I’m standing outside, stationed slightly downwind from a large, green dumpster, having just stepped out of a work event to get some fresh air at a country club somewhere in Maryland. The air I’m getting is far from fresh because as soon as I opened the glass-paned doors, I found myself in the background of a video shoot and was quickly shooed in the direction of the dumpster.
“You’re doing great!” a woman sings, coaching her colleague who is being interviewed under a flowering tree. “You’re magnetic!”
Four takes later, it’s clear the only thing she’s attracting is more takes.
”Just smile!” another woman encourages. “We’ll just do one more.”
They’re trying to get her to talk about our company, and I’m trying not to make her more nervous by eavesdropping. Instead, I focus my attention on the tennis courts just below me, where a coach is tossing balls into a game of doubles between four women clad in identical pleated tennis skirts and visors.
“You’re doing great!” the coach shouts as one of the balls goes sailing over the fence and into the closed pool area behind it. “Here comes another one!”
The event manager of the country club is named Janine, a square woman built like a linebacker. Janine, it appears, wasn’t consulted on this morning’s gathering and does little to hide her disdain for the three hundred or so real estate agents who have gathered in the main ballroom. Her shoulder length hair flies behind her all morning as she barrels down the hallways, alternatively yelling at the agents and barking into a phone, presumably at her terrified employees.
”MEMBERS ONLY!” she shouts at agents who have wandered outside, dangerously close to the putting green where club members are breathing. “BACK INSIDE!”
This club has a no-cell phone policy, announced in no uncertain terms on an oversized sign that greets you as soon as you enter the main clubhouse. While an admirable and perhaps understandable rule for the wealthy people who usually come here to play golf and hit tennis balls into the pool, telling close to three-hundred real estate agents they cannot use their phones is a bit like telling a flock of seagulls to keep it down.
It’s not going well.
“You need to make an announcement,” Janine tells me, wild-eyed and slightly out of breath from another hallway sprint. “A white Tesla is about to get towed.”
It appears this Tesla owner left their car with the valet without leaving a key inside and it is currently blocking the entrance, causing a severe traffic jam out front. Knowing half the room probably arrived in a white Tesla, I get the ticket number and head inside where a Q&A session is taking place.
A woman is standing on stage talking about mortgages while the host of the event is weaving between the tables, nodding along to what she’s saying. I motion to him as she makes a joke about having an unqualified buyer.
”We’ve all been there, am I right?!” The room erupts in knowing laughter and I take the opportunity to wave again to the host, who seems to be avoiding making eye contact with me. I see Janine hovering by the door and can feel her sweaty stare bearing into my soul, propelling me to walk toward the host.
“Valet ticket 772 is about to get towed,” I whisper into his ear. “A white Tesla.” He gives a slight nod as he returns to his microphone, asking another question and not mentioning anything about a Tesla.
I avoid Janine’s glare and exit the ballroom through a side door.
It’s later in the day now and I’m eating lunch at a table stationed in front of the ballroom. There are three other tables in this foyer, on which the event’s sponsors have set up various trinkets to entice agents to stop by; stress balls, pens and candy hearts are branded with their company’s logos. I watch as a strikingly attractive salesperson from one sponsor makes his way from table to table, shaking hands and patting backs like he’s running for office.
Everyone seems happy to see him, or at least happy to have someone to talk to. During each interaction he stands tall with his hands on his hips and legs firmly planted, reminding me of the superman power pose various internet articles advise people to practice in order to gain a confidence boost before giving public presentations or entering a car dealership.
It doesn’t look like this man needs any practice at being powerful.
I look over and see an agent come out of the bathroom and hike his pants up around his knees to the height of capri pants. Having no idea what might happen next, I watch as he bends down and proceeds to wipe his wet hands on his bare shins. He then straightens himself, adjusts his pants and walks back into the ballroom, as if this is a completely normal thing to do when exiting a public bathroom.
And maybe it should be; maybe this man has unlocked a life hack and is doing us all a favor by displaying it so publicly. Maybe if you need a place to dry off your hands and have already passed the hand towels and managed to leave the bathroom, perhaps your shins are a cleaner and more sanitary option than your pants.
Or maybe this is just a very strange thing I am witnessing.
At the end of the day, I begin to pack up my things and pull out my phone to call an Uber. On the table next to me is a large box left behind by one of the sponsors, a printing service who has displayed postcards and fliers and door hangers, all items they can presumably customize for agents.
“Do you mind if I take a picture?” an agent asks as she’s already snapping away on her phone.
“Oh, these aren’t mine,” I say, motioning to the empty table. “I think the vendor just left the box here in case people wanted samples.”
”And are you able to put my photos on them?” She’s now collecting each item and stuffing them into her overflowing bag, like a nervous squirrel who hears the footsteps of an approaching dog.
“I’m not sure,” I say, wondering if maybe English is her second language, despite the heavy New Jersey accent I’m detecting. “I don’t actually work with them; they left for the day.”
“I’ll just take a couple of the postcards,” she says, zipping up her bag. “I’ll give you a call if I need anything!”
“Sounds good!” I reply, even though I might as well have been speaking in Swahili or performing an interpretive dance.
As I head toward the front door, I see a long line of agents waiting for their cars and wonder if another Tesla has been abandoned. If it is, I have no doubt Janine is getting ready to tow the car herself.
Not wanting to risk another confrontation, I veer out the side door, hurry past the dumpster and head down the driveway, finally getting to enjoy some fresh air.
Great story. I can just see it. Have been to conferences like that. Another Saturday reading Travis and having a cup of coffee...the best!