Justice is Ours!

My husband and I are principled people.  We really try to do the right thing and treat others the way we'd want to be treated and so on and so forth.  The truth is important to us.  As are rules.  And laws? They're not suggestions to us - they're absolutes.  And we hold others to that standard too. Because that's what keeps society functioning.

That's why we got so absolutely beyond pissed off when our landlord from Virginia decided he was going to charge us extra money out of our deposit following our move-out.  So pissed off, in fact, that we took him to court.  For more money than we were owed.  Including a road trip with 5 people 14 hours away.

Did I say we were pissed?

Let me back up:

I won't get too far into our relationship with this particular individual.  Let's just say he wasn't one of our favorite people of all time and as landlords go, well... we, as landlords ourselves, made sure to learn how NOT to treat our tenants from him. He had a history of hearing about a problem and, instead of saying, "Well, let me see what I can do for you," would say, "What did YOU do to my _____?".  Things were always someone else's fault or issue or problem and it was pretty obvious that he was not one to accept much responsibility for anything. Like the roach and rodent problem we had.  Once, we had a problem with the plumbing beneath the sink for the second time and instead of saying, "Wow, this has been a recurring problem for you guys, let's see if we can find a permanent solution to it," Mr. Landlord accused us of not knowing how to use a kitchen sink and told us that we'd better figure out how to fix it ourselves.  We were pretty sure the problem was wear and tear on an old plumbing system, but he berated us and called us irresponsible and stupid.  So, a few trips to Lowe's, a few hours spent on Google, and we had the whole plumbing apart... the result?  A broken washer between two pipes.  The cause?  Wear and tear.  Mr. Landlord's response? Silence.  No thanks, no apology, nothing.

Leading up to our move-out, we anticipated some issues with him so we really busted our hineys to get the house and yard into top shape.  We'd like our tenants to leave our house in pristine condition, so we put an extraordinary amount of effort into re-landscaping the yard, spending two weekends and over $300 on the project.  I cleaned the house and polished every inch of wood in the 3-story structure.  We repaired simple things and purchased replacement bulbs for EVERY single bulb - burned out or not - in the home and left behind two replacement filters for each air intake in the house.

When we asked him when he wanted to do the move-out inspection, for which we wanted to be present, he told us he'd have to schedule it for two weeks after we were scheduled to move due to him being out of town.  Since that was unacceptable, we asked that it be moved up and we got into a series of back-and-forth calls and emails until he finally consented to walk through the house with us the morning of our departure.  He at one point asked in an email what I was so concerned about.  I replied that I was worried that he would charge us for the screens on the porch being ripped out during a big storm and for some loose electrical outlets, and for the kitchen faucet which was loose as a result of it being the wrong size for the hole in the sink.  He responded that he thought I should fix the screens myself and that he was aware of the kitchen sink issue.  So we proceeded as normal.

On the morning of the move-out inspection, we walked through the whole house with Mr. Landlord who had a piece of paper with his name and address on it, in addition to a statement that said, "I am charging the tenant the following amounts of money for the following items which will be deducted from their deposit" followed by 10 spaces for things to be written.  He charged us $50 for a spot on the hardwood floor that needed repair and drew a line through the remaining 9 spaces.  He signed the sheet and handed it to us after complimenting me and thanking me for fixing the screens as he had asked.

So we expected roughly $1200 to be returned to us.  Two months later, we got a check for $750 and a letter that was written in 3rd grade English about how he thought it was unfair that he walked through the house a month after we moved out and found that the screens had torn loose again and that the sink faucet was also loose.  He said he charged us for those repairs in addition to some repair of some door or another.

When we attempted to contact him to discuss this egregious claim, he refused to answer his phone.  We asked him to please return our phone call or we would have to involve an attorney.

He didn't, so we did.

And after paying a $500 retainer (keep in mind we were only owed $450) we had legal counsel filing a warrant in debt on our behalf.

Following a little bit of back-and-forth and Mr. Landlord asking for a continuance, we had a court date set for mid-November. At one point he contacted our attorney with a settlement offer - saying he'd be willing to pay us half of the $450. 

We rejected it.

As we explained to our lawyer from the outset of all of this, the issue wasn't about money.  It wasn't a dollar amount that we desperately needed for day-to-day function.  It was about the fact that an individual in a position of power abused the knowledge that we were leaving town.  He took advantage of our situation, knowing that we were moving and recognizing how difficult that it would be for us to return.  He gambled on $450 being pretty close to as much as he could get without much fuss... unfortunately for him, $20 would have been too much.  We are fortunate enough to have resources and the ability to fight him; what upset us was thinking of the countless other military families to whom Mr. Landlord caters that may also have been exploited - past and present.  We saw it as our duty to pursue this as a way of enforcing consequences. 

During the actual trial, Mr. Landlord tried to insist that Justin and I deliberately tried to hide the condition of the sink and screens, and we countered with the emails exchanged between us that stated that Mr. Landlord was aware of the sink issue.  As to the screens, I explained that the primary issue was that there are no gutters on the house so water pours down the outside and has warped the wood lathing that pinches the screen against the support structure of the porch.  If that wood is warped, it can't hold the screens tightly.  I told him as much during our walk-through and he scoffed at me when I said I believed the screens would probably tear again without major work... which is outside the scope of my responsibility as a tenant. 

Since Mr. Landlord was acting as his own attorney, he got to cross examine me which amounted to little more than attempted browbeating and was met with my sweetest smiles, plenty of "Sir"'s and as much politeness as I could muster.  I kindly pointed out that, as landlords ourselves, if I were going to do a move-out inspection with a tenant who had raised two problems prior to the walk-through, I'd probably inspect those areas first and most thoroughly.  Mr. Landlord, however, claimed that he did not notice the sink issue until his NEW tenants called him and stated the sink did not work.  To that, I responded that I did not think he could hold us responsible since, according to the signed document from our walk-though, we were clear of the house and that there was no way to claim that WE had damaged anything... and that it was more probable that Mr. Landlord himself had inflicted the damage (if any existed) or that the new tenants had broken something.

After some fairly absurd back-and-forth between us and Mr. Landlord, the judge finally felt we had each stated our positions in enough depth and awarded us our $450 plus $250 in attorney's fees and ordered Mr. Landlord to pay the filing fee for the suit and the whole thing was entered as a judgment on Mr. Landlord's credit.

At that point, we felt a hollow victory, as the judgment still required that we follow up to collect our money... either by garnishing his wages or placing liens against his property, etc. and that would only be possible AFTER Mr. Landlord had filed his appeal, if he chose to do so.  Immediately following the trial he said he intended to file an appeal, which would have required another trip to Virginia.  So we sat in limbo for awhile.  Although our attorney assured us that the cost of filing the appeal, combined with the fact that our case was so solid would be prohibitive to Mr. Landlord's efforts to fight the judgment, we had seen how stubborn, arrogant and ignorant the guy could be.

As it is, the judgment itself serves as a bigger punishment than the cash awarded us.  It stays on a person's credit for 7-10 years, even if it is paid, and can drop a credit score 150 points in one fell swoop.  For an individual involved in purchasing property for a living, that's a pretty hefty consequence for dishonesty, and we feel pretty good about that.  It'll be hard to justify taking the chance in the future with his tenants, considering he's got 7-10 years to wait before his credit score will recover.  Thankfully, we received a check in the mail recently for the full amount of the suit which means it's over for us.  It means we don't have to deal with an appeal and we can finally close that chapter of our lives.  And it means that he's finally seen reason. 

So, we got our justice.  We fought for what we thought was right, even though it was a pain in the ass.  Even though we felt a little absurd for going to the lengths we did over a sum of money as paltry as $450. 

The end.

Odds 'n Ends 'n Handcuffs

First of all, forgive me if I either a) blog too much this week because I'm procrastinating on the housecleaning I need to do to prepare for my dad's arrival or b) blog too little because I'm in over my head with the filth and squalor I've allowed to accumulate in the house for the last month.

Second, because change is what we do as a family (um, like the fact that we're living in our 6th state in 5 years) and we never sit still for very long, I've got a few cool things I'd like to tell you about as more details get fleshed out.  We're excited! AND I'd love to share now, but you know - phone calls need to happen, experts need to be consulted, signatures need scribbling, etc.  So.  In due time, my friends.

And now, because you're all antsy wondering if we're moving to Europe or adopting a heard of llamas or have sold the rights to our nutty lives to MTV for a reality show, I'll take your mind off the wondering with another crazy story.

***

I don't know how many of you have been to jail.   I'd imagine that the number is pretty small... I don't so much appeal to the rough crowd with my subject matter.  I, however, have been.  Not just TO jail, but IN jail.  Strip-searched, jumpsuit-wearing, mug-shot, booked-next-to-a-dude-covered-in-blood-style jail.  In a cop car.  In handcuffs. 

It.   Was.  Not.  Awesome.

Justin and I had been married all of 3 months and we were getting ready to move to our first stop in the Navy journey from our college town in Indiana.  One afternoon, I decided to head to the mall to pick up a birthday gift for my sister, and, after a really lame cruise through the stores where nothing really jumped out at me, I decided to purchase a shirt for her and call it a day.  I had parked outside a department store, so I meandered back through that store on my way out.  While I was passing through, I noticed a rack of sunglasses for sale at 50% off.  I paused there, since I had lost my sunglasses on my honeymoon, and decided to try on a few pairs.  I'd don a pair, look in the tiny mirror, shift that pair to my head, try another, swap them, and so on.  Eventually, discouraged and unwilling to settle on a pair that I didn't absolutely love, I just sighed and left the store.

Or, rather, tried to leave the store.

I had one hand on the bar on the door and had pushed it open and stepped one foot on the concrete when someone came from behind me and shoved me against the open door with two hands in the middle of my back, jamming a hard, cold object into my side.

"Give us the merchandise!" someone growled at me.  I blinked, too shocked to respond with anything other than a guttural "Huh?" "The merchandise, give it back to us right now."

The assailant stepped back and I realized it was a Taser they had held against me, and instead of the robber I thought I was dealing with, it was a security guy from the store.  I asked again what they were talking about and held out the shopping bag that contained the shirt I had purchased at a different store.  The guy shook his head and insisted again I return their merchandise.  All of a sudden it dawned on me: I must have left a pair of sunglasses on top of my head and walked out with them. 

"Oh no!  Ooops!" I said, aghast at my stupidity, "I'm so sorry!  Here, do you want me to go put them back or should I pay for them? I'm so sorry!" 

The guy (who looked maybe 12 years old) shook his head and said, "You're going to need to come with me."  I assumed we were going to talk to a manager or something as we meandered through the store to a little hallway into the bowels of the place.  He shoved me - shoved me - into a teeny little room full of video screens and a desk.  At this point, it was becoming clear that I was dealing with a person whose meager amount of power had gone to his head.  I asked him if there was any way I could just pay for the glasses and go home.  I told him it was a total mistake and that I was sorry - I would have gotten to my car and seen them on my head and gone right back in to pay for them.  He informed me that I'd have gotten in trouble then, too, as leaving with the goods constitutes theft and they have a zero tolerance policy.  "So you reward honesty with punishment?" I asked?  "No, we punish thieves," he said. 

So there I sat.  My cell phone started ringing as Justin was wondering where I was and why I hadn't come home yet.  The guy yelled at me and took my purse and said I couldn't make any phone calls or receive any.  That the police officer would determine if I could make any calls.

Woah.  POLICE OFFICER?! 

Yeah.  Police officer.  I don't know WHAT took the guy so long, but I was actually excited that he was on his way.  I figured he'd get there, I could explain what happened, he'd see that this whole thing was a waste of time and let me go home to my husband.

He didn't.  Instead, he grabbed my upper arm, hoisted me up and slapped cuffs on me.  Literally.  And double-locked them.  Yes, that's a thing.  Double locking.  It hurt.  He ushered me out of the store, and the whole time I had convinced myself that this was just a scare tactic or even a sick joke.  I even thought he was a little kidding when he shoved me in the back of his cruiser and started driving.

The officer asked me what my address was and I felt so relieved because he was just going to take me home! I told him and sat back, smiling.  All of a sudden, though, he turned left instead of right.  My stomach plummeted and I asked where we were going.  "To jail," he said, "You're being charged with a felony."

My life came to a screeching halt at that moment.  I couldn't even breathe and I started to feel light-headed and I began, I think, to cry.  "What?" "Yep, you screwed the pooch, sister."  He then proceeded to call Justin, who was terrified that I had been gone so long, only to freak him out further by telling him he had to meet us at the county jail to bail his newlywed wife out.  The officer further attempted to assuage my fears by telling me all about how my husband would probably have to divorce me because my felony would ruin his security clearance and possibly get him kicked out of the Navy. 

I'd love to tell you that I was strong and kept calm and had sassy attitude stemming from my confidence in my innocence.

But that was certainly NOT the case.  I was something of a disaster.  By the time we got to the jail, I could barely function.  Once we got there, they made me strip down ENTIRELY (apparently to make sure I wasn't hiding other merchandise in my under-garments) and take off all of my jewelry, including my sparkly new wedding ring. Then they made me wear a jumpsuit and the icky Keds and then they took me over to get booked, finger-printed, mug-shot, etc. 

No, I'm totally not joking.

The guy they were booking me next to kept claiming his name was Al Pacino and he was in for murder 1.  He was covered in blood.  And smelled like a sewer.  I ended up getting charged with a Class A misdemeanor because the sunglasses were over $55 - not a felony; turns out the officer was just "having fun with me".  (And I can assure you that if I had known that, I wouldn't have tried them on in the first place!) AND the booking officer thought I was cute so he printed my mug-shot out to hang on the wall.  Humiliating.  Utterly devastating.

Thankfully, Justin had arrived and bailed me out before I was even processed, so I didn't need to get put in the "tank" with all the other criminals and was able to just change back into my clothes and go home. 

It was horrific - beyond any mortification I could ever imagine.  I ended up pleading out and just doing some community service and letting a year pass to clear my record, rather than fight it because I would have had to travel back to Indiana to contest it in court and hire an attorney and all that.  So I just dealt with it.  But to this day my skin crawls at the idea of walking through a department store and I never, ever, EVER buy sunglasses.  If I need to replace them, I either order them online or have someone else purchase them for me.

So there you have it: your friendly, neighborhood zookeeper is actually a hardened criminal whose perky picture is on the wall of some sketchy jail in Indiana.  I don't wear bracelets and I don't buy sunglasses.  And I think police officers can be extraordinarily mean.

Under Fire

"Where is a cop when you need one?!" I thought fervently as I raced, harried, through dark, empty streets, shaking and praying that some officer would see my erratic driving and pull me over.  "Should I call 9-1-1?" I wondered... "And say what? 'Hi, my name is Melissa and I think someone tried to shoot me?' It sounded too absurd.  This couldn't be real."  So, I called my mom instead: "Mom, please don't freak out, but I'm coming home early.  I'm okay, but I need you to meet me in the driveway with a flashlight."  Onward I drove, my eyes darting between the road, my rear-view mirror, and the little crackle-edged circle that was, impossibly, on my windshield right in front of me.

***

One summer during college, I spent some time house-sitting for a family member.  I loved doing it; I loved the responsibility, and at the same time, the freedom it afforded me.  It was peaceful and enjoyable.  The only problem were the cats.  They're awfully adorable kitties, but I'm terribly allergic.  Normally it wasn't a huge problem, but one night all three of them decided to join me in bed, making it nearly impossible to breathe.  I was miserable and needed some medicine and some sleep, so I packed it in for the night, deciding I'd spend the rest of the night at home in my own bed and return after work the next afternoon.  So, at about 3 am, I grabbed my flip-flops and got in my Jeep and started home - about a 20 minute drive.

With the music on the radio and my windows down for some fresh air, I was in a good mood, bopping my head to my favoite song and enjoying the familiar drive.

Then, in an instant, everything changed.

I heard the characteristic "Pow!" At the exact same moment I heard the alien-sounding "Sssssnnnnnnnap!"

Instantly, reflexively, I ducked, but I couldn't keep my head down long, so I poked my head up to keep from crashing the car.  As I peeked over the dash, I saw that I was passing an empty strip-mall parking lot... empty except for the dark-colored sedan that was rolling up a window as I passed.  I shook my head to clear my thoughts and as I refocused on the road, my eyes came to rest on the circle that now adorned the lower left corner of my windshield, right at the edge of the inspection sticker on the inside of the window.

A bullet hole.

A bullet hole?

A bullet hole! 

On my window!

On my window? 

Why?

That was all I needed.  I stomped on the gas to get out of there and checked my mirror, only to see the dark car (in my mind, I was sure this was the source of the shot, but I have no idea) pulling into the road.  Was I being targeted?  Was this random?  Did they think I was someone else?  Was it an accident?  Did they miss?  What was going on?  I had no idea.  I could barely form a cohesive thought.  The car that I had seen was now nowhere in sight but I didn't slow down.  I wanted a cop to stop me.  I wanted to be safe.  I wanted to understand what had happened.

***

Once I was home safely, my mom met me outside, confused.  We looked at the hole, stuck our fingers in it, ran our hands over it, tried to wrap our minds around it.  It was there, but we could not figure out why.  We didn't call the police.  I don't know why, but I think we were just too confused as to what was going on to talk to them.  In the morning, though, we did call an officer out to look at it and figure out what we should do from there.

The officer determined the shot was most likely from a .22.  The officer also looked incredulously at me and told me that the bullet struck the strongest point of the windshield - the lower corners - and that the inspection sticker likely helped to reinforce the glass.  He said that if I had been driving any faster or left the house a second earlier, it would have come through the window and struck my neck.  I just kept asking - out loud and silently, "Why? Why me?" 

Random, it seemed, according to the officer.  Random.  The street I was driving on bisected the west side of our city and formed something of a boundary between turfs for gangs.  The best possibility the police could offer was that it was related to gang activity and I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

"Well," I couldn't help thinking, "I could have been at a MORE wrong place at a MORE wrong time" as I imagined, with a shiver, what the outcome could have been. 

I took my Jeep to a glass repair place the officer recommended - the same one the police department used to repair bullet holes in their fleet - where they filled the hole with resin so it wouldn't splinter and ruin my whole windshield.  But the circle didn't go away completely.  It was there until I sold the car... a haunting reminder that bad things can happen to anyone.

Twilight Zone Meets Animal Planet

You know those people that "stuff" happens to all the time?  Where they start telling stories and you think, "They have to be kidding me," because it's absurd? 

Yeah, I'm one of those people.

This post is going to kick off a series of baffling occurrences I've experienced that leave my friends and family and complete strangers scratching their heads, raising eyebrows and dropping jaws.  There are no deeper messages here, no reflections on life or gooshey sentiments to be found... Nope - this is pure entertainment. 

On Friday after dinner, we decided to pile into the van and go scout out some land tracts we're interested in around here.  We mapped out a route and got started, armed with sippy cups and a giant container of Goldfish crackers to keep the kids happy while we dragged them from one oddly-shaped patch of trees to another.  When we passed the final lot on our itinerary, which we vetoed because it was a teeny sliver of land in an established subdivision, we found ourselves being forced to continue driving deeper into the neighborhood as we couldn't find a safe place to turn around (and we aren't big on the idea of using people's driveways).  So, we figured we'd just keep going until we reached either a cul-de-sac or a safe enough spot to execute the turn. 

As we drove on, the houses got progressively larger and more stately until we reached the end of the street which contained about 4 incredible mansions with water views... and, incidentally, a turn-around spot.  As we slowed down to appreciate the view of the lake and to navigate the turn, a tan-colored pit bull materialized at the side of the car.  I was driving and it got so close to the vehicle that I couldn't even see it - Justin alerted me to its presence.  It had run right up to the tire on the driver's side and wouldn't move.  I gingerly tried to nudge the car past it, but the dog circled to the front of the van and started barking and snarling at us.

From nowhere another one, this time black, showed up to join in the weirdness.  At this point, both dogs were ferociously barking at us in front of our car.  I thought, "Surely if I inch forward they'll freak out and at least move to the side."  So I did.  Neither dog budged and seemed, in fact, energized by the game of chicken, as they started hopping up and down excitedly, barking - if possible - louder than before.  I stepped on the brake again and looked at Justin who was looking at me, totally confused.  We weren't on anyone's property - why were these dogs so aggressively bothering us?  And why were they so fearless? 

I did the only other thing I could think at the time... I started beeping my horn at them.  No response except more barking and growling.  I honked harder. At this point I was hoping to draw attention from a resident of the street who might be able to call off the hounds... or at least call the police on me.  Nothing.  No lights went on, no curtains fluttered.  Just the continuous barking.

So we rolled down the windows to yell at the dogs which only made them circle from one side of the car to the other, barking now at the window that had opened most recently and we were getting absolutely nowhere.  Finally, in desperation, we grabbed the kids' snack cups of Goldfish and Justin and I alternated chucking handfuls of snack crackers at the beasts which seemed to confuse them just enough for a brief enough time that I could slowly start to inch forward.  So we kept raining Goldfish down on them until I was able to break past them and build up some speed.

As I drove away, slowly since I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood, the dogs began chasing the car, barking louder and with even more intensity than before, snapping at the bumper.  I gained speed and all of a sudden, two more black dogs took up the chase with the original two... seemingly appearing out of the shadows like phantoms.  Soon, I was speeding down the road at a dangerous pace and only after a half a mile did the crazed pooches give up.  The came to a halt, shoulder-to-shoulder across the middle of the road and then dissolved into the dusk as we kept driving, more slowly now, out of the neighborhood.

The whole episode lasted maybe 10 minutes but it left us bewildered and a little disturbed.

We weren't trespassing.  We don't look sketchy.  And these dogs came from multiple directions... and the fact that not a single person so much as stirred in the 4 surrounding houses.  Barking, honking, shouting... nothing. 

Needless to say, we're not going to consider houses or land in that neighborhood.  Nor will we be attending any dinner parties in that area anytime soon.

What would you have done?