Home Buying

Want to buy a house, do you?

I read somewhere that buying a home ranks up there as a top stressful event. I think that buying a home is like childbirth. You forget the grueling torture until there you are foolishly doing it again.

“C’mon…push, PUSH that document through. I’m sorry, we didn’t get that attachment. We’re computer illiterate and it’s all your fault. Can you push again?”

It doesn’t have to be so torturous but the Red Tape Vampire People make it that way.

“I’m sorry, the 10 homes you wanted to see are sold. The computer is a bit slow at updating the listings. We can get you in to see your least favorite choice, though. Isn’t that great?”

“Oh, look at that. Bidding wars occurred on the last 50 properties in the area. My heavens.”

Finally, one is found that will do the job and it’s actually even likeable. Heaven knows we don’t want to go through this again any time soon. All sensible plans of making a great deal fly out the window.

“Shit, BID on it before it’s gone.”

“But don’t you want to see it again? Maybe you’d like to look at some other houses?”

“No!! Write the offer before some fat millionaire outbids us on this one, too!”

The clock is ticking…our lease will expire in a matter of weeks and to renew it I might as well start hawking those extra organs I’m not using.

To finance the house we must really sell our souls to the Red Tape Vampire People.

“Please provide your income tax records, check stubs, bank statements, your complete immunization records for you and a close friend and a certified letter from your delivering physician stating that you bear some faint resemblance to the infant caught that day in 19xx. Where the hell did you get this money on your bank statement? Did you rob a bank? Please provide documentation that no banks were robbed.”

“I’m sorry, we didn’t get those attachments. Please send them again. In triplicate.”

“I’m sorry, our printer isn’t working. It must be *your* files causing the problem. Please fax the items over.”

“I’m sorry, the fax didn’t come through well. Please send it again.”

“We’ll call you tomorrow.”

Tick.

One week later I call.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s been SO busy here. We’ve been waiting for form XYZ415978444-b from you.”

<sputter sputter> “Well, why didn’t you TELL me that??”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have forgot.”

“Grrrrgggggg…”

Heaven help any other poor soul you may have to drag into the equation with you.

“In order to use your parent’s Gift Letter, we’ll need a blood sample from your mother’s right arm, please. We have the DNA testing set for next week. Where the hell did they get these funds? Did they rob a bank? Please provide documentation that no banks were robbed.”

“But we can’t do that until you tell us how much we’ll need.”

“Ok, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Tick.

One week later I call.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s been SO busy here. I haven’t gotten your file back from underwriting yet, but it should be fine. DON’T WORRY. Worst case, maybe $xx,xxx down and I really know what I’m talking about. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Grrrgggggg…”

Tick.

3 days later I call.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been SO busy. You know the amount I assured you of? Double it.”

<sputter sputter> “Grrrrgggggg…what the f…” <click>

I run naked through the house screaming.

Of course, the whole process must be dragged out until the very end, leaving you with no back-up options should something go wrong at this point.

Earlier in the process:

“Great news, ****! We have your appraisal set for early next week.”

“****, there’s been a delay. We can’t get the appraiser in until Friday.”

Next week:

“****, he can’t make it until early next week.”

That week:

“Make that Friday.”

Friday:

“Make that the weekend.”

The week after that:

“Sorry, I meant *next* Friday after that.” <Said to me in a patronizing, appeasing voice probably because the insanity in my own wavering voice was evident.>

It became commonplace to slam the phone down and run around in circles hysterically.

By this point, we’re supposed to close in 5 days and if the appraisal doesn’t go well the whole deal will fall through. After a couple of months of this, I am a drooling lunatic and hunting for an appropriate cardboard box. Like in childbirth, I vehemently state: “I’m NEVER doing this again!”