I’d like to extend a cold cutabitch welcome to Mr. Old National. We are in the process of owning our first home and after having less than orgasmic experiences with our first choice for both a mortgage broker and a buyer’s specialist (that’s what real estate agents are calling themselves now), we went to him as our mortgage broker through a local bank. We’ve never done business through this bank, but we were recommended to see him through friends. At first, it was a much better experience than with the previous broker, but now, as always, I’m getting the “no one can do anything right, why must I do everything myself?” vibe from the whole situation. Mr.Old Natioanl is pulling some serious aggro as he just sits in his little office, way too close to his giant monitor, completely unaware that I’m about to crit a fireball in his ass.
I did everything, EVERYTHING in my human power to prepare all parties involved for all situations that could occur—difficulty getting paperwork processed, getting the loan, getting supplies…. and everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. It wouldn’t be so much of an emergency–merely an annoyance– IF WE HAD A PLACE TO LIVE AFTER MAY 15! Our closing date is May 9th! We can change that, not a problem, but our lease is up and we won’t have a place to live.
Meanwhile, T and I are fighting like crazy (metaphorically and verbally, I’d kick his ass in a cat fight) to get all of this done because this takes 10 business days, and this takes 14 business days, and this MAY take 21 business days and we have…10 business days at absolute most to get the deferment completed, paperwork to be swapped back and forth between two incompetent agencies, and the underwriters to write the loan and have it on the table by the 9th.
It’s a madhouse that I worked hard to avoid through careful planning. Just goes to show you that you can’t put everyone on your schedule and you just have to be flexible and do everything you can to make sure you get what you want and need. I was going to say “hope” but “hoping” is too much like “praying,” which is hogwash in my universe.
So thank you, Mr. Old National, for making my stress levels climb to insurmountable levels and driving me to consume my body weight in meat and sugar.