THE TIME MY FRIEND MET HIS FUTURE SELF AND THEY ARGUED ABOUT DEBT
THE TIME MY FRIEND MET HIS FUTURE SELF AND THEY ARGUED ABOUT DEBT
It was a Tuesday morning so ordinary that it could have won an award for being unbearably average. My friend, let’s call him Emeka, had just gotten out of bed, tripped over a stray flip-flop, and spilled instant coffee on the only clean shirt he owned. Little did he know, by the end of the day, he would not only encounter time travel but also get roasted by himself about money management. Yes, you read that correctly: he met his future self, and it went downhill faster than a rollercoaster in a hurricane.
. Emeka had always joked about how irresponsible he was with money. “I’ll pay my debts tomorrow,” he would say, usually while ignoring three different calls from the electricity company, the internet provider, and the local goat seller who lent him money for some reason. But meeting your future self is a harsh wake-up call when that future version is a personal finance tyrant with zero chill.
The encounter happened in the park, which is already suspicious because no one ever meets their future self in a Starbucks. Emeka was sipping on a mango smoothie, contemplating whether it counted as breakfast or an emergency dessert, when suddenly, a man approached him. He was tall, dressed like someone who had mastered both life and sarcasm, and had a disturbingly familiar face.
“You need to talk,” the man said.
Emeka squinted. “Who are you? The mango smoothie police?”
“No, I’m you. Ten years from now. And yes, we have problems to discuss.”
Emeka laughed. He always found impersonators hilarious. “Nice try. You’re not me. I don’t even look this… put-together. Also, you seem way too irritated for someone who’s not me.”
The future Emeka sighed. “I am you. I’ve come back because you’re about to make financial decisions that will haunt both of us for the next decade. And I’m tired of pretending everything is fine while our credit score cries every night.”
At that point, Emeka almost choked on his smoothie. “Wait… you’re… me? Future me?”
“Yes. And yes, we need to talk about the debt,” said Future Emeka, glaring as if debt itself were a personal betrayal.
“What debt?” Emeka asked, pretending not to care. “Oh, you mean the five thousand Naira I borrowed from Uncle Chike to buy that ‘investment opportunity’ in magic beans?”
Future Emeka’s face twitched. “Five thousand? Five THOUSAND? You’re telling me that’s still unpaid in the future? We’re going to have conversations with our bank where they laugh in our face and offer emotional counseling!”
Emeka laughed nervously. “Relax. It’s just money. Who even cares?”
Future Emeka’s eyes narrowed. “I care! I care very much! I’m the version of you who had to negotiate payment plans with the goat seller AND the electricity company simultaneously. Do you know how stressful that is? Do you know how many goats you owe now?”
Emeka blinked. “I… I didn’t realize—”
“You didn’t realize? I literally have nightmares about your spending habits. You bought an entire collection of novelty socks with money that was meant for rent!”
Emeka laughed so hard that he nearly fell off the bench. “Okay, that’s actually funny. You really took this seriously?”
“Funny? You think it’s funny? We have overdraft fees, unpaid subscriptions, and a lifetime of financial regret because of your idiocy!”
Emeka paused. “Wait… do you… do you have gray hair yet?”
Future Emeka scoffed. “No, because I stopped stressing about appearances after the third debt collection notice. But I do have bags under my eyes the size of small villages. And we need to fix this before it gets worse.”
It didn’t take long for the argument to escalate. Emeka began defending himself. “Look, future me, maybe if you weren’t constantly judging, I could make better decisions.”
Future Emeka raised an eyebrow. “Judging? I am YOU. I am literally every bad decision you’ve ever made manifested into a very sarcastic human being. You’ve been warned repeatedly, and now look where we are.”
Emeka laughed, waving his smoothie like a white flag. “Alright, alright… but you have to admit, meeting yourself from the future is kind of hilarious. Like… I could show this to my friends!”
Future Emeka groaned. “Hilarious? You think your social media followers want to see us arguing about N50,000 in unpaid loans? No. They want to see you finally adulting. Which, spoiler alert, you won’t unless I intervene.”
Then things got personal. Future Emeka pulled out a list from his jacket. “Look at this. Every single purchase we regret. The five sneakers, the 12 novelty mugs, the inflatable unicorn pool float—”
Emeka burst out laughing. “Okay, okay! That inflatable unicorn was worth it!”
Future Emeka waved the list dismissively. “Worth it? Worth it? We are going to spend decades explaining to accountants why we spent a fortune on a plastic unicorn shaped like a failed dream!”
At that moment, a pigeon landed on Emeka’s shoulder. He tried to shoo it away, but Future Emeka stared. “See that pigeon? That is symbolic. If you keep ignoring responsibilities, pigeons will judge us for life.”
Emeka laughed until tears came out. “Pigeons judging me? Really?”
“Really,” Future Emeka said. “The pigeons don’t lie. And neither does the debt.”
The confrontation lasted for hours. Passersby thought Emeka was having a mental breakdown, or perhaps performing avant-garde theatre. No one suspected it was actually a heated debate between present and future self about financial discipline and the morality of unpaid magic beans.
By the end of the day, Emeka had learned several lessons:
1. Always pay your debts. Even the tiny ones.
2. Your future self is terrifyingly sarcastic.
3. Meeting yourself from the future is 80% life lesson and 20% existential comedy.
And the moral of the story? If your future self shows up, listen. Even if he looks like a version of you who’s part grumpy accountant, part angry goat collector.
After the meeting, Future Emeka disappeared into the mist of time (or maybe just walked away to another bench), leaving Emeka holding a smoothie, still laughing, and very likely about to ignore all his advice. But at least now he had a story—and an irrational fear of pigeons.
And somewhere deep in the timeline, a bank manager laughed quietly, shaking their head, because they knew this was only the beginning of a very long, very absurd financial saga.
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