DJ Roberson v. Alexis Smith

Let’s get one thing straight: we are not in Kansas anymore. We’re in Bartlesville, Oklahoma, where a landlord is going full courtroom mode over $1,100 in rent — roughly the cost of a used washing machine or three months of a luxury gym membership. That’s right: a judge, a notary, a certified mail receipt, and an entire legal summons have been summoned… for the price of a decent laptop. DJ Roberson wants Alexis Smith out, and he wants the court to help him do it. Welcome to Crazy Civil Court, where the stakes are low, the drama is high, and someone definitely forgot to pay the rent.

So who are these people? On one side, we’ve got DJ Roberson — name sounds like a late-night radio host, but in this reality, he’s a property owner in Washington County with at least one rental unit at 215 W. 8th Street. He’s not incorporated, not backed by a real estate empire, just a regular guy trying to collect on a lease like he’s running a mom-and-pop bodega, not Blackstone. On the other side is Alexis Smith, the tenant, whose full story remains shrouded in mystery — because, let’s be honest, we only ever hear one side in these filings. But we can assume a few things: Alexis once handed over a security deposit (probably), signed a lease (likely), and at some point stopped paying rent. Was it a job loss? A misunderstanding? A dramatic falling out over a shared Wi-Fi password? We don’t know. But we do know that things escalated faster than a TikTok feud when DJ decided to go full legal route — not with a text, not with a sternly worded email, but with a sworn statement, a court summons, and a certified mail receipt like he’s serving divorce papers.

Here’s how it all went down, according to the landlord’s version of events — because, again, this is his filing, and Alexis hasn’t had her day in court yet. Sometime before March 2026, DJ sent Alexis a notice saying: “Hey, you owe $1,100 in back rent and $150 in fees — pay up or get out.” Now, how he delivered that notice is actually kind of wild: he posted it — meaning, he probably taped it to the door like a haunted house warning — and then followed up with certified mail. That’s the legal equivalent of saying, “I’m not just telling you, I’m making sure the U.S. Postal Service bears witness.” And just to dot the i’s, he swore under oath before a notary named Albert R. Beresford — yes, Albert R. Beresford — that all of this was true. The date? March 17, 2026. A Friday. Possibly St. Patrick’s Day. Maybe someone was distracted by green beer. We’ll never know.

The lease violation? Simple: failure to pay rent. No accusations of wild parties, no drug raids, no pit bulls in the living room — just unpaid rent. The kind of thing that, in a perfect world, gets settled over coffee or a Venmo request. But no. This is America, and if you’re owed money — even if it’s less than a month’s rent in most major cities — you can drag someone to court and make them stand before a judge like they’ve committed a felony. The hearing is set for April 7, 2026, at 10:30 a.m. in Courtroom 2A, which sounds like a high school detention room but is, in fact, where real lives get disrupted over real small sums of money.

Now, let’s talk about what DJ actually wants. He’s not just asking for the $1,100 — that’s the rent. He’s also tacking on $150 in “unpaid fees,” which could mean late charges, administrative nonsense, or maybe the cost of printing and mailing that very notice. And there’s a blank space for “damages” — which is hilarious, because it’s literally left blank. Did Alexis leave a scratch on the wall? A single dirty dish in the sink? Or is DJ just leaving the door open in case he discovers a crater in the backyard during discovery? We don’t know. But here’s the kicker: the filing doesn’t specify how much he’s demanding in total. The relief sought section is empty. No dollar amount. No punitive damages. No demand for emotional distress compensation for having to deal with a non-paying tenant. It’s like he showed up to a gunfight with a water pistol and forgot to fill it.

And yet — this is still a full-blown eviction lawsuit. That means if Alexis doesn’t show up, the judge can issue a default judgment, order her evicted, and possibly award DJ whatever he’s asking for. But here’s the thing: $1,250 (the total of rent and fees) is not nothing — but it’s also not a fortune. For context, a single day of a commercial eviction attorney’s time could cost more than that. The court filing fee alone is probably $85. So we’re potentially spending thousands in judicial resources — judge’s time, clerk’s time, process servers, notaries named Albert — to resolve a dispute that could’ve been settled with a payment plan, a negotiation, or literally any human interaction that didn’t involve the Oklahoma state court system.

But that’s not how the game is played. In the world of small claims and eviction filings, it’s not about the money — it’s about the principle. Or the power. Or the sheer satisfaction of saying, “I had you served.” Because once that summons drops, it’s on. Alexis now has to take time off work, find childcare, dress presentably, and show up in a courtroom to defend herself against a man who may or may not have a valid lease, may or may not have properly maintained the property, and may or may not have raised the rent illegally. But we don’t get her side here. Not yet. And that’s what makes this whole thing feel a little… unbalanced. It’s his story, stamped and sealed, while hers is still unwritten.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t the amount. It’s the ritual. The fact that in 2026, in a country with a housing crisis, we still handle tenant disputes like medieval trials by combat — you show up, or you lose. The fact that a grown adult has to stand in Courtroom 2A at 10:30 a.m. on a Monday morning because of $1,250. The fact that a notary named Albert R. Beresford had to witness a landlord’s indignation over late fees. And the fact that somewhere, someone thought this was worth the paper it was printed on.

Do we think DJ deserves to be paid? Maybe. If Alexis agreed to pay rent and didn’t, that’s on her. But do we think this had to go to court? Absolutely not. This is the kind of thing that should’ve been settled with a conversation, a mediation, or at worst, a small claims filing without the full eviction machinery grinding into motion. But here we are. And honestly? We’re rooting for the underdog — not because we know Alexis is innocent, but because we’ve all been that person who forgot a bill, got hit with a late fee, and then got treated like a criminal for it. So if she shows up, speaks her truth, and walks out with a payment plan instead of a court order, we’ll consider it a win for humanity.

Until then, the case of DJ Roberson vs. Alexis Smith remains open — a tiny drama in a tiny courtroom, with a very big reminder: always pay your rent. Or at least, always check your mail.