Early the next morning, I contact the bank asking about how I can get under the astronomical note that is my house payment.
“Sir, I can’t afford to pay the house note. I need out from under this payment. My wife left me, there is nothing in the house. My money is about to go in a million directions when the court gets done raping me, there is no way to pay you.”
“You can short sell the house, and then give us the money.”
“Excuse me? Did you not hear what I just said? I can’t afford to pay you, much less a realtor!”
“Son, calm down.”
“No! I will not calm down, is it not enough that I have lost everything that I have worked my butt off for? This (insert your descriptive word here) wants me to hire a realtor to sell the house, and then I owe both of those idiots when it is all said and done!”
“Look, its not my problem that you can’t pay your bills. You owe us and that is all there is to it. Figure it out, or don’t. Either way we will take the house when you stop paying it or short sell it and give us the money.”
“Screw it! Take the house back, I will not give you another red cent!”
My dad places his hand on my arm. The look he gives me is a grimace that said he understood what I was feeling, but rage had me wanting to throttle this smirking banker that was in front of me. Finally, my dad stood, and I followed suit. We exit the room, and my dad turns and looks at the banker.
“Do your worst.”
Without another word, we walk out into the cool, sunny day and head to Fort Carson. I squirm in the backseat. “So far, it is nothing but bad news. Why should the day get any better?”