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grannyguru

About Banks.....

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Back in the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth and I was a suburban corporate wife, my husband and I needed an interim loan (until we could sell our current dwelling) for the huge gorgeous home we were building in another state.

 

Naturally we went to the bank we had used for years, and which held the loan we had taken over on our then-current house.

 

We had lots of money, but tied up in stocks, bonds, etc. We had always paid early on everything, not late.

He had moved up to a job as assistant Head of Research, with a huge salary increase.

 

In other words, we were great risks and had a credit score somewhere near heaven.

 

My husband sent nice, humble Korporat wife, me, to the bank to get the loan, since he was in the new state.

 

I went to the man at the desk halfway back the long lobby and very politely and kindly asked for what I needed. The A.... gave me a scathing look, as if I were a worm, handed me THE WRONG FORMS, and ordered me to go home, fill them out completely, and bring them back. Practically bowing, I backed off, thanking him.

 

Went home, had a hell of a time filling them out because they did not fit. I called, but was scathingly told of course it had to be the right form. It wasn't. Took them back to the bank, got the right forms, filled them out (a daunting task!) and submitted the loan.

 

It was turned down.

 

As it happened, being a Suburban Korporat Wife, I did tons of volunteer work, some of it at a Senator's office. (Looking back I realize how stupid that was.... a woman with no paying job working for free for a man who already had more money than he needed!)

 

In any case, one day it happened the Senator was going to lunch with guess who? ...The president of my bank. As they passed through the Senator's office, the Senator introduced me and, of course, the bank president (I will call him Tom) said, "If there is ever anything I can do for you, please let me know." And that was the only time I ever saw Tom.

 

I happened to be reading the local small town paper when the bank called to say they refused our loan... amazingly, I was staring at an article noting that our bank president was going to be out of state for a few days at some conference.

 

I was SO MAD and felt so humiliated not just because they turned the loan down, but because of the way I had been treated by the jerk at the bank. I borrowed a business suit from a friend, put on war paint and a wig, and tore off to the bank. I didn't really know what I was going to do, but I figured we had already lost the loan, and I was going to do something... or was I? I was terrified. This will not surprise Michael.

 

I stormed into the bank, rejected loan papers in hand, and swished up to the jerk's desk, and demanded to see "Tom". The jerk, jaw dropped, looked UP at me and said the president wasn't there. (Surprise! Surprise!)

 

By now I was really scared. I just wanted OUT, as I had no idea what to do next. So I turned away from mr. Jerk, and scathingly and loudly said. "WONDERFUL! He's 'NOT HERE' Thanks, Tom! He tells me if I ever need anything at all, just ask.... I come, I ask, and where is he?....he's "NOT HERE!".... "Well!"...

 

Mr. Jerk said, "You KNOW Mr. (bank president)?!"

Scathingly I looked at him and said, "We've MET." ...as if it were none of jerk's business what my relationship was to "Tom".

 

Feeling like an idiot, I turned and strode towards the exit.

 

Jerk fell getting out of his chair. Scrambling he chased after me, who was speeding up because I was terrified. He fell again as he ran after me, but kept coming. "Wait!.....Wait! ....I'm sure we can help you!

I'm sure Mr. (bank president) would want us to help you. Please don't leave. He came towards me snapping his fingers behind him, alerting an army of clerks to come to his beck and call.

 

He wanted me to give him my papers but I, by now terrified, said, "No; it's too painful."

 

All I wanted was out, but that wasn't to be.

 

He said, "Of course it's painful. Don't worry; Miss (whoever) will help....she'll do it all over for you.... here, allow Miss (other clone) to get you some coffee and you can relax in private...)

 

They took me into an inner, plush office. Mr jerk stayed away as I had conveyed he too was painful to me.

 

Miss whoever filled out all the forms for me. She was wonderfully nice to me. Miss clone brought the promised coffee, cream, and sugar in an elegant cup, and I gradually calmed down. I wondered what banking rules I had broken but thought I'd enjoy the moment, though still scared. However I dared not show it.

 

After I had finished my coffee (note: NOT after they finished filling out the forms), they very nicely and warmly escorted me to the door and I went home. I still thought perhaps they were just trying to get this nut out of public view.

 

The interesting note to this story is that almost immediately...before "Tom" got back from his trip, we were informed that of course we had the loan. As opposed to the earlier loan which was turned down after much waiting. I was ecstatic at the news because I was able to tell them where to put their loan, as we had been okayed for a loan by our new bank.

 

Same loan. Same people. So much for "qualifying".

 

But it just goes to show ya: things ain't the way they are purported to be to us peasants!

 

 

Alice

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Bravo Alice,

 

You are right, it is an unfair world we live in. Congrats on getting your financing elsewhere and making the old bank jump through hoops.

 

Mike

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Yes, but it's a fun world! :D

 

And infinitely more possible than we are led to believe! :P

 

Despite the fact that, yes, we do have to adhere to reality here and there... :lol:

 

Did I learn from my experience? .....Obviously not! ;):(

 

:lol:

 

Alice

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Fun story, Alice, and a good read, too! ;) How many times do we hear that it's not what you know, it's who?!

Here's another example, although it has nothing to do with real estate.....

Twice I've been drunk. Each time resulting in the birth of my two daughters, who are now 16 and 6.

Two years ago Julianna entered kindergarten. She was assigned a bus stop a long distance from our house. Too far for a not-yet-five-year-old to walk. So, I began what I thought would be the easy process of having the stop switched nearer my house.

Two weeks later, numerous faxes, visits to the school, arguments with the Transportation Office, and nothing had changed. In the meantime, my wife and I are shuttling her back and forth to school. Not much love and happiness in the ol' household right about now.

Fast forward to Josseline, my older brat, er, daughter. She was a cheerleader for the local PAL Planation Wildcats football team. So, one hot autumn Saturday afternoon, (Hey, it's south Florida. Autumn and hot go together), I'm sitting in the bleachers watching the game, sipping my adult beverage discreetly disguised in my PAL Booster water bottle. During one of the breaks I see one of the other cheerleaders come and talk with the woman seated next to me. This cheerleader's mom and I start to talk. The usual BS: we despise our kids, our spouses are awful, etc. The usual small talk amongst strangers thrown together by the fates.

But, this time my Al Bundy like existence takes a turn for the better. Turns out this woman works in, you guessed it, the Transportation Office for the school district. Carbonare turns on the charm. Her direct phone number into her office is in my hands by half time. Monday morning I call her with the details of my sad plight. While I'm talking with her, she is pushing some keys on her keyboard. Two minutes into our phone conversation little Julianna has her new bus stop.....at the front door, with a drop off there, as well, every afternoon.

As I was saying........it isn't what, it's who! :lol:

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GREAT story, Michael! :D

 

Here's another:

 

I had pulled my daughter out of a troubled private school and wanted to place her in the local public school.

 

Unlike Mr. Carbonare, as you all may have noticed, I am NOT a born salesman.

 

Anyway, I had worked my way up the ladder to the Superintendent's office, because they ALL wanted to tell me there simply was no room at the school for my AAA daughter... no books, no desk... nada. I would have to wait till next year.

 

Nothing worked. Finally I conceded defeat to the Superintendent, a tall, good looking big take-charge executive type in a gray suit. Not a coward, like me.

 

I asked him if he would please do me one favor: I could not bear to tell my daughter; would he please talk to her?

 

He agreed, and ushered the child into his office in fatherly fashion; no problem breaking the news she would have to wait.

 

Two minutes later, she emerged, enrolled in school! Followed by the Superintendent, who behaved as if he had never said no!

 

It's not only who you know; it's who you send to talk to them!

 

 

Alice

 

hmmm..... ps.... Perhaps Michael could attend the games of prospective sellers?....

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