Upload And Forget - Tuesday

‘Oh for f***s sake!’ Exclaims assistant manager T, as his phone handset hits the cradle damagingly.

‘What is it?’ Asks negotiator S, with a sympathetic smile.

‘Another w****r who is making a huge property mistake.’ Spits T, angrily.

‘You’re going to need to narrow it down a bit.’ Replies S with a giggle.

She has a point. Even the most seasoned of businesspeople have blinkers on when it comes to making sensible decisions on property matters. It’s a murky fog of greed, emotion and anxiety - no wonder you need a trusted professional to hold your hand.

‘Those f***-wits in the two bed flat I valued have only gone and given it to some on-line cowboys for an up-front fee.’ Reveals T, face turning puce.

‘That’s their look out then.’ Soothes S. ‘They’ll most likely be back in three months, chastened and out of pocket.’

‘They’ll be too embarrassed to see me again.’ Predicts T, probably accurately. ‘ It’ll end up on the market with those idiots down the road.’ T sweeps a derisory hand towards one of our competitors in town, a cheap-and-cheerful outfit - without the humour element.

‘I imagine you pointed out to them the folly of paying in advance for a future service?’ I say, semi-rhetorically.

‘Of course I cocking did.’ Snarls T.

‘Swear box is is waiting.’ I admonish, nodding towards the office expletive collector.

‘Put me down for a f***ing fiver then.’ Says T dismissively. ‘I’m fed-up with these myopic idiots.’

T has a point. As I try to tell the public and train my staff; if you buy a car, it’s pretty easy to see the distinction in price between a Mercedes and a Micra. But trying to compare a service - one you’ve yet to receive - on the basis of some promises from a profession that is hardly held in high esteem by the public, isn’t such an easy pitch.

‘These cretins don’t seem to understand getting a sale through to completion is massively more than just listing a home on a property portal.’ Says T, dejectedly.

‘They’ll find out.’ Soothes S.

‘Not until it’s too late.’ Grumbles T.

He’s right again. Most high street agents offer a no-sale, no-fee, arrangement. The hard work often begins after a sale has been agreed, with lender and title problems, protracted chains to negotiate and a several month sale process to navigate. This is when an experienced and qualified estate agent earns their corn.They have to, otherwise they don’t get paid.

‘Why do people do it?’ Wails T.

‘Because they think they are saving a thousand pounds or two.’ Says S.

‘More often than not, they under-sell if the market isn’t tested property.’ Replies T. ‘And that’s before the sale has to be rescued multiple times ahead of an exchange of contracts.’

‘They probably signed up for the on-line cowboys’ call-centre conveyancing service too.’ Says S, not helping matters.

This is another area yet to be fully understood by a naive public. A cheap shirt, you pretty much know is going to fall apart after a wash or two - a cheap solicitor will leave you even more exposed.

Obviously some people will have a successful experience with an on-line estate agent, but in my view it’s the digital equivalent of putting a postcard advertising your house in a newsagent’s window. Just for £1,000 - not £2.50 a fortnight.

‘Did they pay the money in advance, or take the deferred payment  option?’ I ask T. Some outfits, dodge the thorny issue of folk not wanting to pay ahead of delivery, by signing the seller up on a pay-later scheme. I wouldn’t advise my worst enemy to do that.

‘Paid now.’ Says T. ‘ I mean, it’s like shelling out for an over-priced hooker and finding she doesn’t come.’

‘And neither do you.’ Adds loose lettings lush B, unhelpfully. 

It’s not. Although…..

‘Make a note to call them once a fortnight until they are ready to use us.’ I instruct T. ‘They’ll probably be talking to you more often than some faceless, so called local property expert, who lives fifty miles away.’

‘They don’t deserve me.’ Snipes T.

They do.

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Expert Advice - Monday

‘I’m not too good with exams.’ States trainee F unnecessarily. I’ve seen his CV and for his family to spend that amount of money on a private education, with so little qualifications in return, merits the mother of all refunds.

‘It’s more of a test.’ Soothes negotiator S, in a comforting fashion - she has the necessary equipment.

‘You don’t even know you’re born.’ Contributes obese finance-fiddler M. ‘We have to sit multiple complex exams to sell insurance and finance.’

Only because you all mis-sold for years, I think sourly.

‘You should try being in lettings nowadays.’ Says B. ‘We have to act as immigration officials, gas safety engineers, money laundering snitches and wet nurses, all rolled in to one.’

It’s true, there is a lot of regulation - some of it conflicting - the modern property professional needs to keep abreast of. 

You’d think estate agents would need to be qualified, yet fledgling internet agencies still keep appearing, conning people for up front fees and claiming to have local property experts on hand. If expert means some failed window cleaner from a town forty miles away, who has scraped through a multiple choice computerised learning programme, with the none to subtle prompting of the training company who need the pass rate to look good, then smashing.

‘Why do they keep making us do these ridiculous e-learning courses?’ Asks assistant manager T, grumpily.

‘Because it saves on employing real, touch-em, feel-em trainers.’ Suggests B. Its not the best image, as rumour has it she both touched and felt that married bloke in the training department, who left in a hurry last year.

B  does have a point though. I almost feel nostalgic about some of the trainers we had in the past. True, most of them only trained because they couldn't sell - and I still haven't forgotten that creepy little man who handed out cuddly toys to a circled bunch of bemused and grizzled negotiators, to “help form empathy within the group”. He shouldn't have been allowed within a mile of any infant school. But at least they were human.

‘Saves money too.’ Says T. ‘They only want to cover their own arses as cheaply as possible. If trading standards, tax and revenue, passport control, or the legionnaire’s disease police come after you, head office can claim we’ve been properly trained.’

I tend to agree with T. My bean counter boss spends his life avoiding responsibility, ensconced in his office with a spread sheet and a hard-on, by all accounts. Celebrities might want to expose their butt cheeks to all and sundry, with big Belfie shots published on-line, but head office staff like their rear-ends covered.

‘Who designs this rubbish?’ Asks T, warming to his task. He has the prelude to the latest e-learning trial, on his computer screen. A few example questions are laid out Janet and John style, with four options as answers, for each question. 

‘Some over-priced consultancy who peddle the same tatty programme to all our competitors too.’ I offer, as a shaky hypothesis.

‘It’s a con, that’s what it is.’ Says T.

‘Talking of cons,’ Pipes up F. ‘Is there any way we can get a copy of the answers, beforehand, like last time?’

Almost certainly.

‘Don’t worry.’ Says S to F, as he moves towards hyper-ventilation. He probably hasn’t been this agitated since he was probed behind the bike sheds by his game’s master.

‘I’ve told you, exams don't agree with me.’ He replies shakily.

‘For God’s sake, there are only four options, and two of them are obviously wrong.’ Snaps M, grumpily. ‘And that’s before someone gets a hold of the crib sheet. You try learning what the difference is between APRs, AERs, compound and flat rate interest and how to explain it to a dullard.’

‘I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever get it.’ Says F, flatly.

‘That’s why you are the world’s longest-standing trainee.’ Chuckles T.

‘Just remember, you eat an elephant a bite at a time.’ Offers S, with a smile. F looks bemused.

He’d still be a local property expert with some firms though….

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Driving Me Mad - Wednesday

‘Oh for crying out loud.’ Exclaims negotiator S. She doesn’t often bother the swear box, so something has got her agitated. I’ve thought of various methods, but we’ll draw a polite veil over those…

‘What is it?’ I enquire soothingly. We’re alone in the office and I’m showing what a caring and sharing manager I am by sitting in the front desk and facing the public. I know managers who hide in their office and stare forlornly at the profit and loss accounts, but I’m more of a front-line, man of the people kind of guy - plus I can’t fully understand the Excel spreadsheet. Dilapidations just make me think of elderly folk in sheltered accommodation having to sell at a loss and move on to a nursing home, at £1500 a week.

‘Mr Oates’ sale.’ Answers S glumly.

I grimace. This one has been running for nearly five months and if anyone tells you estate agents don’t work for their money you should read the file notes on this protracted sale. Destructive surveys, lapsed mortgage offers, wall-tie failures, antagonistic vendors and twitchy first time buyers at the bottom of the chain. The lawyers involved seem indifferent, or incompetent, and half the agents are numpties with no training and more grasp of a Koppaberg than the conveyancing system.

‘What is it this time?’ I ask S. My bean counter boss has been asking why we haven’t invoiced this sale, for the last two months. With, no sale no fee, you keep bending and spreading to accommodate like a loose-limbed rent boy, all in the hope you’ll get your money eventually.

‘They’re finally all ready to exchange,’ answers S. ‘And now they’re arguing about completion dates.’

This isn’t uncommon. Over protracted sales’ periods, antipathy can build up between the parties, and if it isn’t removing all the light fitting and toilet roll holders on the last day, it’s cutting off noses to spite faces and risking all that packing and prospecting for suitable schools, by intransigence over the moving date.

‘Who is the most vulnerable?’ I ask S, after she’s reminded me of the chain details and the personalities involved. It’s brutal, but if pressure needs to be exerted, I need to find the weakest link. It should be a job for the solicitors involved to sort out the completion dates, but at least two of the individuals involved will only answer to letters and as they charge by the missive and take weeks to reply, I can’t risk the wait.

‘What did he say?’ I ask S, after we’ve discussed the best person to try and persuade to be flexible and spoken to all, bar one, of the agents involved in the chain. The on-line outfit just had an answering service and in truth I’d have more chance of speaking to the mad woman, who pushes the empty pram round town, than those clowns. And people think they are saving money…

‘He said if they don’t move on his date, he’s going to pull the plug on the whole deal and put the price up £20,000, as another agent has told him he’s selling too cheaply now.’ Replies S, head in hands.

Oh, for some paltry professional standards in the much-maligned industry. There are more cowboys in this business than the whole of Texas. I’d plead for some minimum entry standards and exam qualifications. But all the time people entrust their home sale to call-centres, with a couple of chancers fronting a tacky television advert and local property experts who cross three counties with a digital camera and a sandwich box their mum packed, we are going nowhere. Fast.

‘Try the first time buyers.’ I urge S after several more heated and protracted conversations. The two diffident solicitors, as predicted, have refused to take her calls.

‘I think if I pressurise them any more they'll not only be forgetting the purchase, but the wedding too.’ Suggest S flatly.

There are enough reasons for first purchasers to balk at buying, without some surly old sod at the top of the chain digging their heals in because the proposed moving date clashes with a golfing match.

Sadly, it’s par for the course.

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