A couple of months ago I read a story in the SF Chronicle (the link has since been deleted, or I’d have it for you here), that absolutely made my day. Must’ve been my whole month, come to think of it, as I’m still thinking about it!
A family in Florida purchased a home in a foreclosure sale, moved in, and got some mail they must’ve thought misdirected to the last family, or simply a mistake. The bank was coming after them – to foreclose upon their house. Naturally, they called, and called, met with no assistance whatsoever, and thus began the year long battle to keep their home.
Countless grey hairs later (I haven’t seen pictures, I meant it proverbially), the bank backed off, admitted that it may have been a tad overzealous in their efforts, and the tired but relieved folks finally had clear title.
They were also, however, left with some hefty legal fees, so they asked the bank to kindly pay up.
Once again, they called, and called, and waited. Guess what? No response.
So, ready for the good part? They showed up at the bank in question one day with a truck, a couple of large men, and a court order – to seize assets!
As they headed for the manager’s desk, the follow was appatently flustered sufficiently to write a check, then and there.
Really? Is that what it takes?
Fed-up and enterprising young home-owners: 1.
Bank: a big fat 0.
heh, heh.
