E Number 3: Treat Everyone with the Utmost Respect
As I’ve done over the past couple of weeks, I’m continuing with my blog series on the 4 E’s of Success: Effort, Expertise, Ethics, & Enthusiasm. So far, I’ve covered Effort and Expertise. We have now reached the third "E": Ethics. Maintaining ethical standards always will be the hallmark of your reputation. Sometimes you’ll falter, which is expected—as long as your vow to learn from your mistakes.
A few years ago, I was hosting an open house in Bel Air—one of the most prestigious neighborhoods in Los Angeles. The sellers listed the home for $12 million, and the opulent estate was worth every penny.
It was the end of the day, and I was preparing to take my signs down and draw the curtains shut. In the distance, I heard the rumble of a car. I looked out the picture window and saw a clunker that seemed more Beverly Hillbilly than Bel Air.
The car ambled its way around the circular driveway and the massive slab of metal stopped at the front door. Out stepped an elderly man and his companion, a small woman with a giant wig and a vinyl skirt that reflected the afternoon sun. The couple sauntered up the stairs, and I met them at the entrance.
“May I help you?” I asked, concerned that I wouldn’t be able to give them directions to the nearest swap meet.
“Yes. My girlfriend and I were driving through the neighborhood, and we stumbled onto your house. Can we have a look?” he asked.
I obliged, and they entered the foyer. “What are you looking for?” I asked, doubtful that I could help them, and annoyed that they had come so late in the day.
“Well, I just turned 80, and I’m looking to move into a new neighborhood. My girlfriend and I are planning to get married,” he said. He put his arm around the vinyl-clad woman and drew her near his body. “Doris is beautiful, isn’t she? You wouldn’t believe that she just turned 68.”
I nodded, wishing to cut the real estate meeting short to address more pressing matters, such as finding Doris a hairpiece that fit and a dress free from waterproof fabric. Besides, there was no way this couple could afford a $12 million home, I thought to myself.
I gave the two an abbreviated tour—one that reflected how I didn’t think they were serious buyers. Afterwards, they loaded themselves in the car and left in a cloud of blue smoke. I didn’t bother taking their contact information and neglected to provide them a business card.
Two weeks later, a young, newly licensed agent was elated to have landed a coup in his brief career. Michael explained the deal he had just closed. He was doing floor time when he took a call from an elderly man. Once he revealed more information about his buyer—his beat up car and his garishly dressed girlfriend—the connection was unmistakable. This was the man who appeared at my $12 million listing on that Saturday afternoon.
The elderly gentleman, whom I assumed couldn’t possibly afford to buy my seller’s Bel Air mansion, had spent his career as an accountant buying real estate and had just sold his collection of apartment buildings. The buyer ended up paying all cash for a $9 million home near the one where we met two weeks earlier. It was a humbling experience that I’ve never forgotten.
To avoid making the same mistake, insist on providing the same high-level of service to everyone. Who knows if the starving writer whom you assume is a waste of time will turn around and become the next executive producer of a hit show on TV or if the young woman you’re talking to will be promoted to CFO. You never know how the kindness you’ve extended toward the home’s housekeeper will benefit you later. Perhaps she’s a trusted member of the family, and her opinion of you will mean that a homeowner will select you as her agent. One more thought on ethics next week.
A few years ago, I was hosting an open house in Bel Air—one of the most prestigious neighborhoods in Los Angeles. The sellers listed the home for $12 million, and the opulent estate was worth every penny.
It was the end of the day, and I was preparing to take my signs down and draw the curtains shut. In the distance, I heard the rumble of a car. I looked out the picture window and saw a clunker that seemed more Beverly Hillbilly than Bel Air.
The car ambled its way around the circular driveway and the massive slab of metal stopped at the front door. Out stepped an elderly man and his companion, a small woman with a giant wig and a vinyl skirt that reflected the afternoon sun. The couple sauntered up the stairs, and I met them at the entrance.
“May I help you?” I asked, concerned that I wouldn’t be able to give them directions to the nearest swap meet.
“Yes. My girlfriend and I were driving through the neighborhood, and we stumbled onto your house. Can we have a look?” he asked.
I obliged, and they entered the foyer. “What are you looking for?” I asked, doubtful that I could help them, and annoyed that they had come so late in the day.
“Well, I just turned 80, and I’m looking to move into a new neighborhood. My girlfriend and I are planning to get married,” he said. He put his arm around the vinyl-clad woman and drew her near his body. “Doris is beautiful, isn’t she? You wouldn’t believe that she just turned 68.”
I nodded, wishing to cut the real estate meeting short to address more pressing matters, such as finding Doris a hairpiece that fit and a dress free from waterproof fabric. Besides, there was no way this couple could afford a $12 million home, I thought to myself.
I gave the two an abbreviated tour—one that reflected how I didn’t think they were serious buyers. Afterwards, they loaded themselves in the car and left in a cloud of blue smoke. I didn’t bother taking their contact information and neglected to provide them a business card.
Two weeks later, a young, newly licensed agent was elated to have landed a coup in his brief career. Michael explained the deal he had just closed. He was doing floor time when he took a call from an elderly man. Once he revealed more information about his buyer—his beat up car and his garishly dressed girlfriend—the connection was unmistakable. This was the man who appeared at my $12 million listing on that Saturday afternoon.
The elderly gentleman, whom I assumed couldn’t possibly afford to buy my seller’s Bel Air mansion, had spent his career as an accountant buying real estate and had just sold his collection of apartment buildings. The buyer ended up paying all cash for a $9 million home near the one where we met two weeks earlier. It was a humbling experience that I’ve never forgotten.
To avoid making the same mistake, insist on providing the same high-level of service to everyone. Who knows if the starving writer whom you assume is a waste of time will turn around and become the next executive producer of a hit show on TV or if the young woman you’re talking to will be promoted to CFO. You never know how the kindness you’ve extended toward the home’s housekeeper will benefit you later. Perhaps she’s a trusted member of the family, and her opinion of you will mean that a homeowner will select you as her agent. One more thought on ethics next week.
Labels: 4 E's of Real Estate, Ethics, lost deals, reputation
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posted by Myra Nourmand at
5:05 PM
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