I don't understand the French

I have been working an an agent commercial immobilier now since 2004.  In the beginning, we had our own website and oodles of Brits who were looking for holiday homes.  They all had good budgets and nearly all of them bought.  Life was good.  Things started going haywire in August 2009 when the foreign buyers suddenly all disappeared.  I have since been obliged to work with the French.  The boss of Century 21 suggested that I came 'in from the cold' and do 'permanences' at the Salies de Bearn office.  I was quite excited at the prospect of a new client source and readily agreed.  I soon acquired the haunted look of my other French colleagues.

I admit it - I am rubbish at selling to the French.  My friend Judy Mansfield of First Rate FX tells me it is the French who have the block and it is they who don't purchase with me.  The upshot is the same.  The only way I sell to a French person is if they walk through the door and insist on buying something.  I am therefore reliant on the quality of the other French agent co's to do the selling for me.  We have had a mixed bag over the years, notably:

1.  A former airhostess (male) who liked painting - his canvases were 90% black with occasional red splashes.  Rather nasty divorce in progress.  He didn't last very long at all.

2.  A very amusing Belgian who spoke excellent English - everyone loved him - men and women alike.  I have many happy memories of Pierre-Gil.  One  was on a 'visite marketing'.  We were traipsing en equipe around a depressing 1970's cube.  Pierre-Gil's head popped out of the bathroom 'Jeanette - look - they have a telephone cabin in the bath...'.  There was a very large, very plastic, extraordinarily ugly shower unit posed in the middle of the bathtub.  We shut the door and cried with laughter until the Boss honked her car from outside and we had to tell owner that we had been stuck in the bathroom.  Another time a client came into the agency and was enquiring about a property which had been coyly advertised as 'to renovate'.  The lady asked if there was a shower.  Pierre-Gil rolled his eyes and replied 'Madame, it does not have a DOOR'.  He always flirted shamlessly with every attractive male client who came into the Agency.  He appreciated good legs.  If he didn't like a property, he would open the door and say 'there you go' and stand outside, smoking.  There is one and only one Pierre-Gil and he was sadly missed when he left.

3.  The BAC +5 secretary who hated her job and used to go to McDonalds with us, eat salad, and weep.  She transferred to Rentals and discovered yes, life could be worse.  She went off to sell ham in the Landes Dept 40.

4.  A guy in his 50's who stole my clients.  Rule number one in a team is to respect your colleagues.  Otherwise, fireworks.  I have got in touch with my French side and can shout with the best of them.  I had organised a visit with some English clients to see one of my properties.  They cancelled suddenly.  I arrived in the agency late afternoon to find my so called colleague had taken them and sold them the house.  I was on the bonkers edge of livid and no-one cared.  Two days later, I found out that they had cancelled and had the pleasure of laughing very loudly in his face.  He left after having printed off the whole agency stocklist to take to his next agency. 

5.  A lady in her 40's who went off with depression and then sued the agency for non payment of commissions.  She set up with someone who had been kicked out of another agency, divorced her husband and emptied both the joint bank account and that of her kids.  She also moved in with the other lady and rumours circulated.

6.  The rentals agent who had a tough time at home and an even tougher time at work and took to drinking.  We used to have to close the doors in the afternoon so that the clients couldn't hear him singing.

In total over the two agencies and since 2004 there have been over 20 changes of staff.  Our current complement includes a former bee-keeper, a former mobilephone sales lady, former dress shop owner and me (former accountant, garden designer and secretary).  In France, there are virtually no jobs for which you need neither qualifications or experience.  Even serving in a restaurant needs experience.  It is not surprising that there are so many young people without work.  However, estate agents can't afford to be that fussy.  Hence the interesting mix of people who come and go.

Anyhow, as I was saying, me and French clients don't produce sales.

Someone from the UK for example will be looking for their French 'dream home', something with beams and fireplaces on the edge of a village with a bar and interestingly moustachio'd locals.  They dont give a monkey's whatsit if there isn't double glazing.  They are often fazed by the gasring and gothic appearance of the properties on offer.  They are surprised by the popularity of the dark brown and green interiors.  The French in general, don't like old.  They really like properties renovated by the Brits.  Brits really like properties renovated by the Brits.

The French have a mania for bungalows (plain-pieds) and double glazing.  The first thing they do when they buy a property is to instal double glazing.  This country must be a mecca for double glazing salesmen.  And for people selling the sort of exterior wall facings only seen on Coronation Street.  Once a French person gets over 40, they start talking about their 'vieux jours' when they won't be capable of climbing stairs.  They are very stair phobic.  I was bemoaning this fact in the office the other day and one of my colleagues (ex mobile phone sales) laughed and suggested that is why I couldn't sell to them.  They think I am making it up when I tell them my 80 year old mother in law living in a house with only two gas fires for heating, vertiginous staircase and, horror of horrors, single glazing.  Her house was phenomenally cold (I don't tell them this).  Every new construction is like a little mushroom. 

French people also feel the cold.  I live in a house which is known to my friends as 'the Freezer' which is heated upstairs by electric radiators (which we are too mean to switch on), wood burning stoves and an eccentric Godin (French equivalent Aga) which heats and cooks.  I have seen beautiful old houses with bright white airconditioning units attached to ancient oak beams.  They are monstrous.  There must be beautiful old cast iron radiators somewhere - probably in the decheterries or in the brocantes where they are snapped up by foreigners keen to preserve the beauty of their French homes.  They also slap in uPVC units into their 18th century maison de maitres and disco lighting in the hallways.  If these facts go into public knowledge, the French reputation for good taste may go downhill rapidly.

So, the end of my second blog entry.  Please comment.  Please follow.

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