CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: Plain Jane and the Lengthy Lunch

We waited and waited, but no judge appeared.  Eventually, at about twenty minutes past ten o’clock, a side door opened and two official-looking women entered the court room. They conducted a hasty discussion in hushed tones just inside the door, and then one of them, a plain specimen with long, gray hair and ugly spectacles, came over to stand before the motley assemblage of petitioners, respondents, children, and counsel.

"Sorry," she began, pushing her glasses further up her nose and looking faintly apologetic. "Judge Grazziano has been delayed at another hearing.  He'll probably be here by eleven if you want to wait.  For those of you with #evictions, if the other party hasn’t shown up, default judgments can be issued, or you can reschedule for another day.  I'll read out the cases in order, and you can decide what you want to do."          

I looked at Diane.  "I know you say you're going to pay me more on May first, but I still have to reschedule for my own protection.  You understand, don’t you?"

Diane tut-tutted and heaved a hefty sigh. "Agh. We took time off work for nothin', and now we have to come back?” She shook her head in disgust. 

At that moment, our case was announced, and we went up to the front of the court room. 

"Eviction for non-payment of #rent?" Plain Jane asked. 

"Yes," I answered.  "We might be able to work something out, but I still want to go ahead and reschedule.  I'm going on vacation May second, so …"

"How long will you be gone?"

"Til May seventh."

"Okay."  The woman leafed through a large diary and pounced on a page.  "May ninth?"

"Fine," I said.  Diane looked on, but didn’t disagree.

"See you on the ninth, then."   Plain Jane made an entry in her diary and began reading out the name of the next case.

In the lofty, echoing marble hallway outside the court room, Diane patted me on the arm.  "I'll get right on that money order," she told me cheerfully.  "And I'll have four hundred ready for you, May first."

I looked doubtful. “I'm going on vacation the next day, so  . . ."

". . . so you need the money," Diane finished.  "That's why I'll make sure to have it ready for you."

"Okay," I said.  "And when you hear about the job, we need to work out a payment schedule for the overdue rent.  You owe me thirteen hundred now, for January through this month.”

"I know.  It’s a lot."

"I'll be busy packing, so Wim’ll pick up the rent.”

"Mommy, Mommy."  Diane’s little girl was tugging on her mother’s arm. 

Diane shook her off in practiced fashion and glanced at her watch.  "I gotta git back to work."

"Me too."  We headed toward the stairs.  "May first, don't forget?  If you make an effort to pay  me more in the next two weeks, we'll see, but for now, we 're back in Court May ninth, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Diane gave me a wave, and we went our separate ways.

I had planned to deal with the information subpoenas after court but my office was short-handed that day, so it would have to wait until tomorrow. 

When the clock struck noon the next day, I was out of the office like a shot and racing over to Schemmerhorn. It took twenty minutes to get there and twenty minutes to get back, which meant I only had twenty minutes to spare at the Clerk's Office.  I arrived, out of breath, weighed down with restraining notices, already-addressed envelopes, and stamped-addressed envelopes for return of the subpoenas. 

The Clerk’s counter was unmanned, but at the sound of my whirlwind arrival, a large lady breezed into the room from a side office.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes.  I've come to collect an information #subpoena."

The woman looked at me with a blank expression on her face.  "A what?"

"An information subpoena.  I spoke to the Clerk.  Apparently Small Claims have their own information subpoenas for service on banks in the area.  I have to pay, like, a dollar for it?"

"I don't know."  The woman began to look harassed.  "Um, maybe they're in this drawer?  The Clerk's out to lunch right now.  Can you come back?"

"No.  I'm on my lunch hour too. I drove over from St. Albans, and it takes twenty minutes to get here, so I can't come back."

The woman halfheartedly shuffled through some forms in the drawer.  "I don’t see anything like that in here."

I glanced at the clock."What time does the Clerk get back from lunch?"

The woman also looked at the clock.  "Around twelve forty-five.  It's twelve-thirty now."

"Okay. I'll go over to the post office and get some stamps on these?" I said, motioning to my armful of envelopes. "Then I'll be back."

The woman smiled, obviously relieved that she could stop looking for the elusive forms.  "All right. The post office is just across the street."

Faced with four entrances on each point of the compass by which to exit City Hall, it took me a few minutes to find said post office.  Luckily there was no line, and I walked right up to the counter.  I bought stamps for twelve certified letters and twelve return envelopes and returned to the Clerk's Office, loaded down with green return receipts and tracking slips.

I had to wait a few minutes for the Clerk to return from lunch, so I occupied myself in filling out the tracking slips and corresponding green postcards and sticking stamps on the envelopes.  I had just finished the last one, when the Clerk bustled in.

"Hello," she said, remembering me.  "You're here for the information subpoena?"

"Yes."

Rummaging in the very same drawer the other woman had searched, she produced a form with ease.  "Here it is.  I'll give you one, and you can make copies and fill them out. Then bring them back to me to stamp.  It's safer to stamp them all because you can't be certain which banks require it."

"I'll go to the library and make copies and fill them out right now," I told her.  "I just need to get this done.  My office will have to put up with me getting back a bit late."

I took all my paperwork out another entrance, across another street, and into the public library.  After making copies of the subpoena, I sat down at a table and proceeded to fill them out.  It didn’t take long. The forms were really basic -- much simpler than the information subpoenas I’d used before for Supreme Court.

When I’d finished, I hauled the papers back to City Hall, and the Clerk stamped them for me.  I sat in my car, stuffing and licking the envelopes.  The glue tasted very nasty and was probably toxic. I hoped I wasn’t going to keel over and die from envelope-glue poisoning like George Costanza’s fiancée did in “Seinfeld.”  When I was finished, I shoved the envelopes though the slot at the post office with heartfelt relief.  Phew, that was over with.  Now I just had to wait.

The next day -- surprise, surprise -- the mailman delivered a money order for $300.00.  Diane actually phoned me that night to check that I received it.

The mail also included a note from my realtor, Wally. Fifty-one Manson Street was now listed for sale at $45,000.00.  Big whoop.

Wim went over to Schemmerhorn on May 1st to collect the additional $400.00 Diane had promised.  Upon his arrival, he was treated to an earful from Giselle because one of the beams that supported the porch had a crack in it.  According to her, it was shameful that it was cracking already, since Wim had only recently replaced it.  In Giselle’s expert opinion, he must have used inferior materials and done a shitty job as usual.

He came home, quite shaken from the barrage of verbal abuse Giselle had subjected him to. She must have hopped straight on the phone to me after he left because she was still complaining in my ear when Wim returned home twenty minutes later.

"Phew!" I sighed, as I eventually hung up the phone.  "What's the story, Wim?  Giselle's been bending my ear about the porch and going on and on about the shitty work you do.  She said you refused to listen to her and just stood there, shaking your head."

Wim exploded in a rare display of fury.  "Agh, that woman just has to have something to complain about!  Yah, the beam is a little cracked, but I told her it's normal.  It's just surface-cracking.  That porch is solid.  I laid cement under it and it's not going anywhere.  I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't listen, yelling and screaming and cursing at me like some mad woman! I told her I wasn't going to listen anymore, and just got in my car and drove away."

Fortunately, despite the earful, Wim had remembered to collect the $400.00 money order from Diane.  Her #debt to me now stood at $1,250.00.  

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: Debts and Debtors or "Just Pay the Frickin' Rent Already!"

It seemed like I was never going to hear from Charmayne regarding my judgment against her.  I sent the Sheriff the Transcript of Judgment form I’d obtained from the County Clerk, along with an  Income Execution for garnishing Charmayne's wages, and a check for the Sheriff’s fee of $22.75. 

About a month later, I was reading a notice from Greatest Pest Control about a $1.07 increase in their monthly maintenance fee, when Giselle called to report that the walls in the second bedroom were now beginning to crack.  An overworked Wim added it to his list.

By this time, my house had been on the market eight months, and I’d only received one measly inquiry which never amounted to anything. 

Giselle managed to find a job, and shortly afterwards Social Services sent me a notice that they were terminating her #rental assistance. 

“Great,” I muttered, remembering what had happened when they'd terminated Charmayne’s assistance: goodbye #security #deposit!  Giselle took over paying her own #rent, and although the money orders always arrived late, at least they arrived!

It had been a while since I’d sent Charmayne’s Income Execution to the Sheriff, so I gave him a call.  The Sheriff's office informed me that they’d been unable to serve it because Charmayne was on disability. 

When had they been planning on telling me that?

If I were to ever get anywhere with Charmayne, it seemed I needed to take a circuitous route. Working in a lawyer's office helped me figure it out.  The plan was to serve Charmayne with an Information Subpoena.  She would almost certainly ignore it as she had ignored everything else.  I would then serve a Summons upon her to appear in Court to explain her default.  If she failed to show up in Court, I could get a warrant issued for her arrest. 

These measures might sound rather severe and over the top, but I’d got the hell in and was determined to make her pay.  The Information Subpoena demanded Charmayne's current address and bank account information. It also asked about pending lawsuits and identification of attorneys.  I mailed the subpoena to the Sheriff and settled down to wait.  I knew it could take a while.

Finally, on November 15th, the Sheriff's Department very enterprisingly discovered that Charmayne had moved to a new address.  They served the Information Subpoena upon her and notified me of the address. A month went by with no response from Charmayne.  Being otherwise occupied with preparations for Christmas and visiting relatives, I didn’t have time to follow up on it just then.

Another dismal report arrived from Wally the #realtor.  The market was about the same.  In fact, #properties seemed to be selling for a little less.        

He called me at the end of November. “It’s bin three months.  You wanna renew?”

‘Will it cost me another hundred and fifty?” I asked.

“Nope.  From now on, renewals are free.  You wanna drop another five thousand to forty-nine-nine?”

“Sure, whatever.  Go ahead.”

                                                              * * * * * * *

            It had been a while and I'd seen neither hide nor hair of Diane. However, in October, November, and December, the Department of Social Services had been sending me notices that they were either terminating or reducing her rental payments.  These had been quickly followed by more notices stating that she had been reinstated.  Clearly, something was going on with Diane’s case but at least #D.S.S. was still sending me the full rent.

In January, however, Social Services paid only $300.00 of Diane’s rent. I had the feeling this did not bode well for the future.  Indeed, I soon received another notice advising me that, as of February first, D.S.S. would be closing Diane's case, once and for all.  

Goodbye security deposit. Yet again. 

Without much hope,  I wrote Diane a letter, asking her to pay the balance of January's rent.

February was fast approaching, and Diane still hadn’t responded to my letter. I sent her a second letter requesting the rent and asking her to get in touch with me.  On February 9th, I sent a third letter, advising her that if she didn’t pay up by February 16th, I would have to serve eviction papers on her.  I sent Giselle a copy of the letter in the hope that she might have some influence over her errant cousin.  Maybe it worked because Diane called soon afterwards. She told me her sister had just died and that she would try to pay me the balance of her rent as soon as she could.  

Funny ... Giselle never mentioned anything about a cousin dying.

Meanwhile, I had to do something about Charmayne.  I asked one of the lawyers at work for advice.  

"I believe my #tenant has a personal injury lawsuit on the go," I told him.  "Is there some way I can put a #lien on any #settlement she might receive?"

Friendly Lawyer scratched his chin, thoughtfully.  "Hm, let me think.  Yes, I think you can serve her lawyer with a Restraining Notice to Garnishee.  Then, if she receives a settlement check, your judgment and his fees will come out of that first before she gets any money."

"Okay," I nodded.  "I've got some of those forms."

"First, you need to look in the file at the court house to see what papers have been filed," Friendly Lawyer reminded me.

"Will do.  Thanks." 

That evening, I drafted a letter to the Schemmerhorn County Clerk, asking if there was any action on file brought by Charmayne Brown.  A few days later, the answer came back.  Yes, there was an action pending but the Clerk’s Office required $5.00 to make copies for me.  I duly sent the money and received a copy of the Summons and Complaint.  Charmayne and another girl were suing the driver and the manufacturer of the car for personal injury damages caused by the motor vehicle accident.  

Great.  Now I had something to go on.   

I called the attorney listed for the plaintiff, Charmayne Brown.  A woman answered the phone. 

"Can I speak to Mr. Pecker?"

"He's not in at the moment.  Can I help you with something?"

"I'm calling about Brown vs. Monster Bins Motors." 

"Where are you calling from?" 

I gave her the name of my employer, thinking it might get me a bit further. You know. Like in a legal-secretary-buddy-network-we're-all-in-this-funny-law-business-together kind of thing.  I did add, however, that this matter was personal. 

"Can you tell me the name of the attorney for the defendant?" I asked.

Sounding somewhat suspicious, the woman gave me the name of some outfit located south of St. Albans.

"And the co-defendants?" I asked.

"Why, you are," the woman answered, sounding surprised that I didn’t know this. 

"Oh … um … okay.  Well, this is a very large firm. It's probably in another department."  I thanked her quickly and hung up.

"Gawd," as Diane would say.  Now what should I do?  I had a feeling that my firm wouldn’t be able to help me now – conflict of interest, and all that.  When I told Friendly Lawyer what I’d learned, he was surprised too.  Ours was a very large firm, though, employing more than twenty attorneys.

"Sorry I can't help you," he said, ruefully.  "You'll have to handle it on your own."

"I hate to serve my own employer with a restraining notice," I said. "They might fire me. Maybe I could just go after the defendant and leave the co-defendants alone?” 

"I think you can go ahead,” said Friendly Lawyer. “Don’t worry about being fired. You can't help it that you work here.  It ‘s just a conflict of interest if I help you. You're not allowed to peek in the file, of course."

"Of course."

"If the action just started,” he continued, “there'll be depositions and discovery going on. You know how long those can take.  I’d say you've got some time."

* * * * * * *

Around the middle of February, Wally called and told me that another realtor had a client who was expressing interest in the house. “I’ll call you when I have more info,” he said.

The next day he called back.  “Sorry, they decided the house was too small.  The client has three grandchildren and a sister living with her.”

I sighed. “I’m beginning to think I’m never going to sell this damn place.”

“You might want to consider . . .” Wally began.

“I know, I know … dropping it another five thousand.  If nothing happens by the end of March, why don’t we make it forty-five?  Sounds like a nice round figure.”

                                                             * * * * * * * *

I still had not heard from Diane, and since she still didn’t have a phone, I called Giselle.  She told me that Diane had found a job at the same place where she herself was working.  She also told me Social Services shouldn't have cut her off from rental assistance, since she had four children to support. Giselle had only two.  She promised to tell Diane to phone me as soon as possible. 

“Of course she didn't,” I reported to Allen, later that Friday evening, “but after I served her with a three-day eviction notice, she did send me a money order for three hundred dollars and promised to pay more soon.”

We were on our way to the skating rink where Allen played ice hockey with a team from the local university’s Biology Department.  This left me several hours in which to amuse myself before going to the rink to watch him play the last half-hour or so.  Usually, I went to see a movie that Allen didn’t care to see — horror or suspense – at the old, run-down theater complex where Allen and I had seen Wayne’s World on our first date. The air conditioning sometimes didn’t work, and you never knew which seats were going to be covered with plastic because the roof had leaked. All the movies had been playing on the circuit for a while before ending up at the old complex, and the film was sometimes rather scratched as a result. But, they only cost $2.99, which suited my stingy pocket just fine.  Afterwards, I’d go to my nearby gym, or go to the gym first and then see the movie if the timing worked out that way.

That Friday I saw the 6:35 p.m. showing of Deep Impact and thoroughly enjoyed it.  Another movie I wanted to see was starting soon after Deep Impact ended, and I was tempted to make it a double-feature and forget about working out. I dutifully got into my car and pointed it in the direction of the gym. Once I got there, I’d feel virtuous at having resisted temptation.  When I realized my gym shorts weren’t in my bag, it didn’t take me long to decide that this must be an omen.  Obviously I was meant to return to the theater. With good intentions of making it to the gym the next day, I watched Disturbing Behavior about a wicked psychiatrist implanting things in rebellious teenagers’ brains to make them “good.”

Afterwards, I went to the ice rink to watch the last of the hockey game.  I should really go at the beginning if I wanted to catch Allen making enthusiastic saves and goals.  By the last half-hour, he was usually so tired, he could hardly drag himself around the ice. 

Seated on the top row of the uncomfortable metal bleachers beneath a feeble heat lamp, I couldn’t help wondering at how much the team had improved.  Of course, there were the young guys who’d played hockey in school and were good and fast, but the rest of the players were a mix of students and professors, most of whom had never played hockey before until forming the Lab Rats league. 

Indeed, when they first started playing a year-and-a-half ago, they were pretty awful.  Half of them couldn’t skate forwards very well, so skating backwards was out of the question.  Instead, some of them would skate forwards while looking over their shoulder at the approaching puck, then swipe vigorously at it as it slid past them. Half the time the puck would sail on by, untouched, and the skater would land on his or her butt on the ice.  Being a college-hockey fan, and thus used to a higher level of play, I found it very funny watching this lot and was reduced to giggles a lot of the time.  I guess they would have laughed too if they’d had occasion to observe my geriatric ballet classes.

                                                                * * * * * *

March arrived but Diane’s rent did not.  As the middle of the month approached, I sent her a letter requesting the rent for March and reminding her of her promise to pay more for January and February.  

She didn’t respond.  

At the end of March, I asked Friendly Lawyer to sign an official-looking letter on the firm's letterhead, demanding rent pursuant to Real Property Action and Proceeding Law, Section 711(2).  Then I served another three-day #eviction notice on her via process server. 

When I spoke to Giselle about it, she claimed that Diane could definitely afford the rent because she was now receiving monthly disability checks for one of her children.

            I’d had enough.  Just pay the frickin’ rent already!