Well, we just got back from our vacation and the marathon. It was a great trip, and I'm sure one of us will write about it soon, but there have been a few really irritating things that I just wanted to vent about. As you may know, Emily and I are moving to Nashville soon, and we're actively looking to rent a house. I'm also trying to buy a car, for which I will need a loan. Let's see how the three of those adventures are going.
The Loan: I called the bank several months ago to ask about the process, and I was told to apply for a loan about a month before I needed it. Following these instructions, I applied online and was approved with a great rate pretty quickly. The e-mail notice said that I'd be contacted within 24 hours to finalize everything. Well, two days passed, so I called the bank. The lady told me that it was guaranteed that they'd call within 48 hours, but she gave me the direct line for the loan department. I waited on hold for over 30 minutes when I was suddenly disconnected. I figured, it's late, they'll call soon enough, and I have plenty of time. Well, that was a week ago. I called yesterday and was led to the same number. The same thing happened after another 30 minute wait. I noticed I could go straight to a mailbox to request a callback so I didn't have to wait, but when I did that, it told me the message box was full. When I called back, the operator told me that there was only one number to contact the loan department, and she couldn't help me. She told me to call back on Monday, which is tough, because I'd likely have the same problem, and I'm supposed the buy the car on Tuesday. When I asked to speak to her manager, she told me he wouldn't have any other answers. That's when I told her that I likely would find answers at a different bank, and promptly hung up.
The Car: I've been researching a car to buy for years. My old car used to joke that it was about to die, then trick me into keeping it for another year or so. Well, I've been patiently waiting without a vehicle for the last few months, meanwhile saving up plenty of money for a good downpayment. I contacted a dealership of a friend, who told me that the car I wanted was unavailable because the hybrid engines were made in Japan, which recently suffered from a Tsunami. He suggested I try a bigger dealership because they'd have a bigger inventory to trade for the car. I did this, and was told it wouldn't be a problem. I was e-mailed a possible car choice almost immediately, and I said I'd take it unless a better color option became available. I didn't hear anything for almost a week, so I called back again. This time, I was given two new options, both in colors I liked better. I told him which car I wanted within a couple hours. I didn't hear back for 3 days. When I called again, he said, "Oh yeah, I was just about to call you." He took down my credit card information to make a downpayment so the car could be shipped, never indicating that there was a problem. A week passes and I don't hear anything else, and there's no deduction from my account. I called yesterday, and he told me again that he was just about to call me. Then he told me he thought the other car was already sold and the dealership wouldn't return his calls. Now, it's three days before I'm supposed to go pick up the car, and he states that multiple dealerships are not returning his calls. He said, "I've been doing this for six years, and I've never had this much difficulty getting a car." I don't know, do people not want to do business with me?
The home: The final piece to the puzzle is the most stressful, but the least crazy story. Apparently, nobody in Nashville wants to rent a house to people with dogs, especially our "large" dogs. We've found plenty of places, but once we mention the dogs, the interest in us dissolves. we thought we had a place recently, but it ended up falling through. At the end of last week, another place opened up. It has a big fenced backyard, which was a huge criteria for us, as our pups like to run around. The downside is that it's in Franklin, which would mean I'd have to drive in rush hour traffic to get to work, but I've been willing to make that sacrifice if we can find a place that has a fenced yard. We submitted our application the first day it went on the market after our friend, Mary, went to take a look at it. We also had to submit a $75 application fee, which I was really hesitant to do since I was skeptical we'd get a fair consideration due to the dogs. Well, as has been the routine, we didn't hear back from them for two days. Today, right after getting home from the vacation and after dealing with the car stresses, I contacted our realtor, who's been fantastic, to see if the lady had replied. He told me that she informed him that she'd already spoken with me and would have a decision on Monday. Of course, I've had no such communication with anyone.
At this point I'm feeling like the universe is playing a huge joke on me. Am I on some ridiculous TV show or something? Am I being Punk'd? I'm not sure what I did to have incompetent people deal with me on three very important issues that are going on right now. I'm flying to Nashville in three days to buy a car that's not there, with a loan that's not finalized, so I can look at houses that some phantom Drew is speaking to real estate agents about. What can I do about it? Nothing, because it's the freakin' weekend and nothing gets done on the weekend. So, I'm sitting here at home, trying to enjoy being unemployed for the month, in a temporary one month house after being unceremoniously booted from our previous home. We have no cable, we have no internet (this is all being typed on 3G via the phone and iPad), and I'm about to blow a lid. So I apologize for using this blog to vent, but I'm tired of complaining to everyone else around me, and I hope typing this out will be enough of a release. We'll find out on Monday, I guess. For now, I'm off to stew a little.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Be kind to strangers
This morning I had a profound experience while traveling to Portland. It's going to sound like one of those e-mails that you get, telling some sappy story before asking you to forward it to ten of your friends. I typically delete those e-mails on sight, no matter who sends them to me. However, this story has affected me, so I'd like to share it.
I won't go into all of the details, but suffice it to say that Emily and I were running late. There was more that a little bit of stress in the air as we were waiting in the check bag line about fifty minutes before our flight. The man behind the desk had just opened up a second line, but we were already past the dividing rope. These moments always frustrate me, as the people in the back of the line end up filling up that line before the people further up can move over. I was then tapped on the shoulder, and a very kind, elderly, but heavily accented voice said, "Sir, would you please go ahead in front of me." I'm not sure what it was, maybe it was the gentleness of his voice, but these simple words affected me so that I couldn't put them out of my head. As we walked off toward security, I thanked him and wished him a good day. I noticed he was carrying one of those military backpacks that we see too often at the airport these days. I almost decided to thank him for his or his child's service, but I decided to keep walking.
As we were boarding our flight, I saw him again. He was being questioned by a security guard about his ID. I was close enough to hear that they were asking to see his passport, and whether it was a language or cultural barrier, the old man wasn't understanding. Several people around me were looking at him with questioning stares, and I couldn't help but say, "I hope he is able to get on... he's such a nice man." I said this loud enough that the people immediately surrounding me wouldn't think to badly of the little man who was starting to get a little frustrated with the misunderstanding with the security guard.
Right before we pulled away from the gate, he walked onto the plane as the last passenger. I smiled a little as he walked down the aisle. The sorority girl who was sitting in front of me, who had slightly annoyed me, due to a ridiculous conversation she was having, politely asked him if he'd been able to find his passport. I'm not sure why he proceeded to tell this story, but after he confirmed that his passport was located, he told us the reason for his trip. His son had been in the army and had fought in one of the wars. After coming home he had not adjusted well, and he had taken his own life with a gun. He had flown into the country for the funeral, which was yesterday. The passengers around us all looked stunned as he slowly made his way past us to find his seat. I looked over to Emily who already had tears streaming down her cheeks to match the ones that were welling up in my own eyes.
It's odd when a set of random events with a stranger touch your heart like this man's story did mine, but I'm very thankful that I had this encounter. Despite all of the pain he was going through, he still found the kindness to be polite to us, and he did it so graciously that it made us take notice of him. I'll never see him again, but I think I'll forever be influenced by out interactions. Perhaps I'll be a little less irritated with the sorority girls chatting loud enough for the entire plane to hear, or I'll let a hurried couple past me when I'm obviously in a hurry myself. My thoughts and prayers go out to the old man, and I hope the many pains of traveling elude him for his long journey home.
I won't go into all of the details, but suffice it to say that Emily and I were running late. There was more that a little bit of stress in the air as we were waiting in the check bag line about fifty minutes before our flight. The man behind the desk had just opened up a second line, but we were already past the dividing rope. These moments always frustrate me, as the people in the back of the line end up filling up that line before the people further up can move over. I was then tapped on the shoulder, and a very kind, elderly, but heavily accented voice said, "Sir, would you please go ahead in front of me." I'm not sure what it was, maybe it was the gentleness of his voice, but these simple words affected me so that I couldn't put them out of my head. As we walked off toward security, I thanked him and wished him a good day. I noticed he was carrying one of those military backpacks that we see too often at the airport these days. I almost decided to thank him for his or his child's service, but I decided to keep walking.
As we were boarding our flight, I saw him again. He was being questioned by a security guard about his ID. I was close enough to hear that they were asking to see his passport, and whether it was a language or cultural barrier, the old man wasn't understanding. Several people around me were looking at him with questioning stares, and I couldn't help but say, "I hope he is able to get on... he's such a nice man." I said this loud enough that the people immediately surrounding me wouldn't think to badly of the little man who was starting to get a little frustrated with the misunderstanding with the security guard.
Right before we pulled away from the gate, he walked onto the plane as the last passenger. I smiled a little as he walked down the aisle. The sorority girl who was sitting in front of me, who had slightly annoyed me, due to a ridiculous conversation she was having, politely asked him if he'd been able to find his passport. I'm not sure why he proceeded to tell this story, but after he confirmed that his passport was located, he told us the reason for his trip. His son had been in the army and had fought in one of the wars. After coming home he had not adjusted well, and he had taken his own life with a gun. He had flown into the country for the funeral, which was yesterday. The passengers around us all looked stunned as he slowly made his way past us to find his seat. I looked over to Emily who already had tears streaming down her cheeks to match the ones that were welling up in my own eyes.
It's odd when a set of random events with a stranger touch your heart like this man's story did mine, but I'm very thankful that I had this encounter. Despite all of the pain he was going through, he still found the kindness to be polite to us, and he did it so graciously that it made us take notice of him. I'll never see him again, but I think I'll forever be influenced by out interactions. Perhaps I'll be a little less irritated with the sorority girls chatting loud enough for the entire plane to hear, or I'll let a hurried couple past me when I'm obviously in a hurry myself. My thoughts and prayers go out to the old man, and I hope the many pains of traveling elude him for his long journey home.
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