On the theme of personnel

On the theme of personnel, I have the following to report with some trepidation:

• The MT is looking to push through a revised commission schedule that may seem, if one were skeptical, that the consultants might earn less.
• We’ve invented a new role – commercial assistant – with the goal of giving the consulting team more time on the street with their rental clients meaning (am I sounding unrealistically optimistic?) that more turnover will be generated.
• We’ve taken on a work experience student in the office in Den Hague. Never met the guy but we’ve spoken on the phone – not sure which language is his first language but it ain’t one that I speak.
• Timmy is looking increasingly like a moose in the headlights. Causes for concern include staring for prolonged periods at blank screens, not doing any deals, and wearing a cheap, synthetic, luminous orange sweater.
• Hamid’s chronic illness problems have taken a wicked wend for the worse. Worse, Marcus stumbled across the fact that our break-even financial performance for the first quarter seems to have excluded a number of costs that should have been booked in the accounting system but were missed. Hamid is undergoing pain reduction treatment at a medical facility of choice paid by his insurance company because… well, that’s how it works over here. Treatment having no noticeable effect thus far, aside from the his increasing number of sick days.
• Interview for additional consultants continue. Nothing really sparkley as yet. Three more candidates next week.

Up and to the right

Unsure ground. We’re having an excellent month despite the loss of Ginny, our super saleswoman. Theories abound:

1. Luck: May may be fine. Thereafter, it will inevitably not be fine.
2. Redistribution: Everyone is getting a bit of what would normally have been grabbed by Ginny.
3. Increased confidence: A couple of good deals with clients that would otherwise have gone Ginnywards raises ones confidence and creates a smiley, optimistic, effervescence that washes over clients and makes them disposed to sign.
4. Economy: It’s on the up so every agency is doing more business.
5. Luck.: More luck around and it will run out.
   

A couple of months of post-Ginny stats are required to do anything more than ponder. I will report ad hocly with musings and evidence on this topic.

Treacle

The purchase of my new apartment is crawling thicker than treacle. There are seven mortgage applications running of which one – the one I presented to the bank myself instead of using a mortgage broker in the naïve hope that I’d not only avoid paying a brokerage 1% fee but would earn it myself – was rejected by a man with a deep voice.

The deep voice explained that for reasons that seemed to have very little to do with my case, my application to borrow a mountain of cash was rejected by the credit committee. When I asked for clarification, he patiently ran through the rationale but I began to wonder, part way through his tale of rejection, if we were both talking about the same property and mortgage application.

“I assure you, Mrs. Jansen, that I know what I’m talking about.”

Maybe – but not who you are talking to.

Being baffled

Frank is away for two weeks. Two weeks of doing nearly nothing on a Spanish island. Unlike me when on vacation, Frank is able to completely suppress the urge to check work email or to wonder if all is running smoothly. I, on the other hand, check email several times a day when on holiday and, if there's nothing to wonder about, call the office just in case.

During Frank's absence I am left with the dubious task of keeping an eye on areas of the business that he normally runs in detail. In particular, property management will receive my ad hoc care and attention following the school of management that advises totally freedom of action until the slightest thing goes the little bittiest bit wrong and then coming down on the perpetrator like a lump of iron.

Frank has been away for a whole day - no incident worthy of note thus far. Having said that, Marijke is still having rental clients and owners sign contracts that have never been checked, and arranging check-ins where no monies have been received. I look at her, baffled (me not her) and she looks baffled back. I love that word - baffled.

It is even possible to explain more simply that we simply cannot pay lawyers four thousand Euros per month to settle claims based on inaccurate contracts? She looks baffled.

Way to much coffee drunk today. Must take it easy tomorrow.

Ginny is really gone

Ginny’s farewell drink was last night. It started orderly enough downstairs in a grotto - a throwback-bar that somehow beamed itself from 1977 to 2007. By the time I arrived at seven o’clock, the entire team were tanked and rolling. As the music volume increased, so did the difficulty of hearing the various speeches lauding Ginny while, in a parallel and brutally truthful way, pointing out that she was a one-off and “none of you other consultant losers will ever come close”.

A man dressed in black asked us to leave. We did, only to find ourselves in upstairs cocktail bar of the same establishment. The difference between downstairs and upstairs being the increased music volume, the availability of high-price and poor quality cocktails, and four tubby balding blokes dressed in white suits. Purple and pink lighting fuelled the expectation that a porn shoot was about to get underway.

Four hours and five hundred Euros worth of liquid later, I close the tab, settle up and the party is over (at least the party on company expense). Realising this, the entire crew make their collective way to a cheaper bar on the Noordemarkt.

Something horribly wrong happens with Brenda’s ability to steer and she and her bicycle clatter into a parked VW station wagon. I bail and make my way home.

Have you seen her?

We try our level best not to be slovenly, to look at detail, and treat our clients with care and consideration. Contrast this to the email received yesterday from one of our serviced apartments competitors:

• Dear Ideal Housing - last week one of our guests, a 95 year old wheelchair bound invalid from Omaha named Mrs. Ziegler, rolled herself out of one of our apartments and disappeared along with her 85 year old carer. The family is concerned for Mrs. Zielger's safety (nice, after a week's abscence) and remain concerned that she may not have gone of her own accord (they don't know where her will is). She is under medication (easier to influence) and her jewelry has also gone missing (read: the old biddy is a gold mine and is on the run). If you see her, please give us a call.

Jimmy is keeping his eyes peeled as his suspects that there is a considerable reward.

Kepeing my finger on the pulse

Away on vacation for a week in England. Tension is building. Not tension in that the vacation is too short or tension in that the weather is not just tippity-top, but more tension relating to not taking a peek at my work email when I know I can. Finally, I denial myself the denial of not logging in a taking a peek. As I trawl through the mail headers and read the details, I quickly conclude that the stream of trivia left behind on my departure, continues unabated in my absence. Mails about checking out keys properly, parking fines (the game is to fervently deny you were the offender and then meekly concede on the production of the police photo showing you driving at 140 KMH, naked, in a built up area), the whoever-has-finished-my-milk rant, and so it flows ever on. I swear we will bring the Internet to its knees with the weight of nothingness. Once more, I feel connected.

Off to pub tonight for warm beer.

The cost of it all

We are reviewing our cost structure. Surprisingly, early indications are that are costs are *not* too low. That's right. On the other hand, we've no definitive information to hand as our bookkeeper still needs to get all the numbers bashed into the accounting package from which financial reports are generated.

Frank is impatient. He demands - strong lanaugage indeed - that Hamid produce a profit-and-loss statement on the spot based on the data that has in fact been entered. Hamid diplomatically points out that such a report is totally without value until all the relevant data has been entered. Frank pulls rank, "I want it on my desk in five minutes."

Seven minutes later, Frank and I are alone in the conference room. Frank is greatly irked by the report that says we lost Euro 56K in February alone. "Maybe," I point out, "it's because all the costs have been entered into the accounting system but not all the revenues."

Frank won't be fooled with such remarks that are clearly intended to throw him off track. He leaves to investigate how we formally need to file for bankruptcy.

The day in brief

• Got up earlier than everyone else to buy muffins for weekly breakfast meeting.
• Muffins consumed in silence. No thanks. Crumbs left on floor.
• Last minute deal-sheets appear on my desk in the scramble to get commission this month (and not let it slide into next month).
• Strong talk with Jimmy as he revenue numbers suck loudly, he's been on holiday, he's sick on his return, he requested more holiday.
• Askance looks at bookkeeper.
• Bookkeeper looks askance back.
• Meet with Chuck to discuss real-estate brokerage arm of business.
• Chuck feels like he's being gypped.
• Reviews numbers. Feels less like he's being gypped (but cannot admit it).
• Marcus is editing a picture of bathroom - trying to remove the mold.
• More salary admin.
• Pay taxes to tax guys.
• More salary admin.
• Read 23 page purchase document in Dutch for property I want to buy (11.00 at night now).
• Crash.

Ants

The Dutch have this great term ‘miereneuker’ that is used to describe someone who unreasonably focuses on irrelevant details. The term is English is approximated to ‘a person who likes to have sexual relations with an ant.’

In my day-to-day muddling in everyone’s business at Ideal Housing – the prerogative of the Managing Partner –, I’m abstracted out of the hue-and-cry of negotiating prices, extra beds, the removal of lamps and the painting of scuffed walls and, in general, escape having to kowtow to mireneukers that are, in fact, our rental clients.

Yesterday evening something surprising and depressing occurred. My offer was accepted on the purchase of a monster apartment on a canal in the Jordaan. From that instant – the nanosecond between being a contender and winning the bid – I found myself transformed form a well-balanced, easy going and pleasant individual into a person who likes to have sexual relations with an ant. I’ve already called the seller fifty times asking if this or that is included, was that scratch on the wall when I last viewed the place, the gate seems creaky, the intercom crackles, there’s a leaf on the roof, it looks like rain and the temperature has dropped from warm to chilly.

The owner has this tone that yells ‘ant boy!’

I have a new understand that verges on sympathy for these insect-loving clients and have promised not to swear at them (at least not when they are within earshot).

Igenious, these scam people

The scan runs something like this:

• We get a booking from an 'intermediary' on behalf of their client.
• The 'intermediary' pays with the client's credit card information.
• The funds clear on our account for a three week stay in one of our apartments.
• At the last minute, the 'intermediary' contacts us saying his client has cancelled.
• We are requested to refund the payment not back to the credit card but to another bank account.
• The client never shows.

Concentrating hard

I worked at home today (management speak for 'skived off') in the hope that I could concentrate on my spreadsheet and remain out of sight and out of mind of the consultants that their inane claims on my time.

My hope was still born. As I was nowhere to be seen, their inane remarks and questions couldn't possibly wait, resulting in a series of calls to my cell phone.

Brenda: "Can I edit the contracts myself?"

Marijke:"Really? What? You mean someone has to
check the contracts and invoices before the get signed and money
paid?

Jimmy:"Am I disturbing...

Yes, very.

Jimmy: "... only I was wondering about my free days carried over from last
year."

Naturally, none of this can wait until I am back in the office.

The news in brief

One of our owners has rented his apartment to two female prostitutes from Thailand and has asked for an appendix to the rental agreement in which states that no ‘personal activities’ (aka brothel) may take place in his apartment. Right – like that’s really gonna ensure this won’t happen. “Come on… come back to my place. Oh no – I’ve just re-read the rental agreement and you’re not allowed to.”

One of our rental clients has attempted suicide by jumping from a third-floor balcony. The first we heard of this was when the owner called making a poor show of concern for the health of said individual, followed by a poor show of feigning disinterest in the probability of threat to his rental income stream.

Another of our rental clients – actually a large party – has tried to sneak in an extra 10 people into a group of apartments for which there is a price agreement on a per-person, per-night basis. The ‘sneak’ factor was weak (verging on pathetic) resulting in us spotting this feeble attempt at deception within five minutes. The upshot is that we can invoice for another Euro 14.500. Not a bad return for ‘seeing something obvious’.

This is the end of the news in brief.

Big bag of money

It gives me no pleasure at all to be right. In fact, there’s a certain pressure that is created from being the source of all human correctness. Sometimes I deliberately make mistakes so that others see I’m ‘just like them.’ For example, this morning I intentionally mis-added some large numbers that were to appear on an invoice in the certain knowledge that one of our better consultants would spot the mistake and pull me up on it. Instead, he immediately approved the calculation (that’s my job by the way), instructed finance to create the invoice (that’s my job by the way), asked the other managing partner – Frank – to give the payment a ‘go’ (also my job) in doing so insisted that all was just fine because I had added up the original figures. The client, on receiving an invoice for way too much calls us – fuming – like we’re total morons and all fingers point at me.

That the official last time that I play dumb. That’s right – official.

The circus guys are checking in tonight. That was the planning, at least. There is the minor issue however of them not having paid a penny of sixty-five thousand Euro. A big ol’ bag of loot. No problem, says the head circus guy (I have an image of him dressed as a clown) – we’ll bring the entire payment in cash. Hamid – our finance guy – has the challenging double task of counting the notes and not keeping any of them.

A great week...

... tired. Too many deals...sleeply.... sl...

Investors and impressions

The investors were back in this morning. I want to make an impression and it began with “Can I get anyone some coffee?” – I sound like Charlotte but the idea is to demonstrate that I’m a human being too. “Coffee” they parrot in unison like they’ve been practicing.

An impression was made but not the one intended. On opening the kitchen door that adjoins the conference room where the investors were all seated, I stumble over Brenda’s stout legs. The rest of her is slumped, out cold atop the counter. Drowsily, she raises her head – it’s swollen, it's beaten, it's got the pattern of her sweat-shirt sleeve embossed in her right cheek. A piece of croissant clings doggedly to her hair.

Klaas is livid and sends her home. It’s not that he has a problem with anyone pissing away an evening but it should have zero (ZERO) effect on performance the following day. In the States – apparently – this is a fireable offence.

"Didn’t you notice? You must have!" His palms are raised heavenwards.
"Er… Klaas… investors. Duh!" I stomp off for a detailed review of my junk mail.

Brenda manages a brief and unconvincing apology before taking herself off for the day. Sadly, she still tops the turnover league for April thus far.

Meetings

Meetings are getting longer and there are more of them. This morning we had our weekly 10.00 management team meeting that started promptly at 11.05. Frank is the reason that this meeting (and all others come to think of it) never starts on time. A start of two-hours after the scheduled kick-off is not uncommon. Why? A last phone call followed by a final email and capped with a very last email and one more email. The great thing about Frank is that he never, ever apologies for being late. He simply enters the gathering with supreme confidence causing those irritated by what, until that very moment, they believed to be the cause of the late start – namely Frank – to wonder weather they’ve really understood what is going on. Was it really a 10.00 start?

Anyway, at 11.05 we sat for the MT. At 11.06, we’re all in the kitchen fixing coffee. The coffee machine is partially broken and so no longer dispenses two cups at once. Just one cup at once which compounds irritation if you are the type prone to it. At 11.15 we’re seated once more and the door is closed. Charlotte pops her head around the door, “Coffee?”. Of course. 11.30 beckons.

Feeling smug that we’ve cobbled together a punchy little agenda by 11.40, we start with the first item – the august body known as the Rent Commission (Huurcommissie in Dutch) and another case that could have dire consequences for us and, if not dire, then at least very expensive. Frank runs through the highlights that seem to amount to an unfathomable series of lapses on our side and, frankly Frank, we deserve all we get. Me, Frank, Klaas and Marcus fall silent. So depressed are we by the prospect of sorting out this case (it resembles a pile of spaghetti dropped from a tall building onto a flock of flamingos coming into land) that we cannot think of anything – encouraging or not – to say about, well, anything. We sip brews in monastic contemplation. 12.05 – Charlotte brings more coffee. Finally, Marcus retrieves the offending deal’s dossier from the archive and takes a peek. Still a depressing tale of woe but less awful that feared and we cheer up a bit. No time for other agenda items. Meeting abandoned in favour of an early lunch.

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.