Touching It Doesn't Look So Bad

I had been at the Bank of Hell about 2 months before A. Hole joined the ranks. I had already realized that I was miserable but considering my previous boss had told me to touch his male genitalia, I was low on options. This is the phase of my career in the mortgage industry that would be classified by confusion as to what the hell was happening and acceptance that I had committed an egregious error.

The Devil's minions were foul and I didn't really make an effort to be nice to them because my motto was basically, "Fuck you, I have enough friends already and you all suck." See, A.Hole was blessed with an ass kissing gene that I (Turdy) did not get. I couldn't play the game, I still can't. I am 100% unadulterated me, everyday and all day. This made me pretty unpopular at the Bank of Hell where phoniness and the status quo were valued.

So after a week of "training", which was not training at all and involved me being stuck at an extra desk and largely ignored, I decided it was time to move on to the branch I was hired to work at. I was given a key to that office and for months, I was the only one there. No receptionist, no loan processors, no loan closers, and no assholes. It was pretty heavenly but there was a price. Since I basically hid at the beach branch, none of the processors or underwriters at the Mortgage Devil's branch worked on my loans. This led to a ton of stress the day before loan settlements when they would finally pick up my loan to get it approved. Then I would be calling my customers the day before they were to close on their loan to tell them we needed some inane piece of documentation that my processor should have picked up on 30 days before. This also got me some heated phone calls from the Mortgage Devil himself where he would rail on me about protecting his reputation and basically tell me what an asshole and embarrassment I was to him. The truth was, the Mortgage Devil only hired me to keep me from competing with him and because he was mandated to do so by management.

We were basically hired because the second biggest producer in the whole area decided to jump ship. The Mortgage Devil was previously partners with the Barbie Doll that A. Hole mentioned in his post on the clown. The two of them were so successful and overexposed that they had water bottles, frisbees, golf balls, and other crap with their pictures on them. The pictures were actually pretty funny because they both are the size of Romanian gymnasts, so when they pose in their "We are a team" fashion they look like they are part of an 8th grade cheerleading pyramid. I guess that was to inspire trust that they could get your loan done or alternatively, they could cheer you on to homeownership. Whatever, it was stupid. Despite their small stature, they were intimidating to the rest of us assholes in the business that weren't even well known enough to get recognized in person let alone to have our own line of bottled water.

To make a long story short, the Barbie Doll ditched the Mortgage Devil to go to another company. The Mortgage Devil was devastated and felt betrayed, you know, because he was such an ethical and upstanding individual that it rocked him to his core that someone wouldn't be loyal. This is why A. Hole and I were hired, to fill the void her production had left in the local market. And really, we were hired because he didn't want to lose any of his minions and if production fell, he would have to lose some of his dirty deed doers.

So I was promised the branch she had worked in and all her customer lists, connections, etc. This never happened. The Mortgage Devil took all of her contacts and left me to hope one of her customers would just call out of the blue and ask for a loan.

When I complained that I had no support in the beach branch and my loans weren't getting the attention I was promised by the Mortgage Devil (notice a reoccurring theme here), they got me a receptionist. I didn't get a Bank of Hell sanctioned receptionist, I got a temp from a local agency for three days a week. She was either a crack head or a meth addict, for real. One day she went to lunch and never came back. Doesn't that inspire trust that in an office with people's social security numbers, tax returns, and valuable personal information, the Mortgage Devil so carefully vetted the person who would have access to that information? I am still not sure whether it was legal for her to be there, but I suspect it at least violated the corporate policy of the Bank of Hell.  At least, I would hope so.  

So, while I waited for A. Hole to join me, I basically questioned my decision everyday. I closed loans, endured flack from the Devil, and often times thought a boss who asks you to touch his dick really isn't that bad after all.