According to almost everyone that wears a sensible suit and tie, the only way out of monetary difficulty is to sell everything you own and lease it back from the new owners . . .or something like that. I thought this seemed like a good idea and decided to apply it to my own cash-strapped life.
I set about selling off all my non-strategic assets. I considered the roof of my flat strategic but everything under it up for grabs, so I sold off all my furniture to an investor and made a tidy sum. Then I used the money I made from the sale to pay for the use of the furniture, kind of like a rent. So, every time I sat down for dinner I bunged 20 cent into a ‘Furniture Jar’ and, at regular intervals, I would bring the ‘Furniture Jar’ down to the bank, empty it out onto the counter and tell the cranky looking teller to put it all in the investor’s account.
I thought this would work out great because I would no longer have to worry about the upkeep of the furniture as that would be the responsibility of the investor. ‘I’m quids in,’ I told baffled and concerned looking friends.
Things seemed to be working out great until the cash I made from the sale of the furniture began to dwindle. I fell behind on my payments and realised I needed to generate more revenue if I was to continue sitting down. I needed a job so I applied to the investor for one and, luckily, I got it. My new job was Debt Collector and I soon found myself posting legal threats to myself, which was odd.
It has come to my attention that your/my furniture payments have fallen into arrears. If this continues, I will be forced to reclaim said furniture from you/myself or set legal proceedings in motion against me (a.k.a. you). You/I have a month from this letter’s date of issue to. . .
. . .you get the idea. Anyway, I was quite alarmed to receive this letter from myself and immediately checked my bank balance. It turned out that I had not yet earned enough to pay off my furniture debt so I wrote back to myself requesting that an alternative method of repayment be devised so that I could pay the debt back over time. Well, I wasn’t having any of it. I had a good job now and was not about to let my employer down by showing favouritism to a client, even if that client was myself.
I denied my request and, after a four week period of grace, I arrived at my home with the bailiffs and an inventory of items that belonged to the investor. I started loading the furniture into the back of a van as I begged myself to show leniency but sternly refused to do so. I thought I looked kind of pathetic, begging me like that. I mean, if I really wanted to keep sitting on seats and leaning off tables etc. you'd think I wouldn’t have allowed myself to fall behind on my payments.
Anyway, I now find myself sitting on the floor and eating my dinner out of my hands (I sold my plates, cups, saucers, forks and knives to the investor too). I don’t mind though because, as I look around my empty home, I can at least take pride in a job well done. My boss, the investor, smiled at me for my fiscal rectitude and due diligence (whatever that is) and each morning, after a night sleeping under my coat on the ground, I get up, look myself in the mirror and say ‘there is a man who pays his debts’. Well, I would do that if I still owned a mirror. Going forward, yet again.