The real estate profession

Our recent experiences have demonstrated to us that American real estate agents are indeed a strange breed of people. We knew that already, and it once more begs the question: Is it possible to have respect for realtors? Hardly, it seems. This category of people – frequently compared to prostitutes – will do “whatever it takes” to make a sale and their only value seems to be the exorbitant fee they charge for not doing much. Clearly, 90% of the agents producing 10% of the sales make the other 10% that generate the other 90% of revenue look bad! A joke heard in Park City goes like that; the 500 or so “workers” in the old-days Park City red lamp district have been replaced by 1,000 modern times “realtors.”

Do I even know what I'm talking about? You bet; I tried the profession between two job and quickly drew the conclusion that it was – at least for me – a psychological dead-end and a sure path to self-destruction. I couldn't feel good doing it, felt no sense of accomplishment out of it and the only positive reward was money. That's right, just a real quick buck; not much different from what a street walker would feel about the job. The feeling of emptiness that comes with the real estate trade is in fact quite elusive. In my opinion, it has to do with the fact that there are no barriers to entry into that line of work; anyone can do it, from the street bum all the way to the attorney. There is also little loyalty from clients that can be quite fickle and who never fail to generate an unhealthy conflict of interest between buyers and sellers.

It's also a place in which luck plays an even bigger role than in any other occupation, and the money earned feels fake and bears little relationship with real skills, knowledge and effort. This business feels empty like a shell and builds very little equity in terms of knowledge and even less job satisfaction. Then there are the co-workers that are so stressed that it never fail to make them appear hollow and sleazy. So if you can't get turned off by the job, something must be really wrong with you, but I'm probably getting ahead of myself. In fact why am I writing all that? Did I have a nightmare last night? Perhaps I just wanted to warn you not to try to do this at home!