High Crimes

Sunday I endured one of the real estate professionals least-liked circumstances, I happened upon so-called "clients" tom-catting around with another agent. Now I've never claimed to be a man of universal appeal, or the agent for all; furthermore, these were not people with whom I had ever consummated a deal. Still, I'd maintained an e-mail dialogue for over a years' time, sprinkled with occasional showings, and very recent contact.

To make matters worse, this violation of the presumptive social contract occurred whilst I was with a potential buyer at an open house--held by my broker. In other words, they schtupped me in front of my boss and an important client.

Afterwards, this important client sympathized, "that probably happens to real estate agents all the time."
"You know," I responded after a moments delay, "it probably does, and I'm probably lucky because it never happens to me. I have very loyal clients. I'm a leader in my market and people recognize my expertise."

Later, I called my agent buddies seeking to extract tales of treason.
One suggested I consult Revengemark stationary, greeting cards with an extended middle finger. Another told of the dagger-in-the-back legend, or Dolchstosslegende, and its damaging impacts. All had been shafted at least once, and all were curious how I'd respond.

"I may not," I began, "real estate agents have to be a little like NFL cornerbacks, the position on the field with the shortest memory. If I'm still frettin' the last play, I might miss the next one."