It was summer of 1991. The sun beat down on my un-airconditioned car as I composed myself. After four years as a trial lawyer, I was walking blindly into my first real estate closing.
My boss gave me no notice. No briefing. No training. The ‘file’ was a crumpled copy of the purchase contract that he tossed at me as he said, “This is the buyer’s first home and the most important thing in his life right now. He is also my car mechanic. That makes it important to me too.”
Sure, I studied real estate in law school, but that was four years earlier.
My boss gave me no notice. No briefing. No training. The ‘file’ was a crumpled copy of the purchase contract that he tossed at me as he said, “This is the buyer’s first home and the most important thing in his life right now. He is also my car mechanic. That makes it important to me too.”
Sure, I studied real estate in law school, but that was four years earlier.
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