Remember how the smarmy auctioneer told me that this realtor friend of his specialized in short sales?
Well, actually, this realtor had HEARD of short sales but had never done them. But he knew a guy...
So after getting rid of this pushy fellow
who just wanted to list it and wanted me to secure his services up front with a 'reasonable percentage,' I called the woman he said he knew who had done a few short sales. Turns out she was ill and had just retired, but a protege was taking over her business, while she remained in a mentor position, guiding him through this process. Well, they both claimed they had never lost a short sale to foreclosure and I had nothing to worry about.
Oh yeah, in the meantime, someone in Florida had hooked me up with an outfit in Florida which claimed nationwide service and promised to get the house re-financed through some sort of Obama plan to save everyone's homes. The money I paid to them was guaranteed to save the house and get me an attorney for any time the foreclosure case went to court. They instructed me to stop paying mortgage payments altogether and make payments to them instead. They contacted the bank and made sure that I would not be harassed by letters and phone calls because they were representing me. Because of that, I was left out of a significant part of the loop, not knowing what the bank was doing. The company claimed they had never lost a house and worked in all fifty States. In their dreams.
I eventually wound up borrowing my ex-husband's attorney in Florida to get back the money I paid to them. Turns out they had never worked in Tennessee and did not even know it's a State that does not enjoy the privilege of court proceedings for foreclosures. They are simply handled with a filing and an ad in the newspaper.
Back to the short sale realtor: He had me jumping through paperwork hoops over and over again, each month requiring the same documents only updated. Hardship letters had to be re-written, bank statements had to be copied until I ran out of ink. This was a paperwork nightmare, and I was envisioning myself trying to get ready for work while living under a bridge with my three remaining dogs.
Yes, there had been attrition in the family. My six-pack was half gone.
If there is a hell, it is made of paperwork and bureaucracies. But then, I guess we are already there in some ways.
Through all of this, the place where I worked had determined that no raises would be given the entire three years I worked there, and full-time was defined as thirty-two hours a week. No one was allowed to work more than thirty hours because that was getting too close to thirty-two and they panicked at the idea of needing to pay over-time. Only exempt employees worked full and over-time schedules. In view of these factors, my pay checks were never anywhere near what I was promised upon hiring. No wonder its such a profitable company for the owners and investors.
According to my realtor, there was a very nice offer on the table, as they put it, in fact it was the second or third offer this party had made. They really wanted the house. As the offer was being processed or tasked as it is called, the other division of the bank over- rode the short sale and slammed down their hammer.
Two years after all of this began, it was suddenly over. I received an eviction notice four days before Christmas.
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