Sunday, April 11, 2010

Too late to ruin a Sunday thinking about it

I woke up this morning thinking this: Oh my hell one more day off and then I have to go back there.

It's pretty sad when your Sunday begins with thoughts of your Monday. This desk is sick busy, I mean seriously, it's a flipping wreck. I got a shitload of docs in on Friday afternoon (Friday afternoon is huge for incoming docs - in many cases the doc drawer is also the funder, so once they get their funding done in the morning, they start working on their docs, and by around 3pm they start coming in like a house afire. It sucks because you're thinking, hmm, Friday afternoon, how bad could it be? And then four sets of docs come in, which means IMMEDIATELY the phone starts ringing, and it's the borrowers, saying, My loan officer said loan docs are in escrow, can I sign right now/how much do I need to bring in/I have a moving van coming tomorrow morning, can I have my keys? You think I'm kidding. Who are the real estate professionals telling these people that once they sign they can have keys? And why do these people not realize it takes time to work up the documents once escrow gets them? And then more time for the doc drawer to review the HUD once it's been worked up? The doc drawer that thought her work for the day was over now that she has docs out? Because good luck getting a HUD approved on Friday afternoon at 4:30.), and scheduled fucking everybody, without necessarily working the files up. So now tomorrow I have four signings and two more sets to work up and God knows what else because this job has absolutely nothing to do with pre-planning your day.

Can you see the stress level here? Add to that the person I am covering is so wrapped up in this shit she can't even take two weeks off. I totally get that. Back when I had my own desk I always checked my email while I was on vacation. That's just the way this job is. But I'm stressed out because I think she's going to be in tomorrow morning when I get there, which I plan to do at 7am, since I don't have a card key to get me in the building. It stresses me out because she likes her files pre-worked and I only got through half of the 172 she opened this week. I don't like unfinished business. It would be one thing if I knew she wasn't coming in on her VACATION, because I can knock out the other half tomorrow (seriously, you just make things work) but I had to come in at 6am on Friday and pre-work then ones I DID get done while the phone wasn't ringing. Fuck. It's not even 9am on Sunday and I'm already all stressed out about it. And it doesn't help that the branch is haunted.

Seriously. Ten keys just start going off on their own, USBs plug themselves in and out when nobody is even touching the desk, things go missing and then wind up somewhere else. The building is by no means old, but I think it might be an old burial ground for illegals that worked for a company that shall remain nameless, then died, and since they were illegal, they just buried them. It's an urban legend but after all the crap that goes on around there I am inclined to believe it.

So I contend with the shadow of the person I am covering and the ghosts of the dead Mexicans while docs go flying out of the printer and the hair falls out in chunks on my desk. It's really something to look forward to. I get up every morning and check the mirror to make sure my teeth haven't been ground down to nubs. It's fantastic.

While we're on the subject of urban legends and things that I believe even though there might not be any real basis for it, Friday night I was in here, on the cracktop, minding my own business, when four or five explosions (?) went off somewhere really, really close. I jumped. The cats jumped. I immediately thought "gun shots" and checked my body to make sure I wasn't dead. I didn't hear much of anything else for about five minutes (and I was kind of too afraid to look out the window for fear of the gunman standing at my window, of all windows, holding the shot gun) (okay, not kind of) and then suddenly one last explosion went off, causing me to jump AGAIN, and the cats to run around all low to the ground like they do, looking at me, looking toward the living room, wondering what to do.. Flipping scared the crap out of me. Shortly thereafter I heard sirens, but kind of far off, and not knowing exactly what to do, I just sort of sat here, then did a perimeter check of the casita (from inside of course), and started thinking of what it could be, and then dreamt up a million different scenarios - drug deal gone bad, gang fight, murder-suicide. I ultimately went to bed without watching the news, and when I woke up the Oregonian on line said it was fireworks. But it also said that the Beaverton Police and a SWAT team cleared out several upstairs apartments in a complex that sounded like mine. Nice. So what I DON'T believe is that it was fireworks and what I DO believe is that it was gun fire but you know I won't ever hear anything more about it and that's that.

Excitement? Yes. Something to take my mind off tomorrow? Briefly. Because it's there, looming, just waiting for me to get up, take a shower, and face it. Fuck.


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