I Wish I'd Never Gone on "The People's Court"

From Good Housekeeping

When I got a letter in the mail from The People's Court, I thought it was a joke. I didn't know the show was still on - or who even watches it. And how did they get my address in the first place?

But then I received a call from a producer, who briefed me on the details: As the "complainant," I could appear on the show to "try" the case I'd filed against a former roommate. If he agreed to show up, we could have a court date as soon as the next day.

My other option was to wait until my actual court date, tentatively slated for April 2016 - nine months after I'd first filed the suit. It had been so long since I paid my $15 filing fee at the courthouse that I'd almost forgotten about it. Apparently, the show's staff closely monitors cases and contacts impatient people like me who are trying to sue.

The producer explained that the show operates off of a $500 pot, with the winner getting the amount requested plus a bonus, and the loser getting the remainder of the pot. In my case, I was suing for $250, the cost of a few unpaid bills. If I won, I'd get $375, and he would get $125. If the awardee gets more than $500, the person who loses walks away with $50. After the show, the legal matter would be considered resolved. We both would lose the right to try the case in Brooklyn court.

The Case Against Him

I have to admit, I got excited. The producer said I had a great chance of winning, and we would both come away with money. Plus, it would make for a great story to tell my friends! I had so many questions: Did the judge really pound the gavel really hard every time, or did they use old footage? Who did they hire to play the bailiff? Would they even air a case for $250? I didn't think much about what would happen if I lost.

I had a pretty solid case. A few years ago, I moved into a four-bedroom apartment with three roommates - one longtime friend, a college acquaintance, and another person we found online. We agreed to split the cost of our $3,200 rent evenly. I work as a graphic designer, so I thought it would be great to live in a bustling Brooklyn neighborhood with a lot of artists and fun people.

During the first few months everything went smoothly, until my friend needed to move out and we had to start looking for a new roommate on Craigslist. In New York, that can mean a parade of random, often crazy, people. One guy we brought in was on a major bender. We had to hunt for his family on social media and contact them because he started stealing our things. He only lasted four days!

But the worst was Palermo.

A 25-year-old freelancer, he moved in in March 2015. The problems started almost immediately. He drank and constantly left weed and ashes all over my white kitchen table. At a Memorial Day barbecue, he drunkenly hit on my friends – then told my parents that there was a naked woman in his bedroom that he "couldn't wait to bang."

By then, it was me and three male roommates, and the environment in our house was crazy - and expensive. They often brought over women to stay the night. Each guy had a 32-inch TV in his bedroom, along with the 36-inch one in the living room. They played video games at least 12 hours a day. But when the bill came, they would complain that it was too high, especially Palermo.

The final straw came when I found 10 of my expensive drinking glasses in our yard full of rainwater, berries, and dirt from being left outside for weeks. I gave Palermo 45 days to leave. From then on, he stopped paying his part of the gas, electricity, and cleaning bill. I had to use his deposit for his last month of rent in July. Even after he moved out, he said the only way he would pay me the utilities is if a court made him do it. So I sued him for $250, the amount he owed.

The producers loved the details of the case and thought I would come out strong, so I started practicing, waiting to see if they would hear back from Palermo. A few months passed, and he agreed to appear on a day in January. Then I got a call. Palermo would be countersuing me for $3,300. I had charged him $900 a month in rent, but he argued that he deserved more due to "poor conditions." The producer agreed with me and said, "You will probably win this case. Don't worry about the amount he's suing for."

I felt confident. I was ready to take him on.

My Day in Court

On court day, I wore a blue and black blouse with a black blazer. (Patterns aren't good on TV.) They sent a car and a paper with the synopsis. You're supposed to read key lines from it when you introduce yourself. Waiting backstage to get my makeup done, the other contestants looked like they were about to walk out on Jerry Springer. I tried not to to be nervous.

The courtroom is a set with cameras, and it looked a lot smaller in person. The audience looked like a bunch of giggling teenagers. There were bright lights and two podiums. Then someone coolly announced that you're being sued in real time!

I took the stand and told Judge Marilyn Milian (who is technically just an arbitrator, despite having been a judge in Miami) exactly what had happened. In the beginning, she seemed like a real judge. She asked to see the utility bill. I overhead someone in production say she needed more paper, so after ruffling through the papers she asked again, this time saying she wanted to see the "actual bill." I gave her another copy. Soon she had the original bill and the proof of payment in her hand and a few other papers she crumpled together.

"Show me the actual bill!" she yelled. I didn't understand what she meant, so I pulled up an online statement on my phone, and showed it to her. She acted like she discovered something.

"You've been telling him one amount, and taking another!" she said.

"We split the bill," I explained.

She pretended she didn't hear me as she shuffled the papers. Again, she gathered the papers and asked me to see the bill. After another round of shuffling, she screamed that I was "wasting her time."

Then, Palermo made his argument. He said that because I had used Airbnb to rent out my room, he shouldn't have to pay the same amount. I showed her a contract that we had signed showing that we had all agreed to split our living costs, the rent, and cleaning fees - and that Airbnb was okay. "How much of this split did you agree was for his rent?" she asked. It was around $900.

"That's not on here," she said, "You're smart to have this, but you didn't write an amount!" The amount was written there, clearly. I told her that.

"Do not interrupt me," she said. "Talking over me won't help you win."

I fell silent while he told her I had brought in guests from Airbnb without asking, and that he had to tolerate the guests and pay for cleaning up after them even though he didn't agree to them being there.

She asked him for evidence of his claims. He had none. Then she told me, "You made him tiptoe around your Airbnb guests."

It was so unfair. I thought, What about me paying all the bills upfront and waiting for up to 30 days for you to even pay me back? What about your revolving door of Tinder matches? What about that text you sent saying you would do anything you could to get me evicted? But every time I tried to give my side of the story she would interrupt, to show that I was "stuttering."

Then it was over. Because I had "disturbed his living space," she said, pausing, shuffling the papers yet again, "he would be awarded $700." Palermo had not paid his utility bills and admitted to not paying his rent for the last month, either. But she decided that a deposit couldn't go to rent.

I would be the loser after all, making only $50 for my appearance on the show.

The Aftermath

I started working as a video editor recently, and as I wait for the show to air, I think about how they will edit everything, especially the shuffling of the papers. I knew she repeated things to make me look unprepared.

The final shock came when I went back to the stand to retrieve my phone, which I'd left by accident. As I grabbed it and my papers from her desk, I saw that they were all blank, and not what I had handed her. She set me up.

During the infamous exit interview, I couldn't help myself. I said, "The judge needs to learn to read a utility bill." I'm sure they're going to edit it and make me say "Airbnb is so great." Or something like that. The truth is, I do like Airbnb. I don't have roommates anymore, and I only rent the apartment's extra rooms to guests from the service now. But my ex-roommates and I had all agreed to use the service, and I know they're not going to show that.

Online, a lot of other people said they feel like they've been screwed on The People's Court. I only did it because I thought it was guaranteed money and a faster process, because the person who sues doesn't have to pay. Now, I wish I would have just tried my luck with a real judge.