Teresa Boutot v. White River Marine Group, LLC

Let’s cut right to the chase: Teresa Boutot was doing her job as a security officer at a marina in Miami, Oklahoma—yes, Miami, Oklahoma, not the one with the beaches and pastel suits—when a forklift operated by an employee of the company crushed her foot. Not bumped it. Not nudged it. Crushed it. And now she’s suing not one, not two, but four variations of what appears to be the same corporate entity masquerading under slightly different names, like a magician pulling the same rabbit out of four different hats. This isn’t just a workplace injury case. It’s a full-blown corporate identity crisis with a side of industrial-grade foot trauma.

Teresa Boutot wasn’t some random bystander caught in the crossfire of maritime logistics gone wrong. She was a security officer, hired through a third-party contractor, stationed at the White River Marina—a sprawling operation on the shores of Grand Lake O’ the Cherokees, where boats are stored, serviced, and probably Instagrammed. Her job? To keep an eye on things. To make sure no one stole a pontoon or hotwired a jet ski. To be the calm, watchful presence in a place where people go to forget their problems with a cold beer and a wakeboard. But on January 4, 2022, her shift took a turn straight out of a workplace safety horror reel. While she was doing her rounds—presumably not wearing steel-toed boots because why would a security guard need those at a marina?—an employee of the marina, one Mr. Odale Poynter, decided to take a forklift for a joyride. Or maybe a work run. The filing doesn’t say he was joyriding, but given the outcome, you’d be forgiven for picturing him squinting through the windshield, muttering, “I got this,” like a man who’s watched one YouTube tutorial on heavy machinery.

What happened next reads like a slow-motion blooper reel: Poynter, operating the forklift in the course of his duties (so says the petition), struck Boutot. Not a glancing blow. Not a near-miss. He ran over her foot and lower leg. Let that sink in. A multi-ton industrial vehicle, designed to lift pallets of marine engines, rolled directly over a human foot. We don’t know if there was screaming. We don’t know if alarms went off. But we do know that Boutot’s life changed in that moment. The petition lists a laundry list of damages: past and future medical expenses, lost wages, pain—both physical and mental—permanent impairment, and loss of earning capacity. This wasn’t a “walk it off” kind of injury. This was a “you may never walk the same again” kind of moment.

Now, you might think this is just a classic case of “forklift hits person, person sues.” And you’d be half-right. But the real legal meat here isn’t just in the what—it’s in the why and the who. Boutot isn’t just suing the guy who ran her over. She’s suing the company—or rather, the four companies—that employed him. And she’s making two big claims, both wrapped in the warm, slightly bureaucratic blanket of legalese. First: negligence. That’s the “you messed up and hurt someone” claim. Simple enough. Poynter was operating the forklift as part of his job, so the company is on the hook for his actions. That’s how vicarious liability works—your employee breaks the law while doing their job, you pay the piper.

But the juicier claim? Negligent hiring and training. This is where the case gets spicy. Boutot’s lawyers aren’t just saying Poynter was careless. They’re saying the company knew or should have known he wasn’t qualified to operate a forklift. No training. No certification. No “hey, maybe don’t let Dave from accounting drive a 10,000-pound machine with a lifting fork.” The implication is that White River Marine Group—LLC, domestic, marina, whatever iteration—just handed over the keys to someone who shouldn’t have had them. It’s like giving a toddler the keys to a semi-truck and saying, “Drive safe!” Except here, the toddler ran over a security guard’s foot. And now the company wants to pretend it’s not their problem? Sorry. The law doesn’t work that way.

So what does Boutot want? She’s asking for at least $10,000. That number might sound low—especially for a permanent injury that could affect her ability to work, walk, or wear sandals without wincing. But here’s the thing: $10,000 is likely just the minimum to get into court. In Oklahoma, if you’re filing for more than that, you’re in district court (which this is). The actual damages? They could be way higher. Medical bills for foot injuries—especially if there were surgeries, rehab, or chronic pain—can easily hit six figures. Lost wages? Depends on how long she was out. Permanent impairment? That’s the golden ticket in personal injury cases. If she can prove she’ll never fully recover, the number climbs. And while punitive damages aren’t specified in the relief sought, the tone of the petition sure leaves the door open. Punitive damages are the legal equivalent of a slap on the wrist with a wallet—they’re meant to punish companies that act recklessly. And if the evidence shows they let an untrained guy drive a forklift around a busy marina, reckless might be the nicest thing you could call it.

Now, let’s talk about the defendants. White River Marine Group, LLC. White River Marine Group. White River Marina. TMBC, L.L.C. Are these four separate companies? Or is this a case of corporate overbranding gone wild? It’s not uncommon for businesses to create multiple entities for liability protection—like putting up legal smoke screens so that if one goes down, the others can float away unscathed. But from the outside, it looks like they’re trying to confuse the court as much as they confused their own org chart. It’s like they’re saying, “Which one of us owns the forklift? Good luck figuring that out!” But Boutot’s lawyers aren’t playing that game. They’ve named them all, throwing a wide net in hopes that at least one of them is deep-pocketed enough to pay up.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t even the foot-crushing—though that’s up there. It’s the idea that in 2022, in a professional marina setting, someone was allowed to operate a forklift without proper training. Forklifts aren’t golf carts. They’re not something you just “figure out.” The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) has very clear rules about this. You need certification. You need training. You need to not run over your coworkers. And yet, here we are. Either the company ignored the rules, or they thought the rules didn’t apply, or—worst of all—they didn’t even know there were rules. Any of those options is a management failure of epic proportions.

We’re rooting for Boutot, not because we love lawsuits, but because this feels like a classic case of a worker getting chewed up by a system that prioritizes speed over safety. She wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t in a restricted zone. She was doing her job when a preventable accident changed her life. And now she’s fighting not just for compensation, but for accountability. Will she get it? That’s what the jury’s for. But one thing’s for sure: the next time someone at White River Marina says, “Hey, can you move that boat engine?” they might want to double-check who’s behind the wheel.