Legal Shmegal... my precious

So, the saga mentioned in a previous post is pretty much over. A side benefit is, of course, that I now have no qualms about publicly discussing it.

Essentially, my ex-roommates cheated me out of a month's rent. The money doesn't really bother me that much -- in truth, while the amount was substantial, I was more or less prepared to pay that much. Details:

I made the mistake, as you might recall, of moving into a new apartment with two complete strangers, with the intention that if one of us had to leave, the flexibility afforded by such an arrangement would be much greater with regard to modifying the lease. So we all agreed that if one of us had to leave, then the only responsibility of the person departing would be to find someone to replace them on the lease (legally, with the consent and authorization of the leasing office and the other two residents).

Done. Hands were shaken, a lease was signed. All was well, save for the occasional generous dusting of female pubic hair clippings I would have to clean off of my toilet, and the time I had to plunge that selfsame toilet free of more feces than I thought a girl was capable of producing.

Obviously, I was mistaken. These were women.

Or at least, some kind of hybrid over which taxonomists would undoubtedly lose sleep.

And they complained about my leaving the occasional dish to soak overnight.

Anyhow.


Fast forward seven months into a 9-month lease. I find a new job, and I have to leave. I let them know, and start drafting a roommate ad to go up on Craigslist.

Next morning, a note, to the effect of "I'm not comfortable with a new person moving in, and I'm also a deceptive, petulant child" is left for me. It goes on to say that I will need to pay out the rest of the lease in full, and that she enjoys the delusion that she is a clever monkey.

I like to read between the lines.

I reply, saying "Um, no."

So I gather the other two for a meeting, and we talk it out. I tell them that I will pay one remaining month of rent, if they agree to pay the last month.

They agree.

I ask again, to confirm:

They agree.

One more time, to be absolutely sure:

They agree.

Hands are shaken, a deal is struck. I retire for the night, comforted by the warming presence of the spirits of compromise and human decency.

Perhaps you would like to take a moment to venture a guess as to what happened next.

I'll give you a few lines to contemplate.




Okay, then:

Next morning, a note:

"I still don't feel comfortable. Also I don't have enough money, even though I am working, pay for a personalized diet and weight-loss plan, have just replaced half of my wardrobe, and have enough money to buy a refrigerator for my boyfriend. You have to pay all of the lease. In addition, I would like to take this opportunity to make it publicly known that I consider infanticide with accompanying cannibalism a pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon."


You might well imagine the scope of my disappointment. I am, as you might imagine, staunchly anti-baby eating. That, and the other thing. What was it... oh right, the horrible, horrible lies.

After another e-mail exchange, I am frustrated beyond belief. It takes my good friend frylok to talk me down. It's not often that I get really mad. I often rant and rave for fun and to vent, probably more than is strictly necessary, but I almost never get truly upset. When it comes to overt betrayals like this, it's hard to stay calm.

So, I wrote a rebuttal. I present a "director's cut" version here, courtesy of my id:

"Dearest Dirty Lying Skeezy Munghole,

Okay. I'll pay the leasing office, since I tend to keep my promises. And then I'm going to sue. Care to rethink? Let me know. Otherwise, see you in court."


I knew from the get-go that it was a weak case. Even considering small claims court is informal, I had no hard, written evidence. It boiled down to, in legal terms, a "bitchfest," where essentially people disagree, and neither side has any evidence. As the person filing the complaint, this made my case weaker than G.W. Bush's gamme wave.

Their case was further strengthened in that it was unhindered by such considerations as might be mandated by using "facts" and "the truth."

Like I said, though, I wasn't really interested in the money. My goal was to force those two -- mostly Ms. Munghole, the other one is basically just weak-willed and spineless -- to consider the ramifications of their dishonesty. In that, I suppose I was successful.

Unfortunately, they strike me as the type that tend not to learn the lessons that life so generously provides. Were they otherwise, I imagine they would have learned, on their parents' knees (or over them), to cherish and protect the value of their word.

I suppose you could say that I pursued my claim out of spite. I couldn't in all truthfulness say you were wrong.

But I'll be damned if I didn't have fun doing it.

They both hate me, an unsurprising state of affairs of which, given the context, I am rather proud. While I bear them no specific ill will, I hope at least that the experience and hassle of all this will make them rub their three collective neurons together for a little longer, the next time they want to swindle someone.


As it is, I still have yet to hear the judge's decision -- could be a week or two before I get it in the mail -- but I am not expecting a decision in my favour. Even considering the laughable that there is, Skeezy McStinkhole has assured me that she will not be paying me any money.

I would, in that case, take an indecent and possibly damning amount of pleasure in putting a lien on her possessions, garnishing her wages, or having a big barfy face sticker placed on her credit report.

That last one probably isn't possible, but by god, it should be.