Fall Closing Moon
Somebody somewhere can explain underwriters; but, if there were a new map of the Inferno, they would occupy a position in the lower circles of my version of hell. Take, for example, the power of attorney. We have to have a POA as the mortgage folks call it, so I can sign for both of us in the closing. OK, that’s reasonable.
So, I downloaded a POA form from the State Attorney General’s office, Minnesota. And, the first option it contains is a box to tick marked real estate transactions. A common use of this common form. Since this is a real estate transaction, we ticked the box, had it all notarized, wrapped with a small bow, then faxed it to Wells Fargo. That was Friday.
Yesterday afternoon we got a call from David, a factotum for our mortgage consultant Valerie, who has done a great job for us. We needed, David said, a new POA with the street address alongside the real estate transaction box. By now Kate has become a fixture at the local Wells Fargo office. Since it’s a Wells Fargo transaction, they fax our materials for free. So, I printed out a new one, Kate faxed it.
When she came home, I asked Kate to call David, just to be sure the POA plus other materials were adequate. Well, none of them were. We needed a better copy of a receipt for a new refrigerator, a better proof that we had in fact moved the down payment money into a liquid account, and a new POA. Yes, that’s right. Version 3.0. This time the underwriter wanted not only the address but the full legal description beside the box.
At this point we did what any mature couple would do. We watched Midsomer Murder and went to bed. On rising, with a good sleep behind us, these new tasks seemed small. Kate’s on her way back to Wells Fargo with fresh paper to sacrifice to the fax gods in hopes of appeasing the demon underwriter. We’ll see.
I talked to Lindsey yesterday, the closer, and she asked me to prod the bank to get her the documents. Me? Prod the bank? I gave a low chuckle and said I’d try.