Raw mode

Ashen, puffy faced, unkempt – the Ideal Housing crew struggle in late after last night’s bash at Restaurant Harkema in the Nes (theatre district). Although only twelve bottles of wine were consumed between the twenty of us, the fact that a small but determined alcoholic minority consumed most of the grog explains the wilder behaviour towards the end of the evening. In the normal run of the day, we all know Jimmy as well-meant, chubby, ineffective and basically harmless. Pour a little truth-drug into him however, then better take a step back. Loud – OK, who wasn’t. Very loud – border line OK, he wasn’t the only one. Screaming at top of voice for entire restaurant to “Shut-up. Everyone – shut-up” – not OK. Then, when a thousand eyes were boring into Jimmy’s swaying frame atop the dining table, he points to Eddie and says, “Eddie, the floor is yours.”

Marcus captured a terabyte of material on his top-of-the-range expensive camera. “I had the thing in ‘raw’ mode – got it all” – which, on reviewing some of the excruciating digital detail this morning added new meaning to “all.” As far as I could tell, there were range ranging wine-fuelled confessions whispered in confidence between courses but the action stopped short of impromptu snogging and, fortunately, there was no photocopier available for anyone to consider sitting on.

A former colleague – Vlad – had also managed to crash the gig claiming that Klaas had invited him. Vlad left a couple of months back to work in advertising. I wish he’d just come straight out with it and pitched me a “Can I do your new house style – by God, you need one.” Instead, he followed me around like a puppy, hoping for a quiet moment to sell his wares. I thought I’d dodged him but a wave of synchronous restroom breaks left me sitting alone under a halogen spot offering Vlad his moment.

The problem with having the best month ever...

The problem with having the best month ever - March - is that unless you have another better month (hopefully the following one) - it's all down hill. And as that lofty peak disappears into the distance, it is increasingly mentioned only in passing rather than in the 'I was there and did my bit sense' and only then with a tone that implies that you're not sure the turnover was really that high anyway.

April has a not untypical slow start. Rental deals could go either way. Stomping and splashing around in the rain a month back delivering fliers to the most sought after areas has resulted in a rush of quality properties to add to our portfolio. Googling - those guys are criminals and we pay them Euro 4000 per month - has delivered a solid flow of clients with budgets taking our average ever upwards. Good signs, thus.

But (or should I say 'butt'), Ginny is leaving in May and is already winding down. Our youngest consultant has returned from a week slumming it with friends in New York and, as is always the case when one is stupid enough to take vacation, his portfolio of rental clients in cooler than an arctic fox's tail, he's still jet-spaced, and just can't shake that holiday happiness making it hard from him to focus and hard for the rest of us to bear. Brenda has crashed. After a flying start as neweling two months ago when a couple of lucky deals created the impression that it was all so trivial and easy, reality has set in. Pissing up is fine, Brenda, but be sharp and make your numbers. Klaas took Brenda for lunch and had a deep and meaningful yet subtle and insightful conversation with her along the following lines, "Brenda - don't get boozed up so often. Make more deals. Ying. Yang. But make more deals."

Owning up

Every day an unexpected, critical issues rises from the deep requiring hours of concentrated management team debate followed, without hesitation, by one or more key decisions. Yesterday, this issue was the pitiful state of the kitchen - a wasteland of abandoned cups, left-overs, an empty-but-still-beeping microwave smelling of dog, and ten tea bags alone and sagging on the counter top like old ladies camped on a park bench gossiping about absent friends. That was yesterday.

Today the strategic management issue claiming the time I always reserve for such occasions was fines. More precisely, fines associated with speeding or parking offenses. So that we both know what we're talking about: speeding means driving faster than the law allows (clues: things go blurry, the roof-rack blows off, air rushes by so swiftly that you can't hear the radio) and parking offenses means leaving your vehicle stationary in a manner not accepted by people whose lives are brightened by wearing police uniforms and police hats (clues: a wounded dog is stuck to your front right wheel, you are upside down in a garden, looking around you seem to be in a department store and your seat-belt is still fastened).

Yes - rental consultant person - you are driving on work time. But - rental consultant - you still need to obey the law. Drive too fast, then own up to it. Kill a kitten while attempting to reverse into tiny space, then accept the consequences. Fines come in centrally to the office with time and place and date of the offense stipulated. The name of the consultant is not stated, naturally, as the crime is frequently recorded by camera and the camera cannot not quite capture the name and address printed in tiny letters on your driving license.

One of Charlotte's many thankless tasks as office manager is to quiz everyone on receiving a another traffic fine by post (in official envelop) from the local authority. Blank looks. Denial. Finger pointing. Checking the car-reservation agenda has little value as consultants deliberately scribble unreadable junk in there - enough to claim the car if in dispute, but just too little to be able to deny having used it if there is a fine to be paid.

If there's a doubt, then fair enough. It's natural not to want to pay a fine if you only 'probably' are guilty. But if confronted with incontrovertible evidence - even where the colleague who was sitting next to you shops you - then raised eye-brows and mock shock make my blood bubble.

My blood is bubbling.

Communication

Much of weekend spent on monster memo intended for investors with whom we meet again tomorrow. Despite the length and depth of this latest missive – one of many by the way – we seem to be talking an unknown dialect of a nearly extinct language. Blank looks punctuated by raised eyebrows and pen-tapping expletives. Somehow, we arrived at the notion of meeting minutes during our last session of last week. We trade small-font, single-spaced written exchanges in which each party summarizes what they believe was discussed. It’s sort of working. At least the wildly different points of view are on the table instead of being wrapped in optimistic assumption that we’re all hopefully on the same page.

March has officially closed. Record month. Not just a record March but a record in the true meaning of the word – the best month ever. With respect to the month profile, we defied that final week rush of rental deals and frenetic shouting to cram it all in before midnight on the last working day. Instead, the deals were scattered beautifully allowing administration to remain on low boil and allowing tempers to remain jacketed.