some summer, huh? (part 5)
Well before I even considered the first place I wanted to move to, I met with a good friend who's a mortgage broker to see if there was any way I could be pre-approved. I didn't think there was a chance in hell, since my share of the savings accrued during my marriage wasn't a lot, my salary isn't exactly luxurious, and I wouldn't have the benefit of a dual income to pay whatever mortgage I might be able to get. So I was very surprised when my friend said that between my credit and my meager assets that I would indeed be able to swing a mortgage, maybe not in Fairfield County, but certainly in Connecticut.
All that was moot first when the agent of the seller of the first place I tried to buy balked at a lender that wasn't Chase Bank, so my friend was nice enough to refer me to someone from Chase, who referred me to someone else there, who was someone who fondly remembered me from my retail days in the '90s. Thanks to him all my stuff was put in order, and all systems were go, until the co-op board denied my application outright, as recounted earlier.
So once I found the second opportunity, I got back on the phone with him to get everything set for this place. I wanted to be ready, but I also wanted to make sure they'd actually have me before I laid out deposits and escrow and all that baloney again. Luckily a lot of the info was the same from the month before, so I just had to sign some more things for the bank, submit another application (at a much lower fee) with the new place, and wait for their decision. (I'd pretty much spent the previous 12 months signing things and writing checks.)
Sometime in September I finally got notice that I was actually approved, and could move forward with my purchase and closing. The only glitch now was that my guy at Chase (whose name, I should have mentioned, actually is Guy) was leaving to go work for another lender. Not to fear, he said, because the folks in the processing department in Cleveland had my file, were on top of everything, and would take care of me. Go Browns, I said, and waited again.
Unfortunately for me, the person in Cleveland who had my file went on extended leave, and didn't adequately train her assistant, so just like the Browns over the past several seasons, they dropped the ball. At this point it was getting on October, I'd been living out of duffle bags for over three months, all my cold-weather clothes were in the back of a storage unit behind lots of large things, and I'd just about had it. The topic of separation had first arisen two years before, and here I was still trying to get on with my damn life, like I was supposed to, even though it wasn't my idea, and the universe seemed determined to leave me in limbo.
So I did what any other middle-aged adult would do: I called the office in Cleveland and raised a stink. This is unacceptable, I said. Everything had been in place since early August, when my offer was accepted. Now the board had approved me, and wanted to know when my closing date would be. My insurance company even set up a homeowner's policy without a closing date, even though the pinhead at Chase said I couldn't get a closing date without insurance. I pulled the sympathy card about having been essentially homeless since my divorce, with all my worldly possessions in storage, which wasn't cheap. I even got to use my patented line: "If I did my job like you people did your job, I wouldn't have a job." I'd done everything asked of me; what the hell was the holdup? Did I need to void my pending mortgage, pay cash for the place, and ensure that everyone I knew or would ever meet would know that Chase was the last place anyone should attempt to get a mortgage?
Amazingly, the pinhead agreed with me. This had gone on too long, and my frustration was well-founded. He'd do what he could to expedite the case. What he didn't know was that I had been in touch with Guy, who got me in touch with a local supervisor, who heard my story and promised to rattle cages. Within two days, I had a closing date: October 23.
After sitting in standstill traffic for an eternity, I could see the exit ramp. Unless something else got in the way again, and it was closed or moved. At this point, having had my world completely upside down, I was expecting the worst and dreading it.
[to be continued]
All that was moot first when the agent of the seller of the first place I tried to buy balked at a lender that wasn't Chase Bank, so my friend was nice enough to refer me to someone from Chase, who referred me to someone else there, who was someone who fondly remembered me from my retail days in the '90s. Thanks to him all my stuff was put in order, and all systems were go, until the co-op board denied my application outright, as recounted earlier.
So once I found the second opportunity, I got back on the phone with him to get everything set for this place. I wanted to be ready, but I also wanted to make sure they'd actually have me before I laid out deposits and escrow and all that baloney again. Luckily a lot of the info was the same from the month before, so I just had to sign some more things for the bank, submit another application (at a much lower fee) with the new place, and wait for their decision. (I'd pretty much spent the previous 12 months signing things and writing checks.)
Sometime in September I finally got notice that I was actually approved, and could move forward with my purchase and closing. The only glitch now was that my guy at Chase (whose name, I should have mentioned, actually is Guy) was leaving to go work for another lender. Not to fear, he said, because the folks in the processing department in Cleveland had my file, were on top of everything, and would take care of me. Go Browns, I said, and waited again.
Unfortunately for me, the person in Cleveland who had my file went on extended leave, and didn't adequately train her assistant, so just like the Browns over the past several seasons, they dropped the ball. At this point it was getting on October, I'd been living out of duffle bags for over three months, all my cold-weather clothes were in the back of a storage unit behind lots of large things, and I'd just about had it. The topic of separation had first arisen two years before, and here I was still trying to get on with my damn life, like I was supposed to, even though it wasn't my idea, and the universe seemed determined to leave me in limbo.
So I did what any other middle-aged adult would do: I called the office in Cleveland and raised a stink. This is unacceptable, I said. Everything had been in place since early August, when my offer was accepted. Now the board had approved me, and wanted to know when my closing date would be. My insurance company even set up a homeowner's policy without a closing date, even though the pinhead at Chase said I couldn't get a closing date without insurance. I pulled the sympathy card about having been essentially homeless since my divorce, with all my worldly possessions in storage, which wasn't cheap. I even got to use my patented line: "If I did my job like you people did your job, I wouldn't have a job." I'd done everything asked of me; what the hell was the holdup? Did I need to void my pending mortgage, pay cash for the place, and ensure that everyone I knew or would ever meet would know that Chase was the last place anyone should attempt to get a mortgage?
Amazingly, the pinhead agreed with me. This had gone on too long, and my frustration was well-founded. He'd do what he could to expedite the case. What he didn't know was that I had been in touch with Guy, who got me in touch with a local supervisor, who heard my story and promised to rattle cages. Within two days, I had a closing date: October 23.
After sitting in standstill traffic for an eternity, I could see the exit ramp. Unless something else got in the way again, and it was closed or moved. At this point, having had my world completely upside down, I was expecting the worst and dreading it.
[to be continued]