Another Cigarette
Want another cigarette? We have to continue with some more chain-smoking in this space here, related to the chain of articles posted here recently.
The original theme of the first article was to note the changes we’ve seen in the world of Real Estate over the careers of old-timers like me, who began their careers 35 to 40 years ago. The changes decried by my colleagues include: the change from hard-wired land-lines to the miracle of no-wire cell phones; from hand-delivered paper contracts to the emailed electronic versions of contracts; the thickness of those contracts from one page to sixteen pages; the signing of contracts by our clients from the ink-pen (“press hard, carbon copy underneath”) to the key-board (“look for the signature icons and click”); the rise and demise of inbetween conveniences like fax machines, pagers, and answering machines.
My buddy Bob, who retired from Real Estate a few years ago, said, “Doug, I talk to my son all the time about his career in Real Estate. Here’s what I gather is missing in this business now compared to our time. It’s the eyeball-to-eyeball, belly-to-belly, one-on-one, personto-person, interactions with clients as human beings. It’s taking the time to really know them and help them get through this complicated stuff of buying and selling.”
I said, “I hear ya. It’s way different from when we…”
“BUT,” interrupted Bob, “here’s what’s better about current times in this business. My son can connect with his Real Estate clients in ways that didn’t exist in days gone by. This social media interaction between an Agent and their clients is incredible. They can open lines of communication that never existed before.”
“True,” I said, “and an Agent can conduct business more efficiently with ...”
“BUT,” said Bob, “even though “high-speed-this” and “high-speed-that” connects people quickly, and business happens fast, we’ve lost the personal touch in the old style.”
Bob gave me some examples of the “old style” he referred to, such as the summer evening he stood by the fence of his client’s pasture and waited for him to saunter in on his horse, made small talk in the barn as his client fed and watered the horse, then together sauntered into the house, where his client poured a drink, settled into his armchair, gestured for Bob to sit on the overstuffed couch, and said, “So, you’re gonna tell me how we’re gonna sell this old place, huh?” His client fired up a cigarette and offered Bob one, shaking the cigarette pack to lift a cigarette above the others, and extended it toward Bob. Bob accepted the cigarette and joined in the smoking and sipping party in his client’s living room.
“Those were the good old days,” said Bob. parents.”
“The cigarette!” I said. “That’s a biggie. Everybody smoked everywhere back in the day. The air was polluted by cigarette smoke.”
Here’s a response from a reader of the last article: “Hi, Doug. Another cigarette story. My friend remembers going to her Ob-Gyn’s office with her 3-month-old for his checkup. After the exam she sat in the doctor’s office, baby in arms, and went over details of the exam while they both smoked!”
My dear friend and regular articlereader, Nancy O’Leary texted: “Smoking Columns. No mention of the nicotine-brown stains on the fingers! I grew up seeing those on my
One guy messaged: “I love that song ‘Smoke, Smoke, Smoke, (That Cigarette)’ by old Tex Ritter. Have you ever heard Frank Sinatra sing ‘These Foolish Things (Remind Me Of You)’? Ol’ Blue Eyes romanticizes the cigarette in that one: ‘A cigarette that holds a lipstick’s traces…’”
Sure do. And I remember those nicotine-brown stains on my parents’ fingers. On my fingers, too, once upon a time. Those filterless Pall Mall, Camel, and Bull Durham cigarettes made their mark. But the story of the doctor and the mother, smoking in the doctor’s office, baby in mother’s arms, wins the tarry-ashtray prize.
Let’s just say that the loss of all that one-on-one, bellyto-belly, smoke-sharing probably makes for a better atmosphere these days.