Don't own a Nextel Phone

The next stop on my journey into the Bank of Hell required me to spend a week in Dante’s Inferno “training” at “Experienced Loan Officer Academy”. The Mortgage Devil had put it in writing that I had to attend this “training”….yes, it was in my offer letter. Unlike my co-worker Turdy… I wasn’t clever enough at this point in my tenure to find a way out of attending this week of torture.

Three weeks into my “career” at the Bank of Hell I was sent on my way to training. My Op’s Manager was pleased to tell me that another new loan officer from our office was going to Dante’s Inferno the same week as me. She was wondering if we could carpool together? Yipee!! Sound like fun. Fortunately, I had a quick excuse as to why I had to travel alone. I had met the girl once before at the office and didn’t get a warm and fuzzy feeling from her. I will call her “Curly Sue” for a lack of a better name because she had blondish curly hair.

I was expected to check in to the hotel on a Sunday night…so I was stuck with a five hour drive on a Sunday afternoon during football season. That is cruel and unusual punishment in my world. They wanted me to be ready to board the Shuttle Bus that would take me to Dante’s Inferno at 7:30 a.m. Monday morning. The email I received prior to my arrival from the “trainer” wanted us to be “bright-eyed and bushy tailed Monday morning”. If the Bank of Hell wanted me “bright-eyed and bushy tailed” they should have hired a fucking squirrel. What they got was half-asleep and blood shot eyed me…bright and early.

Our Trainer can best be described as one of the Munchkins from the Wizard of Oz. It was fitting because the Mortgage Devil was sorta’ like the Wizard with his magic whiteboard. She was small and cute (she was about 4 and ½ feet tall)…well she was cute until she opened her mouth. She didn’t sing a happy little song about a dead witch and dance. Instead she made it clear that she hated Loan Officers. I couldn’t blame her. Most of the ones in training class were prima donna's (and I am certain most classes were full of them). We were on a schedule so strict that the Nazi’s would have been pleased. The Munchkin had us on “lock down” and they were going to take full advantage of this opportunity to serve up large doses of the Bank of Hell Kool-aid. They paraded in everyone with a title of Sr. Vice President of Something or Other all day…every day. They were all so “pumped” to meet us that by noon that Monday I was trying to find a way out of there.

Once again there was someone smarter than me that found a way out by Tuesday morning. He got himself kicked out of training and sent home. How did he accomplish this? Let me tell you how this went down. At 5:30 that Monday the shuttle bus came to pick us up from work release and carry us back to the hotel. We were supposed to go to the hotel, eat some dinner, complete our homework, and get to bed early so we would be “bright-eyed and bushy tailed” Tuesday morning. Yeah, I said homework. We had assignments each evening. But what actually happened is this…I talked with some fellow Loan Officers that I didn’t find totally offensive…figured out where we could go get some dinner and drinks….then planned to bar-hop and watch Monday night football.

We got back to the hotel, changed clothes, and summoned the shuttle bus. Once on the shuttle bus, we talked to the driver and offered him cash if he could pick us up later that night somewhere in town after the bars let out. He was so pleased with this arrangement that he gave us his cell phone number. We now had our own personal chauffeur…well…because Cabs are for suckers!

Back to the Loan Officer that got himself sent home from Dante’s Inferno. After a meal and a few drinks; we ended up at a sports bar watching Monday Night Football. Once the game was over we went over to a “College Bar” next door. That is where this guy got so wasted off of tequila shots that he was trying to dance on the bar like the ladies of Coyote Ugly. After the bouncers asked him to step down, he proceeded to grind all over co-eds on the dance floor that weren’t “digging” him. He was a one man train-wreck. His final act of the evening was to puke all over the bar after he tried to buy another round of shots for everyone. At this point he was removed from the bar and wanted to fight the bouncers…bad idea. He ended the night in the care of the local Police. Word spread quickly about his escapades and he was sent home. If you are going to go out…go out in style. He was the lucky one.

On Tuesday I got to sit next to a couple of female loan officers from Tennessee. They both had 80’s "pouffe" blonde hair and wore matching navy blue blazers, white blouses, and navy blue skirts… EVERY day. They looked like Flight Attendants. Being born with the smart-ass gene, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to make Flight Attendant jokes every time I had a few drinks in me. A few of the smart-assed comments I can still recall consisted of “when are you bringing the drink cart by because I am getting thirsty?”. “Can I get a bag of peanuts when you get a chance?”…”Can this seat be used as a floatation device?”

The rest of the week consisted of more torture and hangovers for me. The whole training ended with us taking a test on Friday afternoon. Curly Sue had been performing a vanishing act all week (along with a male Loan Officer from Florida…hmmm) and I hadn’t seen much of her outside the classroom. But she did remind us she was still in the room right before our test. The whole class had assembled and we had our #2 pencils all sharpened ready for the big final test. Right before we got started I heard a *chirp*. Curly Sue and her husband apparently had those annoying red-neck “Nextel” walkie-talkie cell phones. The conversation went like this:

Husband: (CHIRP) Hey…you there woman??!!!

Curly Sue: (CHIRP) Yes.

Husband: (CHIRP) Where you at??!!

Curly Sue: (CHIRP) I’m still in training.

Husband: (CHIRP) Hurry home cuz my dick is lonely!!

Ok….did he just say his dick is lonely??!! Curly Sue turned three shades of red. But seriously, why would you have one of those stupid walkie-talkie phones turned on while you are in a classroom getting ready to take a test? The Munchkin wasn’t amused. I was reasonably certain that she hadn’t been laid in years, so this must have been particularly annoying to her. I took the test and drove out of there like I stole something and never went back. Apparently, I passed the test because I still had a job on the following Monday when I got back to the office. Now I was officially trained to work in Hell.

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".