Truth be told, I’m not a 92-year old or an MIT professor or even a member of the Septic Tank Repairmen Guild (all claims from previous blog entries). Actually, my name is Stan Chong and I’m a realtor from Vancouver, British Columbia and I’ve been merely hoping to demonstrate the lengths that we realtors take to “get inside your head” and the efforts made to understand you. Whenever I take on a new client I immediately begin a journal wherein I write from their point of view; I try to imagine what a Septic Tank Repairman thinks while going to the washroom for example. It’s called extensive empathy and it has helped me become one of the top realtors in Canada because it helps me help you. Over the past three months my clients have ranged from a 92 year old man, a (former)MIT professor and the head of the Western Canadian Septic Tank Repairmen Guild (WCSTR).  
    Sadly, my feelings sometimes get pushed to the side in this incessant drive to understand a client base of upwards to 100 people (those are a lot of journals to keep track of !) In short, I too am human with the requisite dose of thoughts and feelings and (unfortunately) the occasional nightmare. Here’s a narrative rendering of a dream that I had a couple nights ago. I think it will help others understand the heady world of Real Estate a little bit better and I will have rid myself of a strange dream.
    Enjoy !!

Realtor Says now is the Time to Invest

    He pressed his body tightly against the red door and craned his neck to look to his right and then left. Nothing. There were still only waves that seemed to be getting taller. He stretched his neck to look up and saw that some clouds had clustered together in the sky. The merging of three of the largest clouds reminded him of something. He squinted his eyes and traced the tip of the tongue memory made by the clouds’ outline. Suddenly, he remembered the scene of his wife driving over the hot dog vendor. He lowered his face against the sea-chilled door. He tried to take comfort in the image above even though they divorced five years ago. 
  A solitary sea-gull haloed the sky.
  He felt a knock on his cold, wet foot and he looked down to see a piece of driftwood, he paddled his right hand to turn himself around and bring it within reach. He breathed heavily while he tucked the driftwood between himself and the door. It hurt his shoulder a little.
   He heard a cry in the distance.
   “Hello,” he shouted back and another body pressed against a white door rose to the crest of a wave. “How are you doing today ?”
   “Okay,” the stranger said in a rush of relief. His clothes were soaked and frayed. He looked like a ratty old sponge.
   “Let me introduce myself. My name is Stan Chong.” He reached his hand out across a couple feet of bottomless sea. The stranger shook it. “So have you been in this neighborhood for long ?”
   The stranger shook his head. Water dripped from his long hair.
    “Kind of gets the same after a while doesn’t it ?”
     The stranger nodded.
     “You know with interest rates as low as they are, now might be the time to make that move.”
     The stranger’s eyes grew behind his wet mangle of bangs.
     “And I happen to be in possession of a beautiful heritage property.” He shimmied the driftwood out from his shoulder and poked it out at the man. “Feel that wood flooring.”
   The stranger held out his hand to touch rugged wood.
    “It’s open concept as you can see. Very trendy these days but I think with this property the trend is warranted. I mean look at this seafront view.”  Stan smiled and fished his tie out of the water. He felt for the pen and paperwork in his pockets.
    “I need a change,” the man whispered.
    “Of course you do,” Stan started calculating the financing.
    Within half an hour the man, who was a stranger no more, was floating off on his brand new piece of driftwood.
      Stan’s smile pressed up against the cold, red door.