At 10:00 this morning, I'm going to go into a courtroom of some kind and declare my bankruptcy. It's officially called the "meeting of the creditors". The people/companies to whom you owe money to are allowed to come and protest or object to your bankruptcy. Or something like that. I kind of imagine a big, heavily-wooden courtroom like the kind they have in every John Grisham movie, with a stern, grizzled judge sitting at the helm, readers perched upon his nose, a gavel gripped in one hand. Me, standing before him, wringing a hat or maybe my sad little pile of documentation papers in my hand. Then I imagine the people representing all of the debt in my life standing at the sides, trying to bum rush me but being held back by burly bailiffs. Mr. Discover card at the front, "God Dammit, you owe us, Jenny!!!" he'll be screaming. The dentist, a former family friend and fellow resident of my peaceful little town standing there, fist in the air, "WE PUT SEALANTS ON THEIR TEETH AND YOU OWE US!!!".
I'm sure it's not going to be anything like that. I'm sure it will take place in a benign, mostly beige or white room. I've heard that none of the creditors ever show up, and that you are just asked a routine list of questions and then *poof* it's done.
I dreamed about it last night, though. In my dream I of course left my essential paperwork behind, and only realized it as the burly door-managing bailiff was locking the door so the
Sometimes, being me is kind of fun.
Wish me luck, friends. This is the second-to-last big duck in my row...after this one is gone, all I have left is Big Daddy, the child support in arrears and the remix of our divorce decree.
This will be an interesting summer.
Your bankrupt friend,