Just awful.

So since I’ve 1) recently started a temp job with the illustrious Amazon.com and 2) have decided to focus my spare time on getting better at guitar.  Thus I don’t  write as often as I’d like.

However, since a friend pointed out to me that they’ve been checking and seeing no updates, I decided to at least put something quick until I can gather more memories for my thankfully-now-over days at America One Finance.  So, without further ado:

I hate hate hate Smash Mouth.  I especially hate “All Star,” the one song of theirs that will just NOT go away.  Actually, they have several that won’t go away, but that’s the most prominent one.  When did that song come out?  1999?  1998?  If I had been 9 years old and heard a TV ad proudly blasting “Stayin’ Alive,” I would have laughed my tail off at the sheer amount of mockery getting ready to come their way.  You know what I think the problem is?  I think the problem is 50+-year-0ld ad execs who are so out of touch they’re saying, “This is what the kids are into these days!”  It’s horrible!

In case you were wondering:  one of the biggest issues with Smash Mouth is that they were around for YEARS before they hit it big.  By that time they were all married and had kids, so their approach to their music is “sell what we can to stuff our pockets for retirement!”  Hence Disney pretty much owning them.

eh.  I’m done.

 

Mortgage Days I – “Nen Barter”

One thing I think I’ve learned after three years in finance is that karma is complete BS.  I never believed in it to begin with (in fact, I was accosted by co-workers in my earliest days at my last job for stating that I didn’t buy into karma at all), but it has been confirmed all the more:  sometimes evil and mean people are also really smart and clever when it comes to the system around them, and can secure themselves to be evil and mean until their last days with little-to-no consequences in this life.  I’ll probably expand on that idea more later on in this “series,” but know that for now I’m just being careful with names in these entries.  So this is the story of a guy named Ben in Chicago, but when referring to his full name, he’ll be “Nen Barter.”  Did you see what I did there?  Eh?

So let’s get some of the technical stuff out of the way so I can tell you how amazing Ben was (and I mean “amazing” in a not very positive sense).  Also, after this, the following entries should be more concise.

After being employed at this place for a year, I was moved to the Administration Department and I helped in the process of hiring new loan officers (“hiring” can be something of a misnomer since all loan officers, or LO’s, are contracted and work 100% off commissions, and less than 2% ever came into the corporate office).  Over the course of the first of my two years doing that job, I slowly and eventually took over the entire process:  from collecting the needed documents, gathering application and licensing fees, entering their information into our system, doing a complete background and due diligence report, and making official proposals to the executive staff to hire or decline.  The complete application package consisted of a 12 page contract, filled out completely with personal and contact information, signed and dated, an I-9 form (for the DHS to prove you are who you say you are and that you can work in the USA), a tax form (many states allowed W9, but some, like Illinois, required a W4 for LO’s), crystal clear copies of identification per the I-9 (a passport, or a driver’s license and social security card, etc.), a resume, and a $45 application fee to cover background check costs, plus any state licensing fees (for this story, you need to know that Illinois has a $35 fee). Around the point that Ben came “knocking,” I was running maybe 70% of the process, and my genius bosses (sarcasm) were bringing in a dim-witted loan officer to assist with the other 30% as he also recruited other loan officers for the company.   Seriously–this guy knew no other way to survive in life other than trying to find some way to manipulate someone else out of their money.  We’ll call him “Todd.”

Ben sent in his hire package about a week before Todd started.   Ben’s package included three of the twelve pages of the contract, a W9, an I-9, and a hand-written note that said “I’ve been in the mortgage business for two years.  Please rush my application.”   Oh, I should also mention that he only wrote in his name on the W9 and I-9 (they require SSN, date of birth, address, etc.), and gave minimal information on his contract and didn’t sign it.  Also, his handwriting made it look like he was filling it out at the post office with a line of 15 angry people behind him, shouting for him to hurry up.  Except this was a fax.  As was procedure, I emailed him letting him know that I needed 1) the complete contract, filled out in its entirety and signed and dated, 2) proper identification per the I-9, 3) the $45 and $35 fees, 4) his resume or, at the least, a 10-year work history, and 5) a W4 instead of a W9.  Within the next day or two, I got another fax from Ben.  This time it was almost the same documents as before, with all the same, incomplete information on them except he had ONE additional page from the contract included.  I wrote again, telling him what he needed to send in, and a day or two later he sent in another fax, this time he was missing the W9 altogether, had three completely different pages of the contract included (but no other pages, not even the ones he sent before), and also had a piece of paper with a black rectangle on it, which I could only assume was an attempt to photocopy his driver’s license.  I wrote back to him, yet again, and shortly afterwards he sent another fax, which was a weird mishmash of his two previous faxes, with other stuff missing, too.  At this point I just said “screw him,” and filed the stuff to the side and started focusing on other applicants.  You know, ones who could follow instructions.

Well it wasn’t long after this that Todd started.  Todd’s position was one of many mind-blowing decisions made by the executive staff to put an ignorant person in authority over me, while telling me that I had to train them.  Our office relationship quickly became about me giving him small, simple tasks to do to free up my time to focus on the difficult ones he was hired to supervise, because he’d let stuff sit on his desk for days as he chatted on the phone all day with other loan officers.

It was about two weeks into Todd’s time in the office that Ben came back up.  You see, the whole time I was figuring out how to manage Todd as he was supposed to manage me, Ben continued sending in faxes.  Usually one a day, sometimes more.  At best they were faxes of the same stuff I’d already received with one additional page added; at worst they were a single page.  Sometimes he’d fill out a new form of some sort with the information he was missing on the previous form, but not put the information on the previous form on this one (e.g. he’d have one I-9 with just his name and address on it, then he’d fill out another one with his social security number and birth date, then another one with his name and social security number, then another one with his address and social security number, and so on and so on).  I ended up with a very thick stack of papers in Ben’s file because I didn’t waste time sorting through them.  Up to this point, Ben had just been fax-happy and never emailed a word.  Well, now he started to ask about the status of his application.  I would respond to tell him he still had not sent a complete package, nor was anything sent in the way I told him.  I would then list out in the kind of detail a parent gives to their six-year-old what he needed to do.  He would respond that he did exactly what he was told (he hadn’t), and then fax another incomplete set of papers.

(For the record: at this point in the company history, the goal was to hire as many people as possible, so we put up with this crap until we could do a background check (which required a complete application) before we declined; about a year later the policy was changed and a time-limit to get a complete package was implemented, though not always enforced by the executives.)

After a few days of this, he started to call the office.  I would see his name on the caller ID and would refuse to pick up–as far as I was concerned, he was a discard because he couldn’t be trusted to handle people’s very personal financial information, which is a huge liability to our company (people can get huge fines or lose all commissions and fees in the mortgage business for something as trivial as not check-marking a box on some random form, and we would be liable because it would be under our license).  Eventually, though, since I wasn’t picking up, he got on the phone with Todd.  Oh, they just had a great conversation.  Todd comes to me after getting off the phone with him, “Hey, man, how come you’re giving Nen Barter such a hard time?”

“Giving him a hard time?” I replied in disbelief,  ”He’s completely incompetent and has spent the last three weeks or more sending me incomplete packages while refusing to follow the instructions I give him.”

“He says he’s sent it all like you asked.”

“I know he said that, but its not true; look,” and I would show him the 40+ pages of faxes I’d received from him, “And none of this equals a full package.”  Todd saw it and laughed and just went back to his desk, shaking his head.

The next day I hear Todd talking to Ben, “Well, Ben, you’re not sending the stuff in like he’s asked. . . . I know that, but we can’t do anything until we have everything . . . Man, I’ve seen it, you don’t have everything.”  After finishing, Todd asks me to email Ben what he needed to send again.

“He’s a waste of time, Todd.”

“Why do you say that?  I’ve talked with him a few times, he seems like a cool guy.  I think he’d make a good salesman.”

“He’s going to be handling people’s financial information.  He cannot be that disorganized, and he cannot fill out important documents so incompletely.  He’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Yeah, he is a bit scatterbrained,” said Todd, to my surprise, “I was talking to him earlier and I was in mid-sentence and he said, ‘Oh, I’ve got to go, there’s this hot girl I gotta talk to,’ and hung up on me.”

I didn’t say it, but I was thinking, Really, Todd?  You think this guy is quality after he does that?  Are you that dense?

Yes, Todd was.  He still pushed for me to keep working with Ben.  I argued and fought and demanded that my time be used on quality applicants (the few we had).  Well, Todd took it to the president of the company and I was ordered, at an executive level, to proceed.  Since it was clear that emails weren’t working, I got Ben on the phone and took him page by page, line by line, though what he needed to send to me.  (“And the next page starts, at the top, with a continued sentence that says, ‘at will and can be . . .,’ is that the page you have?”  ”Yes.”  ”Okay, then the next page starts with the end of another sentence that says, ‘liability,’ and then item twelve starts after that.  You have that one?” and so on).

Well . . . the fax he sent minutes later was STILL incomplete, but it had the last few pieces I needed to complete the package from the now-60+ pages I had from him.  I put it together like a puzzle, tossed the tons of duplicate pages, and started on the background check/due diligence report.

Part of our background check was checking credit history.  Ben had a credit score in the mid-400’s.  In case you don’t know, that’s REALLY REALLY bad.  If  you’ve got a 575, you’re not doing well at all, 700 is decent, and 750+ is just “good.”  His was close to 450.  He had, if I remember right, three repossessions of sports cars in the previous three years (and he was 26 or so at the time).  Since the proposal to hire or decline was in my hands, I saw no other solution but to decline.  I wrote up the report, explaining the previous month’s events and what I found in doing a check on him (not much else of note other than his poor financial history, really, but that was more than enough), and sent it to the CEO/Owner of the company, who made the final decision.  This guy, whom I will call “Matt,” sent an email to Ben, and I was CC’d.  He copied and pasted the bulk of my report into his email and commented to Ben, “See below, I’m not sure we’d be comfortable with you representing our company if this is how you handle the application process.  How can we trust you to be as organized as you need to be to properly do mortgages?”

Ben responded, “I have a processing team of three older women who have over 50 years experience combined.  They handle all that paperwork stuff.” (Author’s note: 90% of mortgage after someone agrees to get one is “paperwork stuff”).

A day or so passed by, and I got an email from Matt in which he said to me, “good call.”  I looked and there was correspondence between him and Ben on which I was not included.  There was a little more back-and-forth of Ben making a very poor case for himself, and Matt finally saying, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that you’ll be a good fit with us.  I wish you well.”

Ben responded, “Whatever, man.  What the f**k do you care about how I organize my business?  It’s all just commissions.  This is bullsh*t, just like your whole stupid company.”

. . . and that’s actually the last I heard from Ben.  Writing that makes this part feel a little anti-climactic, but I guess that’s just the nature of this particular story.  In the end I ended up “winning” that one, but it was far too long of a journey to get there.  Actually, many of these stories I’m going to tell I did end up “winning,” but the part that amazes me is how many times I went through the same crap with the executives to keep a dangerous person out of the company.

Okay, this one’s long enough.  Next time I might talk about Pector Hementel.  Ha!  These names are so funny when I switch letters like that.

 

Mortgage Days – introduction.

I like to tell stories.  Some of the best, and most readily available, stories are ones from the work place.   I’ve really been lacking a good audience for mine, though, since up until two months ago I worked in mortgage.  As any other workplace, it was filled with its crappy managers and bosses, stupid customers, and mind-boggling coworkers.  However, the circumstances that allow those qualifiers to be present get lost on many people because there’s so much industry babble that gets involved.  I end up spending so much time explaining what means what that the story disappears and the conversation becomes a lesson in Mortgage 101.

On the other hand, though, I have the desire to blog more often (both because I enjoy it and because I wish to improve my writing skills, as it is, at my core, one of my two passions; I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a bit wordy and I’d like to correct that).  So at this moment I am making it official that I will do a certain number of blogs in a row that are those lovely, blow-your-mind, oh em gee people are ridiculous kind of work stories from my three years at my last employer.  I’ve already told several from Steak ‘n Shake, one from RentACenter, and at least one from my days at Kohls, along with mentions of my days at McDonald’s.

So let’s pick a number of entries to do.  I would like a good challenge–something to force me to be concise and clever–while at the same time not stretch the idea so far that even I can’t stand it.

How about five?  Yes.  I will pull out five stories from my mortgage days that deal with the most over-the-top, ridiculous, crazy, money grubbing people you couldn’t begin to imagine.  This should be fun.

 

Jeff the Car Salesman – 2 year anniversary, edited and revisited

In these days of joblessness, I’m not paying much attention to the dates on the calendar.  I was shocked a little bit (though only a little) when someone mentioned to me Sunday night that the next day was Columbus Day, America’s most ignored holiday (but good luck finding a bank that’s open).  Well, Columbus Day weekend, whether I ever have it off again ever, is always going to be remembered for one specific thing by me.

Keep in mind that its been two years, including a leap year, since the following events took place, so I thought that today, October 13, 2009, was the two-year anniversary of my day with Jeff the Car Salesman–but it turns out that these things actually happened on October 6-8, 2007, not October 13-15 as I had thought.  REGARDLESS! If you’re reading this and don’t know this story, you’re in for a treat.  For all intents and purposes, this is just a copy-and-paste re-post of the story I placed here in April 2008.  The exception is that I’ve edited it to make the story flow better (and I’ve kept it all in past-tense this time, instead of both past- and present-tense as it was before; now you may read it and relax that it is grammatically correct)  So without further ado (get comfortable), I give you, Braden vs. Jeff the Car Salesman.

I wrecked my Chrysler Concorde on October 2, 2007.  It was very sad.  It was even more sad when I was informed that my insurance company declared it a total loss, even though the damage was slightly less than the value of the car (I think it’s if the damage is more than 70% of the value of the car, it’s totaled, and mine was something to the tune of 90-95%).  It was a great car.  It looked good, it ran great, it was roomy, full of awesome features and luxury things that a guy in his mid-twenties with my income doesn’t usually have.  I was actually planning on driving it until the engine could not possibly carry it another mile, possibly another six to seven years or more. But I had to say goodbye and look for a new vehicle.

The following weekend – Columbus Day weekend – I began my car search.  I started by driving up to Shoreline on Aurora to the Enterprise Car Sales office.  This place was suggested by one of my bosses, and it sounded appealing because the commission structure for their salesmen is something like $500 per sale.  This their goal is to sell you a car that works, and not get you in the most expensive one they can.  This was perfect for me because I crumble in high-pressure situations, especially sales situations, and I didn’t want to get taken.  Since my total funds from the accident were going to be a little over $6000, I figured I could easily finance $2000-4000 and get a decent $8000-10,000 car.  However, I was informed by the guys at Enterprise that when it comes to car loans from banks, they don’t like to do less than $5000 in financing.  My brain is slow, so at that moment I only rationalized what they were telling me, which is that I’m stuck with a car that will cost $6000 or less, or $11,000 or more.  I had not messed with my budget that morning to see how much of a monthly payment I could handle–but I did know, without doubt, that financing anything over $4000 was too much.  This “rationalization” was not actually my only option.  A little creative thinking and I could have been back in that range I wanted, and I would do just that in a few hours, but know that at this point this is how I was approaching my car search.

I looked at what Enterprise had available and nothing was that impressive, neither in my old price range or my new price range.  So I left with their business cards and positive impressions and drove south again on Aurora, towards home but stopping at the other various used lots on the way.  One of these lots was a Chrysler/Dodge/Jeep dealership named Town and Country.  Since I loved my Concorde so much, and was hoping to find another one or at least a decent Chrysler with which to replace it, I stopped in.  Their used lot was NOT priced for me.  There wasn’t a single car under $16,000.  I know that these places can come down in price, but with my negotiation skills I’m not expecting to get anything down to an affordable range, even my now-disregarded $10,000 range.  So nothing in my immediate vicinity is affordable.  I glanced around me and saw one corner of this small used lot at which I had not yet looked.  I debated turning around and getting back in the truck that Al Gray lent me for the week, and leaving . . . but I made the fateful decision to check that corner . . . and as I was walking there I saw him coming towards me.

“Hi, there! My names Jeff!

“Hi, I’m Braden.”

“Hello, Braden. So, seeing anything you like?”

“Um, actually everything seems a little out of my range.”

“Well what’s your range?”

Okay – I need to interrupt.  As mature as I like to think I am, sometimes I find myself in situations that make me feel like I’m alone and awkward again, like I was in middle school and high school, and that boy comes out and lies about things in order to not appear out of place.  So, I answered Jeff.

“Uh . . . I can’t really go over . . . $12,000.”

“Well there’s this one over here!” he said as he took me over to a dark grey Sebring. “It would have to come down a lot, but we can work something out.” The 2003 Sebring was priced at around $16,500.

I continued to try to play it cool rather than just dismiss interest and leave.  I act like I’m giving the car a once-over, and notice that there’s some scratches on it and the grill on the front is somewhat busted.  Before I can say anything, Jeff speaks up again, “Would you like to drive it?” I can remember not wanting to, but I don’t remember saying either yes or no.  I must have said, “yes,” though, because he got some keys and we took it out.

During this test drive, Jeff made small talk.  “Are you originally from Seattle?”

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

“Illinois.”

“Oh, really? Wow! What brought you out here?”

“My church in Illinois started a new church here a little over three years ago, and I moved out here to be part of it.”

“Ah, I see. <weird look> I’ve been going to the same church for about four years now, I like it . . . blah blah blah ”

Great.  Now he knows I’m a Christian, and a serious one, too, because the list of church-goers who would move across the nation for the sole purpose of joining a church is a bit short.  While I’m, of course, not ashamed of my faith, nor do I ever hide this fact about myself, in high-pressure sales situations like this was about to be, it’s not in my best interest for him to know this.

We got back to the dealership. “So, how about you come inside and we draw up some numbers?”

Well, I liked the car.  It drove just like my Concorde.  Since I didn’t know how big of payments I could handle, it made sense to see what the payments on this thing would be, and then I can run that number into my budget at home and see if it was doable.

So, yes, Jeff.  I’ll come inside.

We sat at his modern, open desk, decorated with family photos and pen cups and some paraphernalia for some college team that I can’t remember.  I do remember it wasn’t UW.  I fill out a form that allows him to run my credit and he said he’d be back in about five minutes.  Well . . . he was gone for 15-20.  I didn’t leave, though.  I’ve thought about why a lot since then, and I’ve only been able to conclude that I’m the kind of person who will not leave a conversation unless it is understood between all parties involved that the conversation was over.  Of course, there’s the other factor of this, which is that I felt as if Jeff was in control of the whole situation and I had to follow his lead; as you’ll continue to see, I was not at my most assertive that day.  (And yes, I really did want to see if I could afford that car, too.)  I sat at his desk, looking out of the big glass display room, watching the Saturday traffic roll by, listening to the hustle and bustle behind me, hearing the humongous projection-screen television playing some football game about ten feet from me . . . and then Jeff pulled up outside in a black 2005 Dodge Stratus.

Back inside, he sat back down across from me and showed me my credit report. Upon seeing it I felt very proud of my median score of 777, then thought about how cool Stryper was, made a mental note to get another report someday so I can figure out how many credit cards I’ve destroyed but never canceled, and then I turned my attention back to Jeff.

The prices for the Sebring per month were somewhere in the mid $200’s, depending on the amortization. I knew that was way to much, but I still didn’t know how much “enough” would be, so I told him I  had to leave to figure this out.  Well, without transition, he started the pitch on this black Stratus he had pulled into my line of sight.  It was virtually the same car, but with the Dodge name on it so it’s cheaper!  Oh, also it’s a 4 cylinder rather than a V-6, and had less features.  But they looked similar.  Oh, and I could tell from less than ten feet away that it was covered in scratches.  He pushed and pushed for me to test drive this one, too, so I did.  When we come back, we went back inside to “look at some more numbers.”

The rates he showed me weren’t much better (I think the lowest one was like $195 a month, even though the car was around $2000 cheaper).  I stayed quiet after each of his suggestions to not lead him into thinking that I was interested, but he took my silence as a challenge to keep trying.  Eventually I realized that sitting there was doing neither of us any good, since I didn’t know my numbers to begin with, but every time I’d mention that I needed to find out what I could afford for sure, he’d drop the price or propose some other course of action.  (Now, as he continued to pitch, I begain to realize a more creative way to use the money I had to get back into the price range I originally had; I’ll spare you the boring details, but just know that I’m back up to a $10,000 limit).

So I kept saying nothing except, “I need to go home to go over my budget,” and he kept dropping the price.  I didn’t become interested until he said he’d see if he can get me the car for $10,000 at $150 a month.  After a few seconds of thinking, I decide that if that price could be attained, I’d get it.  Ten thousand dollars for a two-and-a-half year old car with 27,000 miles on it?  Tell me you wouldn’t if you could.

So he kept me waiting another 30 minutes, and in the meantime I called my roommate and had him look up stuff about this car online, on which he reports mediocre reviews.  As I talked to him, I also did a closer inspection of the car and not only notice more scratches and scuffs, but one of the tires has a very significant tear in it.  I also called my dad, who opened his Consumer Reports booklet and found the same things my roommate did.  Finally, Jeff returned to the desk with a solemn smile on his face, “We’re a ways away.”  In the same breath he started showing me payments of $190 and saying the car will cost at $11,500.  “Really, Braden, $40 isn’t all that much more a month.”  Yeah, that’s what he said; no joke.  Forty dollars was one week’s gas money for my Concorde, so actually it is a LOT more a month, Jeff.

I told him again that I had to go home to check my budget.  “Here!”  He flipped a piece of paper over in front of me and hands me the pen, “Do your budget right here. Write out your expenses. You make this much a month, how much is your rent? You spend, what, $100 on groceries a month?”  The sad thing is that I was starting to crumble so badly under his pressure that I actually attempted this for a few seconds, and then felt BAD that I couldn’t do it.  However, my budget was pretty detailed; ask someone who’s seen it.  There was no way I could do it from memory with pen and paper.

To my surprise, he didn’t pressure me to keep writing out my budget, he just went right back to dropping the price, though not as much as he did before.  My full collapse under pressure at this point was imminent, and I begin to be trapped in the mind-set that I have to take what I’m given this next time around.  I had been sitting in that dealership for so long that I was starting to forget the world outside of it.  I was forgetting that I could keep looking for other cars if I just walked away.  I began to forget that I had, at that point, only looked at four cars.  I completely forgot that I’m supposed to be the one in control, and that if I walk away he’s the one who looses.  Forgot all of that.  Plus, he started to add in his sob-story, “Hey, today is Saturday!  It’s supposed to be our big money making day, and it’s been dead around here.  It’s past 2 p.m. and we haven’t made a single deal yet.  We’re desperate today so we’re willing to push the line to sell a car.  You’re getting a steal on this thing. If we’d had a normal Saturday, we wouldn’t have dreamed of coming this low.”

Well there you have it.  This pricing is a one time shot.  I know because he just told me.  I’m trapped, now.

Eventually he got the car down to $11,100 at $170 a month.  I didn’t want it for that price. I didn’t even want that car, but remember the things I forgot . . . so he headed back to the back to talk to that “guy” with whom these salesmen are always talking, and I go back out to look at the car a bit closer again, and I just felt so sick about the whole situation.  I looked at the scratches again, I looked at the scuffs, I looked at the large tear in the tire, and I went back inside and sat down.  Again.  Jeff returned and he was beaming, which meant he got the pricing he wanted.  He sat the papers and the pen in front of me–the pen and papers to authorize him to draw up the papers for the financing–and waited for me to sign.  I couldn’t get that sour feeling out of my stomach, that I had lost and that was about to pay too much for a car I didn’t want.  I sat and looked at the paperwork, then back out at the car, then back at the papers again.  He saw me hesitating, “it’s a good car, Braden.”

“It has a lot of scratches on it.”

“Well we haven’t even cleaned it up yet.  Remember we just got it on the lot today and we hadn’t gotten it ready to be shown yet. We’ll get it washed and waxed and most of those will be buffed out.”

“I noticed one of the tires is in really rough shape.”

“Um . . . well, see . . . the thing is I’ve already come down in the price so much already, there’s really not much I can do about new tires.”

I was already defeated. “Okay.”

So I signed the papers, and Jeff smiled from ear to ear and enthusiastically shook my hand, “Great doing business with you, Braden. This will take about 15 minutes to get ready so go ahead and enjoy the game over there and I’ll come get you when it’s time! And you’d better get my name out there and send some referrals my way from that church of yours, okay?”

“Okay.”  For the record that wouldn’t have been my response had I not been so squirrel-ified at that moment.

So I sat on the couch in front of the giant television and watched some game I didn’t care about and liked much less than I normally would have because I was not happy about my decision.  I started to think about how I still wasn’t sure if I could even afford $170 a month. I thought about the possible repairs I might get stuck with on top of the cost of the car.  I thought about the damaged tire. I was freaking out.

The 15 minutes that I was promised turned into 20, then 30, then 40.  The longer I was away from Jeff’s high-pressure sales, the more rationale returned to me.  I was kicking myself as I realized I could have just gotten up and left.  I was so upset with myself for trying to not look like a buffoon for standing in a lot of $16,000 cars and only being able to afford $6000, instead of manning up and admitting I was in the wrong place.  I was groaning on the inside because I had managed to forget that I had no intention of actually buying a car that day.

I had never done this before, and I had no idea how obligated I was.  They were drawing up the papers for the financing.  Did that mean I was stuck?  Could I still walk?  I had a sneaking suspicion that Jeff wouldn’t give me a straight answer if I were to ask him (besides, he was already smarming up a couple of new customers ten feet to my right).  This is when I finally remember God, and I prayed, “Okay, I really need help with this!  I don’t know if you can get me out of this, but I really screwed up and I let myself get walked on and I need a rescue!”  Suddenly it crossed my mind to call someone who would know.  I called my dad again and asked him.

“You’re not obligated at all until you drive off that lot, son.  Actually, you technically have two days after you leave to change your mind, but that’s all a lot harder after you’ve signed the papers for the financing.  If you haven’t signed the financing papers, then you can just leave.”

Great!  Thanks, Dad!  Thanks, God!  So what did I do?  I walked back inside.  sigh . . .

“Hey, Braden!” shouted Jeff as I walked back in the doors, “They’ve got everything ready, man. I’ll take you back there.”  I tried to muster up the courage to say that I was walking, but I couldn’t.  All that same lack of control I felt before was returning.  Jeff led me back through a narrow hallway into a small office and sat me down across from a young man, probably younger than me, and introduced me.  I can’t remember his name.  I wasn’t listening; I was working on trying to figure out how to leave, and I knew I had to do it before I put my signature on that paper that this young guy slid in front of me.  I didn’t know if I could do it with Jeff there, as it seemed he held some intimidation factor over me.  I just knew if I said something in front of him, he’d play some words on me that would make me see “error” in my own decisions, and make me give in.  Jeff wished me well and headed back out the sales floor to keep smarming.  This new guy, significantly less imposing, marked some lines for me to sign and initial.  I took the pen in my hand, looked at the paper, and . . .

“Look, man.  I got really high-pressured into this, but the truth is this is the fourth car I’ve seen on my first day looking, I’m not that happy with it, and I’m not even sure if I can afford this.”

The guy was obviously stunned, and a little worried, “Well, if you’d like I can go see if we can come down in the price some more.”

I didn’t want to explain to him that Jeff had “already come down as far as he can,” and frankly I didn’t care at that point. We got up and walked back through that narrow hallway, him ahead of me.  He stepped into a little booth area with a bunch of banking guys in it and I heard him say, “Hey, do you guys think we could come down in the price some more for Mr. Boast?” His voice trailed off in my ears because as he talked to these bald guys in a glass office, I kept walking, right out the front door. I walked out in a way that it was right behind Jeff’s desk, so his back was to me. I knew that if he saw me leaving, he’d stop me, and I’d be at his mercy again.  I walked as quickly to the truck as I could without making it look like I was running there.  I tried to pull out of the lot, but the car in front of me wasn’t pulling onto Aurora.  I got more and more nervous that I wasn’t going to make it, but finally the car turned.  I pulled forward and had to wait for around six cars to pass by, and each second that ticked made me more and more anxious.  Finally, traffic was clear enough and I drove out of the lot just in time to hear Jeff running behind me, “WAIT!!!”

The adrenaline rush that followed was like crack.  Or at least I’d assume it was like crack. I’ve never done crack. Well, during the nearly four (count them: FOUR) hours I spent at that dealership, Enterprise had called me and left a message, letting me know that they’d come across a car that might fit my budget better, so I start heading back up there to see what they had.  In the 5-10 minutes it took me to drive there, Jeff called me four times.  He left a message the second time (and that message was nearly three minutes long).  I got to Enterprise and shared my story with them, and they looked up the 2005 Dodge Stratus on Blue Book . . . and the Blue Book value for perfect condition was $11,500.  Jeff went $400 under that and said it was the best deal possible.  I asked for a minute to call Jeff back, as I felt it was an honest thing for me to actually speak with him.  They obliged, and what I thought would be a 30-second, “Sorry, I’m not comfortable about this right now, if I change my mind I’ll let you know. Bye,” phone call actually went like this:

“Braden! What happened man?  I thought we had a good, low-pressure thing going here!  I’m telling you, you’re getting a good deal on this car, man.  This is a steal!  If it’s the scratches you’re worried about, we’re going to buff them out!”

“Sorry, Jeff, but I’m not comfortable about this right now, if I change my mind I’ll let you know.  B–”

“Well, Braden, I can’t guarantee you that I’ll be able to get you the same price on a different day, man.”

“That’s fine,” I responded, and then the conversation from my end turned into the following:

“Uh-huh.  Yeah.  Jeff?  Jeff.  Jeff.  Jeff.  Uh-huh.  Uh-huh.  Right, but– Jeff.  Jeff.  Jeff?  JEFF!  Jeff.  No.  Jeff.  No.  Jeff?  No.  Jeff?  No.  I have to go.  I have to go.  Jeff, I have to go.  Jeff.  Jeff.  Jeff.  No.  Uh-huh.  Jeff, I have to go.  Jeff, I have to go.  Jeff, I’m going.  Jeff, bye.  Jeff, bye.  Jeff, bye.  Bye.  Bye.  Okay, fine.  Thank you.  Bye.”

I finally get off the phone, talked with the Enterprise guys and yada yada yada not interesting I didn’t like the car they had and it’s not important.

Sunday.  The next day.  The Blue Sky 3rd Anniversary Party.  The one we had in the auditorium because it rained on our first planned day and then on our rain day.  While preparing sandwiches, I got a phone call and a voice mail.  From Jeff.

“Hey, Bradeeeeeen!  Jeff here at Townandcountrychryslerjeep, and I just got out of church myself [emphasis added] and I was looking over our deal here, and I think the key is that if we can save you just $500 that that will make all the difference, whether it be in the down payment or on the total cost of the car.  [He then proceeded to redundantly repeat what he'd just said about $500 for about two minutes].  So I’ll be here for a few hours today, go ahead and give me a call!  Bye!”

I did not call back.

The next day I had off from work because of Chris Columbus and all, so I spent it looking for cars again.  While I stood in another lot on Aurora (but much smaller and much farther south),  I received another phone call.  I reached for my phone and started opening it out of reflex, and I knew before I looked who it was. I had my earpiece in, too, so I technically already had the phone to my ear.  I was stuck.

*gulp* “Hello?”

“Bradeeeeeeen!  Jeff here!  How you doin?”

. . . and I hung up.

Not one minute later I get a call again.  From the same number.  I didn’t answer that time, but I listened to the voice mail shortly after.

Please note that this is verbatim, as I listened to this voice mail so many times I memorized it.

“Hey, Braden, this is Jeff.  Look, I’m really sorry that you feel so bad about dealing with me that, as a Christian, you’d just hang up on me like that and not even give me the day of time.  I really felt like I deserve better than that, but that’s okay.  I hope you have a nice life and that you find the car you want.  Okay?  Thanks!  Bye!”

To be honest, I felt like the world’s biggest heel. I felt like I’d somehow been a bad Christian. I felt that I’d just put a small seed out there for a bad reputation for Blue Sky Church.  It continues to amaze me how he held that power in him to make me feel like I was the one in the wrong, no matter what.  But within a day I was over it, and I’ve cherished this story since.  I look forward to my next car purchase so that I am able to actually maintain the upper hand–but I can tell you for sure that I will not be going back to that dealership on Aurora again.

Good riddance, Jeff.

 

15 things I like about unemployment.

In no particular order.

1) I get to play guitar.  A lot.

2) I’ve had the opportunity to “remember” that the world still exists from 8-5 on weekdays, and it’s pretty awesome.

3) You know that whole thing about being joyful in times of trouble because you get to see God take care of you?  Yeah, that’s happened.

4) Showers are so much more enjoyable when I’m awake for them and know what I’m doing and don’t forget if I’ve washed my face yet or forget to rinse the conditioner out of my hair.

5) I’m verging on the threshold of “never needing to aimlessly wander the internet again” because I’ve done it so much.  The thought of doing that now is becoming very close to the thought of eating cheese curls, and I haven’t done that since 1st grade.

6) The odd thing about looking for work is how broad ones possibilities seem, so right now the whole world is open to me.  Grad school?  Corporate ladder?  Teaching English?  Music career?  Work from home and make $900 a week like this 22-year-old college student?  Stay tuned and find out!

7) I’m not wearing out my good pants and shirts and getting lunch stains on them.  Actually, I’ve spent a good deal of my weekdays not wearing pants at all.

8 ) By having the chance to get chores and errands over with before Dona comes home, I get to spend more time with her.  We have an afternoon coffee tradition now. (awww)

9) Oh, yeah–I like coffee again.

10) People tell me they can see that I’m working out.  I can’t really see it, but that’s how it goes.

11) I have been downtown more in the last month than I think I have in the last year.  Which is fun; I love the city.  When one’s job keeps them in Bellevue or Renton all day, the downtown experience is usually kept to only I-5, and is hindered by slow traffic.

12) I get into a made bed almost every night.

13) Seriously, this coffee is GOOD!

14) Someone’s actually doing the dishes at home, now.  Maybe they should also clean the bathroom.

15) Every now and then, I stop to think about how there is a strong chance that I will never work in the mortgage business ever again.  That’s nice.

 

Oh, Evolution . . .

These days I try to dodge the topic of evolution vs. creation.  Years ago I used to try to start debates on it because I read up on it all the time, formed my one-sided opinion, and would head out into the world with guns loaded and ready.  Usually I’d get crushed by someone else who either knew more than me or was just a better arguer than I was.  In the last five years or so, however, I’ve learned just how important the whole topic is over all (not very) and kept my beliefs to myself.  Life as a Christian is supposed to be about living a changed life that pursues Jesus’s example and reaches those around you, not debating text books at PTA meetings, which only polarizes everyone.  As I’ve said so many times before, our purpose is not to make everything look Christian; our purpose is to lead people to Christ so hearts and lives are changed.  While I don’t believe in evolution at all, I don’t think Creationism or Intelligent Design (or whatever name it has now) should be taught in our schools anytime soon.  If it happened it will only serve to polarize people all the more, and while Creationist “activists” would no doubt cheer wildly at their victory, those strongly opposed would demonize Jesus in their hearts and minds all the more.  Then those people, whom Jesus loves dearly, would be that much closer to being lost forever.  Seems kind of counter-productive, doesn’t it?  Well, at least you can scoff more proudly at episodes of Nova.

Yet despite all of that, I’m still a critic of the way the scientific community treats evolution.  As I’m sure you know, the whole debate has gotten quite ridiculous over the last few years, and (at least from a Northwesterner’s perspective) the evolution side is winning the popular vote.  Darwin’s theory is held as fact more than ever before everywhere I look.  Those who still participate in the debate but side with evolution have seemed to claim victory, and it’s amusing to me when it’s not breaking my heart.  In my beloved Emerald City we have more cars with those “Darwin” fish on the back of them than the Mid-west has Wal-Marts.  It’s getting close to the point that those fish will be more associated with evolution than the original symbol will be associated with Christianity. I’ve even been treated to some tasteful bumper stickers; the one most prominent in my mind said, “We have the fossils. We win.”

So with my seemingly-unique approach to the whole debate, does my continued belief in the Genesis account exist only out of faith, or do I still see fundamental problems with the theory?  The answer is B.  An article I found this morning (which prompted me to write this blog, which is making me late to the gym, which considerably slows down my day) reminded me of one of my primary problems with the evolution perspective.

A few months back, a very in-tact fossil was revealed to the world (which had been discovered, I think, two years prior) and was being touted as the “missing link” between reptiles and mammals (again – I think that’s what they said it was), and the scientific community was saying things like, “It changes so many of our pre-conceived notions about our evolution!”

About a year or so ago, “Lucy” (the revolutionary find of bones from an ancient ape, or early human, depending on how you look at it) were making their “World Tour” and hung out in Seattle’s Pacific Science Center for a few months.  Radio advertisements for the exhibit mentioned how the discovery of Lucy “changed how we understand evolution!”

Something I read back in my days of unwisely starting arguments talked about how a guy was able to successfully create amino acids (which make up proteins) in a soup of what was then understood to be early-earth conditions.  A while after that revolutionary experiment, something was discovered (I honestly can’t tell you what it was) that COMPLETELY CHANGED what scientists believed made up the atmosphere of early earth, thus rendering his experiment completely useless.

And now, today, I find this article that mentions the discovery of some hands and feet that, YET AGAIN, “reverses the common wisdom of human evolution.”

I’m sure there are countless other examples out there of which I am unaware.  This is my main beef with the whole idea.  We started with Chuck’s observations on an island, suddenly science takes on his ideas as truth, then when they find something that doesn’t fit their previous equation, they re-write the equation but maintain the same solution.  Then something else is found and they re-write it again.  Then they figure something out that contradicts what they thought before, and they re-write it again.  I’m not so dense to the way the scientific method works to think that if you don’t get it right the first time that you must be wrong all together, but I do know that after re-writing everything several dozen times, at SOME POINT you, or someone else, needs to start asking some different questions.

Let me put it another way and conclude (because I’m REALLY running late to the gym, now).  How about a metaphor?  Fun!

Evolutionists have given the world a giant, incomplete puzzle, already in its frame, and titled it, “How We Came to Be.”  When you ask about the many parts that are missing, they calmly tell you, “We haven’t found those parts yet, but when we do, they’ll fit perfectly.”  Well, then they find some more parts, but it turns out they don’t fit perfectly.  Therefore, they take down the frame, re-arrange a large portion of the puzzle to make the new parts fit, then put it back up and tell us it’s the same picture.  As they find more and more pieces, they keep re-arranging different sections of the puzzle, but all the while maintaining that the “whole picture” is unchanged.  How many times can you do that until you begin to question if you’re going about putting it together the wrong way in the first place?  I’m putting my money on “many more times,” and I think that’s sad.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20091001/ap_on_sc/us_sci_before_lucy

 

Pedro the ______

This morning I was visiting with my friend Luke Gray.  True to form, Mr. Gray plays a plethora (defined correctly but intended facetiously) of songs by a mass of indie artists throughout our many conversation topics.  Eventually he puts on the newest album by some guy named David Bazan (whose name I totally recognized . . . a little), and proceeded to talk about this guy’s collapse of faith.  And by “faith” I do mean of the Christian type.  Luke addressed this guy interchangeably with Pedro the Lion (who I DO know), so I was finally able to put together that Bazan is the guy who was to Pedro what Chris Carrabba is to Dashboard.  More or less.

I have heard a lot of Pedro over the years, and while I honestly have never cared too much for his music (to be fair, I never sat down to give it much of a chance, either), I was always impressed with his lyrics; they’re poetry without a doubt.  Another aspect I did enjoy about Pedro was the fact that he was a Christian and sang about the deeper aspects of faith, and carried an honesty with him as he pursued Jesus in his day-to-day life.  But for all that I liked about his transparency in his songs, something always worried me about him.  I’ve had a similar feeling of unsettled-ness with others before, and I think it comes from seeing someone who is clearly talented and intelligent and I fear that something, at some point, will convince them to try to make it on their own abilities.  Well . . . that’s not exactly it.  It’s kind of hard to put that “fear” into words, really, but maybe you know what I’m talking about.

It seems that whatever those  fears were, they were justified, as Bazan has declared himself agnostic, and leaves little to doubt that fact in the lyrics of his latest album, Curse Your Branches.  While it certainly saddens me to see a person of a once-strong faith renounce all they had held dear, it frustrates me that I so easily see the flaws in logic that Bazan is now holding as his new truth.  Every issue that Bazan addresses in the lyrics (from what I heard and Luke discussed with me) are a problem of a person trying to make sense of God.  That is the starting point of so many arguments against what Christianity teaches–using human logic and human values to assess the decisions that God makes.  What really gets to me the most is that many people with this approach think that they’re opening new ground and asking the though questions, when in reality they’re usually just taking western, 21st century values and using that to judge what, as a Christian believes, God has said or done.  I see it all the time.  It’s very prevalent in the Seattle area, where I live, and it’s worth noting that this is where Bazan lives, too.

The best example of this from what I heard is the last lines from the album-ender, “In Stitches.”

When Job asked you the question/you responded, “Who are you/to challenge your creator?”/Well, if that one part is true/it makes you sound defensive/like you had not thought it through/enough to have an answer/like you might have bit off /more than you could chew

That’s fair enough, right?  Job was a really good guy, from what we’re told, and he suffered immensely.  When he finally got the stones to demand a reason from God, The Almighty put him in his place.  By today’s standards, Job deserves an answer, but for some reason God thinks he doesn’t need to justify himself to him.  What a prick.

Now, if I challenged my old boss on something seemingly unfair and he responded with, “Who are you to challenge the president of this company?,” then, yes, that would seem as if he wasn’t prepared to be questioned and played the “I’m more important than you” card to get out of it.  However, this is not one human being talking to another human being.  This is the being whose existence means we exist, the one to whom the question “is he real?” is laughable because he defines reality, and he is talking to something HE MADE.  Furthermore, not only is this thing with which he is speaking something he made, but it is something that is evil (yes, EVIL–despite Job’s righteousness, he was not without sin, and no amount of being good justifies you before God), and the very fact that there is any conversation at all is a demonstration of love and grace. Luke’s approach was a little less heady but possibly more profound:  it’s like a child speaking with its parent.  The child, as long as it is a child, will never understand its parents’ decisions regarding them.

Other places in this album, Bazan demands the option to say, “I don’t know.”  I find it curious that he could not do that with coming to terms with not understanding some things God does.

Many more things about Bazan came up in my conversation, many of them from the album to which we were listening, and many more from articles and the like which Luke recalled.  All of them broke my heart.  But I cannot walk away from a blog like this and only lament over how sad it is to see someone so talented lose their faith–that would be kind of pointless.  Instead, I think it’s worth taking the time to realize how thankful I am that-

1) I’m in an environment like the one I have; one in which a structure of believers exists around me who are honest with each other about questions and doubts, but always are willing to trust God first, and are there as long as long as I’m willing to go to them and listen to them; and
2) God has given me the ability to have faith and trust him.  When I see something I don’t like, or when something happens that seems unfair, I’m always able to fall back on the idea that he really does know better than I do, and I am able to let him handle it.

In conclusion, I just want to say that I hope that someday God calls him back, and gives him the faith that he seemed to try to obtain on his own for so long.

 

More letters to people.

I have no other ideas so I’ll re-use an old idea that I stole from someone else.
—————————–

Dear Old Boss –

I had you by the proverbial balls, but, true to form, you played it calm, padded me with money, and sent me on my way.  I often wonder if you have always been as corrupt as you are now.  I found your Facebook page and you seem to have lots of friends, though I have not been impressed by the quality of friendships people have when it comes to party-and-drink-all-the-time relationships, as yours appear to be.  But then again, what do I know?  My wife made the comment that your attitude towards women is a tell-tale sign of the quality of person you are, and I have to agree.  I was about to say that it seems you treat your wife well, but then I realized that’s just because she’s extremely nice and didn’t throw a fit when you made her work 8-hour days for no pay in the office when she was 7 months pregnant.  The sooner I can forget about you, the better.

—————————–

Dear (Former?) Friend –

Yeah, you really have me confused.  Based on all I can see, there is no manic-depressive behavior anywhere else in your life, just when it comes to us.  I would have hoped that you would have been someone to stand in my wedding and someone who I could visit or have visit regularly to often reminisce about the turn of the century days, but you have decided instead to wallow in the hostility you imagine I have.  It’s very sad.

—————————–

Dear HR Director of GeoEngineers, Inc. –

I would completely rock that marketing position you’ve had open for more than 3 months.  On one hand, I can’t imagine why it has stayed open for that long, but on the other hand, you DID turn me down without an interview within 48 hours.  Twice.  Well, I hope you find the right person.

—————————–

Dear Guy in Some Class I had at SIU –

I don’t think you had actually heard of the band Aloha when I mentioned them, and when I asked you if you knew the song “Warsaw,” I think you were thinking of that weird one on the disk we had to listen to for our Music History class.  It’s not that song.  It’s way better.  I was listening to it as I wrote this letter to you.

—————————–

Dear Craig from Screwattack.com –

Did you really knock Bad Religion and then sing the praises of Powerman 5000?  I like your taste in, and commentary on, video games, but my goodness man you have horrible taste in music.

—————————–

Dear Former Classmates in Mrs. Boyer’s 2nd period Literature/Comp. Class in the school year 1996/1997 –

I’m really sorry for reading those parts in MacBeth in a really bad British accent.  Even those of you with the tiniest bit of compassion in your hearts could have seen how stupid I felt when I remembered that last night, you’d forgive me in an instant.

—————————–

Dear Mrs. Boyer –

Some of the most interesting people we meet in life are those who think they understand the whole world, but it turns out they’re just really full of themselves.  You’re #1 on my list.  Hope you’re doing well!

—————————–

Dear anyone who read these –

Sorry they were almost all condescending and mean.  Can I do one more that might be funny?  Thanks.

—————————–

Dear Person Who Played Every Pixies Song They Could at Beth’s Last Weekend –

I have a sneaking suspicion you like The Pixies only because you think it will give you indie cred.  Well, turns out that NO ONE who is really honest about the music they like, likes The Pixies so much that they’ll pick 7 of their songs when selecting 10 songs from a jukebox.  I actually would submit that as a litmus test for phonies.  I go to Beth’s like once every 9 months!  I don’t want to spend it listening to “Debaser!”

—————————–

Dear anyone who read these –

Yeah, I failed.  But trust me, that had to be said.

 

Unfinished Drafts summary

I have ten unfinished drafts saved to my blog account that I haven’t touched in at least three weeks, most of them 7 or 8 months or more.  I’m never going to finish all of them, so I’ve decided to summarize the primary thoughts from the ones that are dead-ends in a few quick one-shots and delete them forever.  Finally.

1. Lots of people hold opinions and views on things because they saw someone on TV say it.  I’m guilty of it, too, but at least I can recognize it.  What inspired this observation is from when I watched I Love the 90’s on VH1 years ago, and they brought up the great Mississippi River Flood of ‘93, and they made fun of people for living close to a river.  Man, that made me mad.
2. The mortgage industry is designed to greatly reward moronic narcissists for minimal effort, which encourages their overall lack of education, cognitive abilities, and interpersonal skills.  It is designed this way for the same reason Rent-A-Center exists, just on a much larger scale – intelligent, well-to-do white men with a serious lack of morality have figured out ways to take lots of money from stupid people.
3. I really want to start writing that fantasy story again.
4. There are a lot of things from my childhood that have not aged well.  Among those that have: Quantum Leap, 8-bit Nintendo, and Lik-m-Aid.
5. Now that I’m no longer employed in the mortgage industry, I want to share some important tips with everyone: 1) NEVER let a loan officer make a YSP off of you (and if you’re not sure if there is one on your loan, ask him, ask escrow, ask the lender, and if you find it, demand it be removed or threaten to walk); 2) ALWAYS assume your loan officer’s first goal is to make money; 3) ACTUALLY, don’t even deal with a broker at all, just go to a bank or a credit union.  Brokers squandered their chance and they deserve to be broke.
6. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why so many people are so hostile towards the American Super Mario Bros. 2.  It may not have been the REAL Mario 2, but have you even PLAYED The Lost Levels?  It’s not that fun, it’s so hard that it borders on cruelty, and it looks EXACTLY like the the first Mario Bros.  I, for one, am glad we were given a new, colorful adventure to take Mario, et al, through, and I celebrate the few things from that game that have lasted (shy-guys, high-jumping Luigi, Birdo . . .).
7. I was going to write some more similes, but I can’t think of any and I think I’m the only one who really enjoyed the first ones.

Okay . . . there are three that I left.  What could they be?  Well, my goal is to finish the heck out of them so I don’t have to stress over finishing old, incomplete ideas anymore.

 

Nine thoughts on 9. Sort of.

Over a month ago I stumbled across a trailer for an animated movie which would come out in September.  It caught my attention up-front with its original premise, but REALLY sucked me in when “Welcome Home” by Coheed & Cambria started playing.  Check this out:

So now I’ve seen it.  And since I have seen it, I want to discuss it.  Also, I like lists in blogs.  The name of this movie is a number, so that works out perfectly, wouldn’t you say?  So here we are — Nine thoughts that I have relating to or inspired by the movie 9.

1. I think Elijah Wood is awesome.  Seriously.  I think it’d be cool if he and I bumped into each other one day in some yet-unknown circumstance that would require us to get to know each other.  Then we’d be buds and he’d meet all my friends and we’d just hang out and do cool things like I would with any other friends, except this friend is Elijah Wood; but I don’t let that influence me because, you know, he’s just a friend, and I’m cool like that.  I’d get a call someday, “Hey, man, it’s Elijah.  What you up to tonight?”  But that would be awkward because then what if I wanted to have a Lord of the Rings marathon?  I would invite him, no question, but would he come?  And if he did, would he tell us all kinds of cool things about filming the movie, or would it just feel really weird with Frodo sitting there saying nothing at all?  I may never know.
2. I commented that this movie has an impressive cast at one point.  Soon after I realized that by “impressive cast,” I meant that I recognized most of the names.
3. The concept of this movie deserves something WAY bigger than an 80 minute film.  Here is an entire world that was destroyed by technology that is now only inhabited by nine little dolls and a robot.  There is so much room for stuff there!  I get not pursuing a franchise with it (and appreciate that), but a two-film or three-film story arc could have really worked here.  Or, at the very least, a two to a two-and-a-half hour movie.
4. I really hate the way movies sometimes rush through exposition.  For anyone with a brain, the exposition is where the movie really lies!  This is my main beef with Michael Bay movies – somewhere (waaaaaaay down there), there is a story, but he refuses to tell it.  9 did this to a degree (though nowhere near Bay’s offenses).  As I sat in that crappy theater, I was completely sucked in by this neat concept of a story, but it seemed to jump from one big, defining event to the next very quickly.  That bugs me.  That’s how cartoons in the 80’s told stories in 25 minute episodes.  Slow down, please! Anyone who would sit and complain that the movie is taking too long doesn’t deserve to be there!
5. It did have quick-fixes to very big problems. (Spoiler alert).  I can appreciate the ways in which the assassin robots are taken out, but they’re all taken out in sequence like mini-bosses in a video game.  The threats don’t last long enough for us to care about them.  (I’m going to start calling such a story move “a Darth Maul”.)  Also, getting back and forth between the factory and the church started taking about 5 minutes, when the first journey was clearly (at least) a couple hours.  Lastly, the distruction of the factory was too easy.  It worked the way they planned it the first time — granted, the big robot survived, but the point remains that, while the tension was present, it did not hang on nearly long enough.
6. I noticed the song “Welcome Home,” nor any other Coheed & Cambria tune (the whole soundtrack was Danny Elfman), was not in the movie.  One of my friends expressed mild frustration over this fact (quote: “All my problems with that movie would have been forgiven if it had a Coheed & Cambria song in it.”)  But I thought putting that song in the trailer, despite it not ending up in the film, was a very clever marketing move.  Maybe this aspect of it wasn’t on purpose (like maybe they just liked the song), but I like to think it was:  what kind of demographic is going to see a movie set in a post-apocalyptic world following the exploits of hand-sized, sentient burlap dolls, facing an evil machine?  Maybe the same people that listen to a progressive rock band whose albums tell a very complex and original sci-fi story?  Yeah, maybe.
7. I’m glad to see Crispin Glover doing stuff these days (since I’m such a big fan of Back to the Future), but that man seriously creeps me out.  It’s like he takes the stereotype of “weird theater major” to a whole new level.
8. Someone, somewhere, is going to describe this movie as “Toy Story meets The Matrix.”  I think that would (or will) cheapen the creativity here, so I will not be happy when I see that.
9. My final word on this movie is that it was wasted.  All of the potential is there, but it was trimmed too much and finished in a hurry.