Attempts at employment…So to speak. Volume I

For some, this unemployment game is new. For me, not so much.
I’ve been marginally “employed” for four years now.
When I became an independent contractor, leaving the stability of a meager biweekly paycheck and benefits, I would have no idea what I was in for.
As much as I loved the idea of earning my keep, of being responsible for my successes and failures, of trusting my abilities, I would never have guessed the degree of difficulty.

I spent many years toiling away at the daily drudgery of selling a number of things.

First, real estate. I picked the wrong year to get into real estate. 2006 was the beginning of the end.
I started in the summer.
The hottest summer on record.
Everyday was in the low 100s.
I wish I were exaggerating.
I also didn’t do enough research to find out that the way the business model in most real estate firms is set up, doesn’t really aid in the development of new agents.
Essentially, they toss you to the wolves with a wide angle lens.
All of the rules and laws you learned while obtaining your license are completely tossed out the window and you will likely not make enough money to compensate the time, energy and investment you put into getting one apartment rented.
There’s a lot of luck involved in most people’s success.
No? You disagree?
I showed a very nice couple with an 18 month old a few apartments one Saturday. This is how it went.
The first apartment was on a beautiful tree lined street in Prospect Heights. I knew the neighborhood well. My mom lived a few blocks away. The brownstones were well maintained, the cars parked with good spacing between them, no loud music coming from any windows. It was idyllic.
The apartment was on the ground floor of the brownstone. It was perfect. The children who lived there currently opened the door and welcomed us playfully. Soon an adult surfaced and introductions were made.
Normally, showing an occupied apartment was a bad idea. But this family was the perfect commercial for living in this neighborhood.
It was a two dad family with three children of all colors of the rainbow. The kids were loquacious and friendly, the apartment looked lived in but not too messy.
Out of the park. Home run. Good luck so far.
When we stepped back out of the apartment to share notes, the couple raised objections to living just off of the street. They were concerned with safety.

Next on the list was an apartment building that had an intercom. It was in the same neighborhood, just around the corner and up the street. At least the safety issue wouldn’t be as much of an issue since the door to the actual apartment was on the other side of a door, a foyer, another door and a lobby.
We got to the building, which while being in the same general area, wasn’t on a tree lined street and faced a series of small businesses that were slightly dilapidated, and rang the buzzer. After a few minutes, I rang the buzzer again. The whole time I yakked incessantly about the building’s proximity to the museum, the park, restaurants, I even touted the availability of parking. After the third ring, I started to sweat.
The door to the building was locked. In one aspect, that was a good thing. This young family was concerned with safety. But I didn’t need the building to be so safe that I couldn’t show them the apartment.
As I pulled my phone out to dial the listing agent, an older lady pushing her groceries in a cart approached us. She was going home, into the building I was trying to get into! Fantastic.
We parted and allowed her access to the door. I breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly a loud bang. I swung back towards the door, disturbed from my reverie, to find that this tiny, crouched woman had kicked the door open.
Bad luck.
The end.