as these, it is no wonder the heroic jobs seem, well, even more heroic. As seemingly impossible as it may sound, some community managers actually really do love their jobs. Maybe you are one such manager, or you know such a manager. While the war vet gets well deserved praise and accolades at a family gathering, community managers get laughs and sometimes sympathy; but they’ll take it! One story a manager shares that always brings a warm smile to those who do not have to do her job, happened last year.
This manager was enjoying a much needed vacation with her family last February in beautiful California and the weather could not have been more perfect. She had found the perfect Mexican restaurant to enjoy an early dinner with her husband and two children. It was day four of her seven day vacation so she had all but forgotten her life, temporarily, as a community manager in the snow covered Midwest. Unfortunately, as most community managers can attest, you are never really far away from your job and the requisite drama that seems to follow like the train of a well-appointed bride. She had just finished her meal of authentic carne asada tacos and refried beans at the restaurant when the dreaded “other” cell phone sang its unwelcome tune. The relaxed smile and easy aura quickly vacated (no pun intended) the manager’s face as she answered the phone and listened. There was no mistaking that this call was serious. She continued to concentrate as the frantic homeowner relayed the message that the fire alarm panel next to the equipment closet was lighting up and warning that there was clearly a fire, or someone had tripped the alarm. Either way, the problem needed to be solved and solved now. The manager knew this situation required a calm demeanor, but quick and careful response. When she hung up the phone, she informed her family that a fire alarm was somehow activated and this particular homeowner was on the verge of calling 911, evacuating the building, and quite possibly running for the hills with canned goods, purified water, and sacks of grain. The manager harnessed all her skills and training and as she started to better visualize the property, she began to question if the fire system being described by the homeowner even existed. There was a fire system, but the manager was pretty sure there were no alarm panels in the buildings. She gave the homeowner the benefit of the doubt as the homeowner was there and the manager was not. The manager called the local fire department, and the maintenance service to look into the situation and report back. Three minutes had passed since the manager took the call and the homeowner had already called three more times in an absolute, five-star, Olympic-sized panic. The manager was starting to sweat as the intensity was turned up on an otherwise idyllic Sunday evening in California. The manager was all but physically back home tending to the issues that all community managers know too well. That feeling that something didn’t seem quite right just would not leave her mind.
The unwelcome work phone screamed again, and the manager picked it up before the first ring completed. This time, a different voice interrupted her standard friendly greeting; a male voice that sounded as if he had about a million better things to do than have the conversation he was having right now. The manager listened as the gentleman, who happened to be the local fire sergeant, gave the manager a curt explanation of the situation. It was apparent that the manager was on the receiving end of a verbal tongue-lashing. Before the manager had a chance to thank the man and maybe even apologize for taking up his time, the call was over.
The manager turned to her family in a strange mix of amusement, anger, and embarrassment and informed them that the fire trucks arrived in full force, with sirens blaring and lights flashing. When the firefighters reached the “alarm,” they found they were in fact looking at an intercom panel with three green lights the size of thumbtack heads on the front cover. The firefighters were able to deduce that it was an intercom system by the large lettering above the black rectangle containing the lights that said “Intercom Panel.” There were no blinking lights, no red lights, no skull and crossbones; no sound or audible alarm whatsoever. The sergeant told the panicky homeowner to go back home, which she reluctantly did.
The manager finished relaying the phone call as her family stared in utter disbelief. The manager had done this job long enough not to expect a call from the homeowner relaying a well-deserved apology, and of course, that call didn’t come. That was fine with the manager. If community managers were in it for the glory, the glamour, or the esteem of those they serve, there would simply be no community association managers at all. It’s not as bad as it seems, though. Managers don’t really identify with strict Nurse Ratched and her treatment of the allegedly mentally ill, although some homeowners have definitely flown over the cuckoo’s nest and beyond. This manager loves her job as many community association managers do. Maybe there’s no glory, but being able to tell stories like these will satisfy the curious minds and entertain the good humor of many community association managers for generations to come.
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