Taylor Chapman, Dunkin' Donuts Hater, Has Struggled With Mental Illness
Chapman was getting worse, Born says. On July 11, 2011, the 20-something confessed she needed help, so they climbed into Born's white Ford van and made for the nearby Marion-Citrus Mental Health Centers. Halfway to the destination, the other Chapman materialized and rolled down the window. "This woman's kidnapping me," Born recalls Chapman yelling. "She's holding me hostage!"
Born blew four red lights to keep from stopping, but when she pulled the van into a gas station to remedy a wrong turn, Chapman exploded out of the van and sprinted across Highway 200, dodging cars. Police found her shortly afterward at 10:30 p.m. and arrested her under the Baker Act. "The subject started rambling about different information, going from being very polite to very rude," a police report says. "En route to the Centers, she rambled on in different personalities."
Born kicked Hosch and Chapman out of her house weeks later. "My nephew and I don't talk now because of all the crap she was doing," she says. The couple moved into a small, low-rent apartment on 16th Street in Oakland Park behind a lime-colored house. Chapman landed a few jobs working as a video spokesperson for something called Powersales Team, which has posted videos on the internet but does not appear in Florida Corporate records. Hosch repaired cars, according to his LinkedIn profile.
But the modicum of stability ended that day in Dunkin' Donuts. Within days of the Smoking Gun's posting its first article on "the horrible Florida woman who filmed herself berating Dunkin' Donuts workers," the piece had snared 58,000 Facebook "likes" and 1,250 tweets. "I don't have an exact number," Editor Bill Bastone said. "I just know a significant number of people read that article."
At 1:30 a.m. Friday, a week after Chapman had stormed Dunkin' Donuts, O. Williams of Powersales Team announced Chapman's termination in a peculiar and mean video, broadcasting several voicemails clogging his phone. "You need to fire that ugly bitch," one woman hissed. "She is repulsive. Taylor, the racist, is disgusting."
Whether the totality of someone's existence can be summarized in an eight-minute video, however, isn't a question that troubles Bastone. Chapman, he said, was simply a story to write. "Chapman posted the video to her Facebook page," Bastone said. "She did that. She made it public. It was sitting out there. And to ignore it because it was dopey isn't our job... We did a follow-up and moved on to other things."
But Chapman hasn't. When her phone rings, she worries whether it's a stalker. And on a Tuesday afternoon, Chapman and Hosch slipped out of their apartment on 16th Street to evade a news reporter. Chapman wore a polka-dot black sun dress, a tan baseball hat, and big sunglasses. She looked like Lindsay Lohan fresh out of drug rehab. "Get in the car, Taylor," says Hosch, smoking a cigarette, as they ducked inside his gold Nissan Altima and departed. "My girlfriend has mental issues," he declares.
"I'm not scared," Chapman says. "I'll be ready to give a statement in a few months."
But by then, she didn't realize, no one will care what she has to say.