Nothing makes you feel inadequate like applying for a home loan. And it’s no surprise. The loan officer doesn’t need to hear about your triumphs – that information is completely superfluous. The loan officer is, however, intensely interested in your f*ckups.
“What about this Verizon bill here for $2200?”
The truth: uh… yeah.. well… See, I use AT&T now, because my ex husband called me a controlling shrew and ran away overseas and used the phone and I can’t find him to pay the bill and am resisting paying it just for the principal of it.
What I say: “I’ve been making steady payments on that debt and it will be paid long before closing.”
“Ok, and how about this Aspire credit card bill?”
The truth: those freaking *ssholes. That debt got passed around like a hot potato and even though I paid the last owner of it, the others are still sitting there on my credit report making everything else smell like tacos and gym bags. I feel completely powerless.
What I say: Yeah, I settled that. And I’ll call them again to make sure they update that information.
“and how about this debt to Chase”
The truth: CHASE? What the hell is that?? I have no account with Chase!
What I say: I will protest that debt, as I have never had an account with Chase bank. I believe that is a mistake, and I’ll get it cleared up immediately.
You get sized up during the process, and inevitably, there are many things you have to fix before you get your loan. I think many folks feel like they just barely squeaked by – that the bank is doing them a favor putting them in that house. You bust your nuts trying to get everything nice and pretty for the unseen, evil monster that is UNDERWRITING, and then you get a call the day before closing that things aren’t quite wrapped up because someone to whom this process has no meaning hasn’t even looked at all your hard work until the DAY BEFORE your closing. And you settle back down onto your bed of pins and needles to wait till the next closing date.
It must be worse for men, with the whole “provider” thing – your worth as a man is being summed up by a salesperson who probably still lives in an apartment. Or I like to think he does.
And his couch is old and smells like cat urine, and his stove is broken, so he puts garbage in it. He sleeps on a twin mattress on the floor because he can’t afford anything better because bank standards are so high and judgmental that he can’t ever get anyone qualified, but he keeps trying because this is not the economy to be job hunting. He also cooks everything in a 1994 microwave, and one day, while exhausted from trying to get me qualified, he forgets about the metal/microwave thing, and he puts a can of tuna in to heat, and his apartment blows up.
In his memory, the bank president decides to honor this young man’s fondest wish, which he’s written on a post it note and taped to his computer monitor: “Please qualify this woman for a loan so I don’t have to ever deal with her again.”
p.s. – we are financed, and the loan officer, as far as I know, is just fine. I imagine he’s currently searching under his pissy couch cushions for quarters so he can wash his 2 pairs of jeans at a crappy Laundromat.