Tower Loans v. Reagan Dunback

Let’s cut right to the chase: a payday lender is dragging a Sapulpa woman to small claims court over $1,248—less than you’d spend on a decent used fridge—and also maybe wants her to give back some mysterious personal property that, according to the paperwork, doesn’t exist. That’s right. The form literally says “N/A” in the space where the disputed item should be described. So either Reagan Dunback is hoarding an invisible asset of great value, or someone at Tower Loans forgot to fill out their Mad Libs correctly.

Now, let’s back up and figure out how we got here—because even in the wild world of petty civil disputes, this one feels like it was written by a sleep-deprived intern who skimmed a law blog once. On one side, we’ve got Tower Loans, a business that operates out of a strip mall on South Main Street in Sapulpa—probably the kind of place where the air conditioner rattles like a haunted radiator and the “loan approval in minutes!” sign is held up with duct tape. They’re what’s known as a “payday lender,” which is a polite way of saying they offer short-term, high-interest loans to people who are often one flat tire away from financial disaster. And on the other side, we have Reagan Dunback, a regular resident of Cardinal Circle, who—based on zero evidence in the filing—may or may not have borrowed money, may or may not have defaulted, and is definitely being accused of holding onto something that the plaintiff can’t even name.

The story, as much as we can piece it together from this legal ghost story, goes like this: At some point, Reagan Dunback allegedly took out a loan from Tower Loans. The amount? $1,248.29. The terms? Not specified. The repayment history? Also not specified. All we know is that Tower Loans says she owes them money, that they asked for it back, and that she “refused to pay.” Classic. But here’s where it gets weird. Buried in the affidavit is a second claim—Tower Loans also believes Reagan is “wrongfully in possession” of certain personal property. Except… they don’t say what it is. The form asks for a description. It’s blank. It asks for the value. Also blank. It’s like someone at the office got distracted mid-sentence by a ringing phone or a squirrel fight outside the window and just never came back.

Now, if you’re wondering why a loan company would care about a missing toaster or a suspiciously unreturned pillow, here’s the context: some payday lenders operate on a model where borrowers put up personal property as collateral—think car titles, electronics, even jewelry. So it’s possible, in theory, that Reagan handed over something when she got the loan, and now Tower Loans wants it back. But instead of writing “2012 Honda Accord” or “Samsung Galaxy S9” or “grandma’s silver locket,” they just left it blank. Which means either: A) They forgot what they lent against. B) They’re just suing for the money and threw in the property thing as a CYA (cover your affidavit). C) This is performance art.

Whatever the case, the legal claims here are pretty straightforward—on paper, at least. Tower Loans is asking the court to force Reagan to pay up. That’s the debt collection part. Standard. Annoying, but legal. But they’re also asking for “possession of personal property,” which, again, is not described. And they want “injunctive relief,” which is legalese for “make her give it back right now.” Except—fun fact—you can’t get a court order to return something if you don’t say what it is. Even Judge Serner, presiding in the Sapulpa division of Creek County District Court, can’t issue a ruling on “that thing, you know, the one we had.”

Then there’s what they’re asking for. $1,248.29 in damages. Is that a lot? Well, it’s not nothing. That’s two months of car insurance for some people, or a full tank of gas for a Hummer H2. But in the grand scheme of civil lawsuits? It’s chump change. That’s why it’s in small claims court—where disputes top out at $10,000 in Oklahoma. No fancy lawyers, no jury, just a judge, some receipts, and a whole lot of awkward eye contact. Tower Loans also wants “costs of the action,” which means they’d like Reagan to pay the filing fee, the clerk’s time, and maybe even the ink used to print the N/A form. But notably, they’re not asking for punitive damages—no “punish her for being late!” cash grab. And Reagan, for her part, hasn’t filed a response yet. So we don’t know if she’s planning to show up with a notarized letter from a shaman proving she returned the astral projector, or if she’s just hoping the whole thing blows over.

Now, here’s where we give you our take—because let’s be real, we’re not here to adjudicate debt disputes. We’re here to watch the legal trainwrecks, popcorn in hand. And this one? It’s less Law & Order and more Waiting for Godot: Payday Lender Edition. The most absurd part isn’t even the blank property field—it’s the sheer laziness of it all. This is a company that presumably has loan files, contracts, maybe even security footage of Reagan walking out with a plasma TV on her head. And yet, their legal filing reads like a half-finished homework assignment. “The defendant is wrongfully in possession of certain personal property describes as N/A.” That’s not a claim. That’s a cry for help.

Are we rooting for Reagan? Sure, why not. Not because she’s definitely innocent—maybe she did borrow the money and is holding onto a lawnmower or a power washer or a suspiciously specific casserole dish. But because the system only works when both sides show up with their act together. And Tower Loans? They showed up with a form that looks like it lost a fight with a paper shredder. If they want a court to help them recover property, they should at least say what the property is. Otherwise, it’s like calling the cops because someone stole your car… but refusing to say what color it was.

Look, debt collection is a necessary evil in capitalism. People borrow money. Sometimes they don’t pay. Sometimes companies have to go to court. Fine. But if you’re going to drag someone into court, at least fill out the form completely. Spell their name right. Say what you want. Don’t just wave your hands and say, “She has something of ours—we’re sure of it—we just can’t say what.” That’s not justice. That’s a game of bureaucratic charades.

So on April 7, 2024—yes, the filing says 2026 but the dates in the affidavit say 2024, which is its own special kind of chaos—we’ll find out what happens. Will Reagan show up with a box of unidentified items and say, “Take your stuff, I didn’t even like it”? Will Tower Loans suddenly remember they were suing over a GoPro? Or will the judge just sigh, award the $1,248, and quietly toss the property claim into the void? We may never know. But one thing’s for sure: if Tower Loans ever sues anyone again, they should probably hire someone who knows how to use a pencil.