BS
Brian Steel
Feb 25, 2026
I had always imagined that securing a mortgage would involve paperwork, mild stress, and perhaps the occasional headache — not a full theatrical production of confusion, vanishing acts, and bureaucratic improv performed with the confidence of people who will never have to sit through it themselves.
At the outset, the communication was dazzling. Messages were answered with such speed and enthusiasm that I briefly wondered if I was their only client or a lottery winner they were hoping to befriend. Alas, the moment we were properly committed, the replies slowed to the pace of airport security the day before Thanksgiving. By the final stretch, our questions were treated less as inquiries and more like extended warranty calls — something to be screened, ignored, and quietly hoped would stop on its own.
The document requests were particularly inspired. At one point, we were urgently asked to provide a college diploma from an institution I have never attended — a bold administrative strategy that suggests either clerical chaos or a side hobby in fiction writing. I half-expected the next email to request my acceptance letter to Harvard, evidence I was once 3rd-chair saxophone in our high school concert band, and proof I had received the Nobel Prize in Physics.
Communication toward the end became so elusive I briefly considered skywriting our questions over their office. Emails disappeared like socks in a dryer. Voicemails went unanswered with the quiet dignity of a suggestion box in a locked room. Had smoke signals been an option, they might actually have improved response times.
But the crowning jewel — the grand finale of this financial slapstick routine — came the night before closing, when the costs were increased by $9,000 with all the casual nonchalance of adding extra cheese to a pizza order. No meaningful explanation, no discussion, just a last-minute plot twist delivered so abruptly it felt less like a professional transaction and more like being yanked onstage during a particularly chaotic The Three Stooges skit -- except nobody was laughing and we were somehow expected to applaud.
Just when we assumed the buffoonery had concluded, and we would finally be released from this sad performance, they decided to deliver an encore. Soon after closing, we received notice informing us that our mortgage had been sold — to them. This was reassuring in the way that being told your luggage has been lost but is still somehow at the airport is reassuring. It takes a special kind of organizational finesse to transfer ownership from yourself to yourself and still feel the need to notify the customer, as though we might otherwise worry it had been sold to a traveling circus.
In summary, if you enjoy being enthusiastically courted at the beginning, strategically ignored at the end, sent on scavenger hunts for documents that never existed, surprised with eleventh-hour expenses large enough to fund a respectable family vacation, and then informed that your loan has been ceremoniously sold in a small internal circle, then this is absolutely the mortgage company for you. For everyone else — particularly those who prefer transparency, competence, or basic communication — I recommend taking your business somewhere that treats clients less like props in a farce and more like human beings making the largest purchase of their lives.