My Run-In with the Lunatic Fringe
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Michael B
In November of 1998, I was working as a loan officer at a bank branch on the north side of Ann Arbor. The bank "offered" everything from unsecured personal loans to car loans to home equity loans. However, the only loans incentivized to loan officers were home equity loans, so we were encouraged to steer all customers to that type of product. Even if you had great credit, if you didn't own your home, we would likely find a way to deny you - typically insufficient net worth. When I asked my superiors why we always tried to get a home as collateral, they invariably responded with what was then considered gospel truth: A home will always, ALWAYS increase in value, 2.5% per year, guaranteed.*
One of the methods we used to find home equity customers was a mailer offering an unsecured loan product. It was RIDICULOUSLY difficult to qualify for an unsecured loan - the only people who qualified were the ones who didn't really need it anyway. When customers did respond via the attached application, we were able to determine A. their credit information and B. whether or not they owned their home. Non-homeowners were denied immediately. We contacted the homeowners, however, to try to complete the unsecured-to-home-equity bait and switch.
Obviously this didn't always go over well. Many people responded to the mailers by sending back (postage free, naturally) obscene notes, cross-cut shredded renditions of completed applications, and so on. One gentlemen, however, did respond with his complete information. He had virtually no credit history and no bank accounts, and he owned his home and a business free and clear. After trying to reach him by phone for several days to steer him into a home equity loan, I assumed he had lost interest, and sent out a denial based on his limited credit history and lack of liquid assets.
Two weeks later, a man I didn't recognize as a customer walked into the branch, wearing camouflage pants, a green shirt, and dark sunglasses - even though it was an overcast day. (ALWAYS a good idea to walk into a bank branch with unnecessary sunglasses.) After a brief conversation, the tellers directed him my way. I introduced myself and offered a handshake, but he ignored it, sat down at my desk, and dutifully slid the denial letter over to me.
"I'm going to speak slowly," he said, "because I've dealt with incompetence before." Then, in one of the most question-begging displays I have ever witnessed, he produced a wrap of at least a hundred $100 bills from his shirt pocket.
"Clearly I have the money, so why did you deny my request?" he asked. Though it was obvious enough that this was strictly a rhetorical question, I attempted to answer, but he cut me off before I could begin.
"Look," he said, "I know who you 'work for,' and I know who they 'work for,' so you can save your bullshit excuses. I don't have bank accounts because I pulled all of my money out of the banks. I pulled all of my money out of the banks because Y2K is gonna wipe us out. THAT is why we are stockpiling munitions, THAT is why we are stockpiling non-perishable food, and THAT is why we are stockpiling bottled water, before the UN comes in and rations it out to us. I don't even want your fiat money."
The superfecta of militia delusion, in one fell swoop: 1. Anti-semitism, though slightly veiled, 2. Gun hoarding, 3. UN paranoia, and 4. the ever-popular "fiat money" buzz word. I would actually love to have seen my face just then.
As he turned and walked toward the exit, I had a moment, of which there have been several over the course of my life, where the perfect retort came to me - something along the lines of "Excuse me sir - you might want to be careful as you exit the building. I've heard reports that the sky is falling." However, as is also typical, I held my tongue, as the decorum of retail customer service, my overall shock at the entire episode, and the specter of the glock on his hip dictated.
I've since forgotten his name, but I remember SO desperately wanting to call him on January 1, 2000, you know, just to see how things were going. Sometimes I imagine his poor family, holed up with him in a bunker to this very day, waiting for the apocalyptic nightmare to finally end.
*This is an issue that deserves it's own larger, more developed post. Having been at or near the front line of the housing crisis for several years, I have a pretty good idea who should get most of the blame.
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During the buildup toward Y2K, I worked as an operations manager for a local AM radio station. It was a commercial religious station (now defunct) that allowed just about anyone with a buck to buy time. One such program was called The Prophecy Club, and during that year they expanded to a rather large number of stations solely on the strength of their dire predictions. They sold generators, stockpiles of food, water purifiers, and talked nonstop about black helicopters and men in black. The world as we knew it was going to end, and people listened.
Within a month of the Y2K no-show, their roster of station had decreased significantly, despite their claims that it was God who had stayed his hand due to the prayers and petitions of the faithful. It was rather silly . . .
Great post, Mike.