The Big Daddy and I closed last week on the Refi. We had to go to a title company to do it because banks don’t do that sort of thing any more. They do the gathering of info, crunching of the numbers, stamp it approved, and then send you off somewhere else to close the deal. Kind of like pimps. Financial pimps.
We had an 8:30 appointment in a big office building with nice carpet. Nicer than we have here at The Estate. The Big Daddy and I get nervous in places that are too nice. We like a little less perfect surroundings when we do business, like the back alley where we buy our drugs. I kid, I kid. More like the crappy liquor store we frequent on the way home from church. Cuz sinners need alcohol.
We sat down with a very efficient-looking closer at a big conference table. We were to sign in blue ink as that is a requirement these days, and she set pens in front of us. The first piece of business was the HUD statement. “This shows that we’ll be paying off your mortgage of $246,000.00” WHAT THE WHAT?????? is what the what me and The Big Daddy said at the same time. That ain’t right, sista. “Oh dear”, she says, “I grabbed the wrong papers.” Well, you sure did. Maybe you should pay attention to your paperwork instead of buying more art for your hoity-toity office.
She apologized. Many times. We finished the deal and left feeling like oh great, a mortgage, but with a lower rate. Yippee-ki-ay.
On the way home, we passed the dealership where we bought our car. When the deal was done there, the salesman told us that all new owners of a vehicle get to hit the gong. Oh, The Big Daddy doesn’t do that kind of stuff and said to me, “I feel like I’ve been gonged in the ass, why don’t you take a hit.” For five years now, we’ve both made it a point to give the finger to the place every time we pass it. Cuz car dealers are right behind bankers on The Skank Meter.
We’re immature in that way. Well, actually we’re immature in a lot of ways, and this is on the down low, but on the way out of the title company, I stole the blue pens. Just slipped ’em right off the table and into my purse. If The Man is going to stick it to me and My Big Daddy, well, we’re gonna hurt ’em where it counts. In the blue pen inventory.
