Eye of The (Flu Shot) Needle? If you Can Find it!

Nowadays it’s ‘trendy’ to save money any way one can. For me, the sort of story I’m about to tell has been a way of life for years:

Talk about a flu shot scam. My work is offering it, but they’re not giving the shots until the first week of December, which is, IMHO, a little late. Especially considering that it takes about two weeks for the shot to be fully effective.

Next call? My doctor’s office. They claimed my insurance didn’t cover it. At first, I was going to just run downtown and let my doc give me the shot, for $25 cash. But then I started to get suspicious about what his staff told me about my insurance not covering the shot.

So I called the insurance company. Turns out they do indeed cover the shot. I asked them where I could get it because my reg doc had "opted" not to particpate. They seemed fluxxomed, put me on hold, then referred me to 311 to find locations for free or low cost flu shot clinics. They also told me I could go to the hospital. Uh, no thanks. I have nothing against the Health Dept or free clinics, but even my cheap ass is willing to pay a bit of money to not have to wait in a huge ass line, full of idiots and their screaming spawn, no doubt. Hey, I take the subway every day; I see those people enough as it is. And the ER seems a bit extreme of a place to go for a simple flu shot. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll not risk being traumatized by ER drama of bloodied, incoherent, ill people, or worse, getting in the way of the very people who need urgent care.

Next logical step in this illogical journey: Googling around to find some local clinics that might offer the shot for a discount. The first that local clinic on my call list acted all sketchy.

“Who is this?” they asked. “How did you get this number?” [The defensive tone struck me immediately]

“My name is ____ and I live nearby. I found this number on the Internet.”

“Well, we don’t offer those services here. You can go to the Department of Health. Call 311,” says the woman on the phone, in a very defensive and irritated tone.

“Can you please tell me if you guys still have that clinic over on Amsterdam Avenue?”

She tells me, “I can’t disclose that information.”

At this point, I got rude and hung up on her. I mean, WTF? Your number and address are listed online. So it’s not like your clinic is some big secret. I was just trying to figure out if the other clinic was still operating, so I asked you. Yet you can’t disclose whether or not a public clinic is still operating?

A friend later pointed out that I might have called a clinic serving victims of domestic violence, or AIDS, hence the suspicious tone they took with me. Umm, if that's the case, they'd do well to look into this really novel concept. It's call and UN-listed telephone number.

Frustrated, my next attempt involved about half an hour of trying to get ahold of a live human being inside one of the newish walk-up clinics inside Duane Reade. I simply wanted to ask them if they accepted insurance for their flu shots, or if they only took cash. The answer: Cash only. $30. Ok, at least I know one fast place to go as a last resort.

The matter was finally resolved by me taking a quick walk to a clinic near me that I remembered going to during my Columbia days. Back then, I got my flu shot for free. My thought: Even if it costs $$$ now, I felt fairly certain it wouldn’t cost $25 or $30.

Turns out I was right. But not before yet more runaround. The first woman I talked to at the front desk explained that the clinic, which was once run by the hospital, was now private. Yes, they did accept my insurance, she said, but in order to land a flu shot, I’d have to change my primary care physician to the doc who now practices there.

The Flu Shot Gods intervened at that point, and she was called away from her post. I asked her colleague, “Can’t I just get the shot here and pay you guys whatever you charge for it without changing my doctor and having to go through my insurance?”

This woman (finally!) was on point, and she said that for a $10 fee, I could indeed get the shot without involving my insurance or changing my primary care doc. So that’s exactly what I did.

Bring on nationalized health care. Now.

What Goes Around Comes Around

Yes, I've been quiet lately. This has allowed several tidbits of info to build up:

I have actually been working on getting out of the real estate business since late 2006, and the break is definitely official now. I am building a career in another, hopefully better industry. As a result, my mental health seems to have stabilized, despite the fact that my income hasn't (yet).

However, sometimes morbid curiosity gets the better of me I dig around online to see who is hiring. It seems that my old firm (the one I worked in in property management, complete with the nutty boss), is hiring. Again. They have such turnover issues there. I wonder why? <----- Insert sarcastic tone of voice here.

That Evil Boss and I actually ran into one another on the street a few weeks ago. It was quite the shock to my system, and lots of icky feelings came back in that instant that we spotted one another on Broadway. We waved at each other and pretended to be really into our cell phones. Whew, crisis averted!

Horrid ex-bosses aside, I'm particularly glad I'm not in RE right now, because of the inevitable migration of jerk-off finance industry types into the business. I know some bankers, stock brokers, etc, and they're generally pretty cool. However, real estate seems to attract a certain population of assholes, and I have no doubt that many of that finance types who also happen to be raging, Gordon Gekko wannabe assholes have already made their way into real estate. Bleh!

While we're on the topic of comings and goings: The firm that gave me the boot has shown yet another employee the door. This particular employee was a trouble-maker martyr type and a Kisser of Bosses' Asses to the nth degree. Still, I feel for the people who are still there. Their workload has practically doubled over the past few months, thanks to the management's inability to get a grip on the firm's structure. Soon, that place will no longer be a boutique, but a shoestring operation. What's next, them moving into a cardboard box and calling it an office?

While those particular bosses weren't inherently evil, they obviously aren't very good at managing their employees and all of the attendant HR issues. Incidentally, the person who got the boot was someone who I feel fairly certain said things behind my back to "encourage" the bosses to let me go first. We all know that what goes around comes around, and hearing that this person got fired made me want to don a lederhosen (see pic above) and do my little Knee Slapping Happy Dance of Glee.

Couple more tidbits: A former co-worker of mine from my earliest days in real estate tried, in vain, to bring me back into the industry. While money is money and I am generally willing to listen to potential job offers, I felt strongly that it's better for me to continue moving forward, not back.

Which is why I almost laughed out loud when I got a call from that horrible recruiter who found normal resume gaps (i.e., post college and post-grad school) to be so offensive to her rigid sensibilities. She'd no doubt be horrified that I've accumulated yet another resume gap, and am now working in a different industry entirely. She'd have a conniption if she knew I dared take some time off, traveled to another country for a spell, and generally enjoyed life free of office politics bullshit.

Yes, there is life outside of cubicle land, and I'm living it again now. Someone else can have the last word. I'll take having the last laugh any day.

I Swear I Said this Before/So Much for the American Dream

A few years back, during the real estate boom, I remember wondering aloud how all of a sudden anyone with a pulse (and perhaps some without one) could get a mortgage. Like my dog (if I had one), could have qualified back then. It didn't seem right at the time, and now we're finding out exactly how wrong and illusory it all was.

I'm no economic expert, but it seems that it's past time for millions of people to start re-thinking the American Dream. What the hell is that supposed to be, anyway? People in the real estate industry would like you to think it's owning your own home. I have news for you, folks. Until the last note one your house has cleared, the bank owns it, and probably not even the same bank you financed it with in the first place.

I read a horrifying story in the paper the other day of a man who'd "owned" his home for close to 20 years. Never missed a payment. Then he ran into a rough patch financially, got a shady, adjustable rate re-fi, and ultimately lost the home to foreclosure.

American Dream? Or American Nightmare? Which is it?

Seeing a Different Side of Someone

So remember that landlord I blogged about a few weeks back? The Venter?

Well, let's make a long story short and say he and I are no longer working together. He initiated it. I was mostly relieved, except for the fact that I didn't just pull the plug myself. Kind of like any bad breakup that both parties know is inevitable.

It's funny. We did a lot of deals together over several years. We both made a good amount of money. Yet when things suddenly took a natural turn for the worse (thank this tanking economy and other factors beyond my control, or his control, for that matter), he became so utterly nasty towards me. It was as if every good piece of work we'd put together over the years meant nothing.

And I guess maybe it did mean nothing to him. The whole "You're only as good as your last deal" philosophy.

Right now I'm still a bit hurt, and think he's acted like a real jerk, and unrealistic to boot. I wish him good luck on renting out those over-priced, unrenovated spaces. Bleh!

Maybe someday I'll be able to look back and fondly remember the good times. I'm both happy that this is finally over, and yet very sad that I had to see that other side of him. He showed me a very different face. One I wish I'd never seen.

The Karma Wheel

It is one thing to say you're a big believer in karma, and quite another to act as if.

There was a little karmic test put to me a few days ago, and from what I can tell, I passed.

A long-time business associate offered me a listing, but wanted me to cut out my brokerage and pocket the entire commission myself. Well, the what was left of the commission after Business Associate took a generous kickback/finder's fee.

As tempting as it was, all I could think was how, unlike some of my past day job employers, this brokerage had generally treated me fairly. My stomach turned when contemplating how I'd feel if in their shoes and being screwed over by a trusted agent, and how what goes around truly comes around. Just thinking about it was stressful. In situations like this, I do my best to trust my instincts, and my instinct said "No" quite loudly. Problem solved.

So I turned down the opportunity, knowing that hundreds of other brokers would jump at such a chance. They'd see it as a "break" in their careers or as easy money. I don't see things that way. Maybe that's why I'm not climbing some corporate ladder, or why the job of cutthroat CEO isn't in my future. I don't really care. To sleep at night in peace means a lot more to me than some shady deal.

Buy Karma Police stickers here: http://www.goodkarmafactory.com

When Someone is Resentful of the Money You Make

Okay, loss of dayjob aside, I still do real estate work, representing some properties and clients. This entire week one of the landlords I work with has been in the foulest of moods. This person is occasionally prone to tempermental outbursts, but generally comes around to logic once he's done venting. This week it's entirely different. He's decided to stay angry, and there's little I can do but allow him to vent at me. Which, as you can imagine, is tons of fun. Yelling, fussing, cajoling, lecturing and hectoring. Nasty and/or terse emails. Rambling voicemails. I just adore this.

It's a trickle down thing. For various reasons, the owner of the building has put restrictions on the properties, which The Venter must enforce. Those restrictions trickle down to me, the broker, and hinder my ability to close a deal as quickly as they want. Those restrictions sometimes turn off other brokers and clients. And of course, I promptly get blamed for any and all lack of deals on the properties, even though the restrictions the others have set up have a lot to do with us not getting deals done in the first place. Follow?

Add to the mix the overall softening of the economy and the not-so-great condition of the properties, and the fact that they are currently over-priced, and you have a recipe for threats like the following:

"Well, if all you're going to do to market the property is XYZ, then what the hell do I need you for? It's like I'm paying you guys to do nothing."

Which is, of course, utter bullshit. We are following the same procedures we've always followed in marketing these properties and also trying new angles, but unfortunately things aren't moving as quickly now as in the past. Which leads the Venter to panic and take it out on me.

Every commission we make, we EARN, dammit. I don't appreciate someone alluding to my work and commissions earned as lacking value or worse, bordering on theft. Screw that! For every deal we close, I'd bet my last dime that there have been five to ten that didn't work out. So even if a given deal appears "easy," in the overall scheme of things, it wasn't as easy as anyone thinks.

That's the thing. Brokers can make decent money, and sometimes other parties get resentful of it. Examples: Attorneys at closings. Landlords paying out commercial commissions. Sellers paying out commissions. Renters forking over broker's fees. Sometimes it appears to them that we did little to earn a lot.

The Venter seems to have calmed down for now, but if it comes down to it, I'm ready to fire him. After all, brokers are a dime a dozen, and he thinks he has me by the balls because of that simple fact. He thinks that just because he can take my company off of the listing at any moment, he can push me around. But that's not entirely true. With all the crap I've been through in my work life these past few years, walking away from people who treat me badly has become comically easy.

Further, I will not allow anyone to give the money I earn fairly and squarely any sort of evil eye/juju/bad vibes. It'd be different (and warranted) if I were some sort of thief or scam artist. That not being the case, then anyone who resents my money can put a sock in their piehole.

A Broker's Life: Pros and Cons

I've been thinking a lot about work. The nature of work, the sacrifices and tradeoffs. I refuse to be defined by my job, and perhaps that's been my professional downfall. I just think that I am so much more than simply That Broker or That Writer or more generically, That Worker.

Indeed, That Broker's just a very small part of who I am in my entirety, and maybe that's the issue. It's my flippin' job, not ME. I'm just not one of those people who eats, sleeps, breathes, dreams, and lives real estate. Trust me, I tried that for about two years, and I began to really hate the woman that little experiment was turning me into. Underweight, overworked, physically weak, angry as hell, and with irritated skin from the constant stress. Not a pretty picture, on any level. So I stopped "brokering," and attempted to find a middle ground. The plan was to trade some of the freedoms and pains of being a broker for the stability and drudgery of a more office-based job--one that still drew on my real estate skills and knowledge.

This work scenario reminded me of how much a company gets to tell its workers, on some level, who they are for those hours they are there on the job each day, and to some extent, who they are outside of the job. I mean, Eliot Spitzer clearly liked sex with hookers in his spare time, but the State of New York begged to differ. Eliot aside, those hours add up to years of our lives, yet outside of independent wealth or abject poverty, what choices do we have? Of course, one could start one's own company and set the tone, culture, but that's a whole different discussion. . .one I haven't the energy for at the moment.

So since I'm feeling contemplative but perhaps a bit de-motivated, it's not a bad idea to reflect back on the pros and cons of my broker life.

As a broker, the pros were:

1. Almost complete control over my schedule. If I didn't want to show a place before, say 10 a.m., I didn't have to. Hitting the gym at 3 p.m. in the afternoon? Check. A long lunch every now and then without fear of retribution? Doable.

2. Being able to run around town during the work day and feel a part of things, rather than sitting on my ass in an office, feeling cut off from life until the clock rolled to the quitting hour. Office work really drained me in ways I never expected--the above chief among them.

3. My firm was very liberal on dress code. I got to wear pretty much whatever I could get by with. Of course, some firms have a very corporate dress code, but not mine.

4. The feeling that I could be more of myself on the job. Over the years, I met so many brokers from so many different areas of life. As a broker, you kinda feel like you can be who you are, yet still work in a professional capacity. Most brokers I know had or have thriving careers in other fields. They're not one-dimensional, in other words.

5. Want a long vacation? Just get your business covered and no one can tell you no. I never had to ask permission to go away on a trip, put in for vacay time...none of that nonsense. I simply made sure my listings and clients were being taken care of, usually by a trustworthy colleague, and went. (Cue fond memories of a week on the West Coast during August one summer). . .

The cons, however, were many:

1. People expect you to work every day and be constantly available, even when "off" duty. In fact, Off Duty status for brokers doesn't seem to exist in most people's minds. Bosses would have to hold their tongues if you went away for a week or three, but they'd bitch and moan, cajole and threaten if you consistently took off even one day a week. Or even appeared to do so.

2. Other brokers. Sure, I met some cool ones along the way, but I also met many annoying, boundary-less, mouth-breathing, clueless jerks. And pushy? I can talk to you about PUSHY. And about obnoxious, too. Ugh!!!

3. Unstable income and overall economic instability. Those long vacations weren't so doable when my rent from one month to the next was constantly in question. And it often was.

4. The running around...in general I enjoyed the active part of the job, but sometimes people would run you around town and simply waste your time. That used to piss me off...the inordinate amount of wasted time. I'd do what I could to minimize it, but often in vain.

5. People thinking you're rich. . .when you're not.

6. Taxes.

7. There are NO easy deals and you practically bleed for every paycheck. This is something I didn't want to believe initially, but I was proven wrong time and again.

8. Annoying clients. And their kids. And dogs. And. . .

9. My favorite: getting screwed over. Happened weekly. Sometimes daily. You really see people at their best and worst moments when it comes to real estate transactions.

So clearly, a mixed bag. In all honesty, I might still be pursuing the full-time broker avenue if I felt it could ultimately pay off. For whatever reason, it didn't for me. So I went the "day job" route and eventually got canned--that and other negatives were perhaps signs that I'm really not cut out to work for someone, at least not in a traditional office setting. The entrepreneurial aspects of being a broker were enjoyable and suited me in many ways, but the instability rattled me. The drudgery, politics, and controlling nature of office life were soul-sucking, but that steady, almost healthy paycheck was very nice indeed.

What to make of all of this? Now that I'm back to square numero uno, trying to put it all together and am finally able to think of it all objectively, I do find it oddly freeing.

My Forced Sabbatical

Well, I spoke too soon, folks. Seems I've been put out on a forced sabbatical. That's my PR/election year spin way of saying I got canned! Man, here I was thinking I was working for people who were more direct, more honest, and less sneaky. Just because they seemed nicer on the surface doesn't mean it's true in all arenas or that they can own up to miscalculations and market downturns. Silly me for believing what I wanted to believe.

Basically I was downsized out of the job. Up until that moment/meeting, they'd never once give me any indicator that my performance and attitude were anything less than great. Since this wasn't a commission based job (not entirely, at least), the recent spate of (over) hiring they did must have been hitting them harder in the pocketbook than they'd anticipated. Recent market downturn and all of that. The proverbial elephant in the room.

Of course, they couldn't/wouldn't own up to this. Not one iota. They attacked my performance (for nit-picky and easily fixable mistakes that they had no intention of allowing me to correct). They also said that it seemed a matter of "fit." As in "you don't fit with this company." That was news to me and all of my co-workers, who were quite shocked (not just pretend shock--it was real) at the firing and are now understandably nervous about their own jobs.

I understand that the bosses didn't want to ring the bell of "downsizing," but instead, their handling of the situation kicked up another kind of fear/morale dip in their staff. Not that I'm around for the fallout--obviously. But my sources are well-placed, of course.

Now for the first time in my working life, I'm drawing unemployment. (Something working only on commission never allowed me to do. So this is actually pretty cool in its own twisted way).

Instead of jumping into the first job opp that comes my way, I'm taking my time to regroup and strategize. Oh, and yes, to travel and just enjoy life for a spell. Luckily my overhead is low by NYC standards, so I won't go under financially (fingers crossed and Lord willing!)

Am I thinking of finally kicking real estate to the curb? (At least professionally, because I'd prefer to have a real, not cardboard, roof over my head)? Yes, I actually am seriously considering leaving this biz. I'd keep my license and prob do a few small deals on the side, but I don't know if I can handle having my bread buttered with such a sharp and volatile knife ever again.

Spring Cleaning

Whew, it's been a busy month. I've been occupied with stimulating things like closet cleanings, a spring cold, and oh, yes, work in a slightly different sector of the industry.

So far it seems I've made the right move, but it has taken a bit of getting used to.

Getting used to not getting yelled at and reprimanded day after day.

Getting used to not having to approach my work from a defensive stance.

Getting used to leaders who are more direct about any projects and tasks, instead of expecting their team to read their minds.

Yes, an overall positive move, but one that I still can't quite believe is real. Being used to the stereotypical jerks in this business, I'm always pleasantly surprised when I meet real estate types who flout that cliche. They do exist. Amazing.

Of course, being real estate and being New York City, even the best run firms often do business with firms and agents who are sketchy. That always provides plenty of drama no matter how pleasant one's own office environment might be. Don't worry, I'll continue taking notes.

Oh, and I'm still waiting for a commission check from a long-closed deal. If it doesn't materialize this week, I'll have some choice words for the person in charge of doling out checks. Bank on that.

Yes, I Get it, Dammit!

Dear Boss,

Yes, I understand now that I fucked up. You have made it incredibly clear to me. For this I thank you. At least you are being direct, and not a passive aggressive shit. You're miles ahead of most people in that regard.

Where we need to work is the part where you keep reiterating what I did wrong and how disappointed you are in me.

Boss: You air your concerns and take me to task. You reprimand. You express your emotional distress.

Me: I apologize and let you know what was going on in my mind that led to the mistake/miscalculation. I emphasize that it won't happen again.

Boss: "Yes, but. . ." [Wherein you repeat everything you said the first time.]

Me: I again reiterate that I very much regret the mistake, and again reassure you that it won't happen again. At this point, I drop any attempt at explaining myself, lest it come across as defensive (which it might have already, but it's too late now).

Boss: "Well, I just want you to understand that. . ." [Wherein you, the Boss, continues repeating the grievances.]

Me: [Silence, but nodding. Inside my mind, I'm losing my patience and looking for a way out of this tedious conversation]. Using all of my willpower not to shout at you, "Yes, I GET it!!! I fucking get it!!! I screwed up, you're upset. Hell, I'm upset. Do you think I enjoy making mistakes? Do you think I relish being reprimanded? But we've repaired the damage and I can't keep groveling and reassuring you any longer. At this point, you have to leggo your ego and attempt to trust that I'll make things right and not make the same mistake again. I can't let go of it for you! For fuck's sake!!!!"

Boss: [Embarrassed at having gotten so emotional and looking for a way to look tough again]: Okay, well I'm glad we got this cleared up. Get me the Sullivan File ready by the end of the day.

Me: Of course. I'm glad we talked this over. Thank you.

Please be advised that all records of this incident will be kept in your Personal/Personnel File, Boss. You know, that file in my mind that I keep...the one that helps me decide when I'm done with you and when you must be fired/systematically removed from my life.

Sincerely,

Your Loyal Employee

I Resolve. . .

I resolve to turn over the proverbial new leaf, and that from here on out, I'll be the most perfect little worker bee possible. Or at least try. I'll drop the attitude, or do a better job of keeping it to myself. I'll practice my poker face and keep my snide comments to myself, or on this blog only. And while we're on cliches, I won't say anything at all unless it's something nice. Or something like that.

Can you tell that sometimes I really hate work and find it hard to just roll with the politics, policies, and the petty bullshit? But like most people who lack independent wealth, I need the money. Not so much so that I can "consume more," but in order to survive in the now and build towards future goals.

Trust me, my life isn't very lavish, or even very adventurous. I don't blow my money on shoes and designer clothing like a lot of young people I know. Most of my shirts cost under $20, for example. I enjoy dining out, but I mainly cook at home and rarely go to pricey restaurants when dining out. Expensive entertainment is a rare luxury in my world, which is fine by me. Books and DVDs or dinner parties with friends are more than enough to keep me happy and entertained. On the travel front, I honestly can't remember the last time I had a proper vacation or a fun road trip, not just a blessedly long weekend or a few days off to take care of personal business.

And guess what? Even those days off my employers begrudged me. They made sure to treat me to frequent phone calls and emails. One employer, upon my announcing my resignation, wanted to keep me well beyond the standard "two weeks' notice" period. And the next employer in line wanted an earlier start date. Had I not stood up for myself, I'd have had my last day at Job A on a Friday, and my first day at Job B the following Monday.

What's wrong with that, some of you might ask? A helluva lot, in my humble opinion. I am not so bound to money and routine that not having "someplace to go" every day for a couple of weeks would rock my world. It'd be a welcome relief, frankly. A person needs time off to decompress, re-organize, and sometimes to simply BE. Yes, our employers need people who can be counted on, but people with good track records should be given the benefit of the doubt. We should not have to apologize for this or explain it away.

Having a job sort of precludes having a life, it sometimes seems.

And yes, I do find myself asking, "Is that all there is to life?"

It can't be. I can't accept that. Thank goodness I at least live in a fun and interesting city.

And yet. . .the times when I had actual time to go to farflung places and do things, I didn't because, well, frankly the money was lacking. The eternal conundrum: plenty of time, but not enough money, or enough money, but no time.

Now that I make okay money but am still somewhat pressed for time due to seniority issues at work, my only hope is to really save money, and to take trips in between jobs. As for the saying, "It's easier to find a job when you have a job," well, I do believe that to some degree. But I also believe that I can do consulting in between gigs so that I on paper, I'm continuously employed.

Oh, and starting my own business isn't really an option at this point. I see most people who have their own businesses working MORE...my goal should be clear by this point. . .to work LESS but not be broke. Hell, I'd work 20 hours per week if I could get by with it and still make comparable money. Note to self: research this possibility.

Spotting A Nutjob Boss

First impressions matter. There's no doubt about that. But what if your first impression turns out to be wrong? If you're on a date, it could result in a tedious evening and funny/mortifying stories to tell your friends when you get home. Or, on the extreme side, it could end with assault or worse. The nice guy or girl turns out to be a dangerous psycho. Get out alive while you can!

So what happens when that apparently kind, personable, and seemingly fair potential boss becomes your real boss and turns out to be the opposite of who you thought he or she was? At least after a bad date, you don't necessarily have to wake up next to that person, much less ever see them again.

But an unhinged boss is a person you must deal with at least five days a week. Seeing them first thing in the morning is almost as bad as waking up next to them. And if you happen to wake up next to your unhinged boss some morning, then you have problems that are well beyond the scope of this blog.

I once considered myself a good judge of character--a person with fairly solid instincts. Like most people, I've been duped a couple of times. In the work realm, I've been mostly right but sometimes wrong about bosses. For every wrong, there was indeed hell to pay.

This one boss seemed perfectly fine. Balanced, even. I'd go so far as to say that I honestly thought this person was nice and looked forward to working at that company.

Time soon told a different tale. This person had a chaotic, frantic quality sometimes seen in mental hospitals. The whole office was run in fear and anticipation of the next meltdown. We could actually get real work done when the boss wasn't around, as opposed to when the boss was there, constantly whining and interrupting. Oh, and the ethics of the honcho were questionable to say the least.

That's all bad enough (and there was much, much more, a lot of which I've blocked out). But what was worse was the way this all made me doubt myself. (Co-workers privately confessed to feeling the same way). We all thought that we must be crazy if we hadn't somehow picked up on this nuttiness from the get-go. That's the danger "getting to know" someone on an interview.

Those masochistic veterans who'd been around for years took it all in stride, as if it were somehow normal. Watching us new people react must have been entertaining and kinda sad for them.

That's the thing about crazy people. They draw you in, and soon you're questioning your own sanity and ability to judge character. Since that work experience, I've become much more skeptical about people in general, particularly those I might one day be required to work with--or more importantly, work for. In my next job, mark my words, I will know, dammit-- via the grapevine or other inside information whether-- or not there are nutty people in the office.

And yes, I know this all goes both ways. We've all worked with or known someone who has worked with a crazy co-worker. It must suck to be the supervisor in a situation like that. But at least in that scenario the person in charge can exert their power, and if not fire, then at least make life difficult for the nutty employee.

None of this helps, of course, when the boss is the nutjob who is convinced that everyone else has some sort of a problem.

Like a friend of mine used to say--"Look at the situation and ask yourself what's the common denominator. If it's you, then maybe you've got to change."

Nutty bosses rarely venture to query themselves in this way, and if they do, I'd bet money that they don't see themselves as problematic.

Quick Hello

Have been under the weather for the past few days, and as real estate in the city sometimes makes me sick, I've avoided thinking about it as much as possible to avoid feeling worse. Will be back later this week to post on work woes and other topics, including the reality of moving in together too soon and the hassle and hells of crazy roommates. Stay tuned.

A Cruel Chess Game

Sometimes we all overhear things that really disturb us. Recently, I overheard an upsetting conversation at a building owner's office.

Employee to Landlord: "Mrs. Smith called. She wants to see if you can freeze
her rent--not decrease it, but she just wants it frozen for the next year. Her
husband died recently and she's having trouble making it on the money the
government gives her from his benefits."

Without a moment's
hesitation, the landlord says, "No way. Forget it. If she wants a cheaper
rent she can move to another apartment in one of our buildings."

In my head, I was picturing Mrs. Smith as a feeble old lady, one who had lived in her rent controlled apartment for decades and still has a kitchen that was considered cutting edge--in the 1950s. Later on, I found out that Mrs. Smith's rent was not cheap, at least not in non-investment banker terms. The rent's just under $2000 a month for a market rate apartment.

Hell, I couldn't swing that, and neither could most of my friends, even those with decent jobs. That's why most of us either shack up or have roommates. The reality is that almost none of the other apartments Mrs. Smith might consider are any cheaper than where she lives now. So she either stays where she is and endures a rent increase she can't really afford, or endures the stressful undertaking (and cost) of a move.

Rather than allow this woman to coast along at the same rent as she paid up until now, this greedy landlord expect a recently widowed, possibly broken hearted and perhaps financially broke woman to pick up her life and move. To leave the apartment she shared with her husband and that she has called home for years, all so the landlord could re-rent the place for a couple hundred bucks more a month.

What complete and utter nonsense. What cruelty. And instead of taking what I felt was a reasonable request in stride, the landlord went on to complain about how rent control should be abolished--to twist things around and play the victim. As if somehow the landlord were the innocent victim of the system. As if somehow that would make a penny's worth of difference. Rent control or no, some landlords would take every opportunity to raise the rent of anyone, even a mouse in the basement if doing so were a viable option.

In other (hypothetical) words, rent control should be abolished so greedy landlords can charge top dollar for shithole apartments in shoddily-maintained buildings laden with violations? A few rent controlled and stabilized units might indeed drag down the bottom line a bit, but the outrageous prices so many owners charge--and get--for the market rate apartments should balance things out. If not, clearly the landlord is not managing the properties properly.

If a landlord is so obsessed with lining pockets with cash, then perhaps they should hire one of the i-bankers they love to rent to to manage their stock portfolios. Stop getting rich off the backs of others. (I know, I'm delusional and dreaming.)

This my friends, is a ground level story about why New York is losing one of its most vital resources--interesting people. In the name of greed, eventually no one but the i-bankers will be able to afford to live here. The artists, the avant-garde, and the just plain weirdos who keep our city alive and real will move on. Some say they already have.

Full disclosure: I've done deals, and gotten paid commissions from my fair share of lawyers, doctors, and finance types. But I've also busted ass to land rent-stabilized places for artists, helped many students find the last affordable and viable apartments in Manhattan, and generally gone to bat for dozens of clients to get them into decent and affordable apartments.

So yes, new people with fresh hopes and creative leanings continue moving to NYC all the time. Lots of people still believe in the idea of bohemian, artist-friendly New York. I like to think we still have a few good years left, but when I see cold, heartless maneuvers like the above, my doubts kick in, and the good days seem numbered. I see red. I see a game of chess where winning moves are incredibly unkind, short-sighted, and cruel.

Disconnected

Long story short, my cell phone is broken beyond repair. It's a weird feeling, being this disconnected. It kinda spooked me initially, knowing that I can't call for help if anything bad happens. Nor can anyone reach me. Good thing I had nothing but a whole lot of nothing planned for this weekend. Otherwise I'd be SOL.

I'm in the process of using my wireless world connections to get a deal on a new (or new to me) phone. Adding to the disconnectedness, my land line, or at least the phone unit at home, croaked earlier this week. (Yes, I keep a landline. Perhaps that makes me seem impossibly old school and dated. Bear in mind: I was here in NY during 9-11, and phone service was erratic on both land lines and cells. I feel a smidge safer having a house phone.)

Seriously, only a select few people have my house phone number; I don't give it out; and I only use it when the cell is down or off because I can't stand the incessant ringing (really, vibing), anymore. In light of that, I'm quite fed up with paying around $50 a month for a house phone that's used more as a psychological safety net than anything else. So around 4 a.m. this morning, I ran across an infomercial for this: the Magic Jack.

It sounds almost too good to be true. The consumer reviews are somewhat mixed, but it seems that for light use, such as what I'd intend it for, it would be adequate. It hooks right into the DSL/high speed internet connection. If anyone has any thoughts on or experiences with this Jack thing, drop me a line or leave a comment.

In other news, I've added Google Analytics to this blog to help me track traffic, who is reading it, etc. A friend of mine tipped me off to it. We'll see if tech-challenged me can figure it out once it's gathered it's first round of data.

Gone in 60 Seconds

Like an unrepentent romantic who keeps hoping a wayward lover will be true one day, every broker lives with the never-ending hope that despite the usual pains and pangs of deal-making, there is easy money to be made in this business.

That hope gets dashed on a weekly basis, if not more often. Case in point: I have a space that came onto the market recently. I got the keys and the very next day got a great offer from the first person who saw it. What's more, the normally cautious landlord adored the clients, even saying, "I liked them so much I would've spent the rest of the afternoon talking with them. But I had another appointment."

That sort of gushing rarely happens with this landlord. It was all brilliantly painless and easy. The kind of easy when you almost feel guilty for cashing the commission check.

Just a few bits of paperwork, a quick credit check, and we would be all set to sign leases. Except the clients began dragging their feet regarding the paperwork and running the credit. I warned them that the landlord would think that they were losing interest. Since we both knew they were still very much interested (right?)--they should work to seal the deal pronto.

I remember feeling a twinge of worry at that point, but I brushed it aside.

I shouldn't have. They backed out the next day, saying that the space would cost them too much.

The landlord was so disappointed in the idea of losing them, and our deal, that he immediately knocked the rent down by several hundred dollars. I'm still waiting to hear back from the clients. Far from feeling elated, I'm feeling more resigned at this point. Frankly, I'll be surprised if this all works out.

There are no easy deals. That idealistic, optimistic part of me still wants to believe in easy money, even though obviously we should all know better by now.

Junk Food For Dinner (A Boring Health-Related Post)

I've been feeling so overwhelmed lately. Work is exhausting yet often tedious, and I am not hitting the gym as much as I should be. To help make up for my backsliding, I end up walking home from work most days and running errands on foot. Or, like one of my friends says, "putting the ol' 'get off the subway a few stops early' weight-control plan into place."

If I were living this way (long stretches of being seated, not going to the gym enough, and eating junk food for dinner), in any other city in the United States, with the possibly hilly exception of San Francisco, I'd be a cow. Luckily, one can stay in reasonably good shape in New York just by walking a lot, carrying groceries home, taking the stairs, etc.

So the occassional slice of chocolate cake for dinner won't ruin things, at least not just yet. Good thing, because I just had a very fugdey brownie from Blockhead's for dinner.

That Plantation Mentality, Part 1

POLITICALLY CORRECT DISCLAIMER:

The following is in no way intended to make light of the very real plight of those who have ancestors who toiled on plantations, or heaven forbid, those who still toil in extreme conditions to this day. My intent here is to show how the Plantation Mentality finds more seemingly benign ways to manifest itself in our modern society, and to show that the mentality is alive and well today, even if not carried out as often in its most extreme and dehumanizing forms.

/END POLITICALLY CORRECT DISCLAIMER.


It's come to my thoughts lately that my actual job isn't so horrid. Sure, like any job, there are duties I find tedious, clients who annoy, and days from hell. But the actual work itself has taught me plenty, and most of my co-workers, with a few exceptions (all in upper, upper management), are hard working and personable.

However, I think the real kicker for me is the "service with a smile" nonsense. Don't get me wrong--I think one should strive to be pleasant enough on the job and not throw a lot of attitude around. Attitude on the job remimds me of anchovies on the plate--both should be used sparingly and infrequently lest others get offended and/or stop taking you seriously. And yes, I do admit that I have tried very hard to keep my attitude in check and to only use it when absolutely necessary. Even so, it does slip out every now and then, in much the same way a wayward anchovy might make its way onto some poor sap's unsuspecting Caesar salad. A girl like me can't help it (the attitude, not the anchovies. I assure you I am adept at anchovy avoidance and sick of the metaphor already), especially in a disorganized and chaotic business like the one we work in.

All of that aside, Management seems to feel that we employees should be throwing ourselves at their feet and writhing in ecstasy every time they make a stupid request. Yes, I said stupid. Asking the same thing twenty times, all the while knowing not a damn thing has changed, certainly does qualify as stupid in my book. Failure to answer with anything other that saccharine cheer-itude is met with passive aggressive behind the scenes maneuvering and whines that "So and So doesn't liiiikkkkeeee meeeee. Whyyyyyy??? I must punish her, then!"

Management is sneaky, too. They know just what lines not to cross with their employees, but they come dangerously close. One example: one manager is always hitching a ride with one or another of the contractors. So the poor contractors will have their vans parked outside like limos, sometimes for half an hour or more while the Plantation Owner talks on the phone, yells at the workers, and then finally gathers their shit and leaves. All the while, the Plantation Owners act as if the contractor doesn't have anything better to do other than to serve as a cab because the Plantation Owner is too damn cheap to just hail an actual cab in the first place. (One can take for granted that the Plantation Owners could well afford the cabs. Hell, they could buy a fleet of cabs and still come out ahead).

I'm sure the Plantation Owners think themselves quite the forces of nature. "Wow, just one second in my presence and the entire room goes silent," they think. "It must mean I'm powerful and charismatic. Geez, I'm really good at this stuff! People are awed into silence."

Not really, Bub. You're just despised and not trusted as far as any of us could toss you-- if any of us were so lucky to get the chance to do so. As for awed, believe me, we areconsistently awed at how you handle things. Your erratic, greedy, and inefficient decision making process is truly one of the only things that can silence a room full of people who know better. In that sense, you and your ilk are truly breathtaking.

RSS Feed Up and Running

I'm so not a technical person. People like me keep entire companies like Geek Squad in business. So when a friend mentioned that I should hook up this blog to an RSS feed I was like , "KRS One hasn't made a record since last year, right?"

Here's an RSS explanation--it's not too geeky. Even I (mostly) understood it.




href="http://www.mezzoblue.com/archives/2004/05/19/what_is_rssx/">

That Sunday Feeling

Trying to fight that Sunday afternoon dread--the "Awww crap! It's Sunday afternoon and I have to get up early and go to work tomorrow. I'd rather drink blood" feeling. I'm normally quite good at avoiding it (that feeling, and uh, also, drinking blood), but things have been so weird lately that work has sort of permeated my thoughts in off hours as well as on.

Part of me still does not know what I want to be when I grow up. Ridiculous, I know...I thought I'd have it all figured out by now. Ironically, I seemed to have had a much better grasp on my career path when I was younger. College, internships, full-time work in my field of choice. I did it all, and was on a solid path with minimal detours and distractions. Sure, I made a few mistakes, a couple of enemies, and ruffled a few feathers along the way, but somehow always managed to land on my feet.

Then somehow or another grad school, of all things, derailed my burgeoning journalism career. By the time I got out of grad school, 9-11 had happened, the economy had tanked, and my friends and I were reduced to taking whatever slim pickings were thrown our way. We were overqualified for truly entry level positions, and unable to land more mid-level jobs either. No longer students, we couldn't accept internships at most media outlets because they could not get by with "paying" us with college credit. I could no longer depend on the unpredictability of the journalism world to provide novelty and challenges during my working hours. My entire life had become a vortex of instability, unpredictability, and mere survival, with the occasional bit of novelty thrown in.

It's quite significant, then, that only in 2007 did myself and a few other close friends finally land decent enough jobs with salaries and in some cases, the increasingly novel menu of benefits. We agreed that 2007 was our Year of Transition. (FWIW, 2006 was roundly dismissed as the worst year of many of our lives. Funny how themes like this often cluster together. For awhile, I thought I was the only one who wanted to take a long walk off a short cliff in 2006. Turns out several people I'd lost close touch with while working insane hours for two-plus years had gone through similar trials during the exact same time).

All of that's behind us now. Or is it? Now that I'm at a "good enough" job, albeit one with a nutty, capricious boss, I find myself restless. The stability that I once craved is mine now, at least as long as I manage to hold onto it. But yet again, I'm not entirely sure which way to turn or where I want to go from here.

Resume Woes

My resume's imperfect. I know this.

I also know that a bit of time off between jobs isn't unheard of, especially for people of my generation. Remember, when we graduated from college, the economy was dicey. People I know practically sold naming rights to their firstborns in exchange for shitty entry level jobs with zero benefits.

Plus, back then, the whole concept of "gap years" was coming into fruition. Suddenly that year off after high school or college to help child prostitutes in Southeast Asia (while perhaps scoring fine Asian hash during one's downtime) didn't seem so hippy dippy and odd anymore. It became normal, and in some quarters, expected.

Given that all of this is pretty much a given these days, I felt a bit squirmy today when asked about a couple of minor gaps on my res. In fact, I felt more exposed than at my last GYN appointment.

One resume gap was after my graduation..."What were you doing for those months?" the person asks.

Well, I was fucking enjoying not punching a clock and putting up with office bullshit. I traveled abroad (but not for long enough!). I relaxed. I miraculously found an apartment and a crazy roommate. But most importantly...I looked for a job, dammit.

Gone are the days where everyone you know goes straight from cap 'n gown to corporate clock punching. That I even had to explain myself kinda irked me. I mean, the questions are expected, but the whole tone of the questioning was sort of...I dunno...borderline accusatory.

If I sound a bit defensive, it's because I am. I never took a proper semester abroad or "gap year." Of course, on an academic calendar, then on the calendar of a recent grad, I enjoyed more work-free days than most working Americans. Duh. But believe it or not, I worked during most of my school vacations. And when I wasn't working, I wasn't exactly enjoying a carefree life. Even on my most exhilarating of travels, I always knew that the time to find a real job was just around the corner. And yes, finding that real job was every bit as hard as I'd suspected it would be. Perhaps even harder.

So just the idea of anyone looking at that time of my life in an even vaguely accusatory manner really gets my back up. I know how my friends and I busted ass to land jobs, and I remember all too well how we all suffered: the anxiety, the dashed hopes, the fears of bill collectors, and, perhaps worst of all, even the faintest idea of our parents saying that they'd "told ya so."

It's harder in today's world to realize one's dreams. This overpopulated is growing increasingly competitive and elitist. The jaded person in me thinks the "you can be anything you want to be" line is a load of crap.

But I guess for the young and naive, such platitudes are good motivators. What's saying? "Shoot for the stars. At the very least, you'll land on the moon."

Penalized for Not Kissing Sufficient Ass

Without going into detail, I can honestly say I've been officially penalized at work for not kissing sufficient ass. It's an unofficial job requirement...one I clearly can't satisfy.

A co-worker of mine who seems to have a smoother time dealing with the horrid excuse for a exec who runs our firm recently told me, in all sincerity, that a "a little ass kissing goes a long way with 'So in So.'" My co-worker was trying to help me by basically encouraging me to pucker up, and pronto.

Uh. No. And no. While I appreciate the attempt on my co-worker's part to make my tenure at the office smoother and less frustrating, I will not be taking the aforementioned advice. EVER.

I'd rather get fired than kiss some idiot's ass.

(That being said, I feel grudging admiration my co-worker's ability to do what I can't, yet I don't think less of the co-worker. To each his own, right? Obviously the co-worker is a bigger person than I in this regard, and would clearly have a better shot at public office than I ever would. Not that I'd ever want to whore myself out as a candidate, but that's another topic for another day.)

Back to my Ass Kissing Aversion: I'm sure I'm not the only one on the planet who feels this way. My stubborn streak makes it ridiculously easy for me to not give in, though. Perhaps that's the difference between me and a lot of people.

Friends in High Places

As fortune would have it, I've run into a few job leads this week. Friends have tipped me off to some openings in what could possible turn out to be much greener pastures. (For the record, I adore my friends!) Even if nothing pans out immediately, it feels great to know that I don't have to take the current nonsense from the current boss forever.

I firmly believe that all jobs come with a certain level of BS and annoying tasks. That's why it's called work, not "paid recreation." However, the current situation is over-the-top in the BS Department. I'm old enough to have been around and to have worked in many types of workplaces. The last time I was treated with this little respect was when I was cruising down the hall without a Hall Pass in high school. Even as a lowly intern during my college years, I was treated with more dignity and kindness.

In other news, I showed a space today in Upper Manhattan that had mad peeps milling around in front--talking loudly, laughing, smoking. Free country and all that, but they were kinda creepy, to the point that one of the clients seemed truly turned off. Fun.

Damned if You Do, Damned if You Don't

I've been making an effort towards forcing myself to be more detail-oriented and thorough at work. It seems that what Chickenshit Micromanaging Boss (CMM from here on) wants, after all. And, believe it or not, I've been doing it all with a convincing fake smile. I was almost proud of myself. Until. . .

Today CMM gives me a bunch of stuff that CMM wants updated. Ok, fine. I go through everything, looking into each property in detail, and provide the update towards day's end. With a frickin' SMILE, too!

CMM Boss then complains to another one of the higher ups that "I already knew XYZ. Why did she include that information on here?"

(Then why the hell did CMM Boss ask me in the first place? More interestingly, why didn't the boss have the balls to approach me directly if there was some sort of a problem with the update I provided?)

The other higher up said, "Well, if Anon NY Realtor hadn't provided the info you already knew, then you'd be complaining about that instead."

Which is 100% right. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is ever good enough for CMM.

While it's better to err on the side of caution with regards to Chickenshit Micromanaging Boss, it's an incredible waste of energy all around, especially considering that no matter what, there will be complaints and dissatisfaction.

Office Politics Blues

Have you ever worked for someone you could barely stand to look at, much less take orders from? I have, and I do.

This particular person takes everything the worker bees say or do in the wrong way. I've been mis-interpreted so many times on this job, I'd started to doubt my sanity. Seems that lately every innocuous remark, or "just FYI" email has been taken as either aggressive, passive aggressive, or somehow offensive in amazingly creative ways I'd never have been able to think up on my own. It must take a lot of talent and hella shitty self-esteem to:

A) Think everything your workers say or do is a personal affront to one's competence as a boss.

and

B) To be so much on the defensive that you manage to mis-interpret even the most mundane of utterances.

Seriously, the world doesn't revolve around you. Or me. Did ya miss that memo? Oh yeah, you did. Because you never read the memos your workers send you and you come storming into our offices bitching and whining about issues that have already been dealt with ten times over. Read the memo. It'll save you a world of stress. (I know you don't give a rat's ass about any stress it'll save us. We're here on this earth for no other reason than to serve you, after all. It's why we were born. It's our reason to live.)

Thank goodness my co-workers are a talented, hard-working, and equally picked on/mis-interpreted bunch. Though I will admit some of them have adapted in Stockholm Syndrome-esque ways that don't seem too functional. I'm like the new prisoner who's all "Hey guys, this isn't fair! We don't have to take this crap."

And they're all, "Yeah, but they give us stale bread and lukewarm water a couple of times a day. Just you wait. You'll be grateful for that someday, missy. Maybe you'll even get watered down pea soup if you're really good."

I hate to be this way, but I think the ol' resume's about to get dusted off for another round of fun. Though there are some major changes coming up at the office, so depending on how those things play out. . .

We'll see. For now it seems the smartest thing to do is to try act like the personal attacks aren't really personal (whatever) and to sip (not gulp!) a glass of fine red when I get home at night.

What a shit way to start the new year.

Happy 2008, folks.