The month that was

The month of March - beware - displays the same alarming turnover profile as most other months. Namely,

• A couple of early deals in the first couple of days create the false, hollow, and deceptive impression that a trend has set in that will take us to the moon.
• Drought. Sweat, tears, but no deals. Concern is swallowed by consternation.
• Mid-month (or thereabouts) an event either catastrophic for the forecast or suspicioulsy positive. This month it's the positive variant as the horse-people deal got a verbal go yesterday.
• The last weeks of month, a depression from the east descends like a blanket of cloud - a cloud of acid vapour. Tempers fray, dispositions realign, the timid become monsters, and the monsters become bigger and louder. Accusations start to wing their way between members of the consulting team.

Cut to:

• Ginny: You stole my property. I was about to make a deal on the Singel. You knew that!
• Jimmy: But your viewing isn't until Monday. My client viewed and said yes this morning.
• Ginny: Client thief.
• Jimmy: Property thief.

Klaas pretends to be so engrossed in an email that he doesn't register this acrid interchange. He's secretly wishing he wasn't the sales manager.

• Ginny: Anyway, you sweat a lot and I'll still be the top consultant.

Klass draws a slow breath.

• Klaas: Will you two either shut up or take your pathetic little discussion into the conference room?

Cut back:

• The last few days of the month and the flood gates crash open as new deals wash in. Finance curses because invoices need making; back office curses because contracts need making; property manages curse because property owners need chasing for their full details to go into contracts.

And that is the month that was.

What IT people do

The characters: Marcus is our IT guy; Suzy is coordinating guest-related logistics; Mary is a free-lancer doing check-ins and check-outs.

• Suzy: Mary is going to bring her laptop in for you to install Outlook.
• Marcus: I told you that that isn't necessary, or possible.
• Suzy: But she needs to get her email.
• Marcus: She gets her mail on her gmail account...
• Suzy: Well I get mine on Outlook.
• Marcus: But you are on our system/network. She isn't. She can't be.
• Suzy: How can I send her calendar information?
• Marcus: You can't.
• Suzy: Why didn't you tell me that?
• Marcus: I told you I was going to forward mail to her gmail and you said that was ok.
• Suzy: Well, what's the point then?
• Marcus: I dunno, but it would have been handy to know this was a requirement before.
• Suzy: Well, uh, buuuh...

Marcus looks pensive, tries to think of solution

• Suzy: TALK TO ME MARCUS, geez... SAY SOMETHING!!!
• Marcus: I'm THINKING. I think better if I'm NOT talking.

Suzy, fascinated with this novel concept, wanders off muttering.

Trust us, we're a rental agency

The horse people deal is galloping ever nearer but – apologies for the metaphor – there is still a large fence to hurdle. From our perspective, it’s all about the payment conditions and the deposit. She – the Canadian women – says it’s all about trust. That is, the lack of trust she has in our agency and owner with whom they have zero experience. Therefore and ergo, they’d like to pay a bit less (we’ve agreed) and withhold a chunk of payment (not agreed) until nearly the end of the contracted period. I point out the following:

• You don’t know Ideal Housing and conversely, Ideal Housing does not know you and your horse act. Trust, therefore, is mutually weak/strong and/or present/absent and/or ying/yang as neither of us knows each other.
• Your proposal to withhold a not very small chunk of change until the last fortnight of the deal creates an uncomfortable feeling. Should you decide not to pay and run (or canter) over the curve of the earth and head into the sunset, then the deposit would be too meager to cover the missing rental payment and compensate for possible damages.

“But we do not plan to do damages.” I breathe deep, “That’s why they are *potential* damages and not *planned* damages.” There is a silence on the line. Have I made my point? No. “But in Canada we paid and owners did not stop the noises.” I briefly wonder what ‘noises’ are being referred and, just, stop myself from asking. The irresolvable gap in perspective is apparent. I repeat my point of view several times, she repeats hers. We both agree to think it over and wish each other a fine day.

The obligation

Too many people in the office – loud voices, powerful, forceful, agressive, in closing mode. Niceties have been and gone and now it’s about the money. "I done my thing Mr. Big Shot, now you do yours and rent the goddamn place for the price I’ve spent hours negotiating towarrs with an unreasonsble, reluctant, and unpleasant owner (and, yes, I did arrange the second bed, replacement of the carpet in the hall, additional lamp in the living room, repainting of the front door and you may keep a small dog)."

It’s the start of another month and thrills and spills of the short, little February are gone in the ether. It’s about the here the now and the day of reckoning that looms small, but increasingly larger, when somewhere close to the end of March (or earlier if he gets to it) the sales manager – Klaas – confronts the consultants with the output of their endeavors. And when Klaas confronts them his jolly, sociable, verging on matey demeanor develops a gritty edge – a reminder that although drinking a beer with them on Friday’s is just great, they still need to make their numbers.

Outside, the hum of traffic is peppered with flashes of white light from the secret camera placed by the traffic cops. The glare from the flare makes me squint as, even after nearly two years, I wobble on the brink of epilepsy as my retina burns away with each snap of their hidden lens. The speed sensor triggers the photo only when there is a speeding offence in progress. I asked recently how often the device goes off: 200 times an hour. The average speeding fine is around Euro 45 – nice business.

Klaas’s impressive girth reminds me of the obligation I have to my body to go to the gym. I’m leaving.