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This blog is a complete clusterfuck. I swore it would be chronological but then I have used it as a platform to bitch about the consolidation of banking and the government's role in the housing crisis. I have determined the format to be FUBAR and thus, I have decided today I will blog about what I feel like. After all, this is my blog.
It is common knowledge that A.Hole and I were not friends at first sight. The Barbie Doll's return prompted us to be friends because fear and uncertainty are powerful motivators. I promised a month ago to blog about the infamous "Sitdown" that entrenched us as allies, but I didn't. Check out The Bitch is Back if you don't know the back story. I guess my check back tomorrow really meant, "Wander back in a month or so, I might or might not actually tell you what happened."
The Mortgage Devil called a meeting with his boss, a guy so salesman slick that every single time I saw him I was reminded of the scene in The Outlaw Josey Wales with the dude on the ferry who changed his tune depending on which side was on the raft. The meeting is going to be with me, A. Hole, the Douchebag from Josey Wales, Barbie, and the Mortgage Devil. For weeks the Mortgage Devil had been prepping us on all we should be upset about and vent to our superiors and he told us all the concerns he would raise at the meeting. Let me be clear, when the Mortgage Devil called a meeting, I usually didn't attend. On the rare occasions I did, I would stroll in late and look annoyed and spend the majority of the meeting fantasizing about being a pirate or being drunk at Happy Hour. This meeting however, was important for my career. Or at least that was the bullshit story I was fed.
I rolled in early and eight months pregnant, wearing a strapless dress as a skirt. I was wearing a shirt, I swear. The Barbie introduces herself and asks, "Wow, do you always look this great pregnant?" I respond, "It is hard to say, this is only my second time." She doesn't seem to be the dragon slayer I was expecting; in fact, she seems awfully nice and wanting to impress. I find it hard to hate her during our small talk and now, I am confused.
Before the meeting the Mortgage Devil goes over the things he is concerned for us for and encourages A. Hole and I to tell the slick seersucker suit wearing asshole from Josey Wales everything he has said. We walk into the most awkward meeting of all time. The Barbie and The Devil haven't been in the same room for months. There are rumors all around that the demise of their partnership was a sordid affair which led to her rapid departure and this fact is not lost on me or A.Hole as we sit down to face our future.
The meeting starts and the Mortgage Devil tells seersucker suit guy that his best loan officers have concerns. A. Hole and I elucidate the concerns we have been fed by the Mortgage Devil and then wait for him to back us up, and we wait. He gives his boss, Seersucker Carpetbagger, a glance that looks to be saying, "Look at these whiny bitches, you deal with it." Here is where it goes awry. Seersucker Carpet Bagger tells us in not so polite terms that we are in fact, whiny bitches, and we need to get on board. He regales us with stories of loan officers who prosper in competitive markets and wonders why we suffer from such low self esteem that we would be threatened by Barbie's return. The Barbie Doll seems hurt and defensive and reassures us that she wants life to be good for us and has no idea why would be worried about her hurting our business or happiness. A. Hole and I are so floored we say nothing, which is an absolute oddity and a freaking miracle. We endure a twenty minute lecture where our boss, the Mortgage Devil, nods his head at every critical thing the Seersucker Carpet Bagger tells us. We have been thrown under the bus. The Mortgage Devil set us up to look like whiny bitches and get shit off his chest and then turned coat on us and played Polly fucking Anna. Surprising? Nope. Disappointing? Hell Yes.
I get in my Volvo, the official car of libertarian loan officers, and immediately call A.Hole on his cell phone. We are both furious and ranting and raving. A. Hole and I both realized we were completely set up and our higher ups now were laboring under the impression that we were scared little fear mongers with no competitive spirit. The Mortgage Devil had slipped one by us and nothing is more painful than that.
I was so upset by the tongue lashing of the Seersucker Carpetbagger that I called my Operations Manager, the Enabler, and threatened to quit. She reassured me that everything would be fine and that the Mortgage Devil was just trying to make things right by me and A. Hole. Extremely pregnant, I realize I won't be fighting this battle at the moment and so I stew. I spend the last month of my pregnancy marketing and closing loans and on a Friday, send out a bunch of cold call letters to realtors touting my awesome abilities to get loans done at the Bank of Hell.
That Sunday, I give birth to my daughter. But not before my operations manager holds a baby shower for me at the Bank of Hell where everyone hates me, or at least does a shitty job of pretending to be my friend. A. Hole is not invited or he doesn't show up. Wait a minute, why didn't you show up Fucker? I digress....at said baby shower, the Mortgage Devil entertains us with stories of how he has missed almost all of his kid's firsts and great moments due to his commitment to the mortgage industry. He goes on to tell stories of when he has mortified his kids in public because he is such an asshole. I was miserable at my baby shower because the Mortgage Devil used it as a platform to talk all about him, as usual.
A.Hole and I became friends because of the Barbie and the extreme foulness of the Mortgage Devil, but when I returned from so called, "Maternity Leave", they put us in the cave together. Big mistake, morons. Big Mistake. That is when the shit hit the fan. Stay tuned, I may get around to that story tomorrow....or not.
Showing posts with label Barbie Doll. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barbie Doll. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
The Bitch is Back
My initial hatred of A. Hole began to dissipate. Having moved into his subdivision we became neighbors, and seeing him as a human being helped to soften my stance but, what finally made us allies was a crazy turn of events we never saw coming. The Mortgage Devil’s old partner, the Barbie Doll, was returning to the Bank of Hell and this news caused chaos.
For months, A. Hole and I had been coexisting in the beach branch of the Bank of Hell. We tolerated each other, made obligatory small talk, and were content to not know much about each other. In the beginning, as I previously blogged, I was wildly turned off by his eating habits and his fandom of the Washington Redskins well that, and the fact that he was a loan officer and worked at the Bank of Hell. It was the like the super trifecta of things I abhor.
So, the crack head receptionist left one day and never came back but the Bank of Hell replaced her with another temp, we will call him The Edsell. He was a gentle retired librarian, newspaper man, and historian who reminded me a little of the grandfather in the Werther’s commercials. He was also, amusingly and sadly, in the twilight of his memory and ability to function in a professional environment. He was pleasant to both A. Hole and me, but since he and A. Hole were both Redskins fans, I endured countless discussions about the Skins chances to make the playoffs that year. The Bears were already a lock and I was wildly over confident in my team and figured there was no way the Skins were going to make it. As they chatted in the lobby about the prospects I fought the urge to yell out, “The pope will have to get laid for your team to get in. Shut Up!”
Turns out the Skins made the playoffs without any copulation on the part of The Pope and since I am rarely wrong, this prompted me to talk to A. Hole about it. Slowly, our relationship turned a corner. It was encouraged by The Edsell, who was so kind and grandfatherly that it was like having your conscience sitting ten feet from you; it brought out the best in us.
The charming thing about The Edsell was that he was the worst receptionist in the history of mankind, sweet and completely incompetent. A. Hole and I would get phone messages with 5 digit phone numbers and names of people that were inaccurate or unintelligible. Here is a typical exchange:
Turdy: “Hey The Edsell, I see you took a message from someone named Douchey Bagsley who called about a loan. I don’t know a Douchey Bagsley but I did talk to someone named Darcy Bailey about a loan, does that sound familiar?”
The Edsell: “Yeah, yeah, that sounds right.”
Turdy: “One other question, after her name you have the numbers 55534, is that supposed to represent something?”
The Edsell: “Yeah, that is the phone number she left. You are supposed to call her as soon as possible.”
Turdy: “I would love to do that Edsell, but unfortunately, I think I need seven numbers to reach her. It would appear two are missing. Do you know what those might be?”
The Edsell pages through the message pad, opens drawers searching for the missing digits, and then pauses.
The Edsell: “Those other numbers must be around here somewhere, I’ll get back to you.”
Neither A. Hole or I had the heart to say anything to The Edsell or management about our hard of hearing, elderly, and sweet receptionist. We spent a lot of time reconstructing phone numbers and randomly plugging in digits until we reached someone on the phone who had actually called. Often, we would call people and insult them by calling them the wrong name. We once got a message that someone named Johnny Weinerberger called, it wasn’t even close to their actual name, but it was a damn funny name. The Edsell helped bring us together as colleagues but it was the Barbie Doll’s return that made us allies.
So ironically, it was The Edsell who helped to let me know that the Barbie Doll was returning. The Mortgage Devil had been blowing up my cell phone and since he never answered my calls when I needed him, I was avoiding him. I am on my office phone when Edsell yells out, “Turdy, the Mortgage Devil is on the phone and he says it’s urgent.” After telling Edsell to take a message and returning to my phone call, Edsell comes in my office and looking sheepish, tells me the Mortgage Devil insists on speaking to me immediately. I mumble, “For shits sake.” Then I tell Edsell to put the Mortgage Devil’s call through. I am wary of this call because taking a phone call from the Mortgage Devil when he is in manic mode is a surefire way to guarantee you will not be able to resume the rest of your daily activities when you get off the phone, instead, you find yourself on your way to happy hour regardless of the time of day.
I say hello to the Mortgage Devil and right away I can tell there is something different. He is talking to me like he needs me, like I am an equal, and he sounds desperate and shaken. I am trying to process what he is telling me but what registers is that the Barbie Doll is returning to the Bank of Hell and moving into my sanctuary and the Mortgage Devil is indignant and worried about me and A. Hole. He is rambling about how he doesn’t understand how the Bank of Hell could take her back after what she did to him and how he will have our backs. He also calls A. Hole and gives a similar speech.
For the next two weeks, A. Hole and I talk a lot about what the Barbie Doll’s return will mean for us. She is bringing her own staff, she is a big producer, and she will be running our branch which scared us because the Mortgage Devil basically told us she would run us off and eat our young. We knew it meant saying goodbye to Edsell and potentially losing our offices. To add to the anxiety that comes with uncertain work conditions, the Mortgage Devil was suddenly best friends with me and A. Hole and was describing all the horrible things the Barbie Doll had done and riling us up with ugly scenarios of what our jobs would be like upon her return. This was incredibly stressful for me since I was 7 months pregnant and her triumphant return would be in my last month of pregnancy. After experiencing the Mortgage Devil’s theft of my commissions, I was petrified of what the Barbie Doll would do to me and my business.
During that month, I spoke to the Mortgage Devil and A. Hole more than I had in the previous eight months cumulatively. The staff in the Mortgage Devil’s branch which I despised and tortured whenever I could, did an about face and began being nice to me and treating me like one of their own. I would still describe their behavior as shitty but it was far more cordial and less hostile than our previous encounters. The most common phrase from the Mortgage Devil’s minions during the Barbie saga was, “I can’t believe that bitch is coming back, she thinks she can get away with this after what she has done to the poor Mortgage Devil?” The situation was ironic and intriguing, the Mortgage Devil was playing victim and as far I as can discern, he is only a victim of a hideous sense of humor and his narcissism.
I was baffled by the Mortgage Devil and his Minions sudden interest in communication and cooperation. It wouldn’t take long to find out what their true motives were. Tomorrow, I will tell you about the great “Sit Down”, the all time greatest example of getting thrown under the bus.
For now, I want to sign off with a shout out to The Edsell. He was the best thing about working at the Bank of Hell because he was genuine and kind; his complete ignorance of what was going on in the offices around him was enviable. I am hoping he is still on this earth, but given his advanced age and condition, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t. Either way, his phone messages are Mortgage Whore legend.
For months, A. Hole and I had been coexisting in the beach branch of the Bank of Hell. We tolerated each other, made obligatory small talk, and were content to not know much about each other. In the beginning, as I previously blogged, I was wildly turned off by his eating habits and his fandom of the Washington Redskins well that, and the fact that he was a loan officer and worked at the Bank of Hell. It was the like the super trifecta of things I abhor.
So, the crack head receptionist left one day and never came back but the Bank of Hell replaced her with another temp, we will call him The Edsell. He was a gentle retired librarian, newspaper man, and historian who reminded me a little of the grandfather in the Werther’s commercials. He was also, amusingly and sadly, in the twilight of his memory and ability to function in a professional environment. He was pleasant to both A. Hole and me, but since he and A. Hole were both Redskins fans, I endured countless discussions about the Skins chances to make the playoffs that year. The Bears were already a lock and I was wildly over confident in my team and figured there was no way the Skins were going to make it. As they chatted in the lobby about the prospects I fought the urge to yell out, “The pope will have to get laid for your team to get in. Shut Up!”
Turns out the Skins made the playoffs without any copulation on the part of The Pope and since I am rarely wrong, this prompted me to talk to A. Hole about it. Slowly, our relationship turned a corner. It was encouraged by The Edsell, who was so kind and grandfatherly that it was like having your conscience sitting ten feet from you; it brought out the best in us.
The charming thing about The Edsell was that he was the worst receptionist in the history of mankind, sweet and completely incompetent. A. Hole and I would get phone messages with 5 digit phone numbers and names of people that were inaccurate or unintelligible. Here is a typical exchange:
Turdy: “Hey The Edsell, I see you took a message from someone named Douchey Bagsley who called about a loan. I don’t know a Douchey Bagsley but I did talk to someone named Darcy Bailey about a loan, does that sound familiar?”
The Edsell: “Yeah, yeah, that sounds right.”
Turdy: “One other question, after her name you have the numbers 55534, is that supposed to represent something?”
The Edsell: “Yeah, that is the phone number she left. You are supposed to call her as soon as possible.”
Turdy: “I would love to do that Edsell, but unfortunately, I think I need seven numbers to reach her. It would appear two are missing. Do you know what those might be?”
The Edsell pages through the message pad, opens drawers searching for the missing digits, and then pauses.
The Edsell: “Those other numbers must be around here somewhere, I’ll get back to you.”
Neither A. Hole or I had the heart to say anything to The Edsell or management about our hard of hearing, elderly, and sweet receptionist. We spent a lot of time reconstructing phone numbers and randomly plugging in digits until we reached someone on the phone who had actually called. Often, we would call people and insult them by calling them the wrong name. We once got a message that someone named Johnny Weinerberger called, it wasn’t even close to their actual name, but it was a damn funny name. The Edsell helped bring us together as colleagues but it was the Barbie Doll’s return that made us allies.
So ironically, it was The Edsell who helped to let me know that the Barbie Doll was returning. The Mortgage Devil had been blowing up my cell phone and since he never answered my calls when I needed him, I was avoiding him. I am on my office phone when Edsell yells out, “Turdy, the Mortgage Devil is on the phone and he says it’s urgent.” After telling Edsell to take a message and returning to my phone call, Edsell comes in my office and looking sheepish, tells me the Mortgage Devil insists on speaking to me immediately. I mumble, “For shits sake.” Then I tell Edsell to put the Mortgage Devil’s call through. I am wary of this call because taking a phone call from the Mortgage Devil when he is in manic mode is a surefire way to guarantee you will not be able to resume the rest of your daily activities when you get off the phone, instead, you find yourself on your way to happy hour regardless of the time of day.
I say hello to the Mortgage Devil and right away I can tell there is something different. He is talking to me like he needs me, like I am an equal, and he sounds desperate and shaken. I am trying to process what he is telling me but what registers is that the Barbie Doll is returning to the Bank of Hell and moving into my sanctuary and the Mortgage Devil is indignant and worried about me and A. Hole. He is rambling about how he doesn’t understand how the Bank of Hell could take her back after what she did to him and how he will have our backs. He also calls A. Hole and gives a similar speech.
For the next two weeks, A. Hole and I talk a lot about what the Barbie Doll’s return will mean for us. She is bringing her own staff, she is a big producer, and she will be running our branch which scared us because the Mortgage Devil basically told us she would run us off and eat our young. We knew it meant saying goodbye to Edsell and potentially losing our offices. To add to the anxiety that comes with uncertain work conditions, the Mortgage Devil was suddenly best friends with me and A. Hole and was describing all the horrible things the Barbie Doll had done and riling us up with ugly scenarios of what our jobs would be like upon her return. This was incredibly stressful for me since I was 7 months pregnant and her triumphant return would be in my last month of pregnancy. After experiencing the Mortgage Devil’s theft of my commissions, I was petrified of what the Barbie Doll would do to me and my business.
During that month, I spoke to the Mortgage Devil and A. Hole more than I had in the previous eight months cumulatively. The staff in the Mortgage Devil’s branch which I despised and tortured whenever I could, did an about face and began being nice to me and treating me like one of their own. I would still describe their behavior as shitty but it was far more cordial and less hostile than our previous encounters. The most common phrase from the Mortgage Devil’s minions during the Barbie saga was, “I can’t believe that bitch is coming back, she thinks she can get away with this after what she has done to the poor Mortgage Devil?” The situation was ironic and intriguing, the Mortgage Devil was playing victim and as far I as can discern, he is only a victim of a hideous sense of humor and his narcissism.
I was baffled by the Mortgage Devil and his Minions sudden interest in communication and cooperation. It wouldn’t take long to find out what their true motives were. Tomorrow, I will tell you about the great “Sit Down”, the all time greatest example of getting thrown under the bus.
For now, I want to sign off with a shout out to The Edsell. He was the best thing about working at the Bank of Hell because he was genuine and kind; his complete ignorance of what was going on in the offices around him was enviable. I am hoping he is still on this earth, but given his advanced age and condition, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t. Either way, his phone messages are Mortgage Whore legend.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Send in the Clown
The Mortgage Devil was someone I was aware of...everyone who was a Loan Officer was aware of him...but was someone I had not met in person for the first 4 years of my career. My "lucky" day came in the form of an encounter at a Realtor's Convention.
But let me back up for moment. For some stupid reason (most likely I was desperate to increase business and income) I joined a Mortgage Finance Committee for our local Real Estate Board. This committee's sole purpose was to suck up to Realtors by providing them Continuing Education Credit seminars conducted by us. In return, they were subjected to the Committee members setting up booths that they had to walk past (chocked full with our own company's literature and freebies) to get to the classroom to get their Continuing Education Credit. This was called a "Convention" but it was basically a twisted symbiotic relationship between Realtors and Lenders.
The Committee consisted of all of the relevant Loan Officers in my market plus the Mortgage Devil. We basically got along OK and the Mortgage Devil didn't show up for a single meeting which wasn't surprising. We met mid-way between every one's office at a restaurant. Perhaps restaurant is too kind. It was more of a Red-Neck Dive...and when I say Red-Neck Dive I mean that the Wednesday night special at this place was Muskrat Stew...and I no, I am not joking.
To this day, I am still not sure why that location was picked as a meeting spot. The funny part of these meetings (at least to me) was the parking lot at the Red-Neck Dive. You could always tell when we had a meeting by surveying the lot. Among the Pick-up Trucks and Muscle Cars in the parking lot were all of my fellow Loan Officer's/competitors cars which consisted of Mercedes-Benz, Lexus, and BMW's. I always found this amusing along with the odd-looks we would receive from the jeans and flannel crowd as we entered the Dive.
Anyway, back to the tale.
So, the day of the "Convention" arrives. We had to arrive early...as in "butt crack of dawn" early to set up our booths before the Realtors arrived. We all trudge around the Convention Center and get set up. The Mortgage Devil has a booth but he has sent some interns/lackey's to set it up...he doesn't have time for such menial tasks.
The Convention starts at 9:00 a.m. and the Realtors start checking in and "milling" around the Booths. About 10 minutes into the show I hear some type of strange commotion going on by the registration tables and the hallway leading into the Show. It is part applause, murmuring, and perhaps some curse words. As I look at the entrance doors to see what was up...in comes the Mortgage Devil. Except he is not walking in. He is riding a uni-cycle....and he is juggling....and NO...I am not kidding. My booth was next to a competitor of mine. She is usually "bubbly"...basically she is a short blond Barbie Doll that always seem to have smile plastered on her face. But this morning the smile is gone and the words that came out her mouth would have made a sailor blush. It started with "are you fucking kidding me?" and ended with "what an asshole". In between , she had a rant of profanity to this day is in the top 10 rants I have ever heard. I am standing there watching the Mortgage Devil riding through the show on his uni-cycle and juggling...standing next to a Cursing Barbie Doll... and out of the corner of my eye I see a Loan Officer we like to call MiMi (because she looks exactly like Mimi from the Drew Carey show...google that image if you don't know what I am talking about) face down on a massage table getting rubbed down. Apparently someone invited a masseuse to set up a booth. These images are burned into my brain forever. Basically, I was standing there with my mouth open.
The only thing I could think of to say was "I guess someone decided to send in the clown". At least the Barbie Doll stopped swearing to laugh for a few seconds.
But let me back up for moment. For some stupid reason (most likely I was desperate to increase business and income) I joined a Mortgage Finance Committee for our local Real Estate Board. This committee's sole purpose was to suck up to Realtors by providing them Continuing Education Credit seminars conducted by us. In return, they were subjected to the Committee members setting up booths that they had to walk past (chocked full with our own company's literature and freebies) to get to the classroom to get their Continuing Education Credit. This was called a "Convention" but it was basically a twisted symbiotic relationship between Realtors and Lenders.
The Committee consisted of all of the relevant Loan Officers in my market plus the Mortgage Devil. We basically got along OK and the Mortgage Devil didn't show up for a single meeting which wasn't surprising. We met mid-way between every one's office at a restaurant. Perhaps restaurant is too kind. It was more of a Red-Neck Dive...and when I say Red-Neck Dive I mean that the Wednesday night special at this place was Muskrat Stew...and I no, I am not joking.
To this day, I am still not sure why that location was picked as a meeting spot. The funny part of these meetings (at least to me) was the parking lot at the Red-Neck Dive. You could always tell when we had a meeting by surveying the lot. Among the Pick-up Trucks and Muscle Cars in the parking lot were all of my fellow Loan Officer's/competitors cars which consisted of Mercedes-Benz, Lexus, and BMW's. I always found this amusing along with the odd-looks we would receive from the jeans and flannel crowd as we entered the Dive.
Anyway, back to the tale.
So, the day of the "Convention" arrives. We had to arrive early...as in "butt crack of dawn" early to set up our booths before the Realtors arrived. We all trudge around the Convention Center and get set up. The Mortgage Devil has a booth but he has sent some interns/lackey's to set it up...he doesn't have time for such menial tasks.
The Convention starts at 9:00 a.m. and the Realtors start checking in and "milling" around the Booths. About 10 minutes into the show I hear some type of strange commotion going on by the registration tables and the hallway leading into the Show. It is part applause, murmuring, and perhaps some curse words. As I look at the entrance doors to see what was up...in comes the Mortgage Devil. Except he is not walking in. He is riding a uni-cycle....and he is juggling....and NO...I am not kidding. My booth was next to a competitor of mine. She is usually "bubbly"...basically she is a short blond Barbie Doll that always seem to have smile plastered on her face. But this morning the smile is gone and the words that came out her mouth would have made a sailor blush. It started with "are you fucking kidding me?" and ended with "what an asshole". In between , she had a rant of profanity to this day is in the top 10 rants I have ever heard. I am standing there watching the Mortgage Devil riding through the show on his uni-cycle and juggling...standing next to a Cursing Barbie Doll... and out of the corner of my eye I see a Loan Officer we like to call MiMi (because she looks exactly like Mimi from the Drew Carey show...google that image if you don't know what I am talking about) face down on a massage table getting rubbed down. Apparently someone invited a masseuse to set up a booth. These images are burned into my brain forever. Basically, I was standing there with my mouth open.
The only thing I could think of to say was "I guess someone decided to send in the clown". At least the Barbie Doll stopped swearing to laugh for a few seconds.
So, we all did the work for this "Convention" and the Mortgage Devil shows up the day of the event and "steals the show".
What I learned from this experience...this is his M.O. This is how he operates. No guts...all Glory...and I also learned that seeing Mimi getting a massage is an event that not even therapy can erase from your memory and that the Barbie Doll can curse worse than a sailor.
This was the first time I met the Mortgage Devil in person....my "lucky" day.
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