Help Me With Invite Sign Document

I was born in France, and raised in the US, but went back to France enough to sort of get a feel for the differing dynamics (including my college studies).As a child, France was always a Utopia in my mind. I’d spend my Summers in Paris and in Anglet (South of France around the Basque Country). I’d eat amazing cheese for 2€ and under a piece. I’d walk to the bakery every morning with my sister and finish half the baguette by the time we were home. I’d get unique clothing no one at home had.Anyways, as I got older and especially after I started living in France year-around for school, I started to notice some drawbacks. (NONE of these make France “horrible”, mind you.)Someone in a previous answer said France wasn’t racist. I would beg to differ. I dated an Algerian man while in France and I can tell you that he faced a lot of hardships, and that I myself faced a lot of scrutiny solely for dating someone of his ethnicity (not difficult compared to what he and his family experienced, of course). Anyone of Arabic descent faces constant judgement and assumptions. Even besides racism, I’ve noticed a tendency for the French to place themselves above any other culture. I mean, I get it - the art, the food, the history is something to be proud of. But consistently, I’ve also noticed a pattern of closed-mindedness. It’s like as soon as something strays from the ordinary, it’s frowned on. (These are gross generalizations and younger generations demonstrate this much less). When I went to university in France, I bonded the most quickly with non-french students, even though I am half french and was born here. I felt those from other countries, or who were french and something else, were more tolerant and open minded, and complained a bit less.I wonder if a french person wrote this question, because as I just mentioned, the french complain A LOT. I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing! France’s history was formed around revolutions, aka the people speaking out for what they want. To this day, we have this mentality. Proof, the transportation strikes going on two days a week in Paris. There’s always a strike somewhere in France, it seems it’s in the french blood to express one’s dissatisfactions. I recently went to a happy hour for alumni from my school, in the US. Right away, it hit me like a pile of bricks how much the french like to complain, I had forgotten! “Washington DC metro is just unacceptable; the US really gives no value to the public sector; my comcast salesman was so rude because he was American”. These things may all be true, however individuals went ON and ON about how awful everything in the US is. It almost became comical to me in the end.Anyways. Whenever I am back in France, some seem to think that the USA is the Mecca and that everyone there is rich and successful (I know many countries share this idealization). Sure, the rich may be richer, however at what cost? The average American has two- three weeks of vacation per year (guaranteed 5 in France); works long hours (work week is now 35 hours in France); retires as late as possible because they can’t afford to live otherwise (once you retire in France, you’re pretty golden). If you have or want kids, better start saving up for their college education where 40k a semester is the price for certain “public” schools. (I went to a good french school and it was considered pricey at 8k a semester). Unforeseen medical emergency? Good luck dealing with that financial burden without medical insurance.All this to say, France has its flaws like anywhere else, but I do think the quality of life for an average Frenchman exceeds that of an American. And the cheese prices still keep France a Utopia in my mind.

Let us call him Arun, the guy whom Komal thought she loved and wanted to marry. Both of them thought that they could not live without each other, and dated as dreadfully as they could. Being a couple from two different castes in India, there were ideological issues between families, but Komal thought that she would manage everything after marriage.After all, she thought that Arun loved him so dearly that he would not let her bear the grunt of strict traditions.Komal’s mother tried to tell her that Arun was not the right guy for her when she met him, but her words fell on deaf years. Time passed by, Komal went to the USA for three months for an office project.Arun’s family, being a conservative one, surprisingly did not object. Quite the opposite of how they were expected to signNow, they sent Arun to stay with Komal when he asked for it.For the uninitiated, living together for a couple before tying the knot is a big-big deal for Indian parents. Still, Arun quit his job at an MNC in Gurgaon just a little time before marriage, saying that he was anyway planning to change his job profile, so he did it now. He would look for another job after marriage.Everyone who heard this knew that Arun was a spineless man who would not look after his wife or parents. Komal’s family was shocked to hear that, but they were helpless because Komal thought that Arun is so blindly in love with her that he does not care for anything. He just wants to spend time with her, which is why he has come to the USA for a pre-honeymoon.Fast forward, Komal and Arun return to India and start preparing for the marriage.Komal starts getting hints that Arun’s mother is a greedy woman and she is applying all tricks to grab as much dowry from her family as she can.But again, her love for Arun was blind.While the blissful romantic couple was busy taking rounds of the holy pyre at the wedding, Komal’s mother had tears in her eyes, and she could not resist saying that this relationship will not last forever.When you see the couple’s pictures on Facebook and Instagram, it is obvious that they are a happy couple. But just a deeper look into Komal’s eyes reveals that her mother was right!Do parents always know what they are talking about when they warn you of who you are dating?Yes, they are right most of the times unless the parents exercise too much of hegemony or dominance at home.

Major Vandalism! That’s what the word on the street was.I knew a guy at school that would often get bullied in his younger years. He was quiet and took it, but he got bigger and stronger and everything changed one year. He never became a bully, but one time he freaked out and beat the shit out of the big kids that were teasing him. Everyone left him alone after that.He wasn’t too bright. I felt bad for him, but kept my distance.One day I was wandering around town on my bike. I see this kid walking down the street, then duck into a storefront. It was a place that I had been in before, a convenience store, and I decided to go in and say hi maybe buy some candy. It was a Saturday and I was bored and kind of curious as to how this kid lived. I had known him from school for years but no one knew anything about him.I went in and pretended I was shopping. He came around the corner with that weird stare and smile of his. He said hi and offered me what ever I wanted from the store. I said are you sure, and he’s like, yeah my family owns this place. So I took a drink and a few snacks. I didn’t want to be rude. He loaded up and said, follow me.I was a little worried, but what the hell. He brings me up the stairs and into a normal apartment. There’s an old lady sitting there. She smiles and says hi. This kids introduces me as his friend from school. “Well, it’s about time you had a friend over.” I said hi and she couldn’t have been sweeter.So this kid walks me down the hall. “This is my room.” He shows me a pretty barren room that overlooks the street. I said hey this is cool. We chat for a bit. His mom owns the store and runs it. He is an only child. His dad’s not in the picture. We’re just swapping info like that and bullshitting.He’s talking like a normal person so I’m thinking he could be a friend. I tell him, hey you’re so quiet at school. What’s the deal? He tells me he just doesn’t like to talk, he can’t relate to the other kids. I’ve always been too worried about people’s feelings like my mom so I ask him if he’s happy. He’s like yeah.Then I ask him what he does for fun. And his face lights up. Follow me.He explains to me that his family owns almost all the buildings on this one big block. The buildings are all abandoned. The bottom floors are all boarded up and one of his jobs is to walk around all the buildings and make sure “bums” haven’t broken into any of the buildings.But what he did for fun was actually awesome - up to a point. He took me out of his room and up the stairs to the fourth floor. He showed me how he could move between buildings. It was maze, a dream place for an adventurous 12 year old. He showed me how he left one of the doors open in one of the buildings and said, “we’ll get back to this later.”We had to crawl across boards over some of the floors that were in the gutted buildings. This was three to four stories high. Big fun! We went out windows and across boards spanning narrow alleyways to get into the other buildings.We end up at this one room on the third floor of a corner building. Big open windows. “This is my club house.” he says. We have our bags of snacks. He pulls out some beers. I drink one and feel good, he’s dropping a few of them real quick. He lights up a cigarette. I’m eating cookies. He tosses the beer bottle out the window as hard as he could. I hear it break far below. He gets up, Check this out. He aims and chucks a beer bottle down at the crowd. People are looking around.I’m a kid so I’m laughing at this. He’s like, man you think that’s cool. Spend the night. Wait till it’s dark. Until then he takes me over to another part of the building. We are on the second floor. There’s some bums sitting along the building on the street. He starts pissing on them and yelling racial slurs at them. They are pissed and start pounding on the doors, the one he left open swings in. The three bums are in the room below us and we are right above them on the beams. He screaming at them and laughing. He’s throwing shit on them. They all leave.We go chill in the club house. We get eat dinner with his mom and grandma, they’re really sweet.Later that night we wait until it’s dark. He takes me all the way up to the roof and we walk around looking over the edges. He shows me a guy in a big Caddy. You see that (N-word). There used to be a million of them around here. I chased them off. Check this out. He hefts an cinder block over his head and lets it sale three stories down. BOOM!!! It hits the hood of the car and smashes it in. The cinder block explodes into a hundred pieces. I’m all scared and thinking, oh shit this man is going to kill us. I say as much. This kid says, he cant get up here. He explains to me how from the street if you look up you are blinded by the street lights. We are in the darkness. We can see the man get out of his car and look around. He’s screaming his head off. This kid starts screaming shit back at him. He gets another cinder block and let’s it drop. BOOM!!! It hits the roof and dents it in. He’s screaming at him to leave the neighborhood.The guys car won’t start. This kid is laughing so hard, he’s dancing, he stops and watches the guy walking away. I think he went to go get a tow truck or something. This kid drops another cinder block on the guys car. We hang out during the night. He tells me we have to wait a bit.Soon we hear music. Another car pulls up. He runs over and tosses a cinder block down and nails it on the side window. The car stops and a guy gets out and looks around. Now here is the incident that changed my life. The kid picks up another cinder block and hefts it over his head. He’s taking aim at the guy standing there looking around. I realize this will kill that man if he hits him. I go and grab the cinder block from him.He turns and looks at me like he was surprised to see me and asks me what happened. I said nothing. We went to sleep and the next day I went home. We never spoke again. The big change was when I realized that crazy people actually existed and I saw one everyday. I became more careful about people after that.

After our first visit to Japan here are our “only in Japan” moments.After checking into our hotel, next morning I get a letter taped to the door. It read2. My wife and I casually stroll past a tea tasting event. We showed the slightest of interest at one stall. There was a group of 4 already seated and only 1 empty chair. So we thought never mind, lets keep walking. The host tells us to wait 1 second. He runs, and I mean SPRINTS, about 20 paces to a truck. Grabs an extra chair and runs back to us. I thought this guy will do anything for a sale! So we sit down and try the teas, tastes good, lets buy some. He’s not selling! Turns out it was all part of some free educational event.3. Maid cafes. Its a cafe, the waitresses dress like french maids. They act super cute like anime characters. Oftentimes sickeningly over the top, like calling me “master” and drawing cute animals on my food. But what surprised me were the people who didn’t work there.It was not a busy period when we went. Besides us there was another table of tourists. There was a big guy with a deep voice dressed in FULL DRAG. He kept getting up every 10 mins and came back in a different outfit. There was a grumpy old man and a normal looking Japanese guy.So before the dancing starts, they try to sell you some glow sticks and firecrackers for audience participation. They dim the lights. Disco ball lights up. Normal guy opens his bag and takes out his OWN glow sticks and bunny ears. Grumpy man’s face lights up like a child. Guy in drag gets up and starts stretching. The music starts, a candypop / eurobeat thing. The maids dancing is not bad but all the weirdos join in! They know all the moves, are more enthusiastic than the maids and they look ridiculous. One of them was trying to get us to join in. Only in Japan.4. No taking calls on trains. If someone forgot to turn on silent and gets a call they will quickly reject the call. One time a guy sprinted to the place between carriages to take an important call.5. We took a cable car up a mountain. On the way down a friend in our party left her sunglasses up there. A worker must have seen it and radioed the guys at the bottom. When we got out of the cable car, a worker informed us to wait while someone brings it down on the next cable car. Bravo.6. We go to check into another hotel and behind the check in counter was this.7. Construction zones. One place had a decibel meter to make sure the construction did not make too much noise (perhaps only during certain hours). If the construction blocked a sidewalk and you need to walk around, someone will be there to apologise for the inconvenience.8. Airport security. You know how you can’t bring a bottle of water through most airport checks. Some Japanese airports have a machine that scans your bottle for flammable liquids. If it passes you can bring it. Just goes to show their attitude to not inconvenience you that they will invent a machine to do that. In Australia the attitude is more like “F*** that, we don’t care what’s in your bottle we’re confiscating it.” In China, they used to say “Are you sure its not a flammable liquid? Prove it, take a drink.”9. Go to an arcade. Everyone has the reflexes of a ninja.Japan is an amazing place where being polite and attention to detail are taken to the extreme. Thoroughly enjoyed our visit.

I’m not exactly sure. I’m the eldest of 6. My brother in question is #3 and #4 is also a boy. #3 is a typical middle child, but has a huge dollop of insecurity thanks to a life with a narcissistic, controlling, hateful, disparaging father, but that’s a story for another day.#3 got married in 2016 to his live-in fiance and mother of his child. She had two children prior to their union, but he loved and cared for them as his own. They were struggling financially, so I helped them as much as I could: buying baby furniture for their nursery for both of their children, sending gifts for all of the children, sending a bit of money for special events—not enough to be embarrassing, but to do something nice. Then, in 2016, my mother left her layabout, lying, stealing 2nd husband. She needed a place to go. Quickly. I called my brother and asked him to invite her to stay to help them with their kids because she doesn’t like to be a burden and likely would’ve moved into a hotel or something otherwise. I live 2,000 miles away so my house wasn’t a viable and quick option. He said ok. My mom moved into the basement and helped them with everything. She cleaned, cooked, helped with bills, gave him money, counseled them, spent time with them, and formed great bonds with their children.Then, about a year ago, my sister (#2) wrecked my mother’s car and the insurance company totaled it out. She needed a reliable vehicle to get back and forth to work, but due to the divorce and her short time on her new job there wasn’t enough money after paying off the loan on the old car and she didn’t have the credit at the time to finance a new one at a decent rate. She began saving up, but because she’d taken a 50% salary cut in her new job, she became worried about how she was going to afford a car and keep to her savings, retirement, and other goals. She purchased a beater for cash. This car drove fine, but had no heat or a/c and was not a vehicle in which a road trip was particularly desirable or even feasible. My mom loves traveling to visit her family and would generally be on the road every holiday weekend and some weekends in between. In fact, she negotiated to have every other Friday off at her job and generally spent it visiting with her family. This car made that pretty much impossible, but it was a sacrifice she felt she needed to make.My brother approached her and told her he’d sell her HIS car because he was about to have kid #4 and needed a minivan. The thing was, his car sits up high (she has bad knees), had 147K miles on it, the heat is iffy, it needed tires, the check engine light was on, and it guzzles gas. It wasn’t going to be that much better of a road trip vehicle. She didn’t want the car, but she agreed to do it to help him. She paid $4,000 for the car upfront and they agreed that he’d keep driving it until he bought the new car. 6 months later, he hadn’t bought anything.When I heard of the arrangement, I’d decided how I was going to help my mom: I was going to buy my baby sister (#5, who’s my nanny) my brother’s old car and get my mom a newer, better commuting vehicle. Interest rates were still relatively low and we could finance it and pay it off in 3 years, so considering that the amount that we were paying my sister was being offset by the purchase of the vehicle, we wouldn’t actually ‘lose’ any money. Win-Win? IDK.As soon as my brother heard about the plan, he started stone-walling the purchase of the minivan. He waited well past the time that his child was born and I needed the car. He then told my mom that he would let her drive it, but it couldn’t leave the state. A car that she paid for.I called my brother and I asked him what the deal was? I reminded him that a man should be a man of his word and that once, when I had lost my job and was broke and desperate, I gave him a vehicle that I had promised him even though I could’ve sold it to pay rent. That was true, but he didn’t want to hear it. He asked me why I didn’t give #5 the new car instead of mom! I told him I wasn’t intending on gifting her a basically new vehicle and I wasn’t going to pay to insure a new car for her to drive.He cursed me out, blocked my number, and hasn’t spoken to me since. He did, however, give my mother the title to “her” car and she now has the late model safe vehicle, and spends every weekend on the road. He had a fit, though and asked her for another $1,000, which she paid. The car was likely worth somewhere between $4–6K so it wasn’t a stretch for her to pay $5K and I had told him I’d pay him more if he was selling it cheaper to her. He wouldn’t respond. The car came with the check engine light on and we had to do work on it for it to clear emissions, so I doubt he could have sold or traded it for over $4K, but whatever.She wouldn’t accept the car we bought as a gift and thinks that we will let her take up the payments after 2 years. Our goal is to have a clear title to give her in that time.I still don’t know why my brother was so upset about the subsequent sale. I don’t know why he was so invested in her having the vehicle, and I don’t know why he got so mad when I reminded him about the situation between us previously. That said, there are three sides to every story and I’m sure one day I’ll get his. Maybe, if God blesses, directly from him.Sorry that this was so long, but typing it was my therapy. I’ve hashed and rehashed why he was so angry about it. I can’t figure it out. Family matters a lot to me, and I’m a bit heartsick, but I do accept his decision now. His birthday was recently and it’s the first time I haven’t talked to him in over a decade on his birthday. Yeah…sorry.TL; DR Brother sold mom a car she didn’t really want and bought only to help him buy one he needed for his family. I bought that car from her and bought her a new one. He tried to block that and condition her use of the car she bought from him on her not selling it to me (we were on good terms before). He charged her an extra $1,000 for the car, which she paid. I offered him extra money for the car, which he wouldn’t take. Now he won’t speak to me.

I'm usually very active in Quora and always use my real name, but I just can't bare say my name for what I'm about to describe. The moment I saw "What is it like to be broke after being a billionaire" my heart broke. I've been in denial for 3 years. This Quora title was a reality kick in the ass for me because it really resonates with what's happening to me:We still have it all. There's the yacht, the island in the Caribbean, the Miami apartment, the 3,500 feet mansion, the 3,000 feet Penthouse, the 430, the Porsche, the 7 series, the Centurion card, the bodyguards, the assistants, the image: all so superficial, but so addictive, fun, and reassuring. Turns out I'm still living the dream. However, it's a dream with an expiration date that's just around the corner and it's breathing down my neck. It will happen any time soon: I'm losing it. All. It's just a matter of waiting for the bank to finish paperwork and decide it's time to sell all my properties. I'm going broke, the bank is taking it all. As we speak. I'm in a weird state of trance and denial. I still have the chance to look at my room, my billiard table, my gym, my jacuzzi, my immense bed, my statues, and very importantly, my view: the beautiful cityscape I see every dawn and every nightfall, along with an immense spherical sky that forms alien and magical colors generated by the clouds, the sun, the mountains, and can only be seen from that high up. Only a few months back, it all felt so obvious, so granted, so certain, so normal. Now, it feels so slippery, so temporary, so full of anxiety, so melancholic. It's a weird kind of grief.  I still get to see the grandiosity of what I have, while knowing it will all be gone soon. And even though I've already begun losing some things which were not so evident in my daily life (like cars and homes in other cities), I know I will soon have no more properties or conforts than any average person. I'm still numb to the fact I'm going to live in a small rented apartment somewhere with no chauffeur, no maid, maybe some car I can manage to save from the bank, and probably that's all. Trust me, after having had such a lavish lifestyle thinking about having to do it all yourself again feels symbolically hard.  It generates an immense sense of frustration and failure. The social aspect is particularly difficult. I'm not sure how I'm going to have to respond to questions I will be confronted with every day. My friends will continue to ask about my properties, and will continue to suggest we travel and plan trips to my properties, which were long time traditions among those close to me. Things like yacht trips and vacation trips to my properties will be proposed and asked by my friends for years, especially while the rumor spreads and the word about me being broke is out. What will I tell them? "Sorry, I'm broke now, I no longer own any of that." How the hell will I confront those situations with those other rich friends I have when I'm invited to fancy diners or fancy nightclubs on vip bottle service? This might all sound very superficial, and believe me, it is. However, it's tougher than it sounds. It's something that generates some strange and hard feelings inside you. Human beings are very capable of adapting and I'm sure I'll be fine. What hunts me is the risk I now have. Now I feel I have no floor. Sure, I'll greatly miss Dom Perignon, but what I feel I'll miss the most is the security I had about my future, or what I referred to as my floor. When you're wealthy, it's actually like any other life circumstance: you eventually get used to it. I'm not saying that taking your sports car for a drive on Sundays isn't nice, I'm just saying that just as you sometimes enjoy your fancy car, you often just drive it like you'd drive a Ford full speed when you're running late for something. The last thing you'll do on a daily basis is appreciate the beauty of the dashboard of your Porsche. Life inside a luxury car ends up being the same, not much cooler. And knowing that helps me cope (and I hope it helps every non-rich person who thinks there's some kind of epiphany that automatically makes you become a happy person when you become rich. There isn't). I know that signNowing wealth and success only contributes a certain amount of satisfaction to your life. Not nearly enough to depend on it. You still feel lonely sometimes and search for real authentic friends, you still have trouble hooking up with great people, you feel everybody automatically and falsely likes you (gold-diggers are very real). Money doesn't solve all your problems, really. I think the kind of satisfaction wealth bring in terms of immediate happiness is comparable to the effects of a short-burst drug. When you use your toys (cars, watches, shopping, traveling, etc) it feels good for a limited time of dopamine release. Depending on what you're doing, it may have a minute-long effect or sometimes in extreme cases it can have an hour-long or hours-long effect. But it is not a constant thing. Money does buys happiness, but only for short amounts of time. Definitely nothing that you can sustain your entire happiness on. So you asked for it. How was it like to be broke after being ultra-rich. And there you got your answer. Now I want to add something which is more important than what it feels like. It's what I'm going to do about it. I've learned a lot, and I have not even gone through the entire process. But I'm already certain about something. I'm standing up again. And standing tall. I know happiness is not in the simple fact of having back all material things. But I do know it will be a hell of a ride and the process of working towards getting back what I once had will generate lots of happiness. I cannot guarantee I will have success. But I can guarantee I am committed to achieving it and will work persistantly until I do. Because I want to regain my security and because I  love to be an entrepreneur. Not to say Dom Perignon was so damn good, actually :)  I might take one bottle that I still have in my cellar and save it for a day in which I can positively answer I regained my security. Life has given me a chance to value what I'm losing so that I can truly value it when I have it back. I am not here to narrate fairy tales and say getting broke is easy or that I'm always smiling about the fact I'm now broke. It's obviously not easy, hence this question itself. However, I can attest to the fact that filling myself with passion for my new future is what is guiding me through this hell. Passion lets me see the light at the end of the tunnel. Worst case scenario: I can sell my Rolex and AP watches  and build many MVPs until I find an interesting idea and start developing it.  Signing off now. I need to build a product that changes the world. "Don't cry for money. It never cries for you."----------------------------------------------------------------------------------EDIT: Thank you for your interest in my story, and more importantly, for your support. You guys have moved me and inspired me further. Some of you were interested in understanding how it is possible to lose such a large fortune. So I wanted to share this part of the story with you.When you deal with very large enterprises and develop projects that involve millions, a bad decision can cost you awfully. I delegated too much and left basic (yet crucial) financial decisions to inexperienced people.I built an empire from the ground up, and then felt I had signNowed success. I felt confortable and was increasingly overlooking many aspects of my companies by simply trusting my employees while I focussed on the larger vision. As it turns out, these people were making VERY costly mistakes. Mistakes that would later unexpectedly be discovered at a terrible timing where it was already too late. My team screwed up some basic arithmetic that led to my financial fall. Unfortunately those arithmetic errors would eventually mean hundreds of millions in loss. More importantly, it meant I needed hundreds of millions in cash, in a very short amount of time. Initially it seemed like only a $15M problem, which appeared completely manageable: I had the means to cover this, even though it was definitely a bad thing for my image and reputation. One of our managers had under-budgeted a $90M project. We needed another $15M to deliver. At the time, we had at least 5 other multi-million dollar projects running. Then, my wife divorced me. I lost a large portion of my net worth during that process. Parallel to all this, my high reputation really started to be affected by the problems generated by the troubled project I mentioned before. Investors were angry, many wanted their money back, many sued me. I hope the story would've finished there. The press gave me the final shot to the head. Haters managed to get the mainstream media interested in my problem. The media wrote terrible articles about me and my companies. They would speculate and be imprecise. They would doubt me and would doubt my ability. They transmitted this to the public and public humiliation started to take place. They could not understand such a big mistake. This all led to some major investors in the other 5 multi-million projects to back out, leaving the company even more desperate for resources in order to deliver the pending projects. Nobody wanted to invest in me, the media had created an image of uncertainty. Most investors would rather just invest in other projects without scandals. I desperately needed resources to finish projects worth hundreds of millions. So I had to use my own wealth to finish these projects, and that truly shrinked my net worth. Selling helped a lot and let me finish SOME of these projects. But then came my burial. Some of the remaining projects were backed up by banks (credit). I had never doubted I would be able to pay those loans back. After all I was worth hundreds of millions and my companies extremely profitable. But timing was not on my side: many of those big loans were due exactly during the time of my financial crisis.I had lost about half my fortune in my divorce. I had lost 15M initially. Then I had to use my own net worth to finish projects worth hundreds of millions. I was already in big trouble and had lost too much. And on top of that, I needed to pay the bank more millions. So I tried to negotiate with the bank, as I did not have the cash to pay them back at the moment. I was hoping they would accept some properties, excluding those that were most important to me (those I used most often like my own home). Or maybe they would renegotiate the loan and give me more time. Unfortunately, they found my offers and proposals useless and said they would initiate a legal process against me unless I did not give them basically everything I had left. They had no mercy. I was against the wall and had no option. I had to accept their terms and sign a document virtually transferring all my properties to them. Signing that document was the worst signature I've ever made. The most painful signature imaginable. I was signing my faith of becoming broke. I was giving up being wealthy. I'll never forget what I felt when I exited that building. Officially, I had nothing now. 1 hour before, I was still wealthy. I physically felt the weight of my wealth disappearing. I suddenly felt lighter. It felt as if wealth was a weight in your back or shoulders that had been removed. The bank decided to sell most of the properties. And that's all happening within 1-3 months. It's just a matter of them being able to find buyers. When they do, I'll be out of my home and the rest of my remaining properties for good. You might be wondering what an idiot I am for hiring such bad personnel who couldn't even add up some basic budgets and realize there was an issue. And to be honest, I have a hard time forgiving myself for not supervising all fundamental aspects of my company when I had the chance. But as to the specific person  (the manager) who actually was responsible for managing and supervising budgets, I have absolutely no anger towards. He is my son. And he clearly lacked my guidance. It was definitely not his fault. His profesional life is only beginning and he must not feel guilty or overwhelmed by this situation. He deserves many more opportunities in life. God bless him.

Get my iPhone, because I usually leave it on the desk in the OR so it can be answered by someone else if the need arises.Sign any documents I need to physically sign.If the patient is ready to be moved, I frequently help. Sometimes I stay to watch over the area I operated on during the patient transfer.Generally, if there is some sort of anesthesia problem I know about it long before I’m walking out of the OR. Most anesthesiologists or anesthetists have been pretty good about telling me. I usually ask if the patient is doing okay before I leave.Thank the OR and anesthesia staff participating in the care of the patient.If there was signNow irrigation or bleeding, check my pants and shoe covers. It’s bad form to leave a trail of red footprints or have a little girl ask “Is that my dad on your pants?” (happened once-will not happen twice).Might hit the loo.If I want to see x-rays or make sure the patient is okay in recovery, I might sit down and do post op orders. Then talk to the family.If I don’t see the need to delay, I talk to the family before doing post op orders.See the next patient and complete pre op paper work.Get coffee or something to drink.Do post op orders if not already done.Once I nearly tripped over a surgeon who was on his knees in the surgeons locker room on a small rug. I started changing, and another resident came through and nearly fell over him too. The other resident came over and asked me what the guy on his knees on the rug was doing and why. I said that he might be quite pious. Or he may be getting ready to do or just got done with a rough case. Not everyone could understand that. I once finished surgery on a gentleman who had a particularly unfortunate diagnosis. When I talked to the family after surgery and apprised them of the findings, the final thing that did was to form a circle, hold ands, and asked me to join them. I did. That case was one that got included among those I was examined on for the oral portion of my board recertification. One of the examiners, that the most charitable description I could use to describe him is “an ass”, questioned me about what I told the family, and then why I joined them in prayer when asked (and invited). I thought about telling him about compassion, about identifying with the family, and caring. I held my tongue, because I didn’t think he’d get that. So, instead, I said “Well, Admiral, when I finished medical school, part of my oath was to practice and act with humility, and seek aid when needed. I thought the situation fit.” While it might seem flippant, it’s also the truth.

One particularly awkward thing that can happen to people at MIT is that they can get kicked out of the Institute because their grades weren't good enough.If you "get CAPped" (are required to withdraw from school for at least a year by the faculty-student Committee on Academic Performance), you will have dismaying experiences likeAwkward level 7/10: Being told you need to leave your dorm and find somewhere to live, with about a week's notice (you're no longer a student once you're kicked out)Awkward level 8/10: Being told you need to stop hanging out with all your friends.Specifically, students get a message that is not subtle: "Go away, immediately, for a year. Take courses at another college, preferably at home, to prove that you can stop slacking off. Come back with a transcript. If you continue to hang out here — and some of you will — we will not look on you kindly." This can be a distressing message if most of your current friends are in Cambridge and Cambridge is not home. You get to choose between having a low chance of getting back into MIT versus ditching your friends to "get a life" somewhere else. Awkward level 9/10: Flailing around for an entire semester before your required withdrawal knowing that you're on "warning", becoming increasingly aware that you're screwing up, and being too ashamed or ineffectual to find help.From CAP, students get crystal-clear guidance, but minimal support — generally you get a warning letter after your first bad semester and a "you're out!" letter after your second bad semester, per the quite straightforward documentation at http://web.mit.edu/acadinfo/cap/... During that critical second-semester time, it is no one's responsibility but your own to help you fix whatever problem is making you fail classes. If you do ask for help and you aren't creative, you'll be routed by default to the "Student Support Services Deans", who get mixed-to-negative reviews on "help keep me from failing out of MIT" issues. In fairness, it's not clear whether they're actively unhelpful or are just being rated poorly by people who are already demonstrably bad at getting things done. Meanwhile, during the process where this committee decides whether to kick you out of MIT, the primary advocate for your interests is your "academic advisor", whom most students see twice a year for a few minutes to sign off on subject registrations for the term. You won't really get an effective representative. (It might help for you to hire an attorney, but they sure won't be invited to chat with any committees…)Awkward level 10/10: Being sent back to your homeland, because you are no longer a U.S. student and your visa doesn't permit you to stay. This situation can be especially awkward if your home country mandates military service for citizens/residents; now, not only have you failed out of school, but also you might die in battle.(Also awkward level 10/10: Being the student representative on this faculty-student committee who decides to vote "yes, require a withdrawal", knowing full well that this will send a kid home to his national army.)The situation can be profoundly awkward; failing is never great. On the bright side, it's very predictable — if you or a friend have this problem, it will play out pretty much the same way it has for many others who have gone through the same thing. Whether or not the experience is pleasant or fair, it's well-documented. There is a lot of value to predictability.(As a disclaimer: this never happened to me. It did happen to friends.)