|"I think I'll just toss those|
mortgage papers into the
fire and play another game
- After we painstakingly filled out every section of the application, the loan officer butchered it. Among other things, he switched our race from "I do not wish to answer" to "non-Hispanic white," despite having never seen us in person. My flock, have you seen Wendell? This is most offensive. He also omitted all the ministry's assets that we had listed except for our checking account funds -- no stocks, no mutual funds, no retirement accounts, no vehicles -- just the cash in our account. And he altered father's employment history in such a way that we would later receive a call from the bank asking why the results of its employment check didn't match what was on the application.
- For long periods of time, the mortgage lenders appeared to completely forget about our application, even though we'd agreed to close on the loan by the end of September. Only when I e-mailed them did they lurch back into action. At one point, I asked about the appraisal, convinced that things were taking far too long. When the loan officer replied, he said that the appraisal had been ordered a week before. Within 15 minutes, the appraiser called to schedule an appointment. I'm convinced that had I not asked, I would still be waiting.
- The mortgage company contacted our insurer and had our policy changed to name it as the titleholder several weeks ago -- even though we were nowhere near closing on the loan.
- The deadline of our 30-day interest rate lock came and went without any response to my e-mails. Then, finally, a loan processor called to say that we'd been approved and that we could close the following Thursday. The only problem: Since they'd taken so long, their preferred close date conflicted with a planned vacation. I explained this and asked if there was a way we could work around our trip. The woman said she'd call back later that day. She never did.
- Fast-forward three days later: The same woman calls. "You're approved for the refi," she says. "How does Thursday sound for the closing?" "ARE YOU KIDDING ME, INFIDEL!?! I WILL SMASH YOUR FACE INTO A JELLY!!!" I thought as I calmly explained to her that I was going to be out of town that day. And that I'd told her the exact same thing three days earlier.
- Later in the day, I received an e-mail from Infidel No. 1. "Yes, we can extend your rate lock until you get back. We've absorbed part of the cost, but there will be an additional $155 fee. How would you like to pay that?"
I was flabbergasted. I was outraged. I was livid. And yes, my flock, I was in a fatwa-issuing rage. The infidels have left me no choice! God willing, they will know justice! They will be punished! And they will pitch in their own $155 for the privilege of collecting thousands of dollars of interest from me over the next 15 years, or they will pay the consequences!!!
This is where you come in, my flock. For this is no ordinary affront. This whole ordeal has touched a nerve, like the kind that makes a dog's legs kick uncontrollably when the humans find that spot near his armpit. (Or legpit. Whatever the correct anatomical term is. In my current fiery rage, I cannot be bothered to look it up.) This crime against the ministry demands the attention of the full congregation. That is right, my furry and not-so-furry disciples: You must choose the punishment!
I have posted a poll at the side of the page. Please take the time to do your part and vote. The will of the congregation will be the law. Justice demands it. Vengeance demands it. Your ayatollah demands it.