I work at the front desk of a mental health clinic. We had a new client show up almost an hour after their scheduled appointment. I tell them that we will not be able to see them today, and start to reschedule their appointment.
Client: Aw, man! I walked all the way here. I even peed myself. See!
She then turns around, and lifts up her shirt to show me the wet spot on the back of her pants.
Recently I went to a local arboretum with two friends. We visited the formal gardens and then decided to take a nature walk. We were given maps of the area, listing things to watch for – certain wild flowers, a spring, and so forth. One spot on the map was listed as “damp” ground, and we might be able to spot a few – non-venomous – snakes. I was never taught to be afraid of snakes, but my two friends just about had a fit!
“No problem,” I assured them. “If you stomp your feet the vibrations scare the snakes away.” There is not a bit of truth to that statement, but they believed me, and went along pounding their feet, They made as much noise as an entire battalion of Storm Troopers! We might not have scared any snakes, but it wasn’t for lack of trying!
I was laughing so hard I could hardly stand, never mind keep up with them. One of them noticed I was lagging behind, and turned to check on me. I think my cover got blown!
Fortunately, they saw the humor in the situation, but they vowed never to take my word for anything again.
After my mother died, I attempted to sell her house through an agency. Due to a variety of factors, the property was rather expensive, so the house sat on the market for a while. In an effort to alleviate problems that may crop up while the house is unoccupied, I checked with a lawyer to see how to ensure near-immediate removal of any squatters. The lawyer detailed several low-cost measures that should guarantee that anyone in the house without permission from me or the realtor would be seen as the perpetrator of a criminal trespass, which would allow the police to enter without a warrant and execute an arrest on the spot, as well as ensure any subsequent legal battle should be a one-sided, one-day affair dragged out only by pre-trial motions, provided I could report them quickly – a prerequisite made easy thanks to my friendship with my mother’s neighbors. One day, I got a call from one such neighbor.
Neighbor: “[My Name], did you sell [Mother]’s home yet?”
Me: “No. Why?”
Neighbor: “Because there’s been people moving furniture in all afternoon.”
I dropped what I was doing and drove out to see her house. Through the window, I could see strange furniture that looked like it had been sitting in a landfill for 20 years, and could smell something cooking. I called the police, and they came out immediately. After hearing the entire situation, including the details to make the criminal trespass case, the police knocked on the door of the property and spoke to the Colombian woman inside. She then went back inside, as they turned around and rejoined me.
Officer 1: “She says she’s a renter.”
Me: “Not with me, she’s not. I’m trying to sell this place. You can even call [Real Estate Agency] to confirm. That’s why I’ve…” and I repeat the numerous measures I have taken.
Officer 2: “You cannot force us to eject your tenants just because you don’t like them, and you cannot back-fill your property to claim she’s trespassing. We need real evidence, or a real crime.”
Me: “Well, y’know, if you check with [Real Estate Agency] or any of the neighbors, they can tell you when the property went on sale and I did all this. You can also find the pictures of it with the ads online, in newspapers, and…”
Officer 1: “Bring us a real crime, or settle this with your tenant!”
My recounting of this tale to my friends initiated the neighborhood’s crusade. Anyone who may be home agreed to watch the property and take pictures of anything suspicious they see, as I could only be out there when I was not working. It paid off within the week. Many of them saw her on the stoop selling drugs, and got decent pictures. Now armed with a “real crime,” I marched down to the precinct and told the whole story to the desk sergeant. In addition to the pictures of the deals, he asked for the evidence I had of her criminal trespass after I mentioned the first incident.
Desk Sergeant: “And you called in the trespass when?”
After confirming the date, he taps at the computer and pulls up the report of my call.
Desk Sergeant: “Of course! [Officers 1 and 2]. Could you do me a favor and file a formal complaint, please?”
Me: “Sure, but may I ask why you’re asking”
Desk Sergeant: “Those two have a habit of not arresting anyone who doesn’t ‘look American.'” (He made air-quotes on “look American”) “A complaint from a civilian might be what we need for the guys upstairs to do something about them.”
So began the arrest and raid that finally got this woman out and allowed me to fix the mess she made.
However, my story is not quite over.
About a week later, after the police had torn up the house looking for any additional drugs or other crimes, the property was released back to me, complete with her ratty furniture. I called the police a final time and, after confirming I had their permission to record the call, asked them what to do with the furniture. They said they could not take it. After a quick internet search, I decided it would be better to call the county sheriff’s office before taking any other steps. In addition to confirming their consent to record and asking the same question, I made it perfectly clear:
Me: “She was a squatter. She had no right to be in here, and neither did her things. If you don’t take her stuff out or say anything else by the end of the week, I’m considering that legal permission to throw them away.”
The deputy still refused to take the property and made no effort to correct my conclusion. So, at the end of the week, I threw it all out. Literally. Rather than ease it around the stairs, I chucked everything out the window, attempting to get it in a dumpster and picking up whatever landed outside the dumpster. A few days later, after all of the locks had been redone, all of the cleaning, and much more, I received a summons. The woman was suing me in small claims court for $10,000 of damages incurred when I threw out her $100 (at best) worth of furniture. Once the fury passed, I went back to the police station involved every step of the way, and requested copies of the two reports I filed with them for my case. I also got an affidavit from the immensely helpful desk sergeant, and the officer I spoke with who told me they would not take the furniture. I then went down to the sheriff’s office and got another affidavit from the deputy I spoke to as well. The final touch was my real estate agent and the neighbor who first called, both of whom were going to testify directly to the court about the attempts to sell, the measures I had taken to make a criminal trespass case, the police’s lack of investigation into the criminal trespass charge, and, if necessary, the neighborhood’s legal efforts that got the drug arrest. Then came the start of the trial. As the plaintiff, the woman went first.
Woman: “I was staying at [House] owned by [My Name] and had moved in all of my things. After [My Name] had called the police and had me arrested, he took all of my things and threw them out. I didn’t get all of it back. The things I have are all broken now.”
Keep in mind: she has held up no photos, no receipts, nothing. The above sentences and the sad face she wore while saying were the entirety of her actions.
Judge: “Mr. [My Name], this is gross misconduct by a landlord. An arrest does not constitute an eviction. There were still proceedings that had to be settled in this court. The total of $10,000 seems fair to me. Verdict for the-”
Me: “WAIT A MINUTE!”
Judge: “Do you have anything else to add?”
Me: “‘Anything else’? I haven’t said anything! What about my right to defend myself and face my accuser?”
Judge: “All right, Mr. [My Name], let’s hear all about how you did everything short of calling ICE to harrass your Mexican tenant.” (Yes, I wrote Colombian before, because, following her arrest, I learned she WAS Colombian. The judge, however, said she was Mexican.)
Me: “You mean how I had a squatter removed from my property before any squatters rights could be granted?”
I proceeded to relay the entire incident. The only breaks I took were when the judge interrupted me to sarcastically ask if I had any proof of my most recent claim, at which point I slammed down each document before continuing. When it was finally over, the judge sighed.
Judge: “I guess you did everything right. Case dismissed.”
A few more details to apply. He did not lift his head. He kept his gaze at (I assume) his lap. His face was red. As soon as he banged the gavel, he began to RUN from the bench.
Contractor: “‘YOU GUESS’? YOU WERE GOING TO DENY ME MY RIGHT TO A FAIR TRIAL JUST BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT I WAS A RACIST LANDLORD! AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN SORRY? YOU’RE JUST GOING TO RUN AND HIDE YOU COWARDLY B******! F*** YOU!”
My string of obscenities continued even as the bailiff escorted me out and got me to calm down. How I walked away without being found to be in contempt of court is something I cannot explain.
This story was recounted to me by my Dad a couple of days ago. For some background: I recently had a nose surgery to fix some breathing problems, and am currently in recovery. My mom has a Facebook post about me to keep family and friends in the loop on our situation. This exchange occured between my aunt and cousin, and was later told to my parents.
Aunt: Hey [Cousin], [My Name] had her first nosejob done a couple of days ago!
Cousin: She’s having more than one!?
As with everyone, our office gets automated scam calls. Funny thing is though, since our phones play a prerecorded message as soon as the call connects but before anyone actually picks up, many of these scam robots have already started talking by the time I answer. So, this happens a lot:
Me: Thank y—
Scam Robot: … hang up…
Me: Okay. *click*
Now if only I could just figure out a way to get the robots to hang up on themselves, I’d really be onto something!
