Tower Loans v. Dakota Butler

Let’s get straight to the drama: a loan company is suing a man over $574… and a mystery. Not a whodunit, not a body in a trunk — but a what-is-it? Because buried in this Oklahoma small claims filing is a debt dispute so petty it could’ve been settled over a lukewarm cup of gas station coffee… except someone also allegedly has personal property that belongs to Tower Loans. And no, the court document doesn’t say what it is. It just says “N/A.” As in, not applicable. Or maybe not available. Or, more likely, we have no idea but we’re claiming it anyway. Welcome to Crazy Civil Court, where the stakes are low, the tension is high, and the collateral is… unspecified.

So who are we even dealing with here? On one side: Tower Loans, a payday lending outfit with a name that sounds like a rejected Transformers villain. They’re based at 1609 South Main Street in Sapulpa, Oklahoma — a town where the most exciting thing might be the annual Cow Chip Throwin’ Contest (yes, that’s real). Tower Loans specializes in short-term, high-interest loans, the kind that can spiral fast if you’re already living paycheck to paycheck. They’re the financial equivalent of a payday loan shark with a business license and a slightly better font on their signage. And on the other side: Dakota Butler, a private individual who, as far as we know, just wanted a few hundred bucks to get through the month and now finds himself in court over a sum that wouldn’t even cover a decent laptop. He lives in a travel trailer — “Tr#All” at 1301 Spark Street — which suggests he’s not exactly rolling in luxury. The kind of guy who probably knows the exact price of a gallon of milk and a pack of ramen. And now? He’s the defendant in a legal showdown that hinges on a number and a blank space.

Here’s what supposedly went down. At some point, Dakota took out a loan from Tower Loans. The exact terms? Not in the filing. The interest rate? Not here. The reason he needed the money? Also a mystery. But what we do know is that he now owes $574.13. Not $575. Not $600. $574.13. That’s the kind of number that suggests late fees, interest, maybe a bounced payment fee or two — the financial death by a thousand cuts. Tower Loans says they’ve asked for the money. Dakota says — well, we don’t know what Dakota says, because this is just the plaintiff’s affidavit. But according to Ashlee Metcalf (a representative of Tower Loans who swore under oath to this document), Dakota refused to pay. And not a single penny has been handed over. So far, so standard for a small claims case. Happens every day in courthouses across America. But then… the plot twist.

Buried in the affidavit, like a landmine in a molehill, is this line: “That the defendant is wrongfully in possession of certain personal property described as N/A.” Let that sink in. Described as N/A. Not “a laptop,” not “a gold watch,” not “a signed photo of Billy Ray Cyrus.” Just… N/A. And the value? Also N/A. That’s like saying, “Your Honor, I left my house this morning and now I’m missing something, and I think the defendant has it, but I can’t remember what it was or how much it cost.” Is it a collateral item? Did Dakota put up a TV or a toolset as security for the loan? Maybe. But if so, Tower Loans either forgot to list it, lost the paperwork, or is just throwing it in there for leverage. It’s the legal equivalent of adding “and also, he owes me respect” to a breakup text. Vague. Petty. And kind of hilarious.

Now, why are they in court? Legally speaking, Tower Loans is making two claims. First: debt. They want their $574.13 back. That’s straightforward. If you borrow money and don’t pay it back, the lender can sue. That’s how capitalism works (or, more accurately, how capitalism extracts). The second claim is for possession of personal property. In normal human terms: “Give us back our stuff.” But here’s the thing — in a court of law, you usually have to identify the stuff. You can’t just say, “I think he has something of mine” and expect a judge to rule in your favor. There are rules. Evidence. Descriptions. Serial numbers. And yet, here we are. Tower Loans is demanding the return of an object that, on paper, doesn’t exist. It’s like a Kafka novel written by someone who failed high school civics.

And what do they want? $574.13. Plus court costs. Plus, theoretically, the return of this phantom item. Is $574 a lot? Depends on your perspective. If you’re a multi-state payday lender, it’s probably less than your CEO makes in one hour. If you’re Dakota Butler, living in a travel trailer in Sapulpa, it might be two weeks of groceries. Or a car repair. Or the difference between keeping the lights on and getting a disconnect notice. It’s not nothing. But it’s also not enough to hire a lawyer — which is why this is in small claims court, where people represent themselves and the rules are looser. Still, it’s wild that a company would spend staff time, notary fees, and court filing costs to chase down a few hundred bucks and a mystery object. The legal fees alone might cost more than the debt.

Now, here’s our take: the most absurd part isn’t the debt. It’s the N/A. It’s the sheer audacity of listing a piece of property in a legal filing and not being able to describe it. Not “unknown,” not “undetermined,” not “to be identified later.” Just N/A. It’s like Tower Loans copy-pasted a form, forgot to fill in the blank, and said, “Eh, close enough.” And now Dakota has to show up in court, possibly take time off work, hire a babysitter, and defend himself against a claim that includes nothing tangible. It’s the legal version of being accused of stealing a cloud.

Are we rooting for Dakota? Honestly, yes. Not because we’re anti-loan company — though let’s be real, payday lenders have a reputation — but because this feels like corporate overreach over a sum so small it’s almost symbolic. If Tower Loans really cared about the money, they could’ve worked out a payment plan. If they really cared about the property, they’d know what it was. Instead, they filed a lawsuit with a blank space where the evidence should be. And that’s not justice. That’s just paperwork with delusions of grandeur.

So when Dakota walks into that courtroom on April 7, 2026, at 1:30 PM on the second floor of 222 East Dewey, let’s hope he brings a sense of humor. Because if he asks, “What property?” and the plaintiff says, “Uh… N/A,” the judge might just laugh this whole thing out of court. And honestly? That would be the most satisfying ending of all.