“NOTICE OF RENT DUE TO TENANT”
To: AMANDA LANE
PLEASE BE ADVISED that you owe the Owner/Landlord of the aforementioned property a total of $11,424.00 for rent and additional charges for the period from November 2013 to July 2015. This amount must be paid within FIVE (5) days from the date of this notice, or you must vacate the premises. Failure to comply will result in the Owner/Landlord initiating legal proceedings to reclaim possession of the property.
As I read the notice, my bank account flashed before my eyes, quickly replaced by no-fee apartment listings on Craigslist. Not only did I lack the funds to cover such a debt, but I also didn’t owe anything at all. The menacingly capitalized FIVE DAYS felt anything but sympathetic to my plight. I was frustrated by this letter from the past, revealing nothing more than a fabrication laced with threats.
Since moving in eleven years ago, I have adhered to the egg-and-spoon method of paying my rent. Every month on the fifteenth, I write a check, walk from my fourth-floor apartment to the second floor, and slip it beneath the door of the building manager (the landlord’s niece). She then delivers it to her uncle in the garden apartment. It’s a slow and cumbersome process, but for some reason, the Websters (not their real names) prefer it this way.
For over a decade, this method has worked seamlessly with no missed payments. Therefore, I was perplexed when faced with this alarming notice.
Clutching the letter, I stepped outside and entered the first stage of confusion—a shaky state of helplessness. I spotted my landlord, Mr. Webster, opening the gate to his basement apartment, presumably returning from dropping this notice directly onto the hallway floor. I dreaded the confrontation that loomed ahead.
“Mr. Webster!” I called, waving the letter. “What’s going on?”
“You owe me money!” he shouted, his voice rising. “You never pay your rent! I know how many people are living upstairs! Hundreds!” Spit sprayed from his mouth, hitting his face as he raged.
This outburst was so uncharacteristic of him that I didn’t know how to react. So, I did what anyone would do in shock: I yelled back. We stood there, shouting at each other for what felt like an eternity, before I stormed back inside, raced up to my apartment, and broke down in tears. I called my mom, who was of little help.
“Do you owe him money?”
“NO!”
“Then you have nothing to worry about!”
But I did have something to worry about. I had five days to pay a staggering amount I didn’t owe, and didn’t have, or risk losing my apartment and everything in it. I was too frightened to leave, even to walk my dog, fearing I’d return to find myself apprehended. I tried calling the lawyer listed in the notice to dispute the claims.
“You mean you don’t owe any money?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re all paid up?”
“Absolutely.”
He then expressed concern for my landlord’s mental state, which I thought would end the matter. But how many days until I’d be homeless?
Two days later, another notice arrived, this time in a certified envelope. I called the lawyer again, but he wouldn’t take my call. The next day brought another letter, and once more, my calls were ignored. Soon, I received a certified letter from a different attorney, stating my supposed debt had increased by $8,000. Now, I supposedly owed $19,992, and if I didn’t pay within five days, I’d be evicted. How many more “five days” could they issue?
I called 311, who directed me to the South Brooklyn Legal Hotline, only available for a two-hour window, resulting in a constant busy signal if you dial during that time. Several lawyers informed me that I couldn’t take action until I received an eviction notice or was sued—which, I was told, I wanted to avoid, as even if I was in the right, going to housing court would make it impossible to find a rental in NYC again. It didn’t matter that I was a fifth-generation New Yorker. My five-day window was closing, and I feared I’d have to move into my mother’s one-bedroom apartment and share a couch with my five-year-old brother and a dog named Maxi—a name chosen for reasons I hoped were unintentional.
To my knowledge, creating a false claim of debt and coercing someone into payment is known as extortion. What kind of lawyer would write such letters without verification? What were my rights? I began researching the legality of my predicament, and when I found limited information, I looked for stories of others who received similar letters. Were they all well-informed about Five Day Rent Demand Letters? Where were my fellow confused souls? Where were my fellow worrywarts and disgruntled tenants?
Then I recalled a project by conceptual artist Matthew Bakkom, “New York City Museum of Complaint,” which collected letters to the Mayors from 1751 to 1969. Inspired, I decided to dig into past complaints from tenants in my building, perhaps even in my apartment. If I could find enough evidence of neglect and disrepair, I’d have leverage against Mr. Webster.
For three years, I’d struggled with heating issues (or lack thereof) in my apartment, but every time I reported it, my landlord dismissed my concerns, claiming, “The heat works just fine in my apartment.” If I had endured this for three years, surely other tenants had too. I wanted to uncover a history of grievances that would make it difficult for him to deny me justice in court.
Upon arriving at the Municipal Archives, I was overwhelmed by the volume of complaints I needed to sift through. I hopped onto the Microfiche Reader, aware that finding complaints from my building would be unlikely. However, I stumbled upon a letter from my former East Village apartment dated August 2, 1888. It was from Andrew Gross, who complained about undertakers dumping ice contaminated by deceased bodies into the streets.
“I would retain this for further investigation. Though I doubt it’s a widespread occurrence, I will ensure proper action is taken if it occurs,” wrote James C. Bayles, President of Health and Sanitation.
Other letters detailed concerns about the foul odor of dead horses, honking, political corruption, and loneliness. In essence, not much has changed since then, including the convoluted message relay system: from the mail carrier to the inspector, to the mayor, and back again.
I realized I had spent too long in the archives and had wasted one of my precious five days.
An Unexpected Turn of Events
Fearing I had lost my apartment, I hurried home, feeling the urgency of time slipping away. As I neared my block, my mail carrier stopped me, adding to my anxiety.
“You’ve got another certified letter,” she said.
“Really?” I replied, trying to remain calm.
“I know what’s happening,” she continued. “There’s a real estate lady from the UK telling landlords how much they can charge for their apartments. Now, everyone’s trying to evict their tenants.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Don’t complain about anything, don’t give him a reason to get rid of you.”
“But I complained all winter about the heat!”
“Oh, that’s not his daughter. He doesn’t have any kids.”
I knew that wasn’t correct. “She’s always called him ‘father’ since I moved in,” I protested.
In summary, the author recounts a harrowing experience with a landlord threatening eviction over a fabricated rent debt. Despite following the proper protocol for rent payment for over a decade, she faces escalating legal threats. In a quest for justice, she explores historical tenant complaints, hoping to find evidence to counter the landlord’s claims, while simultaneously navigating the complexities of a confusing legal landscape regarding tenant rights.
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