A short, little month

You blink, it's gone. That’s just the way it is with February. I’m looking at the turnover numbers for this short, little month and cursing the shortness and littleness of it. The payroll looms like an ice-berg on this final day and the recurring fixed extravagance (some call it getting paid) needs servicing in order to stave off rental consultant tantrums, mutiny, and tantrums. I realise that ‘tantrum’ has been used twice but it’s always worth additional consideration when you have a Ginny on your staff. I’ll do nearly anything to avoid a Ginny meltdown, blow-up, hissing fit, bout of mournful weeping, or primal rage interwoven with entire body-convulsing spasms.

The fact of the thing is this: you need to pay them or they walk. January was fine and March will be fine but now, as I beam my fixed smile and exude just enough conviction to sustain the impression that we have enough funds to finance this month, my stomach does a flip.

Rental clients (you just can’t help hating more of them than you’d imagine) drift in and out of our business as butterflies in a gale. Several blow in unannounced with requirements that would be fine if they were looking for a studio in Lapland but which are laughable in Amsterdam. And yes, we do laugh a lot. Other clients, those with appointments, don’t show or they might show but with other requirements and this really can be galling but what is really, really galling is this: we assign a rental consultant, Jimmy for example, and he does his thing. The thing I refer to where Jimmy chats over requirements with the client, arranges appointments all over town to view, drives the client hither and thither and throws in a sandwich as a deal looks all but done. The client – let’s call him Nobby from England – accepts the lunch, orders a dessert, downs three double espressos and finally, after a final espresso and OK, one for the road then, says he’ll take the apartment.

Back at the office, Jimmy then calls the owner of the property to confirm the deal, draws up preliminary contracts and an invoice. Nobby, eventually located in the kitchen standing very close to our receptionist Charlotte, saunters back to Jimmy’s desk clutching another double espresso (in my cup). He looks at the invoice and says, “Commission? I’m not paying your commission.”

Tomorrow is March. I like March.