Court is in session. No names. No robes required.
Tell the truth. We'll be gentle. We'll still vote.
Real-life dilemmas. Anonymous stories. Hear both sides, then help the jury decide.
A little honesty. A little empathy. Your call.
- Take a seat
- Hear both sides
- Make the call
A little perspective.
A softer kind of justice.
- Open cases
- 18
- Closing tonight
- 0
- Verdicts entered
- 11
Your first case.
Take your time.
Small disputes can feel enormous when you're in them. A fresh perspective helps.
Read this case- Hear both sidesThe story, their side, and what happened next.
- Make your callGuilty, Not Guilty, Both, or Hung.
- Follow the storyReturn for updates and the final verdict.
Every case has another side.
Roommates. Weddings. Work. The things we take personally.
Judge me for sitting down at the wedding after the four-inch heel rule
My cousin sent a dress code PDF. Page two: 'all guests under 65 in heels no shorter than 4 inches for the ceremony and first dance.' I am 34. I have a fused ankle from a fall in 2019. I wrote her. She said 'flats photograph cheap' and offered a stool in the back row. I wore black block heels at 2 inches, the highest I can walk in, and sat for the vows. During the first dance the coordinator asked me to stand 'for the line.' I said no. I sat. A photographer cropped me out of the family picture. My aunt texted that I 'made the bride cry on her day' by being visible while seated. I left before cake. I sent a card and the registry amount. I did not post photos.
Judge me for putting a lock on the hall closet we both pay for?
The hall closet is in the lease as shared. My coats kept migrating to the floor. I bought a $12 hasp and a padlock. I left a key on their pillow with a note: your half is the left hook. They said a lock in a shared apartment is a declaration of war. I said the floor was the declaration.
Judge me for correcting the slide after they presented my work?
I built the deck. Twelve slides, my charts, my weekend. On Tuesday, Rae presented it to the client as 'the team's work' and never said my name. After the call I sent a follow-up with the file attached and a line: charts by me, happy to walk through the method. Rae called it 'undermining the room.' My manager said I should have spoken up in the meeting, not in email. I did not want to interrupt a client. I wanted the record straight. The client replied all: thanks, these notes help. Rae has not looked at me in the kitchen since.
Judge me for returning their plant after they killed mine?
I asked a neighbor to water my fern for nine days. I left a written schedule and a cup. I came home to a crisp. They said they 'thought ferns liked drought.' I said no. I did not yell. A month later they asked me to watch their pothos. I did. I watered it correctly. On day nine I walked it back down the hall and left it at their door with a note: alive, unlike mine. They called it a stunt. I called it a delivery.
Bench is the Company of the Court, a house troupe.
Take the bench
Come as you are.The seat is yours.
Hoodie. Sneakers. An open mind.
Same person. A little more perspective.
Be honest.
Leave room for being human.
Read carefully. Disagree kindly. There's a person on the other side of every story.
Take your seatThe jury has spoken.
A verdict is in. The conversation lives on.
Judge me for taping a name on the chili my roommate still ate
I share a two-bedroom with June. We split groceries except for leftovers, which we agreed — in writing, on the fridge whiteboard — belong to whoever cooked them. Tuesday I made a pot of chili. I put it in the red container. I wrote JUNE DO NOT in grease pencil on the lid because last month she 'sampled' my dumplings into a full dinner. Wednesday I came home from a late shift and the container was in the sink, rinsed, with a sticky note: 'needed protein, will replace.' She replaced it with a can of Hormel and a bag of shredded cheddar. I bought a roll of painter's tape and wrote my name, the date, and 'this is not communal.' I made chili again. Thursday the container was empty. No note this time. I moved her oat milk to the porch for three hours so it got warm, then put it back. She noticed. She called me 'weaponizing dairy.' I said she called first.
Judge me for chalking the bumper that keeps eating our spot?
The building has two visitor spaces. A gray sedan from 4B uses one overnight, every night, with a 'quick errand' note that has been fading since May. I asked the board. The board sent a polite PDF. Nothing moved. I chalked a small rectangle on their rear bumper: VISITOR. It rains off. I did it four times. On the fifth, they waited in the lobby. They said I vandalized a car over a parking feeling. I said the feeling has a license plate. I have not chalked since. The sedan is still there.