Cypress Point Apartments v. Dennis Washington

Let’s cut right to the chase: someone is about to get kicked out of their apartment over $1,049.95. That’s not a typo. We’re talking one thousand forty-nine dollars and 95 cents — less than the cost of a decent laptop, barely more than a monthly car payment — and it’s sparked a full-blown legal eviction battle in Pottawatomie County, Oklahoma. This isn’t Breaking Bad; it’s Breaking Lease. And the main character? Dennis Washington, a man who apparently looked at his rent bill, said “no thanks,” and now finds himself in court facing the wrath of Cypress Point Apartments, a complex that seems to run its leasing agreements like a medieval fiefdom with a notary public.

So who are these people? On one side, we’ve got Cypress Point Apartments — a garden-style complex in Shawnee, Oklahoma, where the units apparently come with a side of legal drama. They own the property at 1801 E. Remington, Unit C-2, and for reasons unknown, they’ve decided to go full courtroom gladiator over a little over a grand. They’re not represented by an attorney — at least not in the filing — which means someone in the office, probably while sipping a lukewarm cup of breakroom coffee, drafted this eviction affidavit like they’ve been waiting for this moment. On the other side: Dennis Washington, a tenant with a mailing address that just so happens to be the very unit he’s being evicted from. He’s not lawyered up either, which suggests this is either a “principle of the thing” standoff or a guy who just really doesn’t want to pay his rent. Their relationship? Classic landlord-tenant, which in America often means a slow-burn feud disguised as a business transaction. You know the drill: they were strangers bound by a lease, and now they’re enemies bound by paperwork.

Now, let’s talk about what actually went down. According to the court filing — which is basically the landlord’s sworn testimony — Dennis Washington lives (or lived, depending on when you’re reading this) in Unit C-2. He owes $1,049.95 in unpaid rent. That number is oddly specific — not $1,050, not $1,000 even — which makes you wonder: was there a late fee? A pet deposit gone rogue? A charge for “emotional distress caused by non-payment”? The filing doesn’t say, but that decimal .95 is the kind of detail that makes you suspect someone in the office really, really wanted to be precise while also refusing to round up. In addition to the rent, Cypress Point claims $10 “to be determined” for damages to the premises. Ten. Dollars. Not $100. Not $50. Ten. As in, the price of a large pepperoni pizza or two movie tickets on discount Tuesday. And yet, here we are, with a summons, a court date, and a deputy notary public signing off like this is a matter of national security.

The landlord says they demanded payment. Dennis said, in effect, “nope.” No partial payment. No negotiation. No “I’ll pay you next week.” Just radio silence, or at least the legal equivalent of it. And because he didn’t pay and didn’t leave, Cypress Point did what any self-respecting Oklahoma apartment complex would do: they filed a Forcible Entry and Detainer action. That’s legalese for “get out, or we’re calling the sheriff.” It’s the legal version of putting your foot down, but with more paperwork and less yelling (probably).

Now, why are they in court? Let’s break it down without the legal jargon. In Oklahoma, when a tenant doesn’t pay rent and won’t vacate, the landlord can’t just change the locks or toss their stuff on the lawn — no matter how tempting. Instead, they have to go to court and ask a judge to say, “Yes, you’re allowed to kick this person out.” That’s what a Forcible Entry and Detainer is: not a criminal charge, not a fight over who owns the land, but a quick civil process to decide who gets to possess it. It’s fast, it’s common, and it’s designed for situations exactly like this — where someone owes money for a place they’re living and refuses to budge. Cypress Point isn’t suing Dennis for breach of contract or fraud or anything fancy. They’re saying: “He didn’t pay. He won’t leave. Make him go.” That’s the whole ballgame.

And what do they want? Well, first, they want possession of the unit — meaning Dennis has to pack up his stuff and go find a new place to live. Second, they want the $1,049.95 in unpaid rent. Third, they want $10 — yes, ten dollars — for damages, though the filing says “to be determined,” which is odd. Is it $10 or not? Are they still assessing the damage? Did someone step on a floor tile too hard? Was the crime scene a slightly scuffed baseboard? And finally, they’re asking for “costs of the action,” which could include filing fees, service fees, and potentially attorney’s fees — though since neither side has a lawyer listed, we’re probably not talking about a six-figure legal bill here. Still, when you add it all up, the total demand is $1,059.95. For context, that’s about two months’ rent at a cheap studio in Shawnee. It’s not nothing, but it’s not life-ruining money either. And yet, someone is willing to go to court — twice, actually, once to file and once to appear — over it.

Now, here’s our take: the most absurd part of this whole saga isn’t the amount. It’s the precision. $1,049.95. Not $1,050. Not even $1,049.99, which would at least feel like a retail trick. No, this is the number of someone who ran the math in Excel and refused to fudge a penny. And then there’s the $10 for damages. Ten. Dollars. Not “we’ll assess the damage later,” not “cost of repairs to be determined,” but $10. Was the crime a bent curtain rod? A missing light switch plate? Did Dennis Washington leave a single sock under the bed and now owe a dime for the emotional toll? And why go to court over this? Why not work it out? Why not send a stern email? Why not offer a payment plan? Why not just say, “Hey man, pay up or get out,” without involving the county clerk?

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe Cypress Point Apartments has a policy: no exceptions, no negotiations, no mercy. Or maybe Dennis Washington has a principle: I will not be bullied by corporate housing. Or maybe he just forgot to pay. Maybe he lost his job. Maybe he’s disputing the charges. The filing doesn’t say. We don’t know his side. But what we do know is that two adults — or at least one adult and a property management office — are about to stand in a courtroom over the price of a decent used smartphone. And if Dennis loses, he doesn’t just owe the money — he gets evicted. That blemish on his record could make it harder to rent anywhere else. So really, this isn’t about $1,059.95. It’s about pride, or principle, or paperwork gone wild.

We’re rooting for the $10 mystery damage to be something ridiculous. Like a missing “Welcome” mat. Or a slightly dented trash can. Or the emotional distress of finding a half-empty shampoo bottle in the shower. Because if this case teaches us anything, it’s that in the world of civil court, the stakes are low, the drama is high, and someone, somewhere, is taking ten dollars very seriously.