Me and A. Hole

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.

Saturday Night's All Right for Stealin'

One of the hobbies of the Mortgage Devil was working on Saturday. While most of us might enjoy playing golf, going to the beach, watching a college football game, drinking themselves stupid or a combination of these items on a Saturday… the Mortgage Devil worked….EVERY Saturday. In order to continue to be the Dark Overlord of the Beach Market he needed to work on Saturday…it was kinda’ like his own Holy Day.

His Saturday would start with a stop in the Bank of Hell to check voice mail and write down the name of numbers of the people that he hadn’t called back from that Friday or possibly six Friday’s ago. He always said “if the worst thing that I do is never call people back…then I am doing alright”. Well he did way worse than not calling people back…and I will get into one example of that in a minute.

Now that the voice mails are checked, he grabs a stack of flyer's and his cell phone and start driving like a maniac all over the Beach to stop by all of the Real Estate offices. He picked Saturday’s because he can’t get past the receptionist (gate keeper) during the week. He had free reign on Saturday’s to terrorize the Real Estate Agents with his flyer's…aka propaganda…proclaiming how great he was and how awesome the Bank of Hell was compared to the rest of the world. In between stops he would be on his cell phone calling his customers and patting himself on the back for how dedicated he was to be returning their phone call on a Saturday. He was in his glory. You would think by the time he returned all of their phone calls and passed out all of his propaganda…he would call it a day. Not this asshole. Nope.

He would then head back to the Bank of Hell for the second half of his Saturday hobby. Since none of the Devil’s Minion’s or support staff were in on a Saturday…he would start grabbing and looking at EVERY loan file they had in their filling cabinets that were “in process”. Which basically meant that everyone who had applied for a loan but had not gone to closing was having the Devil look through their mortgage file. But don’t worry, he wasn’t stealing customer’s personal information. He was trying to find an angle to steal the loan application from the other loan officers in the office (such as Turdy and myself). He would look at the name of the Loan Officer on the file then rip into the file like a madman trying to find out the customer’s name, who was the selling real estate agent, who was the listing agent, who was the builder, the title company, the sellers, if the children’s name were on a tax return he might write their names down too. Why did he do this? Because he is fucking crazy? Yes. Greedy? Yes.

He honestly believed that everyone that applied for a mortgage at the Bank of Hell, were there because of him. There was no way any other loan officers could have brought that customer to the Bank of Hell…on their own. Yes, he is that narcissistic and crazy.

Then the Mortgage Devil would put a yellow “sticky” note on the front cover of the file and plop it into the offending loan officer’s chair. There were several Monday mornings I would stumble into the Bank of Hell after a Sunday of tailgating and drinking to find a stack of my files in the seat of my chair. The first time that this occurred it was after a particular rough Monday morning following a long day of tailgating. I see the stack of files, rub my eyes because I thought I was seeing shit at this point, and realize…yeah, files are really in my chair. My first thought was that my processor at the time (who was the Devil’s most loyal Minion) had worked on the file over the weekend and needed me to look at it for a reason. Silly me. She would NEVER work on a Saturday unless large sums of unmarked cash were placed in a non-descript white envelope then pressed into her greedy mitt. I grab the file on top and notice the “sticky” note. It read: “See Me! – Mortgage Devil”. Ok…so I head off in search of the Dark One.

I find him in his usual position…behind a large desk with files stacked up to his eyes, head set on, spouting his scripted bull shit to some unsuspecting customer, while pounding away on a manual calculator. I give him my best “What the Fuck?” look. He gives me his index finger extended…his universal sign of “wait a minute (or an hour as explained previously). I know that he saw me, so I head back to my desk (Gilligan’s Island) to look at the rest of the sticky notes…I then grow disgusted and push them aside for now. Eventually, the Mortgage Devil comes around the corner. His words “Grab those files and meet me in the Break Room”. Though I don’t feel like being obedient, I decide that I am curious to see what he wants from me. I quickly find out what he wants…those files. Literally. The conversation goes something like this:

Mortgage Devil: “I was looking through your files this weekend and noticed that a few of those files should be mine”.

Me: “You did WHAT this weekend to my files?”

Mortgage Devil: “I was looking through your files this weekend”.

Me: “Why do you think it is OK to look through MY files?”

Mortgage Devil: “I noticed that several of your loans are actually my loans. The stack of loans you are holding are my customers.”

Me (trying not to punch him in the face): “I honestly don’t know why you would think they were your customers?!”

Mortgage Devil: “Well take the one on top for example. The builder is a friend of mine. We had lunch before.”

Me: “Oh really? If he is your friend then why did he refer his customer to me?”

Mortgage Devil: “That is what I am trying to figure out. You obviously took that customer from me somehow.”

Me: “I took the customer because he was referred to ME! By your “friend”…which I wonder how close you two are because he has been referring clients to me for the past two years on a regular basis and we had lunch three weeks ago. So, when exactly did you have lunch with your “friend”?

Mortgage Devil: “Look…you need to check with me when you get something from that builder. I am going to let it slide this one time.”

Me: “Why don’t we have a conference call with the Builder and ask him who he was referring the loan to?”

Mortgage Devil: “Look, you just need to run this by me next time.”

Me (walking away): “I don’t see that happening”.

Mortgage Devil: “Hey come back here…we need to talk about the rest of the files!”.

I walked down the back steps with my files out the back door into the parking lot…got into my car and drove straight to the beach to go cool off. Unfortunately, Turdy and I weren’t very close then…or I would have demanded she attend Happy Hour with me immediately…the drinks would have definitely been on me. So, I had to find one of my unemployed drunk friends to vent to…which isn’t very hard to find at the Beach. Sure it was around 11:00 a.m. on a Monday morning but I didn’t see me going back to the office that day.

After I am properly cooled off from many drinks at Happy Hour, I decide I need to start holding onto my files until the last minute. Basically, I would start the file and keep it away from the Processor’s and more importantly the Mortgage Devil’s Saturday Night Stealin’ expeditions until the file was almost ready to close. Sadly, it was necessary to do business that way at the Bank of Hell.

The Mortgage Devil as mentioned before was making $1-2 million a year in commissions and yet was so paranoid and narcissistic he would spend Saturday’s trying to steal files so he can make MORE money and more importantly produce MORE loans so he can remain the #1 Producer for the Bank of Hell. A prize more coveted to him than spending time with his family or even his own sanity.

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.

There is a Turd in the Punch Bowl

On occasion I have been known to watch “South Park”. I love the way they take a current event and then “cross the line” with it. It can be a beautiful thing when the creators are on their game. One episode reminded me of when I first met my co-writer.

The overall theme of the episode revolved around someone not going along with an “agenda”. When this happened the phrase “There is a Turd in the Punch Bowl” was uttered and the person was removed. It was code for we have a “free thinker” and someone who isn’t drinking the “Punch” (or kool-aid if you like). The beauty of this is that my co-writer chose the name Turd Furgeson. Ohh, the cosmic irony.

By now you should know that Turd Furgeson didn’t go along with the Mortgage Devil’s agenda at all. She hadn’t been drinking his Punch in quite awhile. It became a source of displeasure for him and his cohort…who I would like to introduce now. This woman shall be called Cruella Deville from this point forward. She is a middle aged woman who has the most fake laugh…bordering on cackle…that I have ever heard. Her husband is a successful Doctor in the area..so she doesn't need the money. Why does she work in the mortgage industry?....because she is Cruella and she needs to steal puppies to make fur coats?...or to take advantage of mortgage customers to finance her wool sweater and wool skirt habit? I am not sure. She chain smoked cigarettes all day and ran around the office between smoke breaks totally freaking out yelling “I am so SCREWED”…all…day…long. She never met a loan that wasn’t a total crisis. She created more drama than a Broadway production on a daily basis. She would run around screaming, cursing, throwing her hands up…. and then suddenly…the phone would ring. At a quick snap she would transform the rage into a sugary sweet demeanor. It was sickening to watch. It was better not to have eaten any greasy food that could easily come up when you were in her presence. The probability that I would vomit after watching this show was very high.

I recall one evening I am talking to one of the Mortgage Devil’s Minion’s…one that I actually like a little….and here comes Cruella. She is in full on freak out mode:

Cruella: “A. Hole…darling…have you heard that Turd Furgeson is down at the Beach office stealing loans from all of us”.

Me: “uhhh…what?”

Cruella: “Oh yeah, she is down there picking up all of the phones call that could be for any of us…and she is taking the loan applications all for herself”.

Me: “hmmm…Really?”

Cruella: “Yes, the Mortgage Devil is pissed. He said that he explained to her she had to find out who the Loan Officer was that handled the loan and then pass it to them. But she isn’t doing that. He said that wasn’t the deal.”

Me: “Well, I planned to make some stops at the Beach at the end of the week and stop in that office. I guess I will get to meet her.”

Cruella: “Well you need to sit and there and listen to what she is doing and tell the Mortgage Devil. He needs proof. Better yet, tell me and I will tell the Mortgage Devil”.

Me: “Why would I do that? I am not her boss.”

Cruella: “Jesus Christ, don’t you see that she is ripping all us off??!!”

Me: “ I will give you a full report. Happy?”

Apparently, Turd wasn’t going along with the Mortgage Devil’s and Cruella Deville’s plan. So, there was a Turd in the Punch Bowl and I was supposed to help flush it? Not my style. I had no intention of being a spy or tattle-tailing. I just needed a break from Gilligan’s Island and Cruella Deville’s stupid daily shit. I knew none of my clients were being stolen by Turd because I didn’t give out the number to that office to ANYONE. I don’t think I even knew the number for that office. I didn’t even want people calling ANY office for fear the call would be directed elsewhere by the Ever-clear Pickled Bitchy Receptionist. Everyone had my cell phone number and that is how everyone reached me.

I was there for some peace and quiet and to relax a little without the constant stream of people “buzzing” my Island like Crop Dusters. I pull into the parking lot and see what I believe is the Turd’s mode of transportation. A Volvo Station Wagon. That is odd? The Mortgage Devil had a Volvo Station Wagon (and 10 other cars) too. I guess I didn’t get the Corporate Memo about Loan Officers driving Volvo Station Wagons. Oh, well. Boring Car…hopefully she is not as boring as her mode of transportation. When I walk past it I notice a Chicago Bears magnet attached to it. I figured it must be her husbands and he must be from the Mid-West. I roll in and the greeting was less than warm. Great, who pissed in her Cheerios? No worries, I have some chicken and it is quiet…except she talks very loud on the phone. Hopefully, she can stop talking for a few seconds while I check out some Washington Redskins news and plan for my next tailgate. I am at this office for some rest and relaxation not hear her blabber all day with lunatic customers. So, I notice this little window between the offices. Weird? What the hell is that for…passing joints…passing a flask of whiskey back in forth? Who knew?

So, I am doing my usual method of getting to know someone...it involves me sitting and observing…not saying much. What have I observed? She talks loud and is constantly on the phone…and she doesn’t like me. Ok, this is going to be challenge to figure out who she really is…so, I make it my personal mission.

The next several times I stop by the office…she started an annoying habit of running out the back door to talk on her cell phone as soon as I walked through the door. But due to the volume she speaks on the phone…and the thin walls in this office…I could figure out she was inviting her friends to the office. So, her friends would stop by…one that talked as much as her and the other seemed drunk or high or both all the time. After this scenario unfolded the same way several times…I figured this was intentional because she needed a buffer between us. She hated me. Why? Because she thought I was one of Devil’s Minion. She had no idea I was smiling and nodding to the Mortgage Devil while I was planning on how I could take him down. We had the same goal but were stuck in an ultra-competitive environment (created and encouraged by the Mortgage Devil), so we didn’t realize that we should be allies not foes.

I don’t recall the exact conversation, but I think we were talking about our children and she suddenly started not hating me so much. Then we got to know each other a little better and we realized we both had a deep hatred for the Mortgage Devil in common. Then things got really interesting…stay tuned folks.

The Mortgage Devil Does A Loan For Me, Sorta

A few months into my tenure at the Bank of Hell, I put my house on the market. It was my first home and it was a major project, ironically, I had bought it after it went to foreclosure. It was an 80 year old colonial that was in such bad shape that when I stepped foot into it for the first time it had kelly green carpet with dried up dog shit on it. I remember commenting to the realtor, "Perhaps they thought the green carpet would make the dog think it was grass." I was pretty sure they ran some kind of phone sex operation there and made meth in the carriage house but, it was love at first sight for me. The house had great bones. You had to be a visionary to see it through the dog shit, plaster falling off the walls, landscaping growing through the windows, and the hideousness that was carpet over original pine flooring. I saw it for what it was intended: a majestic home in a poor town. It was the mayor's house of Hillbilly Ville and it was perfect for me.



The home was 15 minutes from the ocean and 15 minutes from the nearest city where people actually lived and shopped. I purchased the house for $80,000 in 2002 and got my mortgage through Countrywide, with 10% down. At the time, it never crossed my mind that I would be a loan officer; I was working as a mate on an offshore fishing boat and "writing my dissertation.". When I wasn't fishing for tuna, marlin, and big tips in a leopard print bikin, I was renovating the house and learning things most women never do...and for good reason. I tore up carpet, drywalled, painted, tore up landscaping, and learned to disguise flaws in a home to the naked eye. My husband started calling me, "Contractor Jane". I went to auctions, rummaged dumpsters, and turned old barn doors into charming dining room tables to capture the essence of the home. I was in my element.


I had a few minutes of buyers remorse, not because of the constant work and money that the home needed but, instead it came when I went to the local tavern and met people that scared the crap out of me. There were people using the "N" word and not at all in an ironic fashion. There were huge Nascar fans with less teeth than an infant, no view out of their window, and to make matters worse, they looked at me like I was a city girl. Fortunately, I can adapt to most situations, but I left the bar the night we moved in a little bit drunk and pretty sure I was going to get robbed and raped. At first my friends made fun of the purchase, I had purchased a home in a town where non-residents don't even like to stop for gas. I got the last laugh.


After a few years in the home and countless trips to Home Depot, my mommy mechanism kicked in. I had a boy about to turn three and was thinking that perhaps, we should move somewhere with more people like me. I realize now that there is no neighborhood on earth with people like me, but at the time, I really held out hope that the suburbs and a culdesac would give me moms who cussed like sailors, drank wine, and were worldly when it came to politics and economics. Naive, much?


After searching for the perfect home I decided to build one in a planned urban development (PUD) full of brick homes and large lots. It was right in the middle of a culdesac and I designed it myself to be fabulous. I put our now renovated colonial on the market for $260,000 and got offers immediately. Two and a half years in the home and we got an immediate offer at more than triple what we paid. Because we did so much work on the home in what they call "sweat equity", we made out like bandits.


The new home was to be finished by Christmas, which was perfect because I had moved my parents out from the Midwest to live with us and had designed them an in-law suite attached to our new home. This was in the peak of the housing boom however, and the home was delayed. At first the builder told me it was a six week delay, then two months, and in the end it turned out to be 5 months late. I was now pregnant with my daughter, living with my elderly and often critical parents in a 3 bedroom colonial, and working as a loan officer in a pressure filled situation. I was on the verge of insanity.



The insanity and delays led me to keep upgrading things in my new home, so much so that I came in $75,000 over budget. I wanted to do my loan through the Bank of Hell and because the Mortgage Devil was all about his glory, I had to ask him to do the loan. He responds, "Of course, I do all the employee loans. But you will have to do your own application, send it through underwriting, and get all the documentation." Basically, I was to do his job for my own loan. By the way, this is totally unethical. I was under direct orders to basically be the loan officer on my own loan, of course, the Mortgage Devil didn't have time for his minions. I did as told and moved into Suburbia, earning the Devil a small commission for which he did nothing.


The craziest part of this is that after I moved into my home I started receiving his mass mailings offering to refinance me. Wonderful postcards with his picture telling me, his employee, that it was a great time to refinance. WTF? I went into his office one day and told him, "You could save some money by taking me off your marketing list, I know who you are and I don't need constant reminders." He responded with, "Well, you would be surprised how few loan officers remember to refinance their own homes." Gee, really? I watch interest rates everyday and just closed two months ago on my home and you think I need to be told its time to refinance? The only thing bigger than that man's ego is the national debt.


As though it wasn't bad enough having to deal with the asshole everyday, I now was one of his customers which entitled me to countless newsletters, magnets, and stupid bullshit reminders that he had money to sell. At one point, my now three and a half year old picked up one of the Mortgage Devil's newsletters and without missing a beat said, "Isn't this your asshole boss?" Well put, little man. Well put.


Note: I did correct my son with respect to his language, but I did take the time to compliment him on his amazing insight into people's true personalities. Now you know.

Mr. Slumlord, A Gift From the Devil

The Mortgage Devil was a ruthless salesman and a horrible boss. When he wasn’t stealing loans from my commission statement he was bitching about the time I was demanding of him. He was a producer, vice president, and in title only, my manager. His management style was unique. One time he had me perform my own performance evaluation saying it was a management technique, yeah right, he was the Sultan of Spin. I knew he didn’t want to waste his time managing his loan officers, he wanted to be originating loans. What a dick.

After complaining profusely about the Devil stealing my loans to anyone who would listen but primarily to my operations manager, henceforth to be known as The Enabler, the Mortgage Devil called me to tell me he was giving me a loan. He was going on and on about how generous it was of him and how the agent on the deal was one of mine, so really it was only fair that I had the loan. It was a $70,000 loan meant as a peace offering to compensate me for the $500,000 in loans he had already taken from me.

What I think happened is that he stole the loan from me before I could talk to the customer. During the phone conversation with the Devil, I was perplexed as to why he didn’t just do the loan. Once I actually spoke to the customer it all became clear. This was not a gift, no, this was the Mortgage Devil pawning off a bat shit crazy customer on me because he figured that a $500 commission wasn’t going to be worth it. The Devil, appearing to be helpful, had once again screwed me.

I mentioned this customer in an earlier post on the habitual offenders, detailing the customers who became so prevalent in your life that it felt like you were in a relationship with them. A sick, twisted, stalk you till you die kind of relationship. This customer was working on becoming a slumlord and when I say he was a total pain in the ass, I am being generous. He was a vile and hot headed guy with an ego that was completely unjustified. To make matters worse, he suffered from delusions of grandeur about the real estate empire he was building in a sad little community that only had one thing going for it; it was thirty minutes from the ocean. His properties were targeted to low income people and he was awfully proud of all the Section 8 vouchers that would be paying for his bills.

That first loan for him was a nightmare and foreshadowed the torture I would endure during the next ten loans I did for him. Actually, it might have been more but I have probably blocked it out in an attempt to protect my sanity. Every one of his loans was either a no down payment or a very tiny down payment investment property loan, which are nightmares. He and I fought on a regular basis about the documentation he had to provide during the loan process. One time he told me he wasn’t going to give me something I needed and I said, “Fine, good luck finding enough money in your couch cushions to pay cash for the house.” He called back and apologized.

I was pregnant by the time I did his third loan and because I had a history of high risk pregnancy, I was sent to a specialist, a few hours away, for a series of tests and ultrasounds. I told the slumlord the day before that I would be unavailable and would be back in touch with him in 48 hours. During my ultrasound, my phone was vibrating so intently that my purse fell off the countertop. I left my doctor’s appointment and listened to 15 increasingly disturbing voicemails from Mr. Slumlord. I was pissed. I called him and told him again that I was taking a personal day and that if he called me and left me threatening messages one more time, I would never do a loan for him again. He hung up on me.

The Bank of Hell was so proud of its J.D. Power awards for customer service that every customer received a survey after their loan closed asking them to rate their experience. As luck should have it, Mr. Slumlord filled out his surveys for the previous loans I did for him in a fit of rage. He rated me horribly and wrote nasty comments about how I wouldn’t call him back. I shit you not, I talked to that guy nearly every single day of the week for one entire year.

I didn’t find out about the survey for months. You know how I found out about the survey, you guessed it, a phone call from the Mortgage Devil telling me that I was pulling down our branches ratings and I had some explaining to do. I was summoned to the main branch of the Mortgage Devil’s territory and read the riot act by the Enabler and the Devil himself. At some point, I interrupted them with a dismissive, “This is bullshit.” I explained that Mr. Slumlord was angry when I took a personal day and took it out on me by trashing me in the survey. I was also forced to point out that I currently had four loans in process for him. This is the remainder of that conversation:

Mortgage Devil: “He said in his survey that he would never come back to the Bank of Hell again so I think you better rethink your story.”

Turdy: “Here’s my pipeline report, he closes on Friday. I guess he came back because no one else wants to deal with him, I mean that is why you gave me his first loan right, you recognized what a pain in the ass he was.”

Mortgage Devil: “Well good, I guess this is resolved. Ask him not to fill out anymore surveys, ok?”

I left the meeting and called Mr. Slumlord and told him if he wanted his loans to close he had to promise to behave and not write anymore stupid stuff; he apologized. The next four surveys from him were glowing accounts of my talents as a loan officer and included flowery praise about the personal attention I gave his loans.

I still know Mr. Slumlord’s phone number having it burned into my frontal lobe by sheer repetition. I don’t know what happened to him or his properties. The properties could be in foreclosure or perhaps, he has been attacked by one of his poverty stricken tenants for leaving harassing messages, I cheer for the latter. I do know that not having to talk to him is one of the best parts of being out of the mortgage industry.

Note: I just remembered that the Mortgage Devil made me write a letter explaining my bad survey from Mr. Slumlord. This is what I remember:

To Whom it may Concern-

My customer, Mr. Slumlord, is crazy. He still calls me for loans constantly.

Best regards,
Turdy

When Bat Shit Crazy Became The New Black

In the fall of 2005, I came to realize that bat shit crazy was pervasive.  Not just in my industry, or my office, but basically throughout my entire world.  It didn't take me long to realize that the Mortgage Devil had every personality disorder ever named and probably a few unique to him that he should have proprietary rights to naming.  The Bank of Hell was a nightmare and the Mortgage Devil laughed with delight.

I was hanging out in my own branch alone and minding my own business when A. Hole strolls in one day and sits down in the office next to me and starts unpacking shit like he is planning on staying.  He starts eating fried chicken and checking the Washington Redskins message board.  I can see the fucker because our two offices had some kind of weird sliding glass window between them, which might of come in handy except we have nothing to pass each other but dirty looks.  I am pissed.  My sanctuary away from the craziness of the other branch has been invaded by another loan officer who is eating my least favorite food and is by the way, not even a fan of my favorite football team.  Boo.  The phone rings and he actually answers it, "Bank of Hell Mortgage, A.Hole speaking."  Now I'm really mad because I have been alone in this branch for months and that is my phone and if there is a loan waiting on the other end well, it is mine and all mine.

Why did I hate A. Hole so much in the beginning?  The answer is because of the Mortgage Devil and the ultra competitive and paranoia rich environment he created.  The Mortgage Devil was a Top 20 producer in the entire nation that year which is a huge deal in an industry with a plethora of assholes originating loans.  I don't want to give the impression that I think all loan officers are assholes, there really are a lot of decent people in the industry, I just didn't get to meet too many of them.  This is akin to hearing how beautiful New Jersey is but then you spend your whole time on the turnpike and wonder if there are secret places that non residents are not allowed to see. 

When I was hired I was promised my own office and branch and basically no competition.  Then one day, I get called to the main branch of the Bank of Hell and there sits Curly Sue, A.Hole, and this third loan officer that I call the Quaker.  I really don't know what religion the Quaker was even though A.Hole has told me like twenty times, I just know that he didn't really swear or drink and even though he was some strict puritan he ogled all the Mortgage Devil's assistants like he was trying to figure out where to stick his dollar bills.  I hated them all at first sight. 

Really, it was bad enough to have to compete with the Mortgage Devil in our market.  Then throw in his old partner, a Top 100 national producer,  who had jumped ship and I was basically trying to break a cartel.  Now I have to compete with three more loan officers in my own company against my own boss?  I saw recently that there was an article about the Mortgage Devil from back in the day that was praising his aggressiveness and determination and the quote was, "You would not want to have him in your territory!".  No shit, I don't even want him on my planet.

So my anger about the new loan officers was because I knew something that they didn't.  In my naivety I had assumed that feudalism died in the middle ages when in fact, it was alive at the Bank of Hell and the Mortgage Devil was the Lord.  Apparently the fact that the Mortgage Devil made money on every loan the loan officers did underneath him was not enough for him, nor were the accolades and awards, nor the $125,000 monthly income.  It seems that the Mortgage Devil's narcissism also made him think that every loan one of his loan officers did really should have been his.  He would take our commission statements and go down them line by line to see what loan(s) he could take from us and put in his name.  It was like a tax on us poor serfs for the privilege of working for the worst boss ever.

The first time this happened to me I am sitting in my sanctuary by the sea when the phone rings and the Mortgage Devil is on the other end.  It was a little like this:

Turdy:  "Bank of Hell Mortgage, This is Turdy."

Mortgage Devil:  "Turdy, I have been going over your commission statement and we need to talk." 

Turdy:  "I thought I had a good month considering I have only been here for a few months."

Mortgage Devil:  "I think you had too good of a month, there are some loans on here that I'm wondering how you stole from me."

Turdy:  "Stole from you?  I'm sorry, I have no idea what you are talking about."

Mortgage Devil:  "Well lets start with this loan for Mr. Smith.  I talked to a Mr. Smith last month about doing a loan for him and then I see you close a loan for someone with the last name Smith.  What am I supposed to think?"

Turdy:  "Perhaps, that Smith is a very common name."

Mortgage Devil:  "Hmm, well tell me how you got that loan and this other one for the real estate agent, whats her name, Judy."

Turdy:  "Well the Smith loan was a referral from a loan officer I used to work with that couldn't get the loan done at her company, the guy used to work with her husband.  The Judy loan I got because she is one of my best friends and we play golf together, in fact we are meeting for happy hour and appetizers later."

Mortgage Devil:  "Well I had a deal with Judy last year, why wouldn't she ask me to do her loan?"

Turdy:  "Probably because she is one of my best friends??"

Mortgage Devil:  "You should know I keep an eye out for this stuff.  I guess you can keep the Judy loan commission but I'm going to have to take the Smith loan because I can't have stuff like this going on in my branches.  How am I supposed to trust you?"

Turdy:  "You can't take that loan, you never even talked to the guy.  He is a friend of a friend.  I was counting on that commission to pay bills and buy Christmas presents."

Well he took that loan and many more from me during my stay in the feudal system of Hell.  Here is a man making 1.5 million a year who is stealing $2,000 commissions from his loan officers to boost his numbers so he can get more awards and inflate his ego some more.  After I left the Bank of Hell I calculated that he had taken more than $25,000 in commission away from me in one year, on loans that were legitimately mine.  You couldn't complain about it to anyone because all the Senior Veeps loved their Top Producer and the Mortgage Devil could do no wrong.

This is why I hated all the other loan officers, including A. Hole.  I knew that it was going to be even harder to make money if we were all competing for the Mortgage Devil's sloppy seconds.  It took time for me to not feel resentful of the competition from A. Hole in part because the Mortgage Devil wanted it that way and also, the Redskins thing was kind of hard for a fanatical Bears fan.  If A. Hole had been a Packers fan or a Vikings fan, I can promise you that this blog wouldn't exist.

I have to close with a note on the Quaker.  Even though I couldn't stand him when we worked together, I have developed a respect for him now that is pretty special.  When the Quaker left the Bank of Hell he pulled the ultimate coup on the Mortgage Devil.  He bought the domain name of the real name of the Mortgage Devil.  If you type in www.insertrealnamehere.com you are transported to the Quaker's website with a huge picture of the Quaker and testimonials to his greatness as a mortgage ho.  Priceless move, out deviling the devil.  You are alright, Quaker, you are alright. 

 

Bad Santa...

For today’s entry I wanted to keep it light and a little humorous. For some reason I was thinking about the first Christmas I spent with the Bank of Hell. When I first joined the Bank of Hell, I remember sitting in the lunchroom and someone was bragging about the great Christmas party the Bank of Hell had last year. It was held at the Hyatt….the rooms were paid for, dinner paid for, open bar, massages (insert happy ending joke here), gifts were waiting in their rooms, they paid for your spouse to attend, blah, blah, blah.

I was getting ready to make a smart-ass remark that I would pay to keep my spouse at home…but I was abruptly “shushed” because the commercials were over and “The Young and the Restless” was back on. A rule that I quickly learned at the Bank of Hell was that between 1:00 p.m. and 2:00 p.m. everyday the office shut down as far as processing and closing loans. All of the Minions gathered around a crappy 13” TV in the break room with “rabbit ears” for reception to watch that shitty Soap Opera. If you happened to take lunch at that time you could NOT speak during the show…only during the commercials.

So, times passed and the Minions awaited their invitations to this Christmas Party. As Thanksgiving rolled around they waited and waited. Nothing. Most of them have worked for the Mortgage Devil for years and know he does everything at the last minute despite his Magic Whiteboard that never misses a closing date (sarcasm inserted for effect). I am thinking…he forgot to organize the thing. But he has an Assistant that takes care of things like that for him…with a bit of eye-rolling…when he asks her to handle events. I am thinking he forgot about Christmas for he is the Mortgage Devil and Christmas is celebrating his arch-enemy Jesus’ birth… so it is low on his priority list. During this time, the Mortgage Devil is focused on how many loans he can cram down the Minions throats before the end of the year because he has a competitor nipping at his heels for the Top Producer Award. Nothing devastates the Mortgage Devil more in life than losing that award.

But I digress…finally a week before Christmas and the Bitchy Receptionist sends a mass email to the office that went something like this:

The Mortgage Devil is taking us to watch a depressing movie followed by dinner at a half-assed Steak House. Be there or feel the wrath.

Obviously, I took a little liberty with the email but it is basically the “Cliff Notes” version of what had been planned for the evening. We are told to be at the Theater at 4:00 p.m. to watch the movie “The Family Stone”. It is a fine movie…but here is what happened. I am sitting near the Mortgage Devil who is constantly checking voice mail during the movie which is obviously annoying and distracting. I don’t want to spoil the movie for anyone who hasn’t seen it, but honestly it was released almost 5 years ago, and if you haven’t watched it yet….you probably won’t ever see it. The mom in the movie dies of breast cancer…yeah, a real “pick me up” during the holidays. To make matters worse the Minion two seats down from me is sobbing and balling her eyes out. After we leave the movie, I learn from another Minion that she just lost her sister a couple of months ago to breast cancer….wow! That sucks. To be fair, the Mortgage Devil had no idea about this turn in the movie when it was picked (and I doubt he even picked the movie)... But…sheesh…that sure put a damper on the evening. Then we were on our way to the half-assed Steak House.

I am the only one that has ordered a cocktail at this dinner. Great…I am drinking alone…which made me feel a little awkward. So, I go around the room mentally and to try to figure why each person isn’t drinking. The first Minion just really isn’t a drinker. She is a hard worker but not a real exciting person outside the office. The next one used to be a drinker (I hear) but supposedly left her husband because he drank too much. But the truth was her ex-husband always drank too much and she was just bored with him and wanted to hook up with a Pastor instead (yes, all of this is true). Sitting next to her…hmmm…I know she has a wild side and to borrow a line from “The Family Stone” will “fly her freak flag” on occasion so what was up? I ask her quietly. She doesn’t feel comfortable drinking in front of the Mortgage Devil. I get it…sorta’. I have zero respect for him at this point nor do I care what he thinks of me…so…fuck it, I am drinking on his dime.

After the food and ice-teas are consumed, it is Christmas present time. So, what does the Mortgage Devil get for his staff for Christmas? He does earn between $1 and $2 million a year at this point. Well…crappy DVD’s from the bin at the Dollar Tree. No, I am not shitting you. I got a “Laurel and Hardy” DVD from him. What…the…fuck? I am not 75 years old. Seriously….Dollar Store DVD’s.

Merry Fucking Christmas!

This one time...at Loan Officer Academy...

Ok, this isn't going to be an "American Pie...One time at Band Camp" story where a flute is inserted into some orifice....but who knows.... it could have been because I am not exactly sure what Curly Sue was doing with that Loan Officer from Florida. Now that I have your attention....I previously wrote about the overall experience of “Experienced Loan Officer Academy”. But, I wanted to save a chapter for what I actually learned in training.

Apparently, The Bank of Hell had unleashed a loan product they were very proud of and encouraged us to use whenever possible….and if you followed the steps I was taught, you could almost use it all of the time. More on that a little later.

The new “Super” loan product they taught was a Fannie Mae Stated Income/Stated Asset loan. Why is this so special? Let me explain. The acronym loans that Turdy wrote about previously carried a higher interest rate due to the inherent perceived risk of those products (i.e. NINA, NINANE). Fannie Mae backed loans had the lowest interest rate of all the loan products because they were supposed to be A+ “prime” loans. They carried the lowest risk and therefore had the lowest rate. But this whole system got bastardized by the Bank of Hell. But to be fair, it was with Fannie Mae’s blessing…and no, I am not trying to incite Barney Frank.

How did this work? Well, I was taught in training that if I had a client with a credit score of 680 (decent score) or higher on a purchase or 720 (good) or higher on a cash out refinance transaction it could be eligible for the “Super” loan. If you met these score requirements you didn’t have to verify the borrower’s income with pesky paystubs or W-2’s and you didn’t have to verify that the money they told you about for their down payment and closing costs actually existed….and the “beauty” of this was the rate and terms on the loan were the same as someone who fully documented their loan. Brilliant!! But wait ...there is more…if the value you have listed for the property they were purchasing or refinancing was acceptable to the automated underwriting program….you didn’t have to get an appraisal. You could get use an automated value from the “internets”!! Ok, so no income verified, no assets/down payment verified, and no physical appraisal needed to be completed…..and still the interest rate was no worse than the suckers that fully documented their loan with their “primo” credit.

Of course the Mortgage Devil used the powers of the “Super” loan for evil and not good. He took advantage of his self-employed borrowers by having them convinced he could do a stated income/stated asset loan for them a 1/2 % below the competition because he was “such a good guy”. But what he actually did was inflate the rate of the “Super” loan to make a bunch of overage (extra commission). For example…during the time period in question…a traditional stated income/stated asset loan would have a rate of 8.00% for a 30 year fixed while a Fannie Mae’s A+ loans had a rate of 6.00%. So, the Mortgage Devil would have his client call some mortgage broker who didn’t have the "Super" loan and get quoted 8.00%. He would then sell them a loan at 7.50%....he was a hero!! Wait, what is that you say? I thought the “super” loan was the same rate as Fannie Mae’s A+ rate? Well, you are correct. The Mortgage Devil would take that extra 1.50% as overage and make a ton of money of that one loan. As, I was told by my Munchkin Trainer this loan was supposed to give us a competitive advantage against the competition so we could close loans quicker and hassle our borrower’s less. But the Mortgage Devil found a sleazy way to take advantage of the system so that he could pay for all of his second homes.

When I returned from training to the Bank of Hell...I got the "real" training on how to use/manipulate/bastardize this "Super" loan. What was discovered by the Mortgage Devil or one his Minions is the exact sequence you had to follow to limit the paperwork and manipulate Fannie’s system. Here is the step by step way I was taught and why it needed to be done that way:

1) take loan application over the phone and enter into computer.
2) pull credit...if the score meets the requirement move to step 3.
3) go ahead and get an automated value for the property and enter it into the computer
3) make sure you have stated enough income to keep the debt ratio under 45%.
4) send the loan through Fannie Mae's underwriting system to get "Super" loan approval without having to verify the income, assets, and no physical appraisal..Brilliant!

Because if you just put a value based upon what the Borrower thinks their property is worth and you send it through Fannie Mae's automated underwriting it may get approved with that value. You excitedly call your customer and say..."Congratulations, you are already approved. Since your credit is so great...we don't need any documentation or even an appraisal". But what happens when the automated value is different than what the customer thinks the property is worth? If you enter the automated value and Fannie's automated underwriting doesn't like it...then it would red flag the whole loan for excessive value or cut your value where you may have a loan to value problem. No one wants red flag's on their loans or value issues. If you pull the automated value first as suggested in step 3 above, you can see if their is a potential problem ahead of time. Good deal, right? Actually, the system was set up for check and balances against over-inflated appraisals or potential for values exceeding loan amounts. By reversing the steps you circumvent that process. Brilliant!!..hmmm?

Why do you have to keep the debt ratio under 45%...well, because if it was higher it wasn't eligible for a "Super" loan. I know your next question will be..."well what if the income they told you that they made causes the debt ratio to exceed 45%?"....my answer comes from the Mortgage Devil...in his words...you "just bump up the income to make sure it is under 45%". Duh!! It's so simple...and so fraudulent at the same time. He honestly didn't see where this was a problem. You "just bump up the income!"....that was his war-cry that day. Ok....so, we learned today how to turn a Fannie Mae loan into a Liar's Loan....and still charge a higher interest rate to gain more commission...got it!!

The Secret of My Success

It was later in the afternoon during my first day at the Bank of Hell that the Mortgage Devil finally appeared. He had a few minutes between calls and wanted to share with me how his wonderful system of NEVER missing a closing date works. Bottom line, he wanted to show me the secret to his success. I am curious about this system. He does close a lot of loans.

What it is it you ask? Well…it is a big-ass “Whiteboard”. My reaction…a Whiteboard??!! Seriously?? This is the Secret of his Success. A freakin’ Whiteboard? So, what exactly does this magical Whiteboard do? Nothing. It is a calendar….on a Whiteboard. To be fair, it is a color coded calendar on a Whiteboard. Here is how the magic happens…he takes a marker and writes the customers last name on the date when they are supposed to close on their loan. That’s it. Seriously, that is it.

The color coding came into play as in each Loan Officer has their own marker color. Since I was the last one aboard the U.S.S. Bank of Hell the color that was left for me was brown. Turd brown. I do have a brown tone to my skin, so the marker sort of matched my skin tone. How nice.

I stood there in my shirt and tie looking at the magical Whiteboard. Basically, I felt like Dorothy when she arrived at Oz and discovered that mighty and powerful Oz was just a man behind a curtain pulling levers. The curtain had been pulled back and it revealed a Whiteboard…and colored markers.

Then I was whisked around the office to officially meet the Devil’s Minions. His staff was dressed like they were getting junk ready for a yard sale. I was way overdressed for this place. My reception was less than warm when I arrived…my shelf/desk was on an island…I was underwhelmed by the secret of the Devil’s success…and now I am apparently overdressed. I felt a little like Ben Stiller in the movie “There’s Something about Mary” when he goes to pick up for Mary for Prom. I rang the doorbell and the step-dad (receptionist in my case) wonders why I am here. I had that moment of feeling that I am “all dressed up and no one knows I am supposed to here”. Except in the movie they were “just fucking with” Ben Stiller and “busting his chops”. In my case, they really did not know I was supposed to be there or why I was there. The feeling that I had a made a mistake coming to the Bank of Hell had just increased ten-fold. At least I didn’t get my dick caught in my zipper in the bathroom that day.

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.

Here on Gilligan's Island

I joined the Bank of Hell after five hours of face-to-face meetings with the Mortgage Devil. I was sold on how wonderful things were in Hell and how I could be part of a “team” and make lots of money. Everything sounded great…a team that was trained to complete your loans quickly, lots of loan products to sell, I would be given a certain amount of the “up-calls” (people calling in just to check rates and terms on loans) and I would work with Bank branch referrals in our area.

I was leaving behind my antiquated small Bank for a shiny new toy, the grass was greener, blah, blah, blah. I was frustrated by my current employer’s lack of moving towards technology available in the industry and the fact that I would have to wait 10 years (at least) to get a promotion. The next step up for me would have been to run the Mortgage Department. The person that held that job currently had no plans to retire within the next decade. He was basically riding the gravy train…being paid handsomely for doing very little. In his situation, why would he retire? Two meetings a week and a few loans a month is all he did. Ohh, I almost forgot the frequent smoke breaks he took while walking around the building. I often thought he must have incriminating evidence against the President of this small bank. Perhaps a photo of him “bending” an intern over his desk (or something similar). While some might think I am just being a smart-ass about this alleged photo…my thoughts about this photo are grounded in reality. While I was an employee of this small Bank, the President held a tearful staff meeting to announce that he was being accused of sexual harassment by a female teller that had quit and filed charges. I think the case was settled out of court. Anyway, it is not a far stretch that this photo exists.

So, I resign from my current job. That did not go well. Once I announced that I was going to work with the Mortgage Devil I was basically kicked out of the Bank. I had a company car at this Bank and I was told to turn over the keys right on the spot and hand over my cell phone. Basically,this sucked because the cell phone was in the Banks name and I had no ride home. So, I walked down the street to a friend’s office and called a cab. A lot of my referral sources had my cell phone number and this created the headache of distributing my new number to everyone. Advice to anyone in sales…ALWAYS make sure the cell phone is in your name and the company pay you a cell phone allowance each month instead of the company paying for the cell phone directly and having the phone number in their name.

I spent the weekend preparing for my new job. I had to gather my contact list, I had to get a new cell phone, and prepare to transfer for my business over to the Bank of Hell. After the long weekend, I show up with my pile of papers and files.

I head right up to the mortgage division and the over-baked fake tanned Receptionist is on the phone. She transfers a call and smiles at me and asks, “May I help you”. I tell her my name and announce that I am the new Loan Officer starting today. The smile instantly turns into a look of annoyance and disgust. The first words out of her mouth “Great…another new one. I have no idea where they are going to put you”?

Whaaaat?? No idea where they are going “to put me”? Where is my office, desk, laptop, keys to the kingdom? So, I wait several minutes while she goes into the back. I have no idea what she is doing, talking to the Operations Manager, talking to the Mortgage Devil, taking a nip of Vodka….who knew? She comes back out and without any words to me, starts answering the phones again. Ok, I am feeling stupid at this point.

Finally, the Operations Manager (Op’s Manager) comes out and asks me to come back to her office. Her “office” is basically a walk-in closet in the corner. Since I am a larger individual I have to wedge myself in sideways to sit across from her at the desk. She asks me to fill out a bunch of paperwork, forms, etc. Informs me they are ordering a laptop and passwords. Ok, soooo….basically no one knew I was coming. I guess the red carpet was in an off-site storage space (more on that another day). No balloons or confetti for my arrival?

She then shows me my office…err desk. It is basically part shelf/part table that is set up in a middle of a walkway. No walls or even cubicle walls. I did have a phone but no chair. They found a chair that was currently being used in the lunchroom to use. So, I left a private office with a cherry desk and leather chair for a shelf/desk and a lunchroom cast off chair.

I feel like I am out on an island. I am trying to make calls and there is a constant parade of people walking past. They are constantly talking on their headsets like they are the old "Time-Life" operators from the commercials many years ago. After a few hours of this...I realize...I made a mistake. This is a joke. Except it is not funny to me because the joke is on me. Here I am....a prize new recruit stuck "Here on Gilligan's Island".

Forms and Regulations? We don't need any stinking forms and regulations!

I had been at the Bank of Hell for a few weeks when a staff meeting was held, for my benefit, to fill me in on the nuances around the local Bank of Hell branch. The Mortgage Devil had called the meeting under the guise that it was to help me but like everything he does, it really was all about giving him an hour of floor time so that we might be enlightened as to why he was God's gift to the mortgage industry and a fabulous boss.

I was still adjusting to the fact that everyone in that office seemed to hate me right off the bat and it was pretty obvious that they didn't take well to newbies. If I hadn't been so distracted by the office bitchiness and what was proving to be an interesting case study in sociology and anthropology, I would have realized that something was seriously wrong.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have to point out that at the time of this meeting I was still largely ignorant of the internal functions of the mortgage industry. Compounding this ignorance, was an unfamiliarity with the processes of working for a bank rather than a broker. As a broker, my company did not service any of its own loans and I had two outlets for lending. The first being the correspondent loan channel, where we underwrote loans internally according to the investor's guidelines and then they purchased the loan after double checking that we handled the loan according to their standards. The other channel was the broker channel, where I sent the loan to another company to be underwritten and it closed in that company's name. This didn't necessarily mean that the loan would be serviced by the company I shipped the loan to, just that it never had the appearance of being my company's loan product. Basically, I was leaving an environment where I sold other company's loan products to join an environment where I sold the Bank of Hell's loan products. This distinction is tremendously important to the incentives facing decision makers within these firms.

The meeting starts with the Mortgage Devil pontificating about how great the Bank of Hell is and how his production stacks up in the company. At this point, I am a bit in awe of him, I still think he might be a mentor and help me become more successful. So like a complete asshole, I nod and smile at all his accomplishments while ignoring the eye rolling and under the breath comments of his assistants. During staff meetings they would pass notes and call him an asshole and douchebag under their breath while sporting fake smiles to go with their fake tans, fake hair, and fake intelligence.

The meeting goes on and we are discussing a few of my loans and I ask a simple question: "Where do I get a condo questionnaire?" The Mortgage Devil says, "What the hell is a condo questionnaire?" I feel stupid because this man has been in the industry 30 years longer than me and if he doesn't know what a condo questionnaire is then perhaps, I shouldn't either. I explain that at my previous company, if I did a loan on a condominium or a loan in certain developments, we had to send out a form to the homeowner's association that would verify if it was "warrantable" and approved by Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac. The Mortgage Devil looked at me like I just suggested that that we should elect Brittney Spears president of the mortgage division. He dismissed me with, "We don't do that here, we are a bank." So I asked if all condominiums are eligible to lend money on at the Bank of Hell and he told me that indeed, there is no such thing as an ineligible condominium and that we don't worry about those matters because we don't have to sell our loans. I was confused but since I really didn't know the channels and approval processes of the bank, I figured I should take the word of the Mortgage Devil. I even remember thinking how great it was to be at a bank since there was going to be a lot less red tape and impediments to getting loans closed. Yippee, more money for me.

For those of you whom have never worked in the mortgage business, this probably seems like an incredibly innocous conversation. But make no mistake, this is an example of what was happening around the mortgage industry during the housing boom that eventually led to the demise of banks, homeowners, and millions of investors. What I didn't know at the time, was that lack of a condo questionnaire was indicative of a more pervasive problem and that ranged from cutting corners to what probably was outright mortgage fraud by the Mortgage Devil and his minions at the Bank of Hell.

The best I can figure now, with perspective and distance, is that if a loan was underwritten in our office, and not sent to corporate headquarters in Dante's Inferno, corners were cut and forms that were actually required by Fannie Mae were either filled out by processors to make the loan look compliant or were just ignored.

In later posts, I will elaborate on why the regulation of banks is so ineffective but I want to at least make a point about the incentive structure that is responsible for a lot of the ills in the mortgage business.

1. At some point, banks became more concerned about the number of loans closed than the quality of those loans. Now this was intertwined with the ability to package and ship ugly loans as mortgage backed securities but also was cemented into policies within the bank that made for fast and loose decision making and underwriting. At some point, the Bank of Hell changed the payment structure for loan processors and underwriters, such that their salary was now tied to the number of loans that they approved and closed. It basically was like putting the gate keepers on commission for the number of people they let through the gate. Ummm, turns out, that is a pretty shitty idea. When you are getting rewarded for opening the gates, you become a greeter rather than a gatekeeper.

2. The compensation structure for loan officers was incredibly lucrative. At small local banks, historically, loan officers were typically paid a salary and then rewarded for the quality of their loans in bonuses. At some point, this model was abandoned in favor of a bank not having to pay their loan officer any kind of base salary. Obviously, this reduced short term expenses for the bank by making loan officers accountable for generating their own salary in commission. The problem is, that a loan officer who doesn't get rewarded for the quality of their loans, has every incentive to go out and get every loan they can to increase their bottom line. And this is exactly what happened. The long term cost of this probably outweighed the short term savings for a lot of companies because it created an environment where everyone who should have known a loan shouldn't get made had every incentive to make that loan.

3. This doesn't even touch the surface of the perverse incentives rampant in the banking and mortgage industry. I haven't even gotten to district managers, vice presidents, and the financial market innovations that allowed risk to be distributed to those people who didn't even know they were taking it.

I don't want to give the impression that everyone in the mortgage industry was an unscrupulous douchebag, some people like A. Hole and myself behaved ethically and didn't realize what was going on around us at the time and how it played into the bigger picture. On the other hand, The Mortgage Devil was an unscrupulous douchebag and our company not only gave gave him every incentive to do so but they rewarded him handsomely for his behavior.

Two weeks in hell, seventy six to go. Stay tuned, it gets ugly quick.

Welcome to Hell, I Forgot You Were Coming...

So my first day as a Mortgage Banker finally arrives and with it a promotion from the more tawdry title of Mortgage Broker. The air conditioning in my Volvo station wagon dies that day, I remember this vividly because I drove 40 miles to meet the Mortgage Devil at what would be my new office wearing a black dress, with no air conditioning, on a 95 degree day at the beach. The black dress thing was part of my notion that now that I was a banker, rather than a broker, I had to dress like I could also handle your funeral arrangements and host your wake. This was an idea I eventually shitcanned in favor of wearing whatever I felt like.

Excitedly I run up the steps to thrust open the office door and greet my new and prosperous life....It's fucking locked. I am now super grateful I am wearing black despite the heat because I'm sweating my ass off and pretty sure any other clothing choice would ruin my only chance to make a great first impression.

I peer inside, no people are evident. I remember that there is a front and back door, of course, they probably just forgot to unlock the back door. I run around the building in my 3 inch heels, sweating profusely (insert your favorite sweating like phrase here....) tug on the front door and you guessed it....locked. Motherfucker. First, I question myself. Did I get the my first day right? Yes, the Mortgage Devil insisted I start today and that we meet here, get me settled in and then go have lunch. Is the time right? Check.

Down the list I go, but now 5 torturous minutes have passed and I am HOT!!!!!!! I'm wearing long sleeves because I rationalized that banks are always really well air-conditioned. Take it from my tenure at the Bank of Hell, seriously, it is hot as balls in Hell.

Finally, I call the Mortgage Devil, the man who took every one of my phone calls when he was wooing me and promised to take care of my every need once I came to Hell. Voicemail. I leave a message, get into my car and head to get some water. On the way I call the other branch of Bank of Hell. I ask for the Mortgage Devil and an incredibly bitchy voice informs me he is on the phone. I'm explaining that I'm the new loan officer and am starting today and he is supposed to let me into my office at which point she cuts me off and tells me there are five calls holding for him and she will have him call me as soon as he can. Fuck, if he is in that office he is at least 40 minutes away which means I'm faced with the choice of a very hot Volvo (this is when leather seats suck) or killing time somewhere. Unfortunately everywhere I know to kill time in the area is a bar, probably not a good idea on my first day as a grown up banker. So, sensibly, I choose to drive the beach highway until he calls me which I'm expecting will just be a few minutes.

So now an hour has passed, I have had to put fuel in my car and I am supremely jealous of all the people in their swimsuits headed to the ocean. I finally get the call from the Mortgage Devil. Of course he apologizes, he got hung up and blah blah blah. He tells me it was a bad idea to have my first day at that office anyway, I should just come to the other branch where he is and meet the staff who were excited to meet me anyway. Like a good salesman, the Mortgage Devil is trying to convince me his fuckup would actually be better for me than his original plan. This is a tactic all loan officers use, usually on their customers though, not on other loan officers. It's like my father always said, "Never try and bullshit a bullshitter, they know what you're up to."

I show up at the office where everyone is excited to meet me to find no one knows I am coming or who I am. No one looks excited. In fact, all the women there look pissed and bitchy. I am getting my first tinge of regret. I was not envisioning a bunch of dowdy, middle-aged, scowling bitches when I heard "excited to meet you". Finally, the bitchy receptionist lets out a huge sigh...."I guess we will have to find somewhere to put you, he will be on the phone for a few minutes." Find somewhere to put me, what the fuck? I feel like one of those crappy decorations someone gives you that you are entitled to display when they come to your house and then you eventually sell at a garage sale and pretend it was broken.

Here is something I learned that day. When normal people say they will be on the phone a few minutes, they usually mean between 3 and 5 minutes. The really poor estimators among us might actually mean 10 minutes. The Mortgage Devil's definition of a few minutes ranges from hours to weeks.

The bitchy receptionist, who looks like she got drunk on an I.V. of Everclear and fell asleep in a tanning bed for 20 years, sticks me at a desk. The Mortgage Devil looking dapper in his Top Producer and Vice President getup is pacing by me having a conversation on a headset, giving me the universal signal for one minute (index finger up), and simultaneously fielding calls on his cell phone while throwing files and paper on his assistant's desks. The best part is that every time he leaves the room his assistants shoot him dirty looks and swear like sailors about what a fucker he is. No one acknowledges me. I start unloading some of my files on a desk and after more than an hour of the weirdest fucking scene of my professional life, the Mortgage Devil gets off the phone. Yippee, now my new mentor will take me under his wing and make me feel welcome here. Yeah, not so much.

He introduces me to the bitches in the office. Now to be fair, a few of them are nice and decent people, but they are outnumbered and therefore I will refer to all of them as bitches. No one really even smiles, they just look annoyed. After two minutes of awkward introductions he gives me a two minute tour and returns me back to my desk which really isn't even my desk and is covered with his self promoting marketing shit. I'm informed they don't have a computer for me yet, it seems they don't have a user name or password for me to get on the computer network either. Oddly enough, it seems that the entire corporate structure of Bank of Hell, and the local management to include the Mortgage Devil, was largely unaware that I was coming to work there. How could this be I wonder, I was his top recruit?

He basically dismisses me and tells me to come back tomorrow, when they are better organized. Our whole exchange (where he is off the phone) takes approximately 5 minutes. Then he is signaling for the bitchy receptionist to send another call through to his headset and he is off, maniacally pacing the halls again.

The reality hits me pretty quickly on my way home in the blistering hot Volvo. I was treated like a drunken college girl...The Mortgage Devil got me into bed but is never going to call me again. I feel dirty from the realization I have been played, oh, and also the profuse sweating of the morning. I wish I could say it was the last time the Mortgage Devil made me feel like I needed a shower.....

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.

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.

How I Met The Devil

So this blog was inspired by the worst boss in the history of the universe. We have many names for him (most are r rated), but for this blog post I will refer to him as the Mortgage Devil.

My first eight months in the mortgage business were relatively uneventful. I didn't have a lot of business because I was new so I probably only closed 4-5 loans a month for somewhere between $500,000 and $750,000 in volume. I didn't work much and I didn't really care about making more money.

Three strange and unrelated events conspired to result in more business for me which in turn made me more ambitious. First, my friend who got me into the business left for another brokerage. Turns out, she didn't have access to as many loan products so she started sending me referrals. Second, and this is totally true, one of my colleagues breast implant ruptured (it sounds funny but could have been fatal so stop laughing) and she was out for quite awhile. At first I worked for free on all her loans while she was recuperating, but after two months of that, she decided not to come back and all her customers and real estate agents started referring me business. Third, and this was the tipping point, I met a real estate agent who was friends with the Mortgage Devil. The Mortgage Devil was one of the most successful and well known loan officers not only regionally but nationally.

Suddenly business was pouring in. The real estate agent started sending me business the Mortgage Devil couldn't do. I went from doing 4-5 loans to 12-15 and my income went from about $4,000 a month to $15,000 a month. Then the Mortgage Devil contacts me to do a loan for him. I was able to finance investment properties with no down payment and he wanted to buy a rental house in a resort market. This moment forever changed my life. With the man's tax returns in my possession, I suddenly realized that the industry I was in was incredibly lucrative. I was shocked to discover that he made more a year than coaches in the NFL, his 401K I was pretty sure I could have lived on and never work again. I began to covet.

The Mortgage Devil started calling me trying to get me to go to work for his bank as a loan officer. I was flattered, but wary. I was on the fence about it because I had a lot of freedom and was comfortable where I was plus I was scared to go play in the Devil's sandbox.

One totally unexpected event forced my hand. I turned 30 and the president of my company was in town. I invited him to my friend's house for the party they were having for me. Turns out the man could drink, and drink he did. He drank nearly all of one of my birthday presents, a rather terrific bottle of Patron Tequila. Here's where the going got weird. We didn't think he could drive so I took his stumbling self up to my friend's guest room. He dropped his pants and skibbies and instructed me to "Touch It". I ran downstairs, chugged some wine, and told my girlfriend.

Awhile later we checked and he had passed out on the floor, junk exposed and pants around ankles. Holy Awkwardness. The next morning he came downstairs, grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out. I on the other hand, chose to not go into the office to avoid him and worked furiously with my loan processor to get the Mortgage Devil's loan to close that day. I decided that since I couldn't imagine ever respecting the president of my company again I would see what I could get the Devil to offer me to cross to the dark side.

Typically when you are recruited by a mortgage company you give them all your commission statements so they can determine what kind of incentive package they will give you. Since the Mortgage Devil seemed desperate to get me there and my commission statements would not support the volume of business he was under the impression I had been consistently doing, I bluffed. I told him if he wanted me he would make me an offer with no documentation, basically like all the no doc loans I was closing. He bit, told me it was unorthodox (which it totally is), and offered me $20,000 to buy out my pipeline (this is a loan officer's future stream of loan closings)and guaranteed commission of $5,000 per month for 6 months. I had been in the business one year and had just been offered $50,000 as a signing bonus just to change companies. I signed the paperwork and resigned from my current company via email.

The negotiation was the only time I had the power in my relationship with the Devil until I left his bank. The time A. Hole and I spent there and the experiences we had will shock the hell out of you, don't miss it. At the very least, your current boss will look fantastic in comparison to the Devil.