gates again?’ Asks bloated mortgage man M, with an unpleasant chuckle.

‘That’s not even funny.’ Snaps negotiator S, leaping to my defence. ‘There’s enough weirdos out there without you making tasteless jokes about them.’

S still hasn’t got over that oddball who made her uncomfortable on a viewing last week. He was probably harmless, but you can’t be too careful. We’ve lost good people before and we always know where our female staff are, and they have rigid emergency procedures for tricky situations. The blokes can just fend for themselves….

‘He doesn’t want me to do another talk on careers does he?’ I ask T, ignoring M who waddles back to his office, trouser material chaffing audibly.

‘Unlikely after the last effort.’ Says lettings’ lush B, with a laugh. ‘ How many turned up?’

‘Enough.’ I reply, grouchily.

‘Yes but how many?’

‘This really isn’t relevant.’ I say.

‘Double figures?’

‘Nearly.’

The problem is people really don’t warm to estate agents and I can’’t even blame them. I don’t like 90% of my profession - or trade to be more accurate. The standard response to revealing your job, is at best a groan of derision and on one occasion for me a threat of imminent violence. Just recently I watched one of those television dating programmes and the poor girl who reluctantly revealed her role to the potential suitor, actually put her hands over her face and said, ‘please don’t hate me.’

‘No, not a careers talk this time.’ Continues T. ‘He is trying to place some year eleven pupils on work experience but each employer needs to be vetted.’

‘Year eleven?’ I ask, still bewildered.

‘You used to call them fifth-formers.’ Answers T, with a shake of his head. And I understand they’ve just changed all the grades for GCSEs. I’m a man out of time.

‘Good luck getting a green light on vetting in this place.’ Says B, nodding towards M’s office.

‘He wouldn’t molest a child.’ I say abruptly.

‘He might eat one though.’ Says T, laughing.

‘How come the grammar school never wants to place pupils in estate agents’ offices?’ Asks S.

‘Because only the comp thickos, who don’t have any qualifications think they can do your job.’ Announces M, back from his lair and possibly irked at overhearing our conversation. He never misses a chance to remind everyone he has passed quite onerous financial services exams. I voluntarily sat my estate agency exams years ago, but apart from the depth of industry knowledge it gave me, nobody has ever asked me for them.

‘Are we going to get one to play with?’ Asks trainee F, sensing a chance for someone junior to him joining us.

‘You don’t play with them.’ Chides S. ‘And you lot better not think you are having some naive girly in a short skirt to letch over.’

‘That won’t be happening. ‘ I say seriously.

‘I wouldn’t mind a young boy to boss around.’ Says B, completely undermining any feminist solidarity with S.

Stern lecture on the correct way to respect others in the workplace issued, albeit somewhat half-heartedly, I retire to my office. I’m really not sure I can be arsed with all the paperwork that comes with a work placement. And some self-entitled snowflake who balks at answering the phone or photocopying and thinks they get to drive a flash car and have the keys to homes they’ll never live in, is more than I need. Particularly if they burst in to tears at the first harsh word from a punter, like the last one.

‘Not sure it’s worth the aggravation.’ I say later, once I’ve studied the email from the school and the list of health, safety and insurance questions to be satisfied, before some delicate flower with acne and an attitude is allowed through our door.

‘Oh go on boss, it will be fun.’ Presses F.

It won’t.

‘It will give a young person valuable experience.’ Suggests S, with a warm smile.

It might.

‘You’ll probably find nobody wants to come anyway.’ Says T. ‘People really dislike us.’

They do.

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Top And Bottom - Thursday

‘What’s capped and collared?’ Asks trainee F earnestly, as I lurk at the back of the office and scan the appointments’ diary.

For a moment I think he’s been accessing those dodgy bondage websites on company time again, until I realise the filters are supposed to block any providers with adult content. There’s a work round, as there always is, but best not to publicise it.

‘It’s a type of lending product.’ I tell him breezily, hoping fat finance fiddler M isn’t earwigging again. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. He’s passed tick-box exams - so a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing…

‘What type of product?’ Presses F, rather annoyingly. And now I realise negotiator S has stopped tapping at her keyboard and is listening, along with assistant manager T. B, our loose lettings lady is fortunately still on the phone, arguing earnestly with some third party. It could be her latest boyfriend, it could be an angry landlord - it could be both.

‘I don’t think they are prevalent today.’ I say, playing for time and running an internal Siri search in my ageing hard drive.

’What’s prevalent mean?’ Says F quizzically.

‘Common.’ Answers T dismissively.

‘Like a Chav?’ Asks F.

Still no minimum entry qualification to become an estate agent.

‘Isn’t it when the lender guarantees the interest rate won’t go above a certain level?’ Says S. My hard drive whirrs in appreciation of her - not for the first time.

‘Yes that’s it,’ I say triumphantly. ‘That’s the cap bit.’

‘And the collar?’ Says F.

‘That’s for old dogs.’ Interjects T, nodding almost imperceptibly towards B, where she is spitting staccato insults down the phone like a premium rate provider at the specialist end of the spectrum.

‘The collar means the rate won’t drop below a certain level, even if the base rate falls.’

‘Why would you want that?’ States F.

‘Well you wouldn’t.’ I tell him tartly, wishing I’d stayed in my office and accessed the hidden private browsing function the IT kid, with acne, showed me.

‘It’s more for the lender’s benefit.’ Says T.

‘Seems everything is for the lender’s benefit.’ Replies F. 

He’s slowly getting the hang of it - a few more repossession appointments and he’ll be there.

‘I’m glad I’m only a licensed introducer.’ Says B, breezily. ‘Not sure I’d want to try and flog loans and dodgy insurance products.’

‘Drive you mad trying to keep up with all the rules and regulations.’ Says T in agreement.

‘They have laptops and helplines.’ I say dismissively, looking towards M’s office. His head is down and his jaws are moving rhythmically, he’s either eating or that little IT squirt lied about only giving the filter by-pass code to me.

‘When you started you didn’t have to sell mortgages and insurance did you?’ Asks F.

He’s right. Estate agency was a much more gentile pursuit, with banks, building societies and insurance companies all knowing their place in the property move hierarchy. Once the bean counters moved in to protect their collective positions and to tap into estate agents’ client bases, the job took a turn for the worse. Plus, we had to open on Saturday afternoons….

‘You need to remember who pays your wages.’ Says M in a booming voice. He’s somehow slid out of his office quietly - quite an achievement without castors and heavy lifting gear - and has been listening to the conversation.

‘It’s a team effort.’ I say in a conciliatory tone. I spend my life placating people - angry owners, buyers, lawyers and lenders, so fobbing off a fat fiscal fiddler isn’t a big challenge.

‘Just make sure your lot hit their introducers targets.’ Grumps M before waddling away. He’s doesn’t quite get the fact that an us and them mentality doesn’t make for a harmonious sales environment, but then he struggles to differentiate between an open and closed question. Big arsehole.

“Ok, thank you.’ Says F, later, as I come in half way through his telephone conversation. He replaces the receiver and frowns almost audibly.

‘What?’ I ask him.

He hesitates.

‘Go on, I won’t bite.’ I might.

‘Well, what’s a retention again?’ Asks F hesitantly.

Not just a woman’s problem.

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