Wednesday, June 16, 2010

The part where I cry

The Man and I have spent the last several weeks rushing around looking at cabinets and sinks and floors, oh my!, for our kitchen remodel. At the same time, I've been pushing and prodding the bank to approve my home loan so that we can pay for said remodel.

Everything was going fine, but it wasn't going quickly. The loan officer I worked with in the local branch got her job done quickly, but the loan officer my application was transferred to at corporate seemed like he had a few too many other applications on his plate. Things slowed way down and there were a few minor mistakes along the way, but still I was told that everything was going fine. I was supposed to be signing documents last week, but the documents never arrived.

And that's when things went horribly, horribly wrong.

I called the slow corporate guy on Monday to find out what the hell happened. In the meantime, our contractors were waiting (mostly patiently) for their next payment. Slow Corporate Guy never called me back. On Tuesday, I called the local loan officer to see if she could get any movement. Within the hour, I had an email from the underwriter saying he was completing the final review of my documents.

The final review. Because initial reviews had already been done and everything checked out, or so I was told. This was just the final review; a mere formality before my documents would be mailed.

And then my phone rang. And that's when things went horribly, horribly wronger.

My title had just been reviewed (a document they'd had in their possession for weeks). It listed me as a married woman. Ew. But no big deal, because I'd faxed them my divorce decree. Twice. They've had my decree for six full weeks. But yesterday was the first day the underwriter looked at it.

And that's when he noticed the part that lists my house as property to be sold, with the proceeds split between me and The Ex. They can't loan me money when that's the most recent statement on record. Despite the fact that we filed a quit claim 6 years ago that took my ex's name off my title, despite the fact that I was told that the quit claim deed was all that needed to be done in order to make the house MY property, the bank won't approve my loan until I file an amended divorce decree stating that the house was awarded to me in the divorce.

Now, this all makes sense to me. I understand why they need the amended decree. I understand that the quit claim didn't do what I thought it was supposed to do. I understand that I should've filed an amended decree 6 years ago. But I DON'T understand why it took Wells Fargo 6 fucking weeks to tell me this; why, in fact they've been telling me the exact opposite: that all my documents check out and there's nothing else they needed.

I'm not going to lie. I cried on the phone with the underwriter. I cried because I immediately knew that there was no way I could get them an amendment in time to get the money for my contractors. I cried because my kitchen won't be remodeled before the baby is born. But mostly I cried because my divorce continues to haunt me.

"I've been divorced for 6 years!" I wailed. The underwriter, of course, thought I was tying to convince him that the time elapsed should be enough to change his mind. But the statement wasn't even really directed at him. It was directed at me. As in "Why this of all things? Why is this the thing that fucks everything up."

I was prepared for something to go wrong: for some weird inaccurately low credit rating or for the IRS to send the bank someone else's forms. I was prepared to have to argue with the bank when they misplaced my most recent paystub for the fourth time. But I wasn't prepared to have my divorce smack me across the face like that.

"I've been divorced for 6 years!"

That was the wail of a woman realizing that it will never go away; that it will never disappear; that it will never be like she was never married in the first place. That was the wail of a woman realizing that her marriage is not erasable.

Yesterday was not a good day. Today was far better, but that's a tale for another post...


vicki archer said...


BigSis said...

I hate hearing stories like this and I hate how common the stories are. Don't banks realize that they are fucking with people's lives when then screw around with their money?

I have to admit that I work for a financial institution and all too often I am ashamed to tell people that.

matt said...

I miss the little bank in the town where I grew up: there was no corporate overseer, the loan officers were members of the community and they seemed to actually care for their neighbors. Somehow, they still made money... Sorry to hear about your loan, hopefully it the issue get taken care of soon. Keep your chin up!

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