The Bear Necessities of Contract Law

Goldilocks Lockwood v. Bear Family

Small Claims Court, Woodland District

Case No. 2024-SC-0847

Transcript of the Plaintiff's Opening Statement

THE COURT: Ms. Lockwood, you may proceed with your statement.

MS. LOCKWOOD: Thank you, Your Honor.

[Sound of papers shuffling]

My name is Goldilocks Lockwood. I am a licensed house-sitting professional, bonded and insured, operating in the Forest District for the past five years. I hold certification number 4721-GL from the Forest District Professional Standards Board, and I am a dues-paying member in good standing.

I am here today because the defendants—Mr. and Mrs. Bear, seated right over there with their son, who I notice is still wearing that sailor suit, has refused to pay me $450 for services I rendered in full between October 14th and 17th of this year. Services, I might add, that they specifically requested through the Acorn Exchange platform.

It has now been thirty-seven days since I completed this assignment. Thirty-seven days of emails. Thirty-seven days of "payment processing delays" and "we need to discuss some concerns" and, finally, a formal dispute claim that I can only describe as—

[Pause]

I will remain professional, Your Honor. I promised myself I would stay professional.

[Deep breath]

Let me start at the beginning.

On September 28th, I received a booking request through Acorn Exchange. The listing was titled—and I have a printout here, Exhibit A—"Responsible house-sitter needed for cozy forest cottage." The description said, and I quote: "We're looking for someone to watch our lovely home while we vacation at Grandmother's house in the Southern Woods. Must love nature. Full house privileges included."

Full house privileges, Your Honor. Those are their words. Not mine. Theirs.

Mrs. Bear—that's her, in the floral dress, the one who won't make eye contact with me—sent me a series of messages after I accepted the booking. I have these as well, Exhibit B. She wrote, "Make yourself completely at home! We want someone who will really live in the space, not just check in and leave."

She drew a little waving paw. By hand. She scanned it in.

Mr. Bear added—separately, in his own message—"Eat whatever's in the kitchen. We don't want anything going to waste while we're gone."

Your Honor, I want to be very clear about something. I am not a mind reader. I am not a fortune teller. When clients tell me, in writing, to eat their food and make myself at home, I believe them. That is how professional relationships work. That is how trust works.

Apparently, the Bear family operates under a different understanding of these concepts.

Now. They have filed three specific complaints to justify their non-payment. I would like to address each of them.

[Papers shuffling]

Complaint number one: "Unauthorized consumption of porridge."

Your Honor, when I arrived at the Bear residence on October 14th, at 9:00 AM—the exact time specified in our agreement—I found three bowls of porridge sitting on the kitchen table.

Three bowls. Still warm. Arranged in a neat little row.

I would like someone—anyone—to explain to me how this could be interpreted as anything other than breakfast left for the house-sitter. They knew when I was coming. The porridge was fresh. There were three bowls, which—

[Pause]

Actually, Your Honor, I'd like to address that point. There were three bowls, but the Bear family also has three members. All of whom were supposedly leaving for Grandmother's house that morning. So either they prepared an extra bowl specifically for me, which is what I assumed, or they somehow forgot to eat breakfast entirely, left three full bowls of porridge sitting on an unattended table, and expected them to just... what? Sit there for three days?

I don't know which interpretation reflects worse on them, honestly.

Regardless. As a licensed professional, I am trained to assess consumables for freshness and safety before use. I approached each bowl systematically. The first bowl—I have a photograph here, Exhibit C—was 147 degrees Fahrenheit. I carry a food thermometer. It's a professional habit. That temperature is hot enough to cause third-degree burns. That is a liability issue, Your Honor. I made a note of it.

The second bowl was cold. Congealed. I did not eat it. I would like some credit for that, actually.

The third bowl was at a safe and appropriate temperature, and yes, I consumed it. As instructed. As invited. As explicitly covered under the "full house privileges" that they themselves advertised.

And then—and I want the court to note this—I cleaned the kitchen. I purchased replacement oats with my own money. I have the receipt, Exhibit D. I left those oats in their pantry, still sealed, for their return.

They're claiming I stole from them, Your Honor. I bought them groceries.

Complaint number two.

[Long pause]

I need a moment.

[Water pouring]

Complaint number two: "Willful destruction of antique furniture." Specifically, one child-sized rocking chair.

Willful destruction.

Your Honor, I am five feet, four inches tall. I weigh 126 pounds. I have no criminal record. I have never deliberately broken anything in my life except a New Year's resolution and my engagement to a man who turned out to be lying about owning a boat.

This chair—which they are now calling an "antique" worth $800, a number I notice has increased from the $600 they cited in their original dispute and the $400 they mentioned in their first email—collapsed beneath me on October 14th.

Let me describe the sequence of events.

I completed my initial walkthrough. Checked all windows, all doors, all entry points. Standard protocol. Then I sat down to complete my arrival report. The living room contained three seating options.

Option one: a large leather recliner positioned directly beneath an air conditioning vent that was, I am not exaggerating, blasting arctic air into the room. I have a circulation condition, Your Honor. My fingers turn blue. I made a reasonable choice to avoid it.

Option two: a mid-sized rocking chair with a metal spring protruding through the seat cushion. I have a photograph, Exhibit E. You can see the spring. It is pointed upward at approximately a 45-degree angle. I would describe it as "aggressive."

Option three: Junior's little rocking chair. Which appeared—appeared—to be structurally sound.

I sat down gently. Carefully. The way a professional sits in client furniture, which is to say, with caution.

The chair held for approximately eleven seconds.

I did not break this chair, Your Honor. This chair was already broken. If you look at Exhibit F—the close-up of the fracture point—you can clearly see pre-existing stress fractures in the wood grain. There is visible dry rot on the left rear leg. And if you look here—

[Approaching the bench]

—may I, Your Honor?

THE COURT: You may approach.

MS. LOCKWOOD: Thank you. Right here, you can see what appears to be a previous repair attempt using wood glue and, I think, wishful thinking. This joint was already compromised. A gentle breeze could have finished this chair off. A particularly ambitious moth could have finished this chair off.

And I would like to point out—I rolled clear of the collapse. I acted quickly and prevented what could have been a serious injury requiring medical attention. If I had been hurt, they would be liable. Their homeowner's insurance would be involved. We would be in a very different courtroom right now.

They should be thanking me.

Instead, they're accusing me of vandalism.

Complaint number three.

[Audible sigh]

"Unauthorized use of beds." All three of them, apparently.

Your Honor, I was hired for a three-day house-sitting assignment.

Three days.

Where exactly did they expect me to sleep? In the yard? In the forest? Hanging from a tree branch like some kind of—of bat?

House-sitting, as defined by the Forest District Professional Standards Board, requires overnight presence at the property. That is the point. That is the service. I cannot protect their home from intruders if I am at my home, fifteen miles away, asleep in my bed.

I tested each sleeping surface in their home for the same reason I tested each chair: to identify the safest and most appropriate option for my three-night stay. Their master bedroom mattress, Your Honor, was so firm I thought it might actually be decorative concrete. I have back problems. I made a professional judgment.

Their son's bed was the opposite. I sank approximately fourteen inches into the memory foam. I had difficulty getting back out.

The guest room bed—the guest room, Your Honor, a room that exists specifically for guests—was perfectly suitable. I slept there for three nights. As required by the terms of the service they purchased.

And I left it better than I found it. Exhibits G, H, and I document all three bedrooms upon my departure. Hospital corners. Fresh linens. Pillows fluffed.

I also, while I'm on the subject, discovered a six-week-old banana hidden beneath a pile of blocks in Junior's room. It had achieved sentience. I disposed of it.

Again: you're welcome.

Now, Your Honor, I could rest my case here. The evidence speaks for itself. But I think it's important for this court to understand what kind of clients we're dealing with.

After I received their dispute, I did some research. I should have done this before accepting the booking, and I blame myself for that oversight, but I trusted the platform. I trusted the process.

Their rating on Acorn Exchange is 2.3 stars.

2.3.

I have submitted, as Exhibit J, a compilation of reviews from previous service providers. I would like to read a few selections for the court.

From Little Red's House-Sitting Services: "The Bears seemed so nice at first, but then disputed the charge after I'd already completed three days of pet-sitting. They claimed I 'looked at their belongings suspiciously.' I'm a cat-sitter. I was looking for the cat."

From Gingerbread Cottage Caretakers: "Do NOT work for this family. They will invent reasons not to pay. My 'crime' was using the bathroom."

From Snow White's Premium Property Care: "They told me to help myself to the fridge. I ate an apple. ONE apple. They tried to claim I stole fifty dollars worth of produce."

Do you see the pattern, Your Honor? Because I see a pattern.

They lure in service providers with friendly messages and promises of "full house privileges." They encourage us to feel comfortable—to "make ourselves at home," in their words. And then, once the work is done, they manufacture complaints.

It's a scam, Your Honor. A deliberate, premeditated scam designed to extract free labor from hardworking professionals.

I want to talk about what this has cost me.

Not just the $450 they owe me, though I do want that money and I intend to collect it.

I have spent five years building my reputation. Five years of early mornings and late nights. Five years of finicky ferns and neurotic goldfish and clients who somehow expected me to psychically intuit that their "small dog" was actually a wolf hybrid with anxiety issues.

My rating on Acorn Exchange was 4.9 stars. Was.

After I submitted my invoice, the Bears posted a retaliatory review within one hour. One hour, Your Honor. They called me "destructive, greedy, and potentially criminal."

My rating dropped to 4.7.

I have had to explain this dispute to three potential clients. One of them declined to book with me. That is $600 in lost business, directly attributable to the defendants' defamatory statements.

They are not just refusing to pay for services rendered. They are actively trying to destroy my livelihood.

And for what? To save $450? To feel like they got one over on the "blonde girl who ate their porridge"?

Your Honor, I entered their home at exactly 9:00 AM on October 14th, using the key they left under the third flagstone to the right of their front door—as instructed. I completed all duties outlined in our service agreement. I went above and beyond, watering their plants, feeding their goldfish, accepting their packages, and chasing away a suspicious man who was lurking at their tree line at midnight.

They know what that man wanted, by the way. I reported him to Woodland District Watch. He was a known huntsman with a history of breaking and entering.

I quite possibly saved their lives.

And they won't pay me $450.

[Pause]

I am asking this court for the following: the original invoice amount of $450, plus $600 in documented lost business due to their defamatory review, plus court filing fees of $75, for a total of $1,125.

I have copies of all documentation. I have photographs. I have timestamps, receipts, messages, and reviews.

I have everything, Your Honor.

Because I am a professional.

[Pause]

One final note.

Mrs. Bear, I noticed you replaced your front door lock. Smart. It was basically decorative before—maybe three millimeters of play in that deadbolt.

But just to be clear: the fact that your locks were easy to pick does not make me a burglar. I had a key. You gave it to me. Under a rock.

[Returning to seat]

Thank you, Your Honor. I have nothing further.

THE COURT: Thank you, Ms. Lockwood. Mr. Bear, you may now present your response.

MR. BEAR: [Inaudible muttering]

THE COURT: Mr. Bear, you'll need to speak up.

MR. BEAR: I said... she ate my son's porridge.

THE COURT: [Long pause] Is that your entire defense?

MR. BEAR: ...It was the good oats.

[COURT FINDS IN FAVOR OF PLAINTIFF] [JUDGMENT: $1,125.00 PLUS INTEREST]

Case Note: Following this ruling, Ms. Lockwood implemented a new policy requiring 50% deposits from all clients. The Bear family's Acorn Exchange account was suspended pending review. Their retaliatory review has been removed.

Ms. Lockwood's rating has been restored to 4.9 stars.