Adventures of Incredible Boredom

As I sit here in my office at 10:30 on a Sunday morning, I contemplate the boring hours that will be forced upon me today. I realize that I should probably not be so negative towards my job as it is money and everyone likes easy money.

Here’s my thing though, I actually *like* working. I hate having nothing to do. I absolutely resent when all my abilities that get me hired go to waste because I end up working in offices that are not busy, despite what management and other staff think. It’s not that I’m cocky, but one becomes accustomed to working in an office of 200+ agents where you handle anywhere between four hundred and eight hundred calls a day. Yourself. Let’s not mention that there are two or three other people doing that job too. And doing paperwork. And any other little thing that needs to be handled.

I enjoy a challenge and I enjoy a fast-paced working environment. My last office of two hundred agents bored me to tears. I was left to answer the phones with two other girls, of whom neither did any work anyway. And I was still bored. I begged the back office that did all the paperwork to give me things to do, they would but I would complete it too quickly, so excited to actually have something to do, that I would find myself asking them for more work.

That’s part of my problem, I so enjoy having things to do that I whip through it. Part of it is because I am good at what I do. I have been doing real estate administration and reception since I was seventeen, almost five years of experience under my belt. That’s a rarity. The industry is hard pressed to find people with experience that are actually good at the job. Not to insult or malign my fellow “punching bags” but seriously, there are a lot very stupid people in this industry-many are the people answering the phones and many of them are so useless it boggles my mind as to how they even have a job.

The other moronic side would be the agents. How I, having no license to work as an agent, have more knowledge of the industry when it comes down to offers, appointments, marketing, you know-all the things that actually count towards selling a home-is ridiculously sad. I’ll give them that it can be hard to market yourself to sellers and get that listing and it can be difficult to even have that listing sell, but on the whole, taking people to see properties and having your admin staff do all the legwork for you-it really isn’t that challenging.

The challenging part of their job is dealing with people. They deal with fellow morons, high maintenance clients who believe that their 600 sq ft condo listed at $450K entitles them to red carpet treatment. Hell, even those with the $1.8 mil homes act like that. Even the people with place for $199K act like that. Because agents pamper them. They complain about their clients who bitch and moan that their house won’t sell. Some agents won’t suggest that maybe they improve their home-de-clutter, do some cheap and effective upgrades or *gasp* drop the price. But sellers are so firm on the lowest price they will sell their house for because they have an emotional investment in their property. What they don’t realize is that this emotional attachment does nothing to sell their home and makes it difficult for everyone who has to work with them on doing so.

I realize I have taken a bit of a detour in this post but having done this job for as long as I have and having talked to the most moronic individuals I have ever had the displeasure of speaking with:

Caller: “I saw a house for sale. Can you tell me the price?”                                                                       

Me: “Do you have the address or agents name?”

Caller: “No. But it has a red door and a black roof. And there is a large tree in the front”

Me: *thinking-seriously? Are you seriously doing this right now? Why on earth would I, the person answering the phone, know what every single one of our properties looks like? Are you really this stupid?* “Sir, unless you have an agents name or the address, I can’t help you”

Caller: “It’s got a red door. The brick is kind of that light brown colour…”

Me (interrupting): “I don’t know what any of our properties look like sir. I need an agents name or the address to be able to help you”

Caller: “So you don’t know which house I’m talking about?”

Me: “No, sir, I’m sorry I don’t. But if you can get me the agents name or the add….”

*click*

It was even better when I worked for a predominately Jewish company and I’d have people call in looking for an agent and I’d ask them to describe the person and they’d say ‘Well, they’re Jewish” At which point I had to inform them “About 90% of the realtors in our office are Jewish. You’re going to have to be a little more specific”.

This is the general public. The people I deal with everyday. It is an ego boost though, to know that if Darwin’s wrath were to every actually strike down and take out the really stupid people, that my time in real estate should keep me safe. In my years working, I think I’ve talked to a good 20% of the idiots in York Region and a good 25% of the idiots in Toronto. And that’s just while I’m at work. Imagine if I took into account all the people I meet everyday on the subway, walking down the street or hear about on the news.

So as I sit here, contemplating the boring hours still ahead of me, I wonder which lovely imbeciles will cause me to bash my head off my desk today.

*Edit-Not five minutes after I posted this, I received an email from one of my agents requesting a form (that he can access from the web) be sent to him in pdf format. The form on the web is in pdf format already so I sent him the link. He then emailed me back requesting it in pdf format. I responded telling him web forms are in pdf format. And then I printed off the form, emailed it to myself and then sent it to him. I hate people*

Already Neurotic

So I’m sitting here, watching Dexter after watching the two hour premier of Heroes (I’ve never watched the show before in my life).

I realize that this blog is more about self-indulgence. Reassurance. Random thoughts that pop into my head throughout the course of a day. I won’t apologize for that, mainly because that was the purpose. To have somewhere to just record those random, mundane, everyday thoughts that really don’t amount to anything but do require some reflection, some acknowledgment, if only for my own sanity.

I need to find an apartment so that I can take up yoga again, so that I can begin learning Spanish and Vietnamese. So that I can start actually doing something.

So if anyone knows of a furnished room in Toronto, south of the 401, east of Ossington, west of Broadview that’s $600 or less a month and available until the end of February, let me know.

I’m Okay

I’ll be okay. We talked it out. We have an understanding. We are both content with how it is. We aren’t going to change anything. I can deal with this. I can deal with loving this man with all my heart and not having those feelings returned.

I’m enjoying life and I’m not going to let myself be sad because of this one thing.

I Hate Myself For Loving You

I think of you ev’ry night and day.
You took my heart, then you took my pride away.
I hate myself for loving you .
Can’t break free from the the things that you do.
I wanna walk but I run back to you, that’s why
I hate myself for loving you .

But I can deal. I am a better person than I was at the beginning of the year. I can do this. I will be fine. I will be okay. I am stronger than I was.

Here I Go Again

I’ve been reading a lot lately. Lots of different books. On some level, each one I read helps to heal all things from the past.

Eat, Pray, Love was a fantastic book that I could identify with on some levels. For instance, the need to escape, to heal, to explore, to find something.

A Thousand Splendid Suns set in Afghanistan gave me so much insight into the plight of women and the suffering that has occurred there for decades and decades. It made me appreciate being born and raised where I was, that I didn’t have to suffer through such horrors, such grief, such an intense feeling of permanent unknowingness. It also taught me that love can exceed many of life’s trials and tribulations.

Confessions of an Economic Hitman, while taken with  a grain of salt, allowed me some perspective of the atrocities first world countries commit against third world, developing countries. How we use them for everything we can and watch as they fall into decline.

Gaviotas showed me that beauty, love, compassion, invention, progress, ingenuity can, indeed, all survive in a corrupt country. Such a beautifully stunning village, full of artists and scientist, who have created utopia (or topia as they like to call it) on earth in a war torn, drug laden country gives me hope that sustainable development and human compassion can exist everywhere on this earth. It gives me hope.