Why my mortgage broke your bank
I’ve been watching our doom-and-gloom news for quite a while now, but this article from the Wall Street Journal resonated with me.
Would you pay $103,000 for this fixer-upper?
I felt like it was the perfect synthesis of all or our economic problems, as told by one visually disturbing tale. And it echoes my story.
My 1,070 square foot condo appraised for just over a quarter-of-a-million dollars August of 2007. In my search for a valid place to call my own, I saw a lot of shit. All of it appraised for over $200,000. My realtor saw one place with cracks in the walls and urine stains throughout the place. He didn’t bother to bring me to the place, but it also sold for $200,000 dollars. Considering it was a condominium, whoever bought it isn’t really in a position to tear it down for the land value.
Regardless, I ended up getting a loan from some of the scummiest motherfuckers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. Unfortunately, I was young, dumb, and had this silly notion that nepotism was going to protect me from the world. My mortgage broker was some dude I had met at a party and remained in touch with, a self-described “anarchist” who made $6,000 a pop selling people shitty loans they couldn’t afford and weren’t qualified for.
Fast forward just one year. Things fall apart. Big-style. I’m paying $1,700 dollars a month for a place I could only hope to rent for somewhere around $1,000. The most recent report from my realtor says that condo prices are down 30% in our area. If the average holds true for my location, my $250,000 home is now worth $175,000. Not only is my down payment gone, but if I actually sold the home I’d be $25k in debt.
I’ve read a lot of stories about people in Arizona and Las Vegas leaving their keys in their mailbox. Except my mailbox locks. Where do I leave that key?