Simple Life Journey

Real Estate Training

noreply@blogger.com (Simple Life Journey) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 03:31:00 +0000

“So Dad, when do you train me?” I said as I eagerly jumped into the car next to him. We would carpool to work since we lived in the same house and we were going to the same office. I was in my early twenties.

“Oh, all in good time,” he answered me.

But what he really meant to say was, “Never. I am never going to train you. You will never know what you are doing in real estate.”

We walked into the office, “Which desk do I take?” I could tell it wasn’t going to be a significant issue. I looked out into a silent, unoccupied room, around 15 empty desks. The only people who worked out of this office were my dad, his real estate partner, and my grandmother. The office was held strong by my dad and his partner. As for my grandmother, she was and had been ready for retirement for a while now, but was avoiding it. Therefore, daily she arrived and daily she sat, tapping her freshly coated pink finger nails, awaiting any business that might suddenly, randomly blow in her way.

I took the desk right behind my father so he could train me better. Get ready world!

I sat down at my desk. “So what do I do, Dad? I am ready!”

The phone rang, interrupting the start of my training. He reached to answer it.

I guess training would come later.

So I sat at my desk a lot. And my grandmother also sat at her desk a lot. We sat there together, watching the world go by. Makin’ the big bucks. Swimming in the dough.

“Hey, Grandma, are you finished with the People magazine yet?”

She handed it back to me as I passed her the copy of the In Style magazine I just completed.

“Dad, why am I here? You aren’t even training me? Where is all of my training?”

“Okay,” ready for your training?” he replied. “Pass out these fliers to houses in the neighborhood.” So I did, and in doing so I found real estate to be very exciting. Being chased by dogs. Running through sprinklers. Stepping in dog poo. Being yelled at by the elderly as you approach their doors.

“Dad,” I said when I got back to the office, wet haired, sunburned, and breathing heavily, “When does my ‘proper’ training start?”

“What is that smell?” he asked, picking up his foot to look on the underside of his real estate loafers.

“Dad! My training!” I reiterated.

So then came the training.

It started with a math problem. He turned his chair around to face my desk and gave me an equation. A most difficult one if you ask me. He was throwing numbers at me left and right, and my pencil was wildly, frantically responding. “So, Janna, if you take the interest and you divide it by the bla, bla, bla, and then you take away the bla, bla, bla, how much is the house worth?”

“Um....” I quickly did my calculations and then answered, “Ten thousand dollars,” raising my tone at the end, really just turning my statement into a question.

He stared at me in disbelief. “A house that cost ten thousand dollars?” I could see him holding back a laugh.

“That is what I said,” I responded. What is wrong with him, I thought to myself. I looked back down at my paper. “That is what my figures are telling me.”

“Think, Janna! Think!” he raised his voice.

I raised my voice even louder, “I am thinking! And I am thinking that this house you talk of cost ten thousand dollars! How am I supposed to know how much houses cost!? You are not training me! Where is this house you are talking about anyway?”

I was so angry and frustrated, I said, “Somewhere,” and then I yelled, “SOMEWHERE in the world,” pointing my finger into his face, “a house does cost ten thousand dollars somewhere, Dad!!!!"

“I QUIT!” I stomped toward the door and burst out of it as hard as I could to really drive my point home. I stood in the middle of the street staring out at the parking lot, my eyes scanning through all of the cars, none of them being mine. Great, I don’t even drive myself to work. I turned back around, quietly opened the door, stuck my head in shamefacedly and asked under my breath, “Can I get a ride home?”

He calmly answered, with a slight uplifting of one of the sides of his mouth, “When I am done with work.” It was a smile. I know it was a smile.

“Ahhhhh!!!!!!” Cuss. Cuss.

This was not work. And this was not working.

I gracefully stepped out of my real estate business right after my dad showed the only client I ever had one of his houses for sale while I was on vacation. He closed the deal, and I was paid and went to Europe with the money.

I love real estate!!!

Here I am with a Scottish bagpipe man.

And here I am with the Loch Ness Monster.

And that concluded my endeavors in real estate.

It ended with the realization, I don’t work well with my father. And I am not sure what you do in real estate besides pass out fliers.

His Big Plans For Me

noreply@blogger.com (Simple Life Journey) — Fri, 25 May 2012 02:51:00 +0000

So who is this father of mine? I have only alluded to his importance and impact upon me and my family. He plays a crucial part in this journey of mine, so I must paint a picture of him for one to understand the depths of his role.

This is my family. Mostly right brained individuals. Artists. Free spirited. And then there is me. “A balance between the two,” my dad would always say. “Now that’s why I can relate to you so well. You have enough left brain in there to make sense. You and I, Janna, we make sense.” He would say as he tapped his finger to his left temple. “Janna, you and I are the only ones in this family that think with the left sides of our brains,” he would say proudly. “What does that mean, Dad?” “It means something good,” he’d say as he pointed his finger to his temple as if telling me that he and I were both “with it” and that the rest of my family well, didn’t display the “it” he was referring to.

“Okay,” I said, having no idea what he was talking about.

But he knew we were similar. It was so very clear to him.

In me, he saw the girl version of himself...

Type A.

Focused.

Determined.

Born with an ability to sell.

He sold houses.

And I sold anything, whatever I could get my hands on.

Lemonade. Candy Bars. Cookbooks. Blow Pops. I was in high school when I opened my candy business, “People, if I am carrying this over-the-shoulder-purse-bag, it means that I am open for business. Give me your quarter, take your Blow Pop, and don’t tell any teachers where you have received your merchandise. Now turn around slowly and walk away nonchalantly. That’s right.”

Sometimes I even had other items in stock, depending on the time of year. “Janna, is this your Halloween candy?”

Cha ching. Cha ching.

I remember walking home from my friend’s house and there, sitting atop a pile of trash was a box of Budweiser nail clippers, 25 to count. “Score!” My brother standing next to me stood staring. To his eyes it was only a box of clippers, but to my eyes, money signs were dancing before me, and my adrenaline started pumping. For the next couple of days I went door to door selling those clippers, “You need this pair of clippers. Your nails will look nicer, more trim.” And when I was done, I pocketed $25. Yeah. You think you don’t need a pair of Budweiser nail clippers? Oh, but you do.

“That’s my daughter,” my dad smiled a beaming grin as I walked past him, pockets jingling with money.

“Someday, Janna, we will do something with this gift.”

And he knew very well where this gift could be used. Alongside him in real estate.

Simple Life Journey

Real Estate Training

His Big Plans For Me

My Dad, My Friend

Cutting the Cord

Pregnancy Nesting

Rock, Paper, Scissors

He Would Say Goodbye

True Treasure

There is Always More

What Brings Happiness?

Our Third Trip

Exhausted

Emily

The Secrets of a Model

Friendship. One of my favorite things about life.

Seasons

Drifting

My Whinnie Smile

The Pump Up (Part 2)

The Pump Up (Part 1)

Hijacked

Following the Leader

The Best for her Family

Horses

Victims