A few weeks ago, this chick from our mortgage company began calling both Hubs B and me and leaving a ridiculous amount of vague-ass messages for us. Me, being the bitch that I am, chose to just ignore her. But, Hubs B, the forever optimist… not really… came home and said, “Hey, Sucks with Money, why’s the mortgage company calling us?” He then proceeded to call her back, while I had flashbacks to the hell that was closing on our current mortgage. It was a fucking nightmare.
Hubs B and I are two people, with advanced degrees, well-paying jobs and a fifteen year streak of paying our mortgage on time, so you’d think obtaining a mortgage wouldn’t have been such a fucking chore. But it was. It was so bad that I literally had screaming matches with our mortgage broker. Every time I sent them something, I would receive an email, a phone call, a voicemail and a text message asking for more. The list was endless and our mortgage broker eventually stopped speaking to me and would only deal with Hubs B. Basically, they suck.
So, just thinking about dealing with them again, was something I never wanted to recreate. But, Mortgage Whore said the one thing that Hubs B loves. “Do you want to save some money?” He covered the phone with his hand and began to fill me in on what she needed from us. And what do you fucking know; it’s the same fucking list that we sent them when we bought our house…six fucking months ago!!!
Me: NO!!
Hubs B: Why not?
Me: Um…remember dealing with them when we bought this house?
Hubs B: *Light bulb goes off above his head* Oh, yeah. That was fucking brutal, but it’ll save us $150 a month.
Me: NO!!!
Hubs B: (Speaking to Mortgage Whore) My wife said no because dealing with you guys is a nightmare.
Hubs B hangs up and I breathe a sigh of relief. But like an STD, this chick keeps coming back. A few more phone calls, too many emails and multiple voicemails that nearly prompted me to hunt her down and light a bag of dog shit on fire on her porch. Forget the Face Punch list, she’s on my Death Plane.
A week goes by and I hear nothing. Thank fuck. But… One day, I came home from work and found a FedEx package addressed to me…only me. Hubs B is conveniently left off, hence why I’ve dubbed her Mortgage Whore. I opened it and found this:
Yeah, passive aggressiveness at its best, which only makes me hate her more. I hope you enjoy that flight on my death plane, Mortgage Whore. Your technique sucks and so does your interpersonal customer relations. FYI…if you find a flaming bag on your porch, my advice…stomp the shit out of it in your most expensive boots. How’s that for passive aggressive?
PM2
