I spent yesterday in a crowded convention center with thousands of people united by one purpose: saving their homes. NACA, a national nonprofit dedicated to modifying mortgages and saving homeowners from the big, scary teeth of loan sharks, hit Las Vegas this past weekend. Sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair all day with all these people was one of the weirdest, most surreal experiences of my life.
First, let me explain how it all started, both my trip there and NACA. I accompanied my boyfriend who, for the record, is both current on his mortgage payments and can afford them, but would like to have them reduced nonetheless. The organization was started in the early 90s to use unionist tactics to confront lenders who provided sub-prime mortgages. Today, NACA has waged relationships with many lending companies. Its workers calculate a fair and affordable mortgage rate on an individual basis and negotiate directly with the lenders, who will then modify the conditions of the mortgage, or else. Or else face harassment by the organization, NACA members or elected officials.
Anyway, we arrived at Las Vegas Convention Center sometime around one on Monday, unsure what to expect. We'd heard on the news that the convention, called the "Save the Dream Tour," had been highly attended and quite successful all weekend long.
First, we were herded into a room with perhaps a hundred other individuals to complete an "orientation." This orientation basically acted as a weed-out for people who don't qualify for NACA's help, ie, people who flipped houses commercially, the unemployed. From here, our entire group was herded into the main conference center to sit in a block of metal chairs. Approximately six other groups like ours sat in the center, in line before us. Within two hours, the first of those other groups was led to the other side of the partition where the loan counselors and lenders sat. We were unable to see at this point what went on over there.
I have waited in many lines throughout my life. I've waited in the notorious lines at Disney World. I've waited in line to buy textbooks at the beginning of each semester while I was in college. I've waited in lines for sold-out concerts at huge venues. I had no idea, however, what sort of line I had stepped into on Monday. Luckily. If I, or any other person there, had any idea, we probably would have left.
Everyone sat there, in uncomfortable chairs, with relatively little information, for hours, for the mere hope of getting a more affordable mortgage. Tales circulated of people who'd had their monthly payments cut in half, their interest rates reduced to 2.5%. But who were these people? Friends of friends? The Boogey Man? Simple urban legends?
We had brought a magazine, water, a book, pistachios and a Cliff bar. In this monstrous facility, all we really had to do was wait. The stories we overheard from other people waiting, while definitely sad, drove us crazy. I heard about layoffs. I heard about grimy loans. I heard about serious illnesses and injuries. Everyone had their story. Everyone seemed to want to be the one with the worst case, the one with the most problems and the most debt.
It was so easy for me to pass judgement. I have to admit that. For instance, there was one young woman sitting a few rows behind me who had a $2000 purse and implants. I began to think, "If you couldn't afford your house, why did you buy these luxuries?" I was automatically prone to think there was something wrong with all of these people. Why did they take out loans they couldn't really afford? But in reality, I didn't know anything about any of them and, if tens of thousands of people in Vegas are in this spot, and there are enough people countrywide to warrant a tour, something is wrong with the system, not the individuals.
The worst part of waiting was knowing that many people scammed their way forward in the line. I saw dozens of people, who began in our group, somehow get hours ahead of us. Normally, my philosophy is, if you're smart enough to cheat, go for it. But in this case, they were significantly hurting others to get their way. Again, those of us who decided to follow the rules had little recourse. We were at mercy to NACA and were just grateful to be there.
After eight hours, our group finally got to cross the threshold into the space behind the partition. What we saw once we got there were the very same six group that were initially before us in the first room. Essentially, in eight hours, we'd moved nowhere. In any other situation, such a large group of people would have revolted, probably only after a few hours. But the chance to save hundreds of dollars a month was enough to pacify everyone.
Three hours later, we were finally able to see a loan counselor named Velvet. After plugging in my boyfriend's monthly earnings, monthly spending, and applying a $200 buffer, Velvet calculated what an affordable monthly mortgage would be. According to her calculations, his lender should be able to chop a few hundreds dollars off his monthly payment. Because it was one in the morning at his point, and because all the lender reps had gone home, NACA faxed their recommendations straight to the lenders. My boyfriend's lender wasn't there to begin with, so we didn't miss anything by getting through the line so late.
Now all there is to do is wait. NACA says we should receive an answer from his lender within a few weeks.
After my last blog post, people complained I had stopped being funny and/or didn't proofread before I posted. Frankly, I don't care. This blog is the one place in my life where thoughts flow freely.
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