MIDLAND CREDIT MANAGEMENT, INC. v. JOSHUA A KERANS

Let’s get one thing straight: someone is suing someone else for $1,912.76. Not a million dollars. Not even ten grand. We’re talking about the price of a decent used car tire, a slightly overpriced engagement ring from a pawn shop, or, if you're really living your best life, a solid weekend in Vegas if you skip the hotel and just sleep in the rental. And yet, here we are—lawyers have been dispatched, court documents filed, and a man named Joshua A. Kerans is now officially on legal blast because, somewhere along the line, he didn’t pay back a debt to a bank with a name that sounds like a rejected fantasy novel title: First Electronic Bank Destiny. Yes, really. This is not a joke. This is American civil litigation in 2024, where even your forgotten credit card balance from 2018 can come back to haunt you like a vengeful ghost with a law degree.

So who are these players in the great American debt drama? On one side, we’ve got Midland Credit Management, Inc.—a company that doesn’t make anything, doesn’t grow food, doesn’t cure diseases. Nope. What it does is buy up other people’s old debts—like a financial vulture circling the carcass of your financial missteps—and then sues you for them. They’re the kind of company that sends letters with subject lines like “FINAL NOTICE” in all caps and tiny print that says “Past due balance: $1,912.76” just to make you spill your coffee. They’re represented by a whole army of lawyers at Love, Beal & Nixon, P.C.—yes, Love and Beal, like a country music duo specializing in emotional devastation and small claims. And on the other side? Just one guy. Joshua A. Kerans. A single human being, presumably living his life, maybe paying his rent, maybe remembering to water his plants, but apparently forgetting about a credit account that once bore the noble name of “Destiny.” Was it a credit card? A personal loan? A mystical financial portal to another realm? We don’t know. All we know is that it existed, it had an account number ending in 0112 (which sounds suspiciously like a Star Wars droid), and Joshua stopped paying it.

Now, let’s walk through the “plot” of this legal thriller. Chapter One: The Debt. At some point—probably years ago—Joshua said yes to a financial product offered by First Electronic Bank Destiny. Maybe it was a store credit card for a mattress. Maybe it was a line of credit to buy a gaming console during a moment of weakness. Or maybe, just maybe, he signed up for a “Buy Now, Pay Never (Just Kidding, Pay Later)” plan for something entirely unnecessary. The petition doesn’t say. What it does say is that Joshua stopped paying. Defaulted. Ghosted the bill. And like any good financial entity, First Electronic Bank Destiny eventually gave up and sold the debt to Midland Credit Management, which is basically the second-hand debt marketplace of the financial world. Think of it like a garage sale, but instead of old lawn chairs and VHS tapes, they’re selling unpaid balances for $200 here, $500 there. Midland bought this one—Joshua’s forgotten Destiny—for who knows how much—maybe $200, maybe $50. And now, they’re suing for the full $1,912.76. That’s not just recouping their investment. That’s profit with a side of legal fees.

And so, here we are: a full-blown lawsuit. Not a phone call. Not a strongly worded email. A petition filed in the District Court of Delaware County, Oklahoma. That’s right—this isn’t some automated collections robot. This is the state judicial system being used to settle a debt that, let’s be honest, probably started with a $500 vacuum cleaner or a pair of noise-canceling headphones. The legal claim? “Debt Collection.” In plain English: “Joshua owes us money, and we want the court to force him to pay.” No fraud. No breach of contract drama. No betrayal of trust involving a family heirloom or a borrowed lawn mower that was never returned. Just: “He didn’t pay. We want the cash.” The relief sought? $1,912.76. Plus interest. Plus court costs. Plus, presumably, the emotional toll of having to hire seven lawyers (yes, seven are listed) to chase down one guy for less than two grand.

Now, let’s talk about that number: $1,912.76. Is that a lot? Well, for Midland Credit Management, probably not. For Joshua? Might be everything. Might be three months of groceries. Might be his car insurance. Might be the difference between keeping the lights on and living like a pioneer with a kerosene lamp. But here’s the absurd part: the cost of filing this lawsuit—lawyer time, court fees, administrative overhead—likely exceeds the amount they’re trying to collect. Seriously. Seven attorneys are listed on this petition. Even if each spent 30 minutes on it (conservative estimate), at $200 an hour, that’s over $700 in labor alone. Add in filing fees, overhead, paralegal time, and the cost of printing the document (which, let’s be honest, probably involved at least one highlighter and a dramatic sigh), and Midland might actually lose money if Joshua fights this. But they don’t care. Because most people don’t fight. Most people see a lawsuit, panic, and pay up—sometimes even when they don’t owe the money—just to make it go away. It’s not about justice. It’s about volume. It’s about throwing enough legal spaghetti at the wall that some of it sticks. And if you win 80% of your $2,000 cases, you’re printing money. Even if each individual case makes no sense.

So what’s our take? Here’s the truth: this case is both ridiculous and terrifying. It’s ridiculous because we’re using the same court system that handles divorces, evictions, and personal injury claims to settle a debt that’s smaller than your average phone bill. It’s terrifying because this is how the modern debt collection machine works—automated, aggressive, and utterly impersonal. Joshua Kerans isn’t a villain. He’s not even necessarily “in the wrong.” Maybe he disputed the debt. Maybe he never knew about it. Maybe he paid it and the records got lost in a server crash. But none of that matters in the opening petition. All that matters is: “He didn’t pay. We want money.” And the system is built to assume you’re guilty until proven solvent.

The most absurd part? That seven lawyers signed their names to a document demanding $1,912.76. Seven. That’s more legal firepower than some murder trials get. You could probably fit the entire legal team in a minivan. And for what? To collect the cost of a moderately nice laptop? Meanwhile, Joshua is out there—just one guy—probably wondering how his name ended up in a courtroom over a debt he may not even remember. Is he stressed? Anxious? Laughing hysterically while eating cereal straight from the box? We don’t know. But we do know this: in the grand pantheon of petty civil court sagas, this one takes the crown. It’s not about the money. It’s about the principle. Or maybe it’s just about the fact that in America, no debt is too small, no balance too insignificant, and no Destiny too forgotten to escape the long arm of the collections lawsuit. And honestly? That’s kind of terrifying. Also kind of hilarious. Welcome to CrazyCivilCourt, where the stakes are low, the drama is high, and someone always forgets to pay for the destiny they bought on credit.