Protocol

The notebook you see during my opens, worn and loose-leafed, is not a sign-in sheet, it's a poor man's day planner, filled with the ephemera and mad jottings of an obsessive.

I don't require open house visitors to sign in, and I don't collect random phone numbers or e-mails. Might I initiate dialogue, troll for unaffiliated buyers, do I look to form relationships and opportunities for follow up? Absolutely. But do I cull anonymous lists of brunch-ed-up Sunday strollers, tire kickers, and neighborhood lookie-loos, as phone fodder for a momentum-less Wednesday? Nah.

I'm not judging agents that do, everybody's got a different methodology, a different survival diet.
One agent, known to me well, vigorously enforces a sign-in decorum. "You've my home number," I complained once, "do you really need this?"
"It's three-fold," she explained, "in case something is stolen I've a list of all visitors. Secondly, when I campaign for a price reduction, I can show my seller a roll call. Lastly, I add the e-mails to my data base for e-flyers."
"Makes sense," I answered, "only what thief is going to provide accurate contact info?"

I don't choose to cold call or door knock either, though some agents drilled with lead-generation mantras, process numbers like a phone bank regular, and march through neighborhoods with storm trooper-like precision. One of my Westside cronies confessed, "I love to door knock. I pick beautiful neighborhoods, and I meet people. It's my version of playing 18 holes."
Another agent declared, "I cold call every Monday morning for two hours, it's part of my regimen. In order to be successful you have to be disciplined."
"What're you implying," I responded testily.
"Nothing," she continued, "I know you're disciplined, why else would you spent so much flippin' time on your blog?!"