My Credit Score Is In The Gutter.

Rejected, rejected, rejected.

Photo by Markus Winkler on Unsplash

My credit score is shambolic.

Here I am, raking in a decent six figures, a car allowance, homeowner status, never missed a payment, on the electoral roll, with solid savings, recently mortgage-approved, and I’m chucking cash into pensions and taxes like it’s going out of style.

And yet, I’m the villain in the credit score drama. Why? Because I’ve only been in this country since last September.

Every credit application I toss in gets slammed back. Even from my own bank. Can you believe it? It’s all algorithmic nonsense; no human touch, just cold, heartless number-crunching.

Here’s the kicker: My scant address history, less than a year old, is a giant, flashing “NO” to creditors.

Managing on our salary alone is doable, sure, but try telling that to the family car situation. The mini convertible isn’t cutting it for family duty. But guess what? Rejected. Rejected. Rejected.

Until, by some stroke of luck, I found an underwriter with a pulse. This guy, a true unicorn in the finance wilderness, actually listened to my story instead of boxing me into a statistical nightmare. With a little backroom wizardry, he pushed through a loan for me. It’s not ideal – hello, high APR – but it’s a start…