Some tenancy disputes test your patience.
Others test your faith in humanity.

This one did both — and then some.

It began simply enough.

My commercial tenant, Honest Tom, a hardworking man who just wanted to get on with life and avoid unnecessary drama, sublet part of his rented property (with our blessing) — the office space, which was semi-liveable.  It had a kitchen area and toilet.  We later added a bathroom for his tenant.

Enter Tallulah Twaddle: all smiles, stories, and the kind of creative imagination that should have earned her a spot writing fiction, not tenancy agreements. Oh that’s right, there was no written agreement, there wasn’t even a legible rent book.

Unfortunately, when Honest Tom reduced the size of the commercial area he was renting off us, we unintentionally inherited the squatting, non-rent-paying, abusive and entitled Tallulah Twaddle and it was up to us to get rid of her. Had she agreed to sign an agreement and pay the rent she could have stayed.

So, Off we headed to Tenancy Tribunal, thinking “She’s not our tenant. Tom gave her notice when he was leaving. She’s not paying rent. I have all the supporting evidence in writing. Should be a walk in the Park.” WRONG.

Thus began a four-year saga that could have been avoided with a little honesty, a little integrity — and perhaps several adjudicator’s ability to see through her well-rehearsed performance.

Here is one little gem worth the share and a chuckle …

Shortly after moving in, Tallulah sent Honest Tom a now-infamous text:
"Hi Tom, I'm off to WINZ today. In case they phone you before I speak to you, I’m telling them the rent is $380 for a 3-bedroom house."

 Reality check:
There was no house. Technically, there were two bedrooms. She was paying $250.00 per week. 
There was, however, a substantial misrepresentation designed to deceive a government agency.

When this little gem surfaced at the Tribunal hearing, Tallulah didn’t deny it.
She simply shrugged and said:   "I know, but I'm dealing with that and WINZ at the moment."
As if fraud were a minor speed bump on the way to a payout.

The adjudicator, who by this point looked ready to take up meditation or whisky-tasting full-time, asked the obvious:   “That being said. How can I believe anything else you say in your statement?”

Tallulah, without missing a beat, assured him:   "Oh, but everything else is true!"

Four hours later,  after more circular arguments than a roundabout convention,  the adjudicator said the case was to be ruled in my favour.

Tallulah cried out:  "But the other adjudicator said I would get my money!"
(For the record: NOT. He said she could try arguing the case.)

So our current adjudicator said the matter should technically have been heard by the original adjudicator, and therefore the entire 4-hour hearing was struck from the record, and we were to go back to the original adjudicator to cover the same ground in another couple of months.

If there’s a moral to this story, it’s this:
In the world of tenancy disputes, the truth is often stranger than fiction.

And trust, once misplaced, can cost you more than just time — it can cost you years of your life you’ll never get back.