Well, that's basically all you need to know, but I've always been verbose and I've found that writing out what's going on keeps me from ripping out the reproductive organs of the next person who rubs me the wrong way. So luckily for you...you get the full story!
Yesterday, the lending officer called Graham and said that the bank wanted their mortgage processing fee upfront, not wrapped into closing costs like we had planned, so "the sooner it gets to the processor, the better." He still sounded optimistic that we'd close this week, and said that everything was super duper, so we were still expecting to have our final walk-through this afternoon and close sometime Thursday. Awesome, right? Graham got the cashier's check from the bank on Tuesday afternoon and the banker said he'd pick it up sometime on Wednesday.
I made Graham promise me that he'd call or text or something and let me know what the banker said about closing. Well, he called, and what he had to say made me furious. Basically, it's like this: today is Veterans' Day, so the banks are all closed. The processor won't get the fee until tomorrow, and because the banks effed up so many applications over the last few years and just gave home loans to everyone, now they're trying to look like responsible adults in front of Congress. What it means for us is that they get to review all our paperwork AGAIN and give final approval over the underwriters and everyone else before we're clear to close.
I did not take this news well. Not at all. I started crying in my office and pulled myself together for a handful of minutes to take some photos of alums doing a lesson for the kids in our junior high, and then I decided to ask my boss if I could work at home tomorrow--I'd been trying to get to her all day, but her office door was closed and you can't just barge in when the door is shut. My original plan had been to work from home because it would have been easier for a closing date than trying to hustle home and fight traffic. After learning that we wouldn't be closing, I couldn't even accept the idea of trying to be at work tomorrow. I went into her office to let her know I'd be working at home and I had what can only be described as a minor mental breakdown. Hyperventilating, crying, and perhaps even a little cussing. She sent me home because I wasn't in any position to try and teach another class with just 15 minutes to calm myself down. Hell, she offered to drive me home because she was nervous I'd have a panic attack in the middle of traffic! So, I was home by 1:30 this afternoon because I was clearly not in any sort of stable emotional state to teach effectively.
I am so, so frustrated. We did everything right. We practically bent over backwards getting everyone the paperwork they needed. We attended friggin' homeownership counseling, for crying out loud! The bank had six weeks to get this crap together and the day before we're supposed to close we're told we can't because one more person wants to review our file "just in case." That's really the part that makes me nervous. It's gone smoothly so far and no one's found anything wrong with our paperwork--what if someone dislikes some blip on our paperwork, or they decide that the debt to income ratio isn't where they want it? What if they look at my student loans and decide that the $14,000+ I owe to Mohela for paying for my college degree is too much still? By the way, that is the most ironic part of all this crap--wasn't going to college supposed to help? Getting a friggin' degree was supposed to raise my income and help me become a homeowner. If they dislike my student loans or my oh-so-plentiful income, we're screwed.
UGH. It shouldn't be this hard. It shouldn't be this stressful. I haven't been sleeping through the night. Now we have just one week to pack and move out and at least paint the rooms so we're not tripping over furniture trying to paint. And there are wood panels glued to the walls in the living room, so we have to get those taken off and get the walls sanded down and painted before we can move in or we'll have dust and black tar gunk all over our furniture. GREAT.
Honestly, I don't consider myself a "violent" person (though my kid sister would disagree, and I've threatened to throatpunch and cut and slash some tires...that probably doesn't help my cause!) but had I been the one to take that news this afternoon, I can't say I wouldn't have lost my $#!% and read someone the riot act while beating them in the face with a wooden spoon. At the very least, I'd call The Bank and demand to speak with someone in charge and clearly state that their employees need a few lessons in customer service. What if we had been locked in a lease? Or worse, what if we were supposed to close at the end of the month and now we're out of our lease and stuck without a place to live? I'd totally bring my tent and sleeping bag to the bank's lobby and set up shop until they got their crap together. I'd probably be kicked out, but it'd be worth it. In my not-worth-anything-to-them opinion, it's just poor business practice. You can't call even a few days before and keep us posted? You can't make a final push for our benefit over The Bank? I can say right now that I'll never ever bank with them. Sure, I owe them my soul for the next 30 years, but they won't be getting anymore of my money or my business. I'd rather walk a little further than deal with them and their crap.
Welp, one more week of sleeplessness, I suppose. One more week of pounding down another beer in the evening and being stressed out. Oh goody.