Right Answer Can Persuade Any Banker

On the express orders of my President and to save the nation, I decided this would be a good time to buy a house.

Consumer confidence is at an 18-year low and all the experts agree that it is we, the consumers, who are at fault.

If we would just use all our “extra” money (i.e., the money we currently squander on food, rent and heating) to buy “big-ticket” items like homes, office buildings and football stadiums, we would soon be out of this recession.

Being a loyal American, I decided it was my duty to help by buying a house. Besides, there are so many people facing foreclosure these days, you can practically go up and down the streets and just pick whatever home you want and ask the bank to throw out whoever lives there.

Before I could do this, however, I needed to go to a bank and get a mortgage. This, I knew, would be easy.

When Donald Trump and Robert Maxwell went to a bank, they didn’t get asked any tough questions like: “Do you have any assets that actually exist in this dimension?”

No, they just got handed the dough.

So I went into my bank, which had always advertised itself as “A Friendly Bank for Friendly People.”

I sat down at a desk with a loan officer. His first words were very friendly. “Three points,” he said.

What’s that?

“That’s what you have to pay us as a fee,” he said. “It means you have to pay us 3% of your loan. Up front. In cash.”

I figured it out. It was a whole lot of money.

Do I have to pay you this? I asked. Does President Bush know about it?

“Oh, yes,” he said. “And he feels it is good for the nation.”

OK, I said. In that case.

The banker got out a sheet of paper.

“You must obtain a guarantee of employment,” he said.

What does that mean?

“Well, it means that you have to have someone attest that you will hold your job for the life of the loan.”

Like who?

“Someone you work for,” he said. “A superior.”

Nobody I work for is superior.

“A boss, Mr. Simon. An editor.”

And you want some editor to say I’m going to have a job for the life of the loan, which is 30 years?

“Yes. Precisely.”

What makes you think my editors are going to have jobs for 30 years?

“Mr. Simon. . . . “

In fact, what makes you think you’re going to have a job for 30 years?

“Mr. Simon. . . . “

Or that the bank will even be here in 30 years?

“I think, perhaps, we can waive that requirement,” he said.

Good idea, I said.

“In order to establish your net worth, we must know the value of your household goods,” the banker said.

What’s a household good?

“Well, furniture, clothing, appliances like a refrigerator. . . . “

I got a refrigerator, I said.

“Yes, I imagined as much. We just need a total, a. . . . “

Ice maker’s on the blink, though.

“Mr. Simon. . . . “

And they want 75 bucks to fix it. Buncha crooks.

“I don’t really care about the ice maker, Mr. Simon. . . . “

Sure, you don’t. You probably got all the ice you want.

“Maybe we can move on.”

Sure.

“I am required by law to ask you the following,” the banker said. “Have you ever committed a serious crime?”

What do you mean by serious?

“Well, I really don’t know. Nobody has ever asked me that before. I suppose it means like armed robbery or. . . . “

Armed robbery? No. Never. Next question.

“Well, it isn’t limited to armed robbery,” he said. “I suppose they want to know if you have committed any crime worse than, say, a traffic offense.”

What do you mean by committed?

“Well, I suppose they mean a conviction.”

So, if like maybe you killed a man in Texas once, but they let you go because the jury decided the guy had it coming and you agreed to move up north and become a newspaper columnist and never to go back to Texas, that wouldn’t count?

“I don’t think I could fit all that on the form,” the banker said. “But if I may, Mr. Simon, could I inquire as to why that man in Texas was killed?”

I leaned back from the desk a little.

Maybe he asked me one too many questions, I said softly.

And you know what? I got the loan.