When I opened the mail on November 1, everthing started to go downhill. For some reason my house payment had gone up by $700 per month! There was no way I was going to squeeze that onto my plastic. I thought that maybe it was some sort of fat-crazy-chick revenge thing from Linda, so when I called First Coralville to complain I asked to talk to her supervisor. “No, it’s not a mistake,” says the guy. “You have an adjustable rate mortgage, and it adjusted.”
“Ex-squeeze-me?”
“Adjustable rate mortgage, A-R-M,” he says. “After the first 6 months, it adjusts up to the prevailing interest rate. You should have realized that, because it’s all there in your contract.”
Who am I, fucking Oliver Wendell Smallprint? I thought ARM meant “always ready money.” I told the dude there’s no way I could pay.
“Have you considered refinancing?” he says.
Duhhhh! I had forgotten that another three months had passed since my last home equity loan, so I hopped into the new Benz and drove to First Coralville to collect my quarterly Fifty Large. But when I got there he starts giving me a big song-and-dance.
“I’m sorry Mr. Burge, you don’t qualify for home equity financing,” he says. “According to the latest appraisal, the value of your home has dropped $500,000. In fact, the value of every home on your block has dropped an average of $200,000 since April.”
“WTF??”
“I’m sorry Mr. Burge, home prices in your neighborhood have been hurt by the national housing bubble, and a steep increase in crime and noise.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do now?”
“Have you considered moving to Lakewood Mobile Home Court? It’s very affordable, and the whole neighborhood has undergone an amazing renaissance this year.”
Ever since that day, its been a non-stop job dealing with the phone calls and certified letters and eviction notices. I keep throwing them in the garage behind the Benz and the dirt bikes, but I get the impression these guys are serious. I put up some official-looking “Smallpox Quarantine” signs on the front plastic sheet, but I don’t think they’ll keep the cops away forever. I can’t pay the mortagage, and can barely scrape enough to pay for the $2 million flood insurance policy.
I’ve had a long time to think about it, and it’s finally time to face up to the ugly truth: I’m a victim. A victim of a pernicious system that entices innocent borrowers with 5000 square foot homes and free money and Igloo coolers, only to bury their dreams under a bunch of APR-ARM-XYZ shyster bullshit gobbledygook.
But the blame doesn’t rest completely with First Coralville; ultimately, the resposibility lies with our government, and society itself. Because it was you that elected the politicians that allowed this stupid crisis to happen, and continue to sit idly while victims like me lose our American Dream.
But it’s not too late to make amends: contact your local elected officials and demand that they do something to alleviate our suffering. Demand an end to ARMs, and demand subprime do-overs. If we don’t act now, the entire economy will collapse, and people like me — and my children, and my dirtbikes — will be out on the streets looking for a new place to live. Maybe in your neighborhood.