Buried in PaperAs it turned out, it was the Paper Saver Loan that caused all the problems. I discovered, late in the game, that when we had gone into the bank to start the massive ton of paperwork, the mortgage people threw us into the maw of some insane automated system, hundreds of miles away in a processing center that is supposed to streamline the mortgage process. If this is streamlined, I’m a gorgeous blond with a very large and completely biological bosom, which from the photo you can see that I’m not.

I’m all for saving trees.  But it’s absurd to install a broken automated system and then expect the users to figure out what’s going on. So. Having been skunked by the system on Friday, I spent Saturday ignoring my chores and thinking out my strategy for getting the show back on the road.

On Sunday I called a girlfriend in the business, who called her girlfriend in the biz who called me Sunday night to re-assure me that she would call her girl acquaintance Monday at the very bank that was ruining my beauty sleep. Not that an insomniac gets much sleep, but beauty is still in the eye of the beholder..or the mirror on a good day.  On Monday Ms. Magic, the girl acquaintance called me bright and early in the morning.

I used my quiet and modulated theater voice that my friends despise on my podcasts (which is why nobody has heard them yet; I risk being despised by total strangers.)  I asked Ms. Magic to try and steal back my loan from the streamliners who clearly did not understand the term. And if she failed, I would gather up every bit of paper, hop on a plane and go bang on the front door. “That letter and the negligent behavior in the processing center demands an answer from us.” I said.

She was a sweetheart on the phone but I had trust issues so I prepared to fly south. On Tuesday a human being sitting in a chair at my local bank called me to say the paperwork was coming to town. The locals had stolen back the paper. Best ever, for the rest of the day I had a human being to talk to who interfaced with the whackjobs down south. On Wednesday, March 4th we were met by a bank Vice-President who closed the loan. Boom. Ms. Magic did something. She knows Latin incantations or has one of those Harry Potter wands.

“Would you really have gone south and banged on the door?” Jim asked.


“But they’re just overwhelmed workers,” he said.

“It’s not that. It’s the letter. The first paragraph was a lie and the last paragraph was an implied threat. I can’t allow that kind of thing into my personal space, especially if the consequences would be all mine.”

“So. Now can you take off the red jacket?”