Yesterday I took out a young guy who works in finance to see some studios. Up and down Chelsea and the West Village we went, until he decided to apply for a sunny space on Fifth Avenue.
The listing belonged to an agent at another brokerage. We'll call her Beth. Before leaving to go back to work at around 11:30 a.m., my client, we'll call him Mike, left me a $300 deposit and promised to fill out the application and fax me over paperwork as soon as he was in the office.
Finance being what it is these days, Mike couldn't get back to me until after the markets closed. But at 4:10 p.m. all his paperwork showed up in my fax, and so I walked it over to Beth's office at 4:20ish.
When I was in the lobby of her building, Beth called my cell phone. For some reason, she was screaming into the phone in her very thick Long Island accent.
"Pauline," she shouted. "Ya got some nerve telling me your client wanted the place, a place that I stopped showing all day loooong, and then you don't even have the decency to bring me an app and a deposit. That's a hot apartment and I just lost a day because you didn't control your client. Ya wasting my time."
This went on for a good 30 seconds, again, when I was just a few floors below her with a completed application and a deposit in my hand. When she stopped for air I said very calmly, "Beth. I'm the lobby. I have his application, paperwork and deposit in my hand. You just have to run his credit."
"What?!" she asked.
"I'll be up in two minutes." I said.
Beth stormed into the reception area once I was upstairs. "Ya know," she said, "When I say I need an app, I need an app. Right away."
"He works at a hedge fund," I said. "He can't do much until the markets close."
Beth said nothing, just flipped through the stack of papers in front of her, looking for a mistake, or something that I may have left out. It was as complete as it could be.
"Is he going to need a guarantor? I need their information, too, ya know." She said.
"He makes over $80,000 a year, plus a bonus. There's no need for one. Show the owner his tax return, if need be."
Again, Beth said nothing, most likely because she was too busy eating crow. She mumbled something about speaking with the owner, and I started the four block stroll to my office.
Less than half an hour later Beth called, sweet as candy. My client was approved. We could sign leases this weekend.
