Mayhem in Melbourne

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Monday’s a crazy day at Caruthers Real Estate. Action on Saturday means mayhem on Monday. As if to prove this point the phone is calling for attention as I approach my desk. I grab it and slip into my chair and the day is off to a racing start.

It’s Lauren.

‘Hi, I saw you come in. Why didn’t you stop at my desk? I’ve got a couple of applications for Bruno’s property. You need to get on to them. He’s already rung this morning.’

‘Bring them down,’ I say.

‘Too busy. It’s flat out here.’ And she has gone. I raise my eyebrows. Then I remember Monday Mayhem. The name I have given this day.

One of my Monday Mayhem jobs is to help Lauren with her applications for the properties she has vacant. She is on my team. Before I can dwell on ‘too busy to bring me the applications’ the phone goes again.

I recognise Lisa, our receptionist.

‘Bruno’s on the phone. Lauren said you’re dealing with him.’

‘What?’ I say.

‘Bruno. He’s on the line.’ Lisa has gone and I have a Bruno’s voice in my ear.

‘Who am I speaking to? I want Lauren.’

‘It’s Juliette Davis. We’ve spoken before.’ I begin to sigh then I stop myself and swallow it instead. Bruno is the last person I want to deal with first thing on a Monday.

‘Oh, yes…yes…but where’s Lauren? Why isn’t she taking my call?’

I’m wondering that too. ‘She’s not available, so Lisa put you through to me.‘

‘Well, what I want to know is, are there any applications on my property? Two people went through on Saturday. I got the text. They took applications. It was in the text.’

I turn my mouth into a smile. ‘Yes,’ I say, lips stretched. ‘You got two applications, they both applied so that’s good. I’ll check them and get back to you.’

‘No. No. I want to know who they are. You can check them later.’

‘I can’t tell you that. They’re on Lauren’s desk.’

‘Well, wouldn’t you think I’d be interested in the applications? What good are they on Lauren’s desk if you’re dealing with them?’

He had me there – what good were they on her desk?

I say firmly, ‘When I’ve checked them, I’ll get back to you.’

‘Yes, check them now, I’ll want to get moving on them. I’ll have my phone with me all day.’ He always says this and he always answers on about the second ring. It is as if he has the phoned taped to his hand, or hung around his neck.

I sip my coffee. This is the beginning of Monday Mayhem. It’s good to take five, to sip my coffee.

Caruthers Real Estate has a busy property management office which I joined as the senior property manager about four years ago.

For Monday Mayhem I think carefully about what I wear. It helps me with the all the action. I like to dress for the weather, too – today I am wearing my favourite turquoise top and my summer boots. They have a pattern of pretty cut-outs along the side and at the toe – no good in the rain, but they are boots and they give me a feeling of power – ‘these boots are made for walking’ sort of power. Power and confidence.

My top matches the cloudless sky and looks good with my blue and white striped skirt. It is cheerful and uplifting. I like the look and it goes with my blue eyes. If you look around, you’ll see lots of people have brown eyes so I’m very pleased with my dark blue. My mother says it is the Irish coming out in me; black hair and blue eyes. I’m happy with that.

I used to be a school teacher but I got over that. The job became more and more stressful and exhausting. At the end of each week I would throw my hands in the air and announce to anyone who was listening that I needed the next week in bed with several bottles of wine. What I really needed was to move on.

Where to move to was the problem. A friend suggested veterinary nursing because that is what she would like to do. Another idea was the police force. I am not keen on uniforms but I added that to the list. A teaching colleague said, ‘Why don’t you drive a tram while you think of something permanent? That’d be fun.’

I love Melbourne’s trams but that’s another job with a uniform. I kept these suggestions, and others that came my way, tucked into the back of my mind and went on teaching.

One morning a voice in my head said, ‘property management’. I was surprised. I hadn’t given that suggestion much thought. But the universe had spoken so I went with it.

I have been in the job for a number of years and now I work at Caruthers, in one of Melbourne’s inner suburbs.

***

On Monday, there is no time for a chat over a morning coffee. I grabbed mine as I passed Café Yellow and took care not to slop it on my beautiful turquoise top as I pushed through the heavy glass doors into our stylish reception area. I gave a quick greeting to Lisa and a nod and a pat to the aged and huge do-it-all photocopier that is positioned behind her desk as if it was her assistant. It has a habit of playing up and we call it The Monster.

Lisa was on the phone so she ignored me, and The Monster appeared to be asleep. I am not sure how The Monster feels but Lisa, who has been with the company for years, believes she is the pivot that the office revolves around. She would notice if I didn’t greet her. Receptionists can wield a lot of power, and Lisa wields that power and she has broken us into her way of working.

Through reception is the comfortable shabby office where the real work is done. I marched down to the very end of this long narrow building to my desk.

I like it here by the back door. When the last incumbent moved out I threw my weight around as senior property manager and grabbed the desk.

Despite the occasionally cranky or stressed landlord, I am happy I chose this as my new career. There is no timetable to stick to – I can arrange my own. Monday is Mayhem but it is quiet down here at the end of this old building and it is seldom quiet in a school classroom.

I push Bruno’s applications to the back of my mind and look at my emails. There could be something there that is more important than Bruno although I doubt he would think so. I’m also hoping Lauren will get sick of them on her desk and bring them down. It’s not that I’m making a point. Well, perhaps it is but I am helping her out by checking them.

I scroll through my inbox. The emails are never-ending. A lot of junk of course. How is it that even with the filters Caruthers has in place, I get emails on how to enhance a p***s and pictures of sexy Russian girls looking for husbands? I had two like that last week. I forwarded them to our IT company. These emails are more use to them, as they are an all-male organisation. They assured me they had the problem under control. Whatever ‘under control’ meant. Perhaps it is under control because my junk today is about courses on how I can become a better property manager, up-skill myself on dispute resolutions, or be more effective at time management. There are a couple from a fashion outlet called Corporate Dressing and others of the same style. Not a p***s in sight. I go through trashing them and the list becomes manageable.

Nerida, a tenant, has written half a page complaining about how the junk mail is distributed in her apartment block. She missed out on a free gift of Twinings teabags. We should have some rules for distributing whatever arrives. The mail is just dumped on top of the boxes and we help ourselves. There’s got to be a better way.

Her complex must be full of tea drinkers. If you are a tea drinker, why wouldn’t you grab more than your share? And why does she think I care about her not getting her free teabag? The junk mail and its distribution is nothing to do with me. I email back and ask her if she has any ideas and to come up with a solution and I will look into it. I wonder if she will bother, or will she disappear into the background.

Tenants see us as the answer to everything that goes wrong in their lives. A while ago, a tenant rang and asked me what I could do about an old flatmate she had fallen out with. He kept coming around and harassing her about some money he said she owed him.

‘This is very distressing,’ she said. ‘You should be able to do something to stop him.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘You’re managing the unit and he’s not on the lease. He shouldn’t be here.’

‘You could go to the police,’ I said.

She came back with, ‘What are they going to do?’

‘I’m sure they can do more than I can. I’ll put that suggestion in an email to you.’

She slammed down the phone.

Does she think I am some sort of miracle worker? I always confirm my telephone calls in writing – it takes away any confusion.

There’s an email from Tom. He is a complainer. He lives in a top-floor unit and finds a myriad of things that need attention, which he fires off in regular emails. Over the weekend he heard a noise in the roof.

I bet there are rats up there, he writes. Well, it could be a possum. But I’m sure it is rats. The couple next door put their rubbish on the landing. Sometimes it’s there for the whole weekend before they take it to the bins. That’s going to encourage rats.

Personally, I do not see how a rat in a roof cavity, however brave and athletic, is going to make it to the hallway to rat-around in some rubbish. If it managed the feat, it would be spotted and the whole building would be up in arms. An animal in the ceiling is an owners’ corporation matter. I smile as I flick the email on to them; something to add to their Monday workload.

If I check the dates, I can see most emails are generated on Sunday. What is it with Sunday? It appears that most tenants in this beautiful city sit around doing nothing. Then to break the boredom, they decide to report issues to their property manager and so add to the flow of emails waiting for the week to begin.

Most people hate Monday but in an oddly masochistic way, I like it. There is drama and action. The week begins with a bang and it is like being in the centre of things. There are issues to sort and problems to solve. I wonder if this is a hangover from my teaching days, where Monday has the energy of the students arriving at school after a two-day break and there is a sort of excitement in the air. Of course schools and property management departments are both places of action. Neither is a ‘kick-back and relax’ sort of job. Action is something I am used to.

There are bad days in this job when I come home and slam my door and never want to open it. Those are the days when I can’t believe I chose this career. That I studied to get my agent’s representative’s licence and paid to do it. The bad days can be bad, but I always bounce back for more. I can’t get it out of my system.

Some offices have a meeting about 9.15 am on Mondays, where they review the properties that were opened on Saturday. This doesn’t work because everyone has that, ‘I’m bogged-down-I’ve-got-too-much-to-do’ look about them to pay attention to the manager, who’s making a show of being in charge.

Caruthers doesn’t do this. On Saturday, the staff who open the properties for inspections fill out a running sheet for each property. At some point during their hectic day they text the owners with an update – how many people looked at the property and how many took applications.

The effort we put in encourages landlords to see Monday morning as a time to check if they have applications on their property. Bruno was one of the first off the rank. These calls add to Monday Mayhem. A call comes from a landlord whose property was opened by Lauren on Saturday. She sent him a text to say two people viewed it.

‘I hear two people came through the open. Did you get any applications?’

I think, give them time to get their act together, but I say, ‘No. Not yet.’

‘Well you’ve got their names and numbers haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I reply. I smile again. Have you noticed that when you smile you lift your voice and you sound bright and on the ball?

‘Can you give them a ring? See what they think and if they’re going to apply, then get back to me? I’ll have my phone with me all day.’ The whole world has their phone with them all day – why do people keep telling me this?

‘Yes. I’ll try to get some feedback,’ my carefully red-painted-lips are still stretched over my teeth.

‘Yeah, do that,’ he says. ‘Get back to me by lunch time if you can. I’ve got to get the place let. It’s been open three times now and not a sausage. I can’t afford to be waiting around.’ I make a note on my to-do pad just in case I forget, and he rings again. I will email him so I have a record of what I have said. It’s quicker that way too, as I won’t have to discuss it with him.

I hope the people who visited are happy to have me call. Prospective tenants can sound annoyed when they are phoned after an inspection. Their frustration at being disturbed can make them short and at times rude.

As a tenant, you should think of it from the owner’s point of view. You may have hated the place you viewed or thought the advertising was misleading, and you would not live in it if you were paid to. If that’s what you think, be kind. Keep it to yourself. Visualise the anxious landlord hovering near the phone and say something positive. Being a landlord can be stressful.

This is not the time for me to tell this stressed landlord that a sausage has not applied for his property because the place is too expensive. That conversation is better left to later in the week, when I am speaking to him again about the lack of sausages and what we are going to do to get more of them through at next Saturday’s open.

With all this going on, you would think it would be the last day of the week a property manager would call in sick. Yet, every Monday our manager of property management, Emily, emails a list of the names of the poor souls who have identified themselves as being sick. There is at least one, and sometimes two or three, who are taking a sickie.

Today Kylie, who is in my team, is on the list.

I wonder about her. She likes a good time. Perhaps she called in sick because she is so hung-over, she can’t lift her head without throwing up? Perhaps her alcohol level is so high she cannot risk driving. Real estate people know how to drink. Maybe, just maybe, she has been struck down with a nasty strain of flu. Or perhaps Emily has shared her bugs with her.

Emily’s emails never give the reason for the staff member’s absence. When the missing people turn up on Tuesday, they usually answer our concerned questions with, ‘Much better. Thanks’. If they mention the cause of their absence, it is likely to be ‘gastro’. Too much action at a night club can cause that and those Champagne brunches on Sunday that spill over into the rest of the day can encourage a tender tummy to rebel.

Today we can access our emails from our iPad or phone. If you can raise your head off the pillow even for a moment you can leave a message about returning calls and emails on Tuesday. If you don’t do this, people who view themselves as ‘a-very-important-person’ will contact you several times, leaving more and more angry and frustrated messages. That means more to wade through on Tuesday.

As Kylie’s manager, I will make time to check her emails. I want to look as if I am on top of this job.