Robert Ringer Quotes

reality isn't the way you wish things to be, nor the way they appear to be, but the way they actually are.

People say they love truth, but in reality they want to believe that which they love is true.

Every person has the inherent right to "self-proclaim"--to announce, at any time he chooses, that he is on any level he chooses to be on.

Perhaps the most important reason of all for taking action now is that time is finite. No matter how proficient you are, you can only accomplish so much in a lifetime. Every second that's wasted reduces the totality of what you can accomplish by one second

In South Africa, they dig for diamonds. Tons of earth are moved to find a little pebble not as large as a little fingernail. The miners are looking for the diamonds, not the dirt. They are willing to lift all the dirt in order to find the jewels. In daily life, people forget this principle and become pessimists because there is more dirt than diamonds. When trouble comes, don’t be frightened by the negatives. Look for the positives and dig them out. They are so valuable it doesn't matter if you have to handle tons of dirt.

Reality isn't the way you wish things to be, nor the way they appear to be, but the way they actually are. Either you acknowledge reality and use it to your benefit, or it will automatically work against you.

Technique #1: Intimidation In person-to-person, professional selling, I very quickly learned the value of intimidation, and I consider Robert Ringer's bestselling book Winning Through Intimidation to be one of the most useful business books I've ever read.

You should never kid yourself about the reality that you must always give something up in order to gain something.  If

One of the most important words when it comes to mental-health maintenance is "next.

Based on firsthand experience, it was apparent to me that the most relevant factor in my ongoing dilemma was my posture, a conclusion that produced the Posture Theory, which states:  It's not what you say or do that counts, but what your posture is when you say or do it.

What I am referring to is the Theory of Next, which states:  The key to maintaining a positive mental attitude is to recognize that no one deal is that important.  The person with a true positive mental attitude possesses the power to say "Next!" and quickly move on to the next deal when things don't work out.

Bob was clearly a confused character, and it was thought that he might benefit from some professional attention. “My mother and sister,” said Mitchum, “doubting my sanity, implored the cooperation of my wife in suggesting a visit to a psychiatrist.” Mitchum agreed to their suggestion—”What could I do? It was the family consensus”—and submitted himself to the leather couch in the Beverly Hills office of Dr. Frederick Hacker. “Mr. Mitchum, do you know why you have come here?” asked the doctor, described by the patient as a dead ringer for Walter Slezak. “Because my family thinks I’m crazy.” “Very interesting,” said Dr. Hacker. He saw the shrink a few more times. They “kicked things around” and Mitchum regaled the doc with stories of his life in Hollywood and the characters he knew there. “Mr. Mitchum, you suffer from a state of over-amiability,” Hacker concluded, “in which failure to please everyone creates a condition of self-reproach. You are addicted to nothing but the good will of people, and I suggest that you risk their displeasure by learning to say ‘No’ and following your own judgement.” Mitchum translated this into layman’s terms when he got home: “He said I should tell you all to go shit in your hats.

In ninety seconds they were naked and he was nibbling at her ear while his hand rubbed her pubic mat; but a saboteur was at work at his brain. 'I love you,' he thought, and it was not untrue because he loved all women now, knowing partially what sex was really all about, but he couldn't bring himself to say it because it was not totally true, either, since he loved Mavis more, much more. 'I'm awfully fond of you,' he almost said, but the absurdity of it stopped him. Her hand cupped his cock and found it limp; her eyes opened and looked into his enquiringly. He kissed her lips quickly and moved his hand lower, inserting a ringer until he found the clitoris. But even when her breathing got deeper, he did not respond as usual, and her hand began massaging his cock more desperately. He slid down, kissing nipples and bellybutton on the way, and began licking her clitoris. As soon as she came, he cupped her buttocks, lifted her pelvis, got his tongue into her vagina and forced another quick orgasm, immediately lowering her slightly again and beginning a very gentle and slow return in spiral fashion back to the clitoris. But still he was flaccid. 'Stop,' Stella breathed. 'Let me do you, baby.' George moved upward on the bed and hugged her. 'I love you,' he said, and suddenly it did not sound like a lie. Stella giggled and kissed his mouth briefly. 'It takes a lot to get those words out of you, doesn't it?' she said bemusedly. 'Honesty is the worst policy,' George said grimly. 'I was a child prodigy, you know? A freak. It was rugged. I had to have some defense, and somehow I picked honesty. I was always with older boys so I never won a fight. The only way I could feel superior, or escape total inferiority, was to be the most honest bastard on the planet earth.' 'So you can't say 'I love you' unless you mean it?' Stella laughed. 'You're probably the only man in America with that problem. If you could only be a woman for a while, baby! You can't imagine what liars most men are.' 'Oh, I've said it at times. When it was at least half true. But it always sounded like play-acting to me, and I felt it sounded that way to the woman, too. This time it just came out, perfectly natural, no effort.' 'That is something,' Stella grinned. 'And I can't let it go unrewarded.' Her black body slid downward and he enjoyed the esthetic effect as his eyes followed her— black on white, like the yinyang or the Sacred Chao—what was the psychoses of the white race that made this beauty seem ugly to most of them? Then her lips closed over his penis and he found that the words had loosened the knot: he was erect in a second. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation, then opened them to look down at her Afro hairdo, her serious dark face, his cock slipping back and forth between her lips. 'I love you,' he repeated, with even more conviction. 'Oh, Christ, Oh, Eris, oh baby baby, I love you!' He closed his eyes again, and let the Robot move his pelvis in response to her. 'Oh, stop,' he said, 'stop,' drawing her upward and turning her over, 'together,' he said, mounting her, 'together,' as her eyes closed when he entered her and then opened again for a moment meeting his in total tenderness, 'I love you, Stella, I love,' and he knew it was so far along that the weight wouldn't bother her, collapsing, using his arms to hug her, not supporting himself, belly to belly and breast to breast, her arms hugging him also and her voice saying, 'I love you, too, oh, I love you,' and moving with it, saying 'angel' and 'darling' and then saying nothing, the explosion and the light again permeating his whole body not just the penis, a passing through the mandala to the other side and a long sleep.

As Legalman injected one problem after another into a deal, I would say things like, "That's a very good point (not problem).  I'm glad you brought it up."  I would then proceed to state (not ask) a number of ways that we (not just Legalman) would (not could) handle (not solve) that particular point (again, not problem).  But never did I directly challenge Legalman.  My attitude was that it was assumed by everyone involved that there was going to be a closing, and that the only purpose of our all being present was to work together to "handle" the normal "points" that are inherent in every closing.  Just business as usual.

If you’ve never experienced the misery of failure, the chances are pretty good that you haven’t tried very hard to succeed. I’ve never met anyone who has made it to the top—and managed to stay there—who didn’t first taste the bitterness of defeat, usually many defeats.

Ayn Rand offered perhaps the most rational solution for dealing with slanderers when she said, "Freedom comes from seeing the ignorance of your critics and discovering the emptiness of their virtue.

By contrast, a real positive mental attitude can play a major role in one's success, but such an attitude is a result of being prepared.  In other words, a true positive mental attitude is possible only through one's having the ammunition to back it up.

You develop a positive mental attitude by being good at what you do, by understanding the realities of what it takes to succeed, and by having the self-discipline to base your actions on those realities.

I guess you might say that it was a paradox of sorts in that I prepared for long-term success by bracing myself against the effects of short-term failure.  I again emphasize that this philosophy works only if you are prepared to succeed.  It does not work if you simply use it as an excuse to fail in a situation where it may have been possible to succeed had you tried harder or been more persistent.

When it comes to situations that don't work out, whether in my business or personal life, my motto remains:  "Next!"  Forget about it, move quickly on to the next deal, and let the law of averages work its wonders.

The bedrock theory I am referring to is the Theory of Reality, which states:  Reality is neither the way you wish things to be nor the way they appear to be, but the way they actually are.  Either you acknowledge reality and use it to your benefit, or it will automatically work against you.

Cornerstone No. 1 is the Theory of Relativity, which states:  In order to settle on a rational course of action (or inaction), one must first weigh all pertinent facts in a relative light and carefully define his terms.

Cornerstone No. 2 is the Theory of Relevance, which states:  No matter how interesting or how true something may be, the primary factor to take into consideration is how relevant it is to your achieving main your objective.

Cornerstone No. 3 is the Mortality Theory, which states:  Given that your time on earth is limited, it makes good sense to aim high and move fast.

Cornerstone No. 4 is the Ice-Ball Theory, which states:  Given the apparent, ultimate fate of the earth, it is vain and nonsensical to take oneself too seriously.

The reality from my vantage point was that 50 billion years from now, when the earth is nothing but an ice ball, my problems of today will be too insignificant to have been recorded.  Indeed, there would undoubtedly not even be a record of the entire century in which I had lived most of my life.

Stressed-out individuals tend to press too hard for results at crucial moments, and the harder someone presses for a result, the less likely it is he will achieve it.

The first one is the Tortoise and Hare Theory, which states:  The outcome of most situations in life are determined over the long term.  The guy who gets off to a fast start merely wins a battle; the individual who's ahead at the end of the race wins the war.  Battles are for ego-trippers, wars are for money-grippers.

I tried to (and still do) live by the words of Abraham Lincoln:  "If I had eight hours to chop down a tree, I'd spend six sharpening my axe.

In summation, if someone feels the psychological need to hold court, that's his business.  Your job is to mind your business.  Don't allow yourself to be intimidated by someone else's knowledge—or apparent knowledge.  What another person knows or doesn't know will not affect your success one way or another, so from your standpoint it's an irrelevancy

There are only three types of people in the business world (with the one exception noted above), as follows: Type Number One, who lets you know from the outset—either through his words, his actions, or both—that he's out to get your chips.  He then follows through by attempting to do just that. Type Number Two, who goes to great lengths to assure you that he would never dream of pilfering your chips, often trying to throw you off guard by assuring you that he really wants to see you "get everything that's coming to you."  Then, like Type Number One—and without hesitation—he goes about trying to grab your chips anyway.  Type Number Three, who, like Type Number Two, assures you that he's not interested in your chips.  Unlike Type Number Two, however, he sincerely means what he says.  But that's where the difference ends.  Due to any one of a number of reasons—ranging from his own bungling to his amoral standards for rationalizing what's right and wrong—he, like Types Number One and Two, still ends up trying to grab your chips.  Which means that his supposed good intentions are irrelevant to the final outcome.

When you deal with sick minds, never waste time trying to become a healer.  The most humane act you can perform for such a person is to state things in such a way that it will make him feel better about how things work out—especially if it involves your getting paid.  After all, you can cause him a great deal of stress if you allow him to believe that he might actually be paying you what he owes you.

(Never state, in an agreement, what you want out of the deal before stating what the other party is going to get, because the other guy doesn't give a hoot about what you want.  All he's interested in is what's in it for him.  This is especially true of people who insist that "in order for a deal to work out, everyone has to be satisfied."  Forget such babble; it's a fairy tale that will only cause you to drop your guard and lose some fingers in the process.)

Regardless of the business you're in, never allow yourself to be intimidated into believing that you aren't entitled to the same rights as the so-called principals in a deal.  I say so-called because, from your standpoint, you are a principal.  If you have a vested interest in a deal, you have a right to protect that interest, regardless of the size of your stake relative to the other players' shares.  Just don't expect the other principals to agree with your viewpoint.  To be forewarned is to be forearmed.

When a Type Number Two performs chip-replacement surgery on your wallet, all he's saying to you is:  I meant from the outset to cut off your fingers when you reached for your chips, even though I assured you that was not my intention.

I also vowed that if someone refused to sign a commission agreement with me in the future—regardless of the reason—I would assume that he was a Type Number Two and walk away from the deal.

During the ensuing heated discussion, he said two things that would ring in my ears for the remainder of my days at Screw U.  First, he said, "You have a lot of nerve trying to earn $15,000 on one deal.  I mean, you're only a broker."  Wham—right between the eyes.  Talk about painting a clear picture of how I was perceived by a lender.

One of the fascinating things about the human psyche is that people don't begrudge a wealthy person's making money, but they very much resent someone of lesser means making "too much" money.  I had been found guilty of trying to violate one of the most sacred, unwritten rules of the Jungle—the rule that little guys don't have a right to make big money.  Marie Antoinette said, "Let them eat cake," which was kind of cute.  But this New York lender with a Ho Chi Minh personality went one step further and seemed to be saying, "Let loan brokers eat—but not too much.

At first I was a bit apprehensive about no longer specializing in second-mortgage loans, because I had worked so hard to learn the business and establish some great contacts.  When I finally made the decision, however, the reasoning I used was destined to become an integral part of my thinking for the rest of my life. That reasoning is encapsulated in the Leapfrog Theory, which states:  No one has an obligation—moral, legal, or otherwise—to "work his way up through the ranks."  Every human being possesses an inalienable right to make a unilateral decision to redirect his career and begin operating on a higher level at any time that he, and he alone, believes he is ready. If one aspires to great accomplishments, he must recognize that the quickest way to the top is not by fighting his way through the pack, but by leapfrogging over it.  There is, however, a catch.  If you aren't prepared to rise above the competition, then, in spite of any bold proclamations, the realities of the Business World Jungle will knock you right back into the pack in short order.  In other words, even though you have a perfect right to proclaim that you're ready to move beyond your competitors, no amount of chest-pounding can overcome reality.

Stated in theory form, what I'm talking about here is the Theory of Intimidation, which states:  The results a person achieves are inversely proportionate to the degree to which he is intimidated.

With the techniques I describe in the next chapter, I finally achieved the image power I had dreamed about for so long.  And with the use of my three legal tools, I would have the real power to back up my new image.  But I wanted to take it one step further and back up my image power and legal power by being the best at my profession.  In other words, I wanted to demonstrate performance power.  There is nothing more powerful than having a reputation for getting results.  The combination of image and substance is virtually unbeatable, and that was my aim.

Being liked was not much of a reward for being poor and disrespected.  By the same token, money and respect were more than enough consolation for having a pack of insecure neurotics dislike me.

The first four steps of selling are familiar to most people.  Being a successful salesman requires: Having a product to sell that other people value. Locating a market (i.e., buyers) for your product. Implementing a sales presentation and/or marketing strategy. Closing the sale. These four steps have been discussed in many sales books, but, remarkably, I've never seen the fifth—and most important—step discussed in any book: 5. GETTING PAID!

I had known many real estate agents who spent day after day discussing multimillion-dollar deals with other agents, seemingly achieving fulfillment from their conversations alone.  They steered clear of the excruciating effort it takes to secure a listing directly from a seller, let alone the time and energy it requires to locate a buyer for a property, implement a marketing method, and close the sale. Such an agent limits his efforts to sending out tenth-generation copies of scanty information about properties furnished him by other agents.  It's a lottery mentality—hoping upon hope that some agent with whom he is dealing will somehow get lucky and close a sale—and then, the ultimate hope, a small piece of the commission will miraculously filter its way down to him. I'm not saying that a real estate agent should never work with another broker or salesman under any circumstances.  That would be ideal, but not practical.  Circumstances regarding two of the sales I discuss later in this book were such that it made sense for me to pay a co-brokerage fee to another agent.  Even in those instances, however, I took matters into my own hands and did everything possible to control the destiny of the sale.

The owner I was searching for was the guy who would come to the phone and give at least some indication that he might be interested in selling his property.  I say indication, because an owner will rarely come right out and admit that he's interested in selling his property.

Throughout the book I have continually used the phrase earning and receiving.  Why do I keep adding the words "and receiving?"  Because, as everyone who has ever tried to sell anything has discovered, to his dismay, it's one thing to earn a fee, but quite another to actually receive it.  You make a grave mistake if you develop the habit of prematurely celebrating.

The reality was that the more desperate the owner, the better my chances of concluding a sale.  As a result of my new posture, desperation had become my best friend.  Thus, if the owner's asking price was at least within shouting distance of the ball-park price I had calculated, and assuming there were no extraordinarily negative factors involved, I would be prepared to move forward with trying to find a buyer.

However, if the mathematics fell within my value parameters, I then told the owner that I would have to personally inspect his property "before making any commitments."  With this latter statement, I had managed, for the third time, to set the stage for recasting the roles of intimidator and intimidatee before the owner and I had even met.  I could not possibly be a real estate agent, because there was no such thing as a real estate agent who was reluctant to "make a commitment."  A normal real estate agent works on any deal!

So when I reached the point not just of finding an owner who was interested in selling his property, but who had a saleable property, my next step was to haul my healthy posture onto a plane and pay a personal visit to that owner.  Only then could I decide whether or not I would be willing to "make a commitment."  Of course, the real purpose of my trip was to obtain a signed commission agreement, but how many owners do you think would have been excited about my visiting them had I told them what my real objective was?  Zero is a pretty good guess.

I then whipped out my file of pre-typed contracts (which I never referred to as contracts, for reasons you should by now understand) and said, in a matter-of-fact tone, something to the effect of, "I like to keep things simple, so I just use a one-page 'understanding' to summarize the deals I'm involved in."  Here again it was a matter of word choice.  Whether a document is called a contract or understanding has no legal significance whatsoever, but psychologically it can make all the difference in the world to the person sitting on the other side of the table.  Contracts scare people; "understandings" sound innocuous, especially if their purported purpose is only to "summarize the deal."  This was a delicate and critical moment for me, because if I failed to get the owner to sign the understanding, I had wasted a lot of time, energy, and money.

Over a period of time, I became adept at spotting non-serious buyers, because they all tend to talk and behave in the same manner.  For example, if you ask a non-serious buyer about his guidelines for purchasing properties, he will most likely tell you that he doesn't have any guidelines and that he's "willing to look at anything."  But the fact is that most serious buyers do have definite guidelines, because they know exactly what they're looking for. Another tip-off to a non-serious buyer is that he tends to dwell on questions of secondary importance, such as those pertaining to location, construction, and/or age of the property.  As I previously pointed out, such questions are reasonable, but not until the buyer is first satisfied with the numbers and has decided that he has a definite interest in purchasing the property.  If the numbers don't add up, it doesn't matter where the property is located, how well it's built, or how old it is.  Serious, sophisticated buyers get down to the nuts and bolts of the numbers right away, because they understand the mathematical guidelines for evaluating cash flow—again, the key factor when it comes to evaluating income-producing properties.

During the second call, I explained that since we were both (meaning the buyer and me) busy people, I thought it would save a lot of time if he could answer a few quick questions over the phone.  That way, I explained, I could avoid sending him properties that did not fall within his guidelines.

Regardless of what business you're in, when it comes to sales or deal-making, it's critical that you to build a detailed record of your involvement—not just to use as a last resort in court, but as a constant reminder to all the principals involved that you are/were instrumental in making the deal happen.

That's because time brings into play the Fiddle Theory, which states:  The longer you fiddle around with a deal, the greater the odds that it will never close.

I call this second phenomenon the Better-Deal Theory, which states: Before a person closes a deal, it's human nature for him to worry that there may be a better deal down the road.

Legalman would immediately begin to implement the "he-we-I" evolution strategy.  At the outset, he would talk in terms of he (the seller) in discussing the property and the closing.  Then, in a relatively short period of time, the word he would subtly evolve into we (i.e., the seller and Legalman).  At that point, the seller was no longer in full control of his destiny.  Nay, it was now he and Legalman who were making the decisions.  Finally—you guessed it—Legalman, in a galling display of arrogance, would magically transform we into I (as in Legalman).  Some things in life are inevitable, and Legalman's "he-we-I" evolution strategy is one of those inevitabilities.  From that point on, it was entirely Legalman's deal.  The buyer and seller had been reduced to nothing more than bothersome but necessary bystanders to Legalman's closing.

Even though an agent has no direct control over this factor, he does, of course, have indirect control by virtue of his having the power to choose which deals he works on.  Which gets back to the strategy of working hard to find makeable deals rather than working on a lot of unmakeable deals in the hopes that one will accidentally close.  In reality, the degree of financial desperation on the part of the seller is the single most important factor in determining how makeable a deal is.  The more financial problems the seller has, the more success you'll have in keeping Legalman off the playing field.

Since the general population will never understand that an attorney is nothing more than a college graduate with a fancy certificate on his wall that grants him a monopolistic right to practice intimidation on civilians, you're at a decided advantage if you are among the minority of players who possess such an understanding

I carried a second card in my wallet that contained yet another literary masterpiece, to wit: Closing deals is so much trash, If you, my friend, don't get no cash.

If you're over twenty-one, you are certainly aware that one of the most commonly used intimidation ploys is to make a person feel guilty for concentrating too much on his own well-being.

My attitude was unyielding, solidly backed by the wisdom of the Bluff Theory, which states:  The secret to bluffing is to not bluff.

If the secret to not bluffing was to have staying power, and if wealth was the backbone of such power, I recognized that I would have to find a substitute for wealth—at least until I reached a point where I possessed significant financial resources.  Common sense told me that the only logical substitute for money was determination.  The nice thing about determination is that it's just as available to you and me as it is to a billionaire.  I simply drew an imaginary line in my gray matter and said to myself, "This is where the intimidation stops.  Beyond this line, all bluffs get called.

On the second day, notwithstanding my strong posture, the Booze Brothers began to hint that there might be a need to perform the usual commissiondectomy.

Timing is a critical factor in every deal, and I knew that the time was right for my now historic speech:  The Tortoise Briefcase Address.  In a deadpan, matter-of-fact manner, I said, "Boys, there's no sense going around in circles all night.  It looks like we aren't going to be able work this deal out, so let's just write if off to experience.  Hey, it's not the last deal in the world." I then looked at Ernest and said, "Don't worry, I'm working on a lot of other properties.  Sooner or later, I'll come across a deal for you where the mathematics make sense."  I then turned to the Booze Brothers and said, "As to your properties, I've been talking to several other prospective buyers, and I think I can crank up some serious interest in the next couple of weeks."  (You can just imagine how happy Ernest was to hear that.) I then put my papers back in my briefcase, closed it, and snapped the latches shut—very slowly—one latch at a time.  Then I rose, smiled pleasantly, started toward the door, paused, glanced back over my shoulder, and, in the most cavalier manner, said, "Why don't you guys get some sleep.  I'll be in touch with you in the next couple of weeks." I was conscious of my every move and every word as I completed The Tortoise Briefcase Address in a style that rivaled some of the Booze Brothers' greatest performances.  I will always remember the distance—I was approximately three feet from the door—when Ernest and the Booze Brothers yelled out, in unison, "Wait!"  That was the most telltale word anyone had ever spoken to me.  That one word confirmed that I had been right all along—that this was the right buyer and the right seller in the right place at the right time. What Ernest had meant by that one word was that there was no way, after all the effort he had put into this deal, that he was going to miss the opportunity to propel his company into a significant real estate investment trust just because some real estate broker happened to be crazy. As for the Booze Brothers, the word wait was their way of saying that there was no way, after all the work they had done, that they were going to miss the opportunity to pocket more than $2 million profit just because some real estate broker was too stupid to understand the consequences of his actions.

Even though I still had a strong posture, in no small way aided by my having the right legal tools on my side, Ernest and the Booze Brothers were counting on my sanity and logic.  Surely I would not be crazy enough to throw away the opportunity to earn a handsome, six-figure commission; surely I would see the logic in taking a $150,000 commission rather than no commission at all.

I again made it clear that there was absolutely no negotiation regarding my 3 percent commission for the sale of the eight properties.  However, "in a show of good faith to try to help pull this deal together," I said that I would consider taking an additional $50,000 cash right now in lieu of any future commission on the units to be completed and purchased at a later date.  In other words, I was going to give the Booze Brothers (and, theoretically, Ernest) the opportunity to save several hundred thousand dollars (my potential commission) down the road by coming up with an additional $50,000 right now. When Ernest and the Booze Brothers came out of the ether, the commission we finally agreed upon as a compromise was $426,901.39—about $50,000 more than the approximately $375,000 commission I had been shooting for.  Let me tell you, that kind of compromise made up for a lot of past Commissiondectomies.

Driving over the bridge separating downtown Kansas City from the old airport, my commission check safely locked away in my briefcase, my attorney looked over at me and asked, "Well, how do you feel?" Without hesitating, I looked at him and replied, "Deserving.

I told the Booze Brothers that I would set up a conference call with Ernest, and that if we all kept calm and worked together, the "points" (that old standby word for "problems") in question could be "handled.

This time, as we went over the bridge on the way to the airport, my attorney asked me, "Well, how do you feel now?" I thought about it for a moment, then looked at him and answered, "Intimidating.

I was so busy lapping up Mr. Biggshotte's flattery that I committed an infraction on the scoring play.  And that, for an experienced graduate of Screw U., is indefensible

Two factors, in particular, were especially significant in this deal.  First, I used my strong posture to persuade the seller to sign a commission agreement based on 5.5 percent of the total selling price rather than the 3 percent figure I normally used.  After my Dayton and Memphis experiences, I took it as an article of faith that every seller worth his salt would, at a minimum, try to at least whittle down my commission—regardless of what figure we had agreed to. That being the case, I thought it would be interesting to see if starting out at a higher commission figure than I hoped to actually receive would produce better results.  When the inevitable commissiondectomy attempt began, I would be able to better afford to have my commission cut.  It was just a matter pacifying the seller's sick mind.  My experience had convinced me that the important thing for him was to believe that he had succeeded in shafting the real estate broker who had committed the dastardly sin of selling his property for him (and probably saving his financial hide in the process), even if his belief was an illusion.

My objective at these buyer-seller meetings was to display so much knowledge about the property and the closing of the deal that even the seller would be embarrassed to challenge my right to a commission.  (If you're chuckling and shaking your head from side to side over that last comment, you're starting to get it, because my objective proved to be nothing more than wishful thinking.  Sellers always challenge agents' commissions.)

The fact is that Legalman's financial survival depends upon his ability to kill deals, and the creatures who spawn those deals are more often than not salesmen, businessmen, and entrepreneurs.  Where Legalman is concerned, we're talking about a literal life-or-death matter here.  After all, if every deal closed smoothly, he could become an endangered species.

Remember, the Theory of Intimidation states that the results a person achieves are inversely proportionate to the degree to which he is intimidated.  By developing techniques to dramatically improve my posture, I positioned myself for accomplishing my ultimate objective—getting paid.  In the final analysis, what I really did was separate myself from the rest of the pack by learning how to cope with intimidating people and thereby increasing my chances of actually receiving what I earned. Specifically, as a closing drew near, I took three important steps to maintain my strong posture: I kept my finger on the pulse of the deal twenty-four hours a day so I could pinpoint the time and place of the closing. I continued to nurture my relationship with the buyer in the hopes that, at a minimum, I would have his moral support. I showed up at the closing with my attorney, and counted on the Universal Attorney-to-Attorney Respect Rule as my insurance policy if all else failed.

Legal power is essential in the Jungle, but from a self-esteem standpoint, performance power is a real high.  Nothing beats the feeling, in your heart of hearts, of knowing that you really do deserve to be handsomely rewarded because you provided great value to the party you represented.  I wanted to make it as difficult as possible for a seller to pass the giggle test if he claimed I had not earned my commission.  From now on, it was going to be obvious to both the buyer and seller that the initiation, progress, and conclusion of the sale were due primarily to the efforts of The Tortoise.

Alas, the truth had to be acknowledged.  If Ms. Best was "the best," I was the Dalai Lama.  She was not the best; she was not good; she was not average; she was not even bad.  She was, in point of fact, the worst secretary I had ever hired—a living, breathing, full-fledged incompetent, fit only for employment by a government agency.