People Catch Our Attention With Their Most Amusing Revenge Story

Does the behavior of some people ever surprise you? Sometimes I think we forget that while we might be decent people ourselves, it doesn't mean everyone else has the goal or capabilities to be the same. People may lie, say nasty things, sabotage others, and act dishonestly. We've been in those positions ourselves; however, the worst part is when people do these things to us for absolutely no reason at all, other than the simple fact that they can. What compels these folks to act the way they do–is it jealously, greed, anger, insecurity, the need for power? Whatever it is, I don't want to end up like them! If you're anything like me, though, you won't mind reading up some juicy stories of decent people getting payback on corrupt jerks like the latter. If you find a revenge story in this compilation that you love in particular, be sure to upvote and leave a comment!

13. Be Completely Unprofessional Towards Me? I'll Get You In Trouble For Fire Code Violations

“Okay, so I live in Australia in a major city, and I moved there to start studying at University in 2015.

I’d lived in university accommodation up until early 2017 when I decided I wanted to live more independently without an official support network (the uni), so I made plans to move.

I was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 2015 (later changed to schizoaffective disorder in 2016) and would be 7 hours drive from home (no license), so it was a big step for me, and I was definitely nervous about the idea of moving. (My parents were a massive help in getting me to understand how renting worked and what rights I had under a rental agreement, etc., and I can’t thank them enough for that.)

I eventually decided on moving into a giant share house (about 24 rooms in total; the house was huge but also private) which fell under the rental classification of ‘rooming accommodation’ and basically had the same rights as an outright rental, only you had a single room with common areas instead of an entire property.

So after inspecting the property as is standard, I met the house manager who I’ll call Peggy. She seemed nice enough and was happy for me to move in as they had a room for rent. As required, I paid for 2 weeks’ rent as a rental bond on the lease (funds used to cover any damage to property that was my fault).

This bond is meant to be submitted to the regulatory body in my state, and they hold it during the lease.

After moving in, I slowly started to realize the true nature of Peggy and her unprofessional behavior. To start it off, I wasn’t immediately given a rental agreement to sign (legal document outlining my lease period, cost per week for my room, and any rules/bylaws).

I wasn’t given a bond receipt either, which I later realized meant my bond was never sent to the regulator. After constantly nagging for a lease and bringing my mom into it, I was begrudgingly given a lease paper to sign. I also was supposed to fill out an entry condition report outlining the condition of my room before I moved in to protect me and the landlord from potential issues relating to new damages.

Peggy’s lack of professionalism gave me more and more anxiety with each day keeping in mind this was my first real step into independent living and I was also dealing with schizoaffective disorder which exacerbated things.

The lack of professionalism from Peggy continued on and on while I lived there in various ways, such as threats to evict for ‘excessive noise’ (we were within noise curfew).

She legally can’t do that without giving us a paper notice to remedy a breach first. Since my bond was never sent to the regulator, my tenancy agreement was never formally filed either. This is when my frustration hit flame point.

So this is where the revenge comes in. At this point, I was so fed up with Peggy’s unprofessional and malicious practices that I formulated my plan for revenge.

A revenge to extinguish my burning frustration.

It turns out that Peggy not only neglected her legal obligations in tenancy but also fire safety. I took it upon myself to research fire code and safety regulations for rentals and accommodation. Turns out, the house was an illegal death trap. In the most flammable part of the house (all antique wood), there were no extinguishers, the fire evacuation plans were out of date (house was remodeled), none of the hallway or designated evacuation stairwells had working lights, and multiple smoke alarms didn’t work (notably the kitchen ones), the range hood was regularly broken, the fire alarm system was a closed-loop, and the key was left in the cabinet lock at the front door.

As required by law, none of these problems should occur on their own let alone all at once.

After dealing with Peggy’s bullcrap for 4 months I thought, ‘Enough is enough’ and decided I would anonymously contact the state fire regulator. My plans hit a snag when I found out the regulator could only be contacted by post or fax (I know right who the heck still faxes).

I went out of my way to sign up for at least 3 free trials for online faxing before I finally was able to send a fax to the regulator. After detailing the problems with the house in my anonymous fax and leaving the address, I held my breath and sent it away.

Nothing happened for a week or two, and I thought the fax might not have made it, but later I learned after speaking to one of my roommates that ‘ some guy’ came to the house and had a look around, before angrily approaching her and demanding to see the landlord/manager and getting their contact details.

The regulator heard my fax for help!

In the ensuing week, all the aforementioned problems (and then some) were quickly rectified, lights were now working, fire extinguishers were present, exit lights were on, and even things I hadn’t noticed such as exit path clutter were addressed. I was fortunate enough to overhear Peggy and the landlord a number of times talking about the code violations and paying a fine which I can only assume was related to said violations, which was the icing on the cake. Revenge was served.

This was a turning point in my life where I finally decided people who give me crap will get that crap back. I felt insecure and vulnerable, and this forced me to come out of it stronger.”

7 points (7 votes)
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12. Use Me To Pay Your Rent And Bills? I'll Screw You Over

He thought he had it made… until he didn’t.

“As a little bit of context, my father is a downright disgusting person and always has been. He’s awful. The way he treats people has left him with very little family that will even give him the time of day and no friends to speak of.

I can’t understand the thought process that goes on in his mind, but somehow, he’s even managed to perform the mental gymnastics needed to convince himself that everyone else around him is unreasonable and that his terrible circumstances in life are the fault of everyone but himself (quite the feat for a man who is easily 200lbs overweight.) He’s also self-employed and would only ever work exactly enough hours to barely scrape by with just enough left over to afford booze (which he refuses to cut down on despite having a clear drinking problem.) Essentially, he lives month-to-month despite not having to and has a pretty clear track record of being reckless with his finances.

This is important later, I promise.

My revenge comes in two different flavors: passive-aggressive vanilla and screw-you chocolate. The vanilla revenge first.

A little over two years ago, I worked for a company that went into administration and shut down unexpectedly. During that time, I was still living with my father and paying the brunt of our household bills.

I actually wasn’t too badly affected by the company shutting down as in an effort to start earning extra to put down a deposit on a place of my own far away from this sad excuse for a human being I’d been putting my art school training to good use and was taking on commission work in the evenings after coming home from my 9 to 5.

I’d cultivated a pretty sizeable following by the time I lost my day job and had a pool of regular clients who paid reasonably well. The extra forty hours a week to work on these projects actually meant I was just about breaking even with the salary I used to make at my old job if not actually coming out somewhat ahead, but my father didn’t know that.

He made it very clear what he thought about my attending art school while I was there, so I refused to even utter a breath about it from that point onwards.

My father finds out that my company liquidated, and before I can tell him not to worry and that I can still cover my end of the bills, he tells me to sign up for benefits, so I can continue paying some sort of reduced rent to him, and at that moment, a rather evil idea takes root in my mind.

I pretend to agree with him and nod along continuing to keep my side job a secret for almost a year while keeping up this charade of being on benefits. I watch him struggle more and more to keep up with rent payments as time goes on, due exclusively to his refusal to simply work more than 20 hours a week.

He’s keeping himself above water at this point but only barely, and he knows that he can’t reasonably expect more from me as I am after all “unemployed” and struggling to find work. At first, this is satisfying, and my savings grows faster now that I’m not paying him close to as much as I was before for the privilege of being his personal doormat.

I am screwing him over, but he doesn’t actually know it. Not yet anyway.

Begin phase two. Screw-you chocolate.

Almost a year to the day into my “unemployment,” I suddenly landed a new and better-paying job than my old one (which is actually just me going out into a coffee shop for 8 hours each day with my Cintiq companion to work there instead of at home.) Somehow me having a $2,000 tablet that I didn’t have a few months ago didn’t tip him off that I was lying to his face.

He never was very bright. I’ve now got my full deposit saved with spare change for some basic furniture, and I start hunting for an apartment. I find one, sort out all of the paperwork, put down a deposit, and begin prepping the place for a quick getaway. In the three months that follow, I start paying the lion’s share of the rent again and in fact cover ALL of our expenses except for his food and drinks.

I reason to him that since he supported me for so long, it’s only fair for me to make it up by paying more now. He beams happily when I say that and his mistreatment of me actually stops for a couple of days. I’m out of pocket quite a bit for this plan to work, but I keep telling myself it’ll all be worth it.

My revenge was almost abandoned on several occasions. The whole time I was staying there after getting my apartment set up, he was still being disrespectful, treating me less like a person and more like something unpleasant he stepped in. I almost just left multiple times, knowing that I had somewhere better to go at that point.

I stuck it out though, just long enough for him to become dependent on the funds I was giving him. He’s going to work less and less often at this point, getting comfortable with the routine of me just having the funds there, ready and waiting for him when he asks me for it, and on the third month, I finally strike while the iron is hot.

He asks me for the payment the day before our rent and other bills are due out of his account with the intention of going out to deposit everything for payment that morning, and with a feeling of utter satisfaction, I haven’t experienced before or since, I simply plaster a big smile on my face and say, “Sorry.

No can do. I don’t live here anymore.”

I wish I had a longer exchange to give you guys here, but I really don’t. My plan from the beginning had always been to simply walk out at the last second leaving him high and dry, and that’s exactly what I did. He did manage to yell at me to tell me to stop being a jerk and give him what I owe him because he needed it “right now,” to which I responded, “Well, that’s a bummer” as I walked out the front door and out of his life.

He didn’t follow me, make a scene, or anything like that (as much as I wish he had), and I just headed to the train station, went to my new apartment, and settled in for my first night of genuine freedom in years.

I don’t know what happened to him after that, and honestly, I don’t really care.

It’s been about nine months, and I know he lost the house, but other than that, I can’t say what happened. Honestly, I hope he’s rotting in a ditch somewhere.

Moral of the story: Don’t treat me and my family like garbage for years and then kill my freaking cat expecting to get away with it scot-free.”

6 points (6 votes)
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11. Act Like The Queen Bee Of The Office? She'll Reveal The Truth About You

“This revenge belongs not to me but a friend of mine. My friend “Janine” worked in an office with a woman who acted like the queen bee. We’ll call her “Dizzy.” Dizzy would butt into everybody’s private business and called herself the office police. It was one of those jokes that wasn’t really funny because people could tell she really believed it on some level.

She would regularly slip in 15 minutes to half an hour late but got away with it because she was buddy-buddy with the administrative assistant who would sign in on time for her. Oh, but god forbid you try to slip in five minutes after the hour, she’d be chewing your butt like she was your boss (spoiler alert: she had zero real power).

Dizzy was a forty-something woman with a fiance, who preyed on every male in the office and regularly had affairs on her fiance with the twenty-something men who worked at the business below the office. She would pressure her coworkers into pub crawls and then gossip about whoever couldn’t make it (one no-show was this sweet woman who was a recovering addict.

Dizzy relentlessly mocked her for being one of those straightedge creeps who thought she was too good for the rest of them.)

Dizzy gets her nickname from the fact that she said she had epilepsy. She would get these conveniently timed “seizures” and fall to the floor twitching and babbling. Janine said it was really theatrical; she would just yell “oh no” and drop to the floor.

She was magically cured of this epilepsy after she forgot about it for a month or two and then someone asked her about it. Dizzy just shrugged and said she got over it. She “got over” epilepsy. Yeah.

Janine managed to stay off her radar by being as boring as possible. This let her stay like a fly on the wall, watching Dizzy swindle the system and the people around her.

Dizzy was privy to a lot of secrets about the higher-ups due to her friendship with the administrative assistant (this hag that no one could stand to be around because she was as bad as Dizzy and reeked), and she started to get a little high on power. Dizzy would yell at other workers (women, always just the women) when the boss wasn’t in earshot, got sloppier and sloppier about arriving on time, and got bolder about her affairs.

She would brag about getting with the new kid from downstairs, even while people were on business calls. Janine once had to put a client on hold just to politely tell Dizzy to keep it down; it was getting unprofessional. Dizzy just smirked and said, “You’re not my boss, little girl.”

That was kind of the final strike for Janine.

She had endured months of obnoxious behavior and was done. All she had to do was wait for the right opportunity to come. Well, the right opportunity came after Dizzy left for “lunch” with one of her adultery partners one day. Her fiance (who was also way younger than her, yuck) came in at about the same time Janine was preparing to leave on her own break.

The fiance vaguely recognized her and asked if Dizzy was in. Janine confirmed that no, she had left for lunch already. The guy smiled and said, “Oh right, with (female office worker who would not go to lunch with Dizzy if you paid her)?”

Janine said she simultaneously felt really sorry for the guy and angry at Dizzy for playing him.

And suddenly, she saw her chance.

Using some quick thinking, she acted really befuddled and said, “No, I thought she went with her guy friend?”

Fiance’s face fell and he started saying that it couldn’t be right. “She said she was going with her good friend (office worker) like she does every day?”

Janine said, “No, she went with a young guy with blond hair.

They were taking her car to (restaurant).”

The guy looked absolutely destroyed, and Janine was not happy about that part of it, believe me. She was angry because Dizzy had bamboozled this guy into a relationship and then had an affair so publicly. The fiance actually thanked her for telling him and asked her name before he left.

Janine gave him the secretary’s name.

The second part is the best in my opinion because Janine did not even have to work for this part of the revenge. No, this one was all fiance.

Apparently, Dizzy was as much of a gossip at home as she’d been at the office. Those secrets she’d learned? Yeah, she blabbed them in front of her fiance.

And her fiance set about wrecking her career. First, he went home and acted like everything was fine while he got all his ducks in a row. He typed up every bit of info she’d ever leaked in an official-looking letter, waited for her to go to work, and then sent it to every person in the office by BCC.

Literally everyone got to watch Dizzy get called to a meeting with the boss knowing exactly what was going to happen. Dizzy was chewed out, fired, and escorted out by security while wailing that it wasn’t fair. Janine hadn’t known it when she started the whole revenge ball rolling, but Dizzy had been privy to some sensitive information she shouldn’t have known in the first place.

Investigations happened, and the secretary was encouraged to seek employment elsewhere.

Janine found this last part out from a coworker, a lady too nice for her own darn good who became Janine’s echo chamber after the secretary “betrayed” her (yes, she totally thought the secretary was behind the whole thing, lol). Dizzy came home wailing to her fiance, who coldly informed her he knew she was being unfaithful to him and that the engagement was off. Dizzy wept and wailed, but her fiance produced pictures he had taken of her with her boy toys. That was it.

The last Janine heard, Dizzy had moved back in with her parents and was involved in an MLM. Karma hurts, right?”

6 points (6 votes)
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10. Mistreat Your Veteran Students? I'll Put Up A Fight

“When I was overseas in Iraq on my first deployment, I decided to take advantage of our limited tuition assistance (it’s free while active duty and doesn’t affect our GI Bill benefits) and take a few general ed classes to get a jump start on my degree. I chose a computer class (I work in IT, simple stuff) and a health class.

No big deal. I chose the community college in my hometown, which we will call MCC, because, well… it’s my hometown, and it made sense. Before starting the class, I confirmed that the school would accept military tuition assistance.

Disregard the fact that I got C’s in both classes because the instructors didn’t allow me to make up the tests that I missed while in transit back to the US even though they said they would let me…

That should have been my first clue.

Several years after these few classes, I was getting out of the military when I received a bill in the mail from MCC for the two classes. I called the education office on base to ask them what had happened, and they informed me that they didn’t know – they had sent a letter to MCC to tell them where to send the bill for the classes.

I asked if they would send another letter, so they said sure, and they did.

A few months later, I got a call from MCC saying they still hadn’t gotten paid, and I had been turned over to collections. I asked if they ever got a letter informing them where to send the bill, to which they replied that they didn’t.

At this time, I still lived in Southern California, near Camp Pendleton, so I went on base to the education office and asked them for a copy of the letter informing the school where to send the bill. My hometown was 400 miles away, just close enough for a short vacation.

So I drove home and walked into the school with the letter and handed it to them. At this point, the woman in the tuition office informed me, with a very unpleasant tone that pretty much reeked of “I don’t want to deal with you.”

MCC tuition lady: We don’t accept military tuition assistance.

Me: But I called before I ever even enrolled and asked if you did, and somebody in your office here said you did.

MCC: No, that’s wrong. We accept the GI Bill, not active duty tuition assistance.

Me: How could somebody have gotten those two mixed up? This is the veteran tuition office.

You’re supposed to know the difference.

MCC: Well, somebody was wrong. But your balance is still $255 for your classes and all the fees.

Me: Why don’t you guys accept active-duty tuition, then?

MCC: Well, a few years ago we did, but we never got paid, so we stopped accepting it. They never paid.

Me: How long ago? Are we talking semesters or decades?

MCC: Well, before I worked here. I’ve been here for five years so it’s been a while since we’ve had this policy in place.

Me: Can’t you guys TRY billing them this once and see if they will pay up? Doesn’t it make sense to at least TRY rather than leaving your students to get screwed and stuck with the bill? I mean, if they don’t pay NOW, fine I’ll handle it.

But why not just TRY to send them the bill? I’ve already spoken with the tuition office on Pendleton AND in Pensacola, Florida where the main office is located and they’ve said they WILL pay, they just need to be sent a BILL. I’ll even pay for the stamp if you’ll just mail them a freaking bill.

MCC: Well, if they want us to accept their tuition assistance, they need to approach us to work out a deal on payments.

Me: Lady, they’re the United States Military. They’ve got hundreds of thousands of veterans around the country whom they are paying for and taking care of. They have bigger things to worry about than one community college in a podunk town.

They’re not going to come to you. You’re the school that wants the funds – YOU go to THEM.

At this point I left, fuming, because now I have a collection agency calling me all the time over two C’s that I didn’t even want. I was already going to school somewhere else and had started over! What the heck was this mess all about?

After some thinking, I decided to write a letter (email, whatever) to my congressman explaining everything that has happened and how I’m stuck with the bill.

I mean, the point isn’t the cost – I could pay it. But what about all the other vets from my area who want to go to school there? What about the people after me who got stuck in the same situation?

After writing a letter to my congressman, I decided to get the people involved.

I contacted all the local news agencies to see who would do a “human interest” bit. Publicly shame these jerks. I found a friend of a friend who has a weekly column in the local newspaper. I gave him the full details, along with a picture in my dress blues per his request, and he said he’d help me out.

Yeah, you can see where this is going now.

A few days later, I got a call from a representative at our congressman’s office – I didn’t know that stuff actually WORKED! I explained to him in detail all the trips I had to make back and forth going between the school and the education office on Camp Pendleton, delivering papers by hand because the school didn’t want to cooperate.

He said he’d make some calls and try to get this resolved.

A few days later, the article ran in the paper. It wasn’t front-page stuff, of course (our town has enough crime that human interest stuff falls aside), but right there was a picture of me in uniform and a few paragraphs about how the school is screwing me over.

A few hours later, the woman from the tuition office calls me back with a very different tone of voice.

MCC Lady: Hi OP, I really want to help you out with this. Let’s see what we can do to get this resolved.

I found out that the representative from the congressman’s office had called her the same day the article ran, and she was getting leaned on HEAVILY by all her superiors. She sent the bill to the proper location, and my bill was paid in full – VERY quickly. The very next day the school president called a meeting to rewrite their policies on how they handle military students.”

6 points (6 votes)
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Nanabertarocks63 4 months ago
My dad had an issue with a professor. He was a hippy. My dad and his fellow vets decided to change the professors mind. One night the vets found the proffesors car, a beetle. The college he attended was in eastern Ky and had 99 stairs going to the common area. The professor found his car in the cafeteria. He fussed at the vets who just laughed at him. Next night they carried the car to the top of the 99 stairs . Next morning they were called into the Dean's office. The professor made a loud accusation the dean said he would handle it. He told them to not do that again
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9. Belittle Me For Struggling In Your Class? Better Hope I Don't Press Record

“To start this off, I want to mention I have never been very good at school, except for in early elementary school. But man was 7th grade a difficult year for me. At my school, there were three houses for the 7th grade: A house, B house, and the personalized learning house (C house).

I, being somebody who has had issues with the traditional school learning style applied to the personalized learning house. While the other houses had 4 teachers (one for science, math, writing, and reading), we had just 3 since we had an all-in-one English teacher).

The beginning of the year started out ok.

I was getting 3’s and 4’s on all assignments, (We did not have letter grades yet). I stayed quiet, kept to myself, and showed interest in what was being taught. Things continued this way for a while. Suddenly, my math teacher was getting agitated just by things like me asking questions in class.

I assumed that there must have been some kind of thing that had happened in administration or whatever; they could have just been annoyed. I put up with their aggression; however, eventually, the whole mood of everything started to change, and I wasn’t able to focus in class. This was in addition to my undiagnosed ADD at the time as well.

My grades were really starting to suffer, and I was somebody who was always trying to succeed in school. I even applied for a college scholarship that year. I went home one day to talk to my parents about how much I was struggling and how my teachers were being aggressive.

I got the standard lecture about me just not taking enough initiative.

More frustrated than before, I still went to school the next day. My teachers were REALLY on edge that day. Due to my previous confusion in math, I did not have my assignment completed for that day. I openly told my math teacher about it and asked if she could help me with some things during our study hall.

She angrily told me, “You can’t even complete a single sheet of math on your own. I’m not sure how much I can help you.” I was livid. Before that, her aggression had been mostly passive, but she was being a huge witch.

I walked to the door, tossing my math sheet in the recycling bin (because I’m eco-friendly) on the way out.

I made my way down to the guidance counselor and requested a meeting. I’d never liked her either, but maybe she could help me. I expressed to her how stressed out about this I was. I felt like I was being targeted and treated unfairly. THIS WAS JUST THE BEGINNING. After I finished my solid 20-minute rant, she told me that if I were more focused, she wouldn’t be annoyed with me.

(Again, I had undiagnosed ADD.) I pretended that I understood and cared what she was saying. Little did I know, during our entire meeting, she was constructing a badly worded email to my math teacher. I continued my day, very angry and stressed out.

I came back to school the next day and sat down next to my friend (I’ll call him J).

I got started on the math work we had been handed. I was talking to J about some of the problems, which he had no issue understanding. I remember saying, “I don’t get this!” At the first scent of blood, my teacher walked over with the most freaking evil look on her face I have ever seen.

“I just taught you all of this! How do you not understand it?” I couldn’t keep myself contained, “I don’t know!” Her face was red with anger. “And I suppose it’s my fault! Because apparently, you don’t think I’m doing my job.” As frustrated as I had been with her, I had NEVER said that.

“What?” This is where I found that my genius counselor had sent an email to her with everything I had said about school and her. She interpreted my issues with my concentration and her attitude the wrong way. She had also filled my English teacher’s brain with the same crap hers was full of.

Now it was two against one. J was watching all of this, along with the other 24 kids in the class. “Y’know what? Get your crap attitude and leave.” She dragged me out of the room by my wrist and shut the door. This is where I started to exact my revenge.

My brother, similarly to me, had been having issues in school. My father had bought him a digital audio recorder so that he didn’t have to take notes; he could just listen to the lesson again. My brother wasn’t all that interested in the idea and hadn’t used it at all.

I took it to school the next day. During work time in my math class, I was talking to J and some other friend about my goal to become an engineer later when I grew up. I saw my math teacher walking over with that same poop-eating grin as earlier. I pressed record on the recorder in my pocket.

“How do plan on being an engineer if you can’t even do this math? You probably aren’t going to graduate high school, so what makes you think you could get through college?” I kept my calm, knowing I had proof of her witchiness now. “I want to do this math; I’m just having trouble understanding it.” She literally started freaking panting.

“Excuses aren’t going to help you. Have fun failing all of your classes in 8th grade.” PURE FREAKING GOLD. This single instance was a treasure trove of revenge material. However, she was the kind of person who acts really pleasant to parents and other adults but like a devil to students.

A few days later, in her class, a kid was talking and making harmless comedic comments on the math problems. My teacher swung around. “Will you shut the heck up? Jesus Christ!” I had that recorded too. Shortly after, the vice principal walked in, she put on a smile, and they started having a casual chat about the changing lunch schedule.

Recorded. By the end of the week, I had had enough evidence to screw her over.

Monday morning had come. I didn’t bother with my counselor again, I went straight to the principal. And played him the tapes. He said that maybe we should all have a meeting together. This is EXACTLY what I had wanted.

My math teacher walks into the principal’s office, sees me sitting there with a recorder, and I swear I could hear her crap herself. She sat down. And immediately ripped into me. “What is this about? Are you trying to be awful? Did I do something to you?” The principal asked her to wait a minute.

He asked me to play the recordings again for her. She rebutted first with, “You deserved everything I said.” I was now the one with the poop-eating grin. “What are you? 5?” I saw a vein pop out of her neck. SHE LOST HER CRAP. “THIS IS ILLEGAL ANYWAYS. YOU CAN’T RECORD ME LIKE THAT.

WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU THINKING? I’M THE ADULT HERE! I CAN NOT BELIEVE THIS! THIS IS ILLEGAL!” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pocket constitution and read off at least three things in support of my actions. Then I pulled out a notebook in which I had jotted down information about some kind of congressional act. She was starting to tear up. The principal asked me to leave the room.

She was not at school the next day. Or at all after that. She was given the option to resign or be fired. I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but screw it.”

5 points (5 votes)
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sceri123 3 months ago
The guidance counselor should have been booted also.
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8. Refuse To Pay Us For Our Work? You Won't Like What You See

“During summers, I would work with Gramp doing a lot of his manual monkey labor: Shingles up to the roof, mix concrete, sand floors, keep everything tidy, etc. He’d been screwed over the years as many general and subcontractors are, and as the years went by, his contracts for work got more and more specific: For instance, payments on a certain schedule, new/unexpected costs, and how they’re dealt with, etc.

One particular job started out pretty normal: He’s hired to build a new deck with a new patio/driveway patio for this guy; let’s call him PooBrain. New construction, newer house, easy job. Gramps had even done work for him in the past, no problems. Deck is to be partly covered, 10×50 on the front of the house, 4ft up with concrete stairs.

Brand new door. Brand new picture window (4×8). Driveway is to be stained, freshly poured between the new deck and garage Grandpa built a few years ago. The guy was even going on vacation for a few weeks. We can get the job done in those 3 weeks if we bust it.

Guy pays 50% of the estimated cost up front and was to pay the remaining 50% over the agreed time. Now, this first payment covered all material for the original estimate and paid us basically minimum wage for the hours we’d put in. The next few installments would cover the subcontractor for pouring the driveway and the remaining hourly wages.

Weekend 1 passed: No agreed payment. Hmm… The guy’s on vacation, so maybe he forgot to set up auto-pay. Whatever. Send him pictures on AOL email. The original concrete stairs had been removed, and the new door was in place. Deck was framed out. But we didn’t hear from Poobrain.

Weekend 2 passed: Crap, no pay yet, but work needs to be done.

Concrete guys are here for the new slab and stairs: Let’s get it done, so we can move on to new jobs. Subcontractor is a long-time family friend and distant relative (call him Timmy), does us a favor, and pours/stains on an IOU. Send more pictures on AOL. No response from PooBrain.

Week 3. We finished our work two days early. Subcontractor has finished their work. It looks amazing, up there on a nice hill. But… we haven’t been paid for this work. Gramp finally gets PooBrain on the phone…

Gramp: “Hey Poobrain, how was vacation?” (blah, blah, blah skip forward 3-5 minutes; Gramps is a talker and lived in the vacation state for a few years).

“Great, glad you had a great time while I was busted it here. Holy heck, it’s been hot. What did you think of the work?”

PooBrain: “Oh, it looks great! We’ll be home later the day after tomorrow. We’re having a get-together with XYZ.”

Gramp: “Well, glad you’re going to enjoy it. Oh hey, seems like your bank didn’t pay us on the schedule agreement.”

PooBrain: “So?”

Gramp: “Excuse me?”

PooBrain: “So what? I’m not paying you the rest of what I owe.

Work’s done. Tough luck, you old loser.”

Gramp: “I understand.”

Click.

Gramp: “Well OP, let’s get to work. Oh, and get Timmy on the phone…”

PooBrain had that large garage Gramp had built years ago, and the guy let us use it to store equipment while they were out. First, the brand new door was removed and placed in the garage.

Then, each piece of the brand new deck was removed and placed in the garage. Sadly, the posts were 36in deep, but hey, a 4×4 truck pulled those out of the ground nice and good after a bit of shoveling. Those were also placed in the garage. The window was also removed from the frame and placed on top of this pile.

Deconstruction is MUCH faster than construction after all.

Timmy was rather unhappy as well about not getting paid, but hey… We found out that the new stairs we poured moved well enough across the new driveway/patio. And, some bleach took care of the stain we put on the patio. Sadly, it had a few chips in it from all the ruckus, and someone made the time to take a diamond saw and cut it all the way through the seams.

Sadly, it’ll now settle at an uneven rate. But, all the material PooBrain paid for, he got to keep. We even went into the garage in the evening and made sure his front door was locked. You know, for security. Even the few tools we needed for the job, which PooBrain paid for, stayed in the garage.

Fast forward two days: PooBrain comes home and throws a tantrum. It had stormed, and his AC had been running non-stop with the increase of draft into the front of the house. Of course, he threatens Gramps with a lawsuit and the police, which just makes Gramp laugh; a close relative was the Assistant Chief of Police in our small town, unbeknownst to PooBrain.

We did everything we were contractually obligated and paid to do: All the equipment and all the materials were in PooBrain’s possession. That is, after all, what he paid us for. PooBrain blustered a lot, but it did screw all.

Fast forward a bit. No one in the local union will deal with the guy.

Gramps and Timmy are both pretty well respected and do a lot of great work around town. Someone from out of town ends up ‘fixing’ the issues, and does a crap job of it. Darn.”

Another User Comments:

“I got hosed by a contractor years ago. Wanted plans for a remodel project based on some photos and hand sketches.

It was about $1,500 in work which was a lot at the time. I delivered the first draft and waited for the revisions. And waited. And waited. 3 weeks went by, so I sent him a bill.

He called and said he didn’t get the job so wouldn’t be paying. Whoa, we didn’t have an agreement of me getting paid if he gets paid.

I get paid for my time regardless and never work on a bid arrangement. He still refused, so I told him to take a hike. Also, let some other freelance CAD guys know about him.

6 months later, he calls, all buddy-buddy like with me. Has a big project with a tight deadline and knows I’m the man for it.

I gave him a bid that was high, tacked $1,500 onto it, and told him I wanted it all upfront. He didn’t like that and wanted to know why the price was so high and payment upfront. So I explained it to him as he seemed to be suffering from selective amnesia.

The guy starts begging me to do it and says he can’t find anyone else who will take it on. Apparently, he’d managed to stiff all the good operators in the area, so he worked his way back to me. I told him I’d be more than happy to take on any project he had once the $1,500 was paid, and all projects would be paid upfront.

Never heard from him again. He didn’t get that project, either. His wife actually owned their business and couldn’t figure out why nobody was willing to work with them. She got an earful once she started calling around asking for help. The guy had screwed other subs too.” JaquesStrape

4 points (4 votes)
Post


7. Attempt To Ruin My Digital Reputation? I'll Reveal Your Secret

“A few years ago, I was involved in one of those “swap and sell” groups on social media. It was specifically for stay-at-home moms and mostly centered around trading and selling clothing, toys, etc. It was an awesome resource because you could get things for your children at a very low price and often make new friends in the process.

There was one woman, however, that made the swap and sell group an unpleasant place. We’ll call her Kathy. In person, all she ever talked about was herself, specifically about how great she was. She did the same for her kids. She would also slip little hints in about how you or your children were inferior in some way.

For example, she would say things like, “Oh, your child’s soccer team came in third place last season? My son’s team came first, but that’s not very surprising considering how good he is. I must have done a great job raising him and it’s a shame that others can’t do the same with their children.” She really would say things like that.

In hindsight, she was a narcissist. I’m not just saying that; I’m pretty sure she could be diagnosed. I just did the best I could to avoid her if I saw her in the next aisle of a store.

One day, she saw me with my infant son. He was crying, so she came over and said, “Oh, let me hold him.

I can get him to calm down.” It was infuriating. Almost everyone hated her.

But Kathy really took it to the next level when it came to the swap and sell. She would be the first in line to buy something, only to demand a lower price upon inspection. “These clothes look dirtier than what I saw in the picture; I will only pay half!” She did this crap all the time, and if the seller didn’t oblige, she posted a rant about how they screwed her over, never do business with them, yadda yadda.

This sort of talk was technically against the rules of the swap and sell, but Kathy was friends with the administrator, so nothing was ever done. The administrator was lazy anyway and rarely interacted with the group.

Furthermore, Kathy had a few cronies that would send PMs to everyone in the group, bad-mouthing sellers who didn’t accept Kathy’s half-price crap.

It was borderline blackmail. I always felt some anxiety when I posted something for sale because I was afraid Kathy would claim it first and then pull her scam. Which she did, several times. She had her social media account hooked up to her phone, and since she sat at home and did nothing all day, she was fast to jump on items for sale.

Oftentimes, she would buy something, and then it would appear for sale months later at a jacked-up price.

What made this all the more frustrating was the fact that she was a pastor’s wife and had good standing in the community. Nobody knew what a witch she was, even though she was a toxic and selfish person who cared only about herself.

I put up with this woman for three years. Then, one day, I had enough…

I listed a toy for sale. It needed 2 AA batteries to work. Knowing this, I purchased a new pack of batteries and put them in the toy. I tested it. It worked. I said that batteries were included in my listing.

Everything seemed to be in order. Within two minutes, Kathy jumped in and said she wanted it. She obviously saw it pop up on her phone while she was lounging around at home. The rules said I had to offer it because it was “first come first serve,” and I could not skip over buyers.

So, with a heavy heart, I set up a time to bring it to Kathy’s house (she refused to meet me halfway or come to my home, as was her custom).

I dropped off the toy when I was in town running errands the next day. Kathy didn’t try to pull the usual “it looks dirtier than the pic” scam, so that was nice.

She asked if the batteries were included, and I said yes. I received payment and went about my day. Kathy was playing fair. Bout darn time…

But when I got home, I had 20+ notifications on social media. Kathy had tagged me in a post. Uh oh, this couldn’t be good…

In her post, she claimed that there were no batteries.

She posted a pic of the empty battery slots, shamed me for my shady sales tactics, gave a little sob story about how her chubby 13-year-old soccer star was upset that he couldn’t play with it, and demanded a refund. On top of this crapstorm, one of my friends PM’ed me saying that people were receiving messages from Kathy’s cronies about how selfish and shady I was.

That witch.

I had never been angrier and hurt in my life. I was done putting up with this chick’s crap. I responded with a rather lengthy message calling her out on her scams in the past. I said she was a liar for removing the batteries and that she should be ashamed of herself for behaving in such a manner when she was a pastor’s wife.

Many people liked my comment, and I knew that the crap was about to hit the fan, but I didn’t care anymore.

When I logged in to social media the next day, I had a ton of notifications and messages. My stomach dropped. I skimmed through the messages first. Some were positive, thanking me for calling Kathy out.

Some were negative, from Kathy’s cronies, about what a rude person I was to say those things about her.

As for the notifications, most of them stemmed from a single post that had been stickied by the administrator in the swap and sell group. Apparently, she overcame her laziness just long enough to publicly humiliate me.

The post said that thieves– yes, thieves– were not tolerated in the group, and then went on to mention me by name. This was no small thing, as there were many women involved in this group, and we were in a small midwestern town where word traveled fast. My reputation as a mother was being attacked.

The post went on to say that, rather than banning me, I had the opportunity to apologize and refund what I owed.

The first comment to the post was from Kathy. She said something that, no doubt, she had been dying to say for a long time. It went something like this:

“OP, you’ve stolen from me and tried to blame your past actions on me as well.

And yet, in the face of your accusations, I have been patient and kind. This peace comes from the Lord. If you would only accept Him as your savior, you would feel the same peace. If nothing else, this whole situation just proves that I am better than you.” Over twenty people liked the comment.

Holy crap. This crap had to stop. Kathy the narcissist was turning the tables and accusing me of actions, which were actually hers (an actual case of projection?). The time for vengeance had come.

This requires a bit of explaining. You see, Kathy had a secret, one that I stumbled on by accident several years prior while reading the local newspaper while doing errands in the next town over.

In one small corner regarding court happenings, there was a column about a man who had killed his friend when he was intoxicated. I don’t remember the exact details of the crime, nor did I know what the nature of the court proceedings was. But thanks to the column, I did know that this man had been found mentally unfit to stand trial and sent to the state mental hospital, and I did know the names of his parents, who were present at the hearing.

The parents, strangely enough, had the exact same names as Kathy and her husband. I did some googling and discovered that this man was Kathy’s oldest son. Kathy never mentioned having another son, for obvious reasons.

This crime happened when Kathy and her family were living in this other town. Soon after her son was sent to the mental ward, Kathy and her husband moved away, to my town.

I knew that she had lived elsewhere before joining the swap and sell, but I didn’t know that she had moved to distance herself and her husband from their dark secret. This was my short and sweet response to Kathy’s comment, I still remember it word for word:

“Kathy, you’ve asked me to apologize for actions that were yours, and then have the audacity to say that you’re better than me.

But what’s funny, Kathy is that the son you raised turned out to be a lunatic murderer. I will always be better than you.”

And I posted a link to the old news article. I did not stick around to watch everything go down, as I was sick of the drama. I removed myself from the group and went about my day.

I received a phone call from a close friend in the evening, and I learned what had happened. After I posted the link to the article about Kathy’s son, the comments section absolutely blew up. Kathy and her cronies posted several comments where the group administrator was tagged, demanding that my comment be deleted.

My friend said that there were several posts like this and they started to sound pretty desperate near the end. The lazy administrator, of course, was slow to respond. Kathy even said something about driving to the administrator’s house since she was not returning her phone calls.

After a couple of hours, the whole swap and sell group was deleted.

But the damage was done.

As for what happened to Kathy, I never had the chance to find out, as she deleted her social media page. I saw her in the grocery store a few weeks later, but she just flipped me off and walked the other way.

My friends and I founded a new swap and sell group. It gets bigger every day, but Kathy is not a part of it.”

4 points (4 votes)
Post

User Image
rbleah 3 months ago
Now you know how the oldest son was a nutball
1 Reply

6. Get Greedy With The Rent You Charge Us? Good Luck Finding Another Tenant

“My mom, brother, and I lived in a tiny, crappy rented apartment owned by her half-sister. In the beginning, she knew we were looking for a place to stay and begged for us to rent her unit because she needed the extra income desperately. This aunt is not close to us, barely met up with her over 18 years.

She lives at her daughter’s place and allowed us to rent the whole unit, and considering she’s a family member, it’s a good deal, we thought. We only had to pay the rental and deposit or some crap for in the situation of IF we move out without notice.

On one of those months, my aunt couldn’t afford to pay the utility bills (for trash, maintenance, etc.), and my mom offered to help for that one particular month only, even though it wasn’t part of the rental agreement.

But the following month when the utilities were behind on payment again, my aunt gave mom a stern warning telling her to pay on time. She somehow automatically assumes my mom will pay it each month for her just because she did it as a favor once. This means that my mom will have to pay like an extra $100 on top of the rental cost each month, but she’s a nice person; she didn’t mind and wanted to help out my aunt, thinking she’s having financial difficulties, and plus, she’s a family member, so we cannot say no or else word will spread.

In my country, the government will give rebates once every year in the form of something like $200 VOUCHER to be used to pay the light and water bills. Bear in mind, it’s just a piece of paper; it’s just a voucher that minus $200 from the bills, so you don’t actually get a check.

Every single 21 and above citizen will receive this for their household, but if you don’t have a house, you simply don’t need to use it, but my aunt texted my mom and asked for it to be reimbursed to her. She said, “Since you don’t need the voucher, and it’s my house, it belongs to me.” It’s ridiculous because the government gives this to everyone, and it’s just a voucher to cut down the bills, so how can she ask for ours as reimbursement? Her logic was that the rebates are to be used if you have a house and considering we live in her house, she thinks it’s rightfully hers.

She said she needed the reimbursement to celebrate Eid Mubarak, but we are a Muslim family too; we needed it to celebrate Eid as well. Again, my mom was livid but too nice to say anything and gave her the $200 she thinks she was entitled to. She’s a relative, and we didn’t want issues.

The next year when the government gave the same rebate, my aunt asked for the same thing but including the amount of the voucher my brother and I received. So my mom got incredibly mad and told my aunt off, but my aunt pretended she didn’t know the voucher was just a paper.

From this point on, there was visible tension and she hated us because she knew she can’t trick my mom into giving more out of her pocket. For 3 years, she continually tried to suck more funds from us because she knows we’d rather pay extra than have to look for a new place.

After 3 years since moving in, one night we had the rest of the family over for dinner, like 4 of them including my brother’s fiance, sister and her husband who don’t live with us, and our family friend. After dinner, we mused ourselves with the one-finger lifting trick. It’s basically a party trick where one participant will lie flat on the floor and 4 people will lift the person up using one 1 finger each, something to do with weight distribution.

You can google it, it’s a fun activity. Basically, we recorded ourselves doing it for craps and giggles and I posted the video on social media. But my aunt found the video from a tip-off by another relative and started commenting that we were having a “disco” and “the doors and windows are open.

You are letting the neighbors see and embarrassing us.”

1 whole day later, she gave my mom an angry phone call which went like this…

Aunt: “Do you know your daughter is on social media?” (I was 20 years old at the time. What the heck?)

Mom: “Yes, I know.”

Aunt: “Do you know she has photos with her father?” (Parents are divorced, but she thinks I’m not supposed to talk to my dad and take photos with him.)

Mom: “So?”

Aunt: “I saw the black magic video.

They are not supposed to do that in my house, and it’s embarrassing me. Are you aware of what they are doing?”

Mom: “Yes, so? I’ve seen it.”

Aunt: “You’re a Muslim lady, and you wear a scarf over your head. How can you allow your daughter to dress like that? When she leaves the house, the neighbors see, and it’s embarrassing me.”

My mom then hangs up the phone.

It’s really not her business in what I do or how I dress or whether or not I have contact with my father because this lady is just a distant relative. We simply rent her house; that’s all. She does not have any right to comment on my life. The night we had family over was just a small gathering, and we were not being noisy.

At the end of the month, my mom did the usual thing and went to my aunt’s place to pay for the rental, and she, along with her daughter, ganged up on my mom with some bullcrap about having to sell the house we’re living in because the housing board changed some policy or method of payment which my aunt is not willing to do, so they have to sell it in 3 months unless we can fork out MORE to RENT to continue staying there.

She told us to BE GONE BY NOVEMBER too if we can’t pay more. Mom just smiled and said ok. We know it’s just bullcrap and that there was no such new policy; they are just threatening to sell the house if we can’t pay extra rent.

That week, we packed up our crap and moved to my sister’s place.

We didn’t need to give her any notice or warning because she told us to be gone by November. After we moved, she told my uncle that we owe her 3 months’ worth of rent (payment till November which she feels entitled to because she thinks we are supposed to live there till November altho never mentioned it and only told us to leave as soon as we can.

November was just a deadline she made), but when we called her to verify this claim, she said she owed us the deposit instead which she must give back to us for making us leave.

Aunt was greedy. She was never going to sell the house. She simply didn’t like us because we refuse to give her the government rebate and so she tried to make us pay extra.

She knew we were desperate for a house in the past and thought we were going to do anything and pay any amount to continue living in her crappy house now. She never thought we were capable of moving out, and we are her only source of income, so she immediately regretted it and told my mom that they canceled plans of selling the house and begged for my mom to stay.

So the revenge is this: we played by her rules but moved out without any hint or warning which means my witch aunt didn’t realize she needed to start paying for the house on her own, and she couldn’t because we are her only source of income, she is heavily in debt now, nobody wants to rent her apartment because it’s in such a crappy condition, and on top of that, she also had to pay us the deposit back which she is struggling to do and has not fully been paid back 2 years later.”

Another User Comment:

“I had a brother who did something similar.

I thought I was helping him out. I discovered that I was just a doormat, and after a confrontation, I moved. He lost his house to foreclosure. I have no regrets. He placed himself in that position. The rest of my family made him aware of his bad behavior. I am still close with him because he learned his lesson. But it was a hard lesson for him to learn.” nicodiumus

4 points (4 votes)
Post


5. Take Advantage Of My Kind Deed? Have A Great Drive

Just goes to show that not everyone on the streets who claims to need help can be trusted.

“One night, I was on my way home from work and needed to stop at a gas station. This gas station was right off a very busy, tolled interstate highway and had an attached convenience store, as most do.

It was dark out when I pulled up. I started pumping my gas and was headed to the store when another customer stopped me. His truck was at the pump across from me. He went on a sob story about how he just got a ticket for not having enough in his wallet to pay the tolls, being completely out of gas, and needing to get home since he accidentally took all of his infant son’s formula with him when he left.

There was a woman with him, looking through a diaper bag while he related his tale of woe, and right when he mentions the formula, she yells, “Yeah, all the formula is in here. What were we thinking?!? We really need to get back!” She said her wallet should be in the bag somewhere, but after dumping the contents inside the truck cabin, she lamented that it wasn’t there.

So yeah, obviously, they were looking for me to give them some change.

For some stupid reason, I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. I go into the store, take out $20 from the ATM and give it to them. In retrospect, this was such a textbook example of the stranded driver scam, but I guess I was really naive.

But then instead of just thanking me for my kind deed, this brazen son of a witch responds, “Thanks, but we really need another $20 to make it home. Any way you could get more?” He also promised he’d mail the change back to me if I gave him my name, address, and phone number.

At that point, I begin to regret giving him anything as all the red flags are registering in my mind at once.

Both of these people were very unhygienic — greasy hair, VERY poor teeth (consistent with meth use), and dirty clothes. The man’s pupils were dilated a lot more than would be expected under the bright lights of the gas station and he was especially twitchy.

Likewise, the woman was pacing around, muttering to herself in feigned concern. So yeah, they were both probably on something. Also, looking at the contents of the diaper bag sprawled across their truck’s interior, there was plenty of trash but no baby formula.

I thought to myself, if I’m going to ruin these people’s night, I needed to be sure, so I agree to get more change but first ask him:

“Can I see the citation you got? My cousin is a state trooper and could probably take care of it for you.

I just need some of the information on it.”

As I jot down his license plate number on my phone, he checks his pockets before saying, “Oh, hmmm. I have no idea what I did with it. It’s ok; I’ll just pay it. No big deal.”

So, you don’t have enough to pay for gas, but paying more than $100 on a traffic ticket is no big deal? Bull.

Crap. I now also noticed the state of his license plate didn’t match up with his story.

Angry at myself, I’m making my way back into the store and the wheels in my head are spinning: How can I get back at this jerk? Have them kicked out? Nah, then they’ll just go to another gas station and victimize someone else.

Call the police? Eh, they might not get here in time. I’m a few feet from the door when genius strikes. I turn and call over to him:

“If you want, you can take my EZ pass for the tolls. I don’t really need it anymore. It’s right on the dashboard; the door should be unlocked.”

“Oh, that’d be great! Thanks!”

I go into the store and pretend to use the ATM while I’m actually using an app on my phone to cancel my EZ pass.

I report their fraudulent activity to the attendant and hurry back outside. I told the man I couldn’t take any more change out of my account, sorry. He’s disappointed but didn’t press me. I’m grinning like a smug idiot on the inside, get into my car, notice the transponder is gone, and drive off.

I pull over a few minutes down the road and call the EZ pass office. By some stroke of luck, they’re open late that day, and I’m able to speak with an actual person. I explain to her that when I got into my car just now, I noticed the transponder was gone.

I already canceled it but wanted to make sure it was all set. She confirms that it’s deactivated and that I can come to pick up a replacement for a small fee. Eh, not today. She asks and I tell her where and by whom I suspect the transponder was taken, giving her their license plate number and the address of the gas station.

She promises to pass the information along to the state police. Perfect!

A day or so later, the state police call me to say they’d recovered my transponder and needed me to come in to give a statement. Of course, I obliged. While there, I tried to pry for more information on the fate of the con artists but they weren’t very forthcoming at all.

Luckily, I told my cousin the story and she said she’d look into the case for me.

According to the report, they got CCTV footage from the gas station showing me giving the man change and then him taking my transponder when I went back into the store. Afterward, the losers got back onto the interstate and stopped at the nearest rest stop, where they presumably tried their scheme again, before moving on to the next one to repeat the process.

Eventually, they got off the toll road and onto a different highway. When they drove through the EZ pass toll lane, they got flagged for not paying and were pulled over a few miles away. At this point, I was satisfied having caused them to get a >$100 citation, but that wasn’t the end of it.

The cop notices something’s up with the driver and calls for backup. When they arrive, the police officer gave the guy a field sobriety test which he failed and was arrested. While this is going on, the woman flipped out and started running. She doesn’t make it far before they catch up to her whereupon she resists arrest.

All in all, the guy was charged with DUI (not his first time, either), possession, theft by deception (for the $20 I gave them), and theft (for the transponder). The truck was impounded and the guy got a large fine for operating without insurance along with the ~$100 fine for not paying the toll.

The woman was charged with possession and resisting arrest (she also had a record). All in all, pretty sweet revenge.

They ended up only being tried for the illegal substance charges, but I’m still very satisfied with that along with the fines. It gave my cousin (the cop) a good laugh, too.”

4 points (4 votes)
Post


4. Harass Me In-Game? I'll Destroy Everything You Worked For

Their gaming experience will never be the same again.

“This happened quite a while ago, probably around a year or less ago. My 2 friends who we will call Jim and Jon and I always played this game we loved called Ark Survival Evolved. We love the game and still do. We played on it for 4+ hours every day.

(It’s one of those games where you have to grind a LOT for those unfamiliar with it.) We were playing on the game’s official servers which meant regular 1x rates with occasional events where stuff would be 2x, which meant it could take upwards of 3 hours to “tame” one of the dinosaurs/creatures in the game.

I should also mention that I am bisexual, and I was struggling with my mental health at the time.

On the server, we lived as a tribe of 2 with my friends. We had a nice little house and quite a few creatures that we spent a lot of time working with.

We meet these guys who were called the “Targaryens.” I’m not sure if that’s how you spell it, but they were named after something from Game of Thrones. At first, we trade with them and buy a dragon off them. Stuff was going well, After a while, the owner of their tribe who we will call Bob decides that he wants us to join him and his tribe.

Obviously, we accept because they seemed like cool guys, and we wanted to be a part of something bigger. We spend about a week in the tribe before the maltreatment starts…

One night, when I was not in the group call with Jim, Jon, Bob, and some other people in the tribe who we will call Jerk 1 and Jerk 2 simply because of the fact that they don’t play much of a role in the story except Jerk 1, but it doesn’t really matter.

My friend Jon lets slip about my sexuality. (I was pretty closeted and very insecure about it.) I’m not really sure what else happened that night, but next time, I’m alone with Bob, and he brings it up, which obviously confused me as I wasn’t sure how he found out. He makes a couple of jokes about it, which didn’t really bother me all that much.

Some time passes, and I receive more and more hate and constant verbal attack from Jerk 1, 2, and Bob. Obviously, word spread about it. They would constantly laugh at me and ask me if I’ve been harming myself (guessing Jon mentioned me having counseling at school or something). I felt kind of obliged to just put up with it and not leave their tribe as I knew my other friends were really enjoying the rich life in the game.

I should also probably mention that these guys were one of the main Beta tribes, they had everything, and there was a lot of beef between all of the Beta tribes and Alphas.

Eventually, my friend Jim screws up and gets a load of their creatures killed when trying to do something.

He and Bob argue it out on call (which I was present for, but I was staying quiet to avoid a lot of the attention). The argument ends with Bob kicking Jim out of the tribe, taking all of his stuff, and then starting on me again. I decided that I had had enough of their nonsense and decided to take my stuff and leave them and the tribe.

I was actually quite upset about everything that had happened, and all of the harassment was finally getting to me. The same day, as we’re scrounging the server with nothing (they came and killed me and took all our stuff), we meet some guys who went by the tribe name of “The Norsemen” (Our lords and saviors).

At first, they kill me as they thought I was a troll. I find their usernames and invite them to a call. We talk for a while, and I fully explain the situation between us and them. It turned out that The Norsemen had big beef with Targaryens. They offer to help us get our revenge.

As I mentioned earlier, both Jim and I were out of the tribe. But not Jon… He had built up their trust and earned himself administration perms in the server. One day when we got home from school, Jon opened up all the gates, deactivated all the turrets, and we destroyed EVERYTHING! Their entire base was surrounded by metal behemoth gates which cost 100s, maybe even a few thousand, metal to make.

Each one was literally hours of work. Not to mention their base. We destroyed each individual foundation completely tearing down their enormous base. It took us hours to do, but it would’ve taken them a hundred times longer to make it. We took all of their stuff and ours and flogged it off to our new friends, the Norsemen.

Their guys loved it, and they had so much god-tier loot. We killed everything we didn’t want. And left nothing but a flat platform from where their magnificent base once stood. We kicked all other members from the tribe before leaving ourselves. We ruined EVERYTHING for these guys. And made some really nice friends along the way who helped us and gave us somewhere to live afterward.

Whilst in calls, Bob would randomly join and spurt homophobic slurs and racist slurs (we were all white). This continued for weeks, and every time they did, it was bloody hilarious listening to him yelling all of these things that now meant nothing to me.

All in all, it was good fun destroying everything they had worked hours on, and we’re all really happy with how it all turned out.”

3 points (3 votes)
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3. Be Super Biased In Your Teachings? I'll Prove You Wrong And Get You Fired

“In my senior year of college, only a year ago, I was required to take a diversity class for my major. I wasn’t interested in Jewish Studies, Asian Literature, or anything else that they offered. My partner had taken a Sociology class that qualified to be called SOCY 325 “Sociology of Gender.” She said it was really interesting and not at all what a stereotypical woman’s studies class might be like.

So I thought what the heck, I’ll give it a shot.

Unfortunately, the thought-provoking, discussion-instigating professor that she had was not the same one that I would be having. Unbeknownst to me, there were two different professors, and I was in the section with the awful one. This professor had an agenda and made darn sure that anyone in her class would have to agree or get out.

Any dissent was quashed.

Over the course of the semester, it was very clear that despite the class being about a very thought-provoking subject, in which there are many different theories and ideas, to her there was a RIGHT answer and a WRONG answer to every question that may come up. I love playing devil’s advocate, so whenever there is a flaw in someone’s argument, even if I agree with the argument, I’ll speak up and try to get whoever is making the argument to prove their point (I was a criminal justice major; “beyond a reasonable doubt” was my standard to get me to agree with you one way or another.) So we butted heads a lot.

It came to a head when we read chapters from a book written by Anne Koedt, a classic feminist novel. When I read this, I laughed out loud. It just sounds like such bullcrap that I couldn’t believe we were taking it seriously. The author does make some good points in the book, such as debunking some Freudian craziness, but otherwise, it was laughable to me.

When it came time to discuss it in class, I brought this up as total nonsense. I wish I had written it down at the time because the back and forth was pure gold. I raised a point that argued with something the author wrote in her novel as I felt that since she was a sociologist and not a researcher, her views may have been skewed.

My professor was arguing that Koedt was right, and we had been assigned the other reading (a study by Alfred Kinsey, an early women’s studies researcher) to prove that these other women had adopted the ideology of the patriarchal society. I admit I argued back again with an example involving my girl, who’s obviously a woman.

The teacher essentially said my chick was a liar.

So disregarding the fact that she had just called my girl a liar, I brought up another point siding with my perspective. And on that note, apparently, I was going too far down the smut train (though she was perfectly happy talking about the topic we were on before), and she changed the subject.

I think making a well-thought-out argument against her personal beliefs made me a marked man in her book, and she was determined to see me fail no matter what. Luckily, in this class, we only had three grades the whole year. A midterm, 25% of the grade, a final, 40% of the grade, and a final paper, 35%.

The two tests were both multiple-choice, and she couldn’t skew my grade on them one way or the other. I did ok on them, a C and a B, and just needed a 70% on the final paper to pass the class. The paper’s prompt was very open-ended, basically any kind of gender studies research paper, so I decided to poke the bear.

Not the best idea on my part, but I decided to create a survey on the exact topic I argued with the professor on, along with some other questions about sexuality and feminist sexuality theory. From the research, I concluded that Koedt was wrong and that the Kinsey experiment we read was outdated and wrong.

Alert the media! Call a news conference!

I had constructed my survey and distributed it in a very statistically significant way and had mounds of prior research to support my claims. Despite all of this, my professor gave me a 60% on the paper on the basis that my survey had a bias, the research was insignificant, and my conclusions were improper for the data collected.

She wouldn’t budge, despite another professor who I had asked for help in constructing the survey speaking on my behalf. So the grade stayed, and I failed the class.

Luckily, at my university, there was a process to appeal a final grade. What happens is that the original paper or test is submitted to a panel of other professors in the department, and they all grade it separately, and if the new average is very different from the original, then it can be changed.

The comments are also submitted, along with testimony from myself, anyone I want to have there, the professor, and anyone she wants to have there.

So the board found that my paper was very well structured, and I had effectively countered Koedt’s claims. They also agreed with my conclusion that the other study we looked at was outdated (they were sociology professors too and knew all about the subject).

So after the professor who had helped me talked to them, and I talked to them, my professor talked to them. The grade was changed, I got an A on the final and a B in the class. Thank God, no more gender studies for me.

The next semester, before I was going to graduate, I went to see the professor who had helped me.

He had written a great recommendation for grad school, and I had gotten into my first choice and went to thank him. In the course of our discussion, I brought up the other professor who we had shut down, and he gave me some great news. Because the board had felt she graded me extremely unfairly, and on the basis of her own personal beliefs, they submitted the case to the dean of the College of Behavioral Sciences.

It was not the first time that she had had complaints against her, and now with this hard evidence along with the findings of the other professors, she was fired!

Overall, I had a big problem with her because academics should be unbiased, and discussion is healthy. The “My way or the highway” attitude is really bad, especially in the gray area of gender studies.

So while getting someone fired isn’t really something to celebrate, I was glad that no more students would be subjected to her bullcrap.”

Another User Comments:

“Back in high school about 15 years ago, I had an art teacher who had some similar biases (so this crap ain’t new). The only thing I ever heard about feminism at that time in my life, was about women getting the right to vote and my mother arguing with some woman, which contained the phrase, “If that’s what feminism is, I want all there is to do with it.” So sexism was alien to me.

My teacher separated the class, boys on one side, girls on the other. One girl, Michaela, brought this up – She was a year older than us as she’d been held back a year after a long illness. Michaela got moved over to the boy’s side of the class but continued to be a bit of a thorn in her side, calling her out on the way she taught the class.

We’d all be given the same project, but she’d spend the majority of lesson time blowing smoke up the girl’s butts. I remember one girl blu-tacked a piece of bark to some paper – It sounded like it should have been hung in the Louvre. While the boy’s side would get corrections and chastisements as she walked past.

I really loved art and worked really hard, but I only got a D in the course. I asked around, and nobody over the boy’s side of the class got above a D, even Michaela got an F (and she was good! Google photorealistic portraits – She wasn’t that good, but I think in time, she’d have been close).

This “teacher” had only been at the school a couple of years before we ended up in her class. She took over from a teacher who retired and was real “old-school” strict, so we thought we were going to be in for an easy ride with this very hippy-ish new teacher.

I’m not saying we were model students, but we weren’t bad. We did steal about a quarter-ounce bag of substances from her desk drawer, then watched her sweat and panic, asking who’d been in her desk.

I was heartbroken, I loved art, and I was convinced I would do well in that subject even if I didn’t in the others.

I sacrificed a lot of study time in other subjects to focus on art projects. That old strict retired art teacher happened to be a friend of my mother’s. I asked her to look at my mountains of work, for a second opinion, hoping that I wasn’t deluding myself. I was a bit taken aback when, seeing that I was so downhearted, she put an arm around me and said, “I’d have given you an A for that, maybe an A+ depending on how much of a prat you are in class.” She asked to take my work, to see about getting my grade changed.

A few weeks later, I got a couriered package back with all my work and an amended certificate with an A+ on it, along with a letter that basically apologized for “a clerical error in the marking process”- I guess the old bag still had some weight in some circles. I went to see Michaela, she had been asked to take all her coursework back to school, apparently, the whole class had.

My mother’s friend, the old art teacher was a little candid about what was going on, but a few months later, she told me that an investigation had been opened by the examining board. It turned out that for the 3 years at my school and 6 years at a previous school, she’d consistently marked her male students well below and her female students far in excess of national averages.

She was fired and supposedly won’t be able to teach again.

A few years after, I wandered past this old dusty shop selling crappy furniture alongside mountains of “new-agey” paraphernalia, incense sticks, and crystals – It stunk of decomposing hippies. Of course, it was that “teacher” peddling it. That made me happy.” Reddit user

3 points (5 votes)
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2. Wrongfully Accuse Me Of Stealing? I Really Will This Time

“Back in high school, I was more of a nerd than not, but I also had a diverse group of friends, so I had an in with most of the cliques, and those that I didn’t necessarily agree with were usually far enough removed that I never had any problems with them directly.

However, the few that I silently resented were public enemies of a sort. Anyway, there was this one kid a year my senior, let’s call him CM.

For the better part of my first three years, I see CM around and am generally left with a sour taste. It’s the usual bullcrap, calling people out for whatever reason, then taking it out on professors who try to intervene.

There were a few run-ins with the law in CM’s short and illustrious career as a professional jerk, too, but again, nothing that directly involved me. That is, until the spring semester of the 11th grade.

One day when we were packing up from an orchestra rehearsal (both percussionists, we happened to be in the same band this semester.

It was a split campus school, and he went to the other one, but a few classes were only taught at one, and students were shuttled between them), the good ole loser accidentally left his iPod on a chair (which we later learned). Well, come Monday morning, he’s on a warpath.

CM accuses one of my good friends of stealing it, who I knew well enough to put my own reputation for his character, and then I was also accused of theft. A fly on the wall no more, I say. Screw this kid and his crap; I’m not going down for lies.

A small-scale investigation gets opened by the school, but about two days later, someone thinks to check with the custodial staff, and sure enough, one of the janitors picked it up over the weekend and put it in the lost and found. After that incident, CM kept a little distance from me and my friend, but there was a colder sense of animosity towards us as though we had accused him of the theft, not the other way around.

By the end of the year, I hadn’t had an opportunity to take revenge on CM for what he did to us and to dozens of others (which included the destruction of personal property, vandalism, and a lot of petty stuff). It seemed that my chances were slipping away, but then a good old Deus Ex Machina came our way, and he got held back another year.

Jackpot! Karma came around and gave him a swift kick up the butt, but it was also right into our laps.

Flash forward to the spring semester of our senior year. I’m taking a biology class, and it’s another one of the shared ones. Guess who’s there? Our mate, CM. Although he doesn’t acknowledge our prior standing, I sure as heck do.

Forgive and forget, I try and live by, but sometimes life just doesn’t want that to happen, so screw him.

To quickly set the stage, this biology room, like most of the building, was constructed back in the 40s and hadn’t seen many renovations since the 70s when a few additions were built.

All the lab tables were that indestructible black synthetic rock stuff, each shaped like a pentagon where one side joined it to the wall. Each of those sides held a row of 4 drawers, individually keyed, as well as two more columns of drawers on the walls between the island pods.

There were somewhere around 8-10 of them in the room, making for a metric amount of drawers (around 225 of them in total). For the most part, we used the front of the classroom, but occasionally we went to the back to dissect cats and crap. One lab, I opened one of the drawers out of curiosity, but it was empty.

Turns out, they all were and hadn’t been used for quite some time. What a waste…

…What an opportunity

A few days later, I stumbled across an old box filled with verdigris brass keys. I just had to know. Each one was paired with an identical key on an old spiral ring, and each one went to one of the two hundred odd drawers.

And that’s where the plot was hatched.

Over the course of about two months with the help of another one of my quietly unsuspecting yet marvelously devious friends, we began mapping out where all the keys went. Our professor was one of the best I ever had, and being a class at the end of the day, usually, we would have some time where he would answer questions and help people with whatever, and the rest of us could do whatever work we needed to get done.

That meant a few minutes every day where we could slip away to the lab tables and look like we were doing homework unsupervised.

When we finally had all the keys paired to their locks, we took half a dozen or so each day and progressively locked them in different drawers. So if you had one key, you would have to find the drawer it opened, and there would be another key inside, which opened a different drawer, which had another key…

You get the idea. But because there were two keys, we could keep the key for the last drawer on hand and open it whenever we wanted to, but the other was locked away in one of the drawers. And also since there were two, we unpaired them, and every fifty drawers or so, we put a mountain of the previously used keys in it.

Sort of like a ‘Congratulations, screw you!’

Two weeks after we started, we locked the last key away, leaving us with the one for the final drawer, and one for the first drawer. For good measure, we made the final drawer on the top so you couldn’t somehow jimmy the ones above it open and reach your hand down.

By now, it was drawing near the end of the semester, and so we waited for our opportunity to give CM the petty crapstorm of a lifetime. And our chance came at the best possible time. Two days before the end of the term, CM left the room for something and also left that freaking iPod on his desk.

When the opportunity arose, I casually lifted it and some other personal effects. Into the last drawer they went! I had been ready for this moment for months, and looking at the inconspicuously, horrifically devious sabotage made me so happy I could sing (no one wants that).

Of course, CM doesn’t notice that the iPod is gone, again, and leaves for the day.

Come the last day of classes, I drop an envelope on his desk when everyone is packing their final things for the year. Inside was the first key and a note scrawled with the words, ‘Want to play a game?’ (this was the height of when Saw was becoming popular) and some cryptic crap about what he had to do to get his things back.

If I could have taken a photograph of his face when he realized what happened, I would need nothing more out of life. Of course, I didn’t stick around to see if he ever made it to the last drawer, but no one would help poor CM. My only regret is that I could not have done it sooner. Screw that guy.”

3 points (3 votes)
Post

User Image
Foofer 3 months ago
Dis you ever look him up/tell him it was you? I wish i could/a did done that to somebody...
2 Reply

1. Throw A Ridiculous Amount Of Work Onto Me? Get Fired

“Around 8 years ago, I applied for a job working for a relatively small organization as a manager. Instead of the position I applied for, they offered me a different job reporting to the person they hired for the management position – still a step up in my career but not quite as good.

I accepted the job and soon after was invited out to dinner to meet my new manager. Let’s call her Sara.

I immediately became skeptical of Sara. She presented as a devout Christian woman while throwing shade at her previous co-workers and jobs, all of which raised alarms in my mind. I resigned myself to being polite but distant from her rather than running away as fast as I could because I figured I might have the wrong idea about her.

Yeah, not so much…

As soon as we started working together, she started pawning off much of her work to me. She hated making phone calls, which she was required to make, so I got stuck with those. She wouldn’t return messages from clients, so I ended up doing that too. The organization was small and had a serious resource shortage, something which was made worse by some recent system changes that were made right around the time we arrived.

Her shirking was positioned as “delegation” since she dealt with fixing those systems issues. The higher-ups saw it as a temporary issue and implored me to be cooperative.

Soon, I was working 60 hours a week trying to keep up with the workload. I got paid overtime, but no amount of extra salary can make up for constantly being thrown under the bus by your incompetent boss because I couldn’t handle the workload I was being asked to manage.

Nobody could! When she would actually get called on the carpet for mistakes and issues, she would yell and scream at me while simultaneously blaming me for the problems she caused. Meanwhile, she was having long conversations with anyone who wandered past her doorway, leaving at 4 every day with no overtime, and smiling that self-righteous smile of the oblivious sociopath.

I think she truly thought she was a great and successful manager.

I will point out that the people in upper management clearly noticed that something was up with the work in our department. A year had passed and things weren’t getting better…they were actually worse on my end since now I was so demoralized that I had cried a couple of times at work.

Thus, they didn’t pay much attention when I pointed out that our workloads were inequitable and that I was basically working both of our jobs, mine and Sara’s, without the appropriate tools since Sara hadn’t actually fixed the system issues she had been hired to manage. Other people in the organization didn’t really understand the system issues because they never had to use the system.

I finally decided that I was finished dealing with Sara and needed to demonstrate the dysfunction to the higher-ups. I waited for Sara to take a week of vacation and then promptly called in sick for two days once she was gone, leaving the higher-ups to try and handle client issues for those two days.

I didn’t answer any calls from the office during working hours, despite having some frantic, “How the heck do I do what the client is asking me to do?” messages. Instead, I waited until after hours, claimed to have been sleeping due to medication, and then left long messages detailing the convoluted processes of how the system worked (or didn’t).

I took the time to work on my resume and write up my resignation letter, including an offer to stay for up to two months to facilitate a transition (I didn’t bear the lower-tiered work, and the pay would be helpful if I could have a set date in mind, so I felt OK with a longer notice period).

I arrived back at work after my illness and had three of the higher-ups walk straight into my office, shut the door, and sit down. “What the heck is going on here?” was the first thing that came tumbling out of the general manager’s mouth. So I spent a good ten minutes detailing the system issues, reminding them that I had consistently mentioned being overworked and not having the tools to do my job.

Apparently, Sara, unbeknownst to me, had been bad-mouthing me to all of them, calling me incompetent and slow. Once they told me that, I said I found that surprising since she had spent all of that time bad-mouthing the system to me and calling the management incompetent. One of the other managers told me that they were attributing the problems to me and my emotional state and now realized after just two days of trying to do my job just how awful things really were.

They apologized to me for doubting my claims and vowed to make changes. I thanked them and handed them my resignation notice, telling them that I had decided to go back to school to pursue a new career and couldn’t do that while working for or with Sara.

Over the next two months, before I finally left, Sara basically became a woman defeated.

I fed them every nasty word she said for two months, including showing them some text messages I received in which she bad-mouthed the organization. The GM told me they couldn’t fire her because anyone new would be even worse with the system, but that they were taking steps to cross-train others on the system in order to be able to get rid of her.

They monitored her office and interrupted long conversations. They removed me from her control, allowing me to return her delegated work and insist she does it herself. We had long meetings about systems issues during which she was left looking like a bumbling incompetent. After I finally left (they had a little party for me), they called her into the GM’s office and read her the riot act for basically chasing me out the door and costing the organization a strong employee…their words, not mine.

Sara contacted me after being told off and expressed how sad she was that I would say such things. I denied using the words they claimed I used, saying only that I talked about the circumstances and not the people. I lied purposefully in the faint hope that it would be useful to me in the future.

I had no great love for the management of the organization despite their recent attempts to make amends and it cost me little to play both sides. Her reputation was so bad at that point that nobody would believe her if she said I stuck up for her. It wound up being a good instinct!

They fired her 3 months later and told her not to use them as a reference.

She has basically been stuck in a series of temporary and low-paying jobs ever since she left. We are still social media friends and I have seen her messages about looking for help from God and tough financial times. As much as I want to feel bad for her, I can’t muster up even a little bit of concern for her.

Instead, I enjoyed a little private laugh at every bad thing that seemed to happen to her. Call me a jerk, but I view her as someone who tried to destroy my career to save herself some work.

So it has been nearly 8 years, as I said, and I have finally had a chance to truly extract my pound of flesh from her.

Last week, she sent me a long e-mail talking about our working together and how she’s happy to see things have gone well for me, and how she looks back fondly at our work together. She said she knows that we didn’t work together ideally, but that she had few options and wanted to ask me for a professional reference.

I jumped at the chance and reassured her that I held her with no ill will. “Here is my contact info. Just have them get in touch. Anything you want me to emphasize when we talk?” I got all the details and told her I would let her know when I got the call.

I finally got the call this past Thursday. I proceeded to bombard her with as faint praise as I could possibly muster. I really put on the Hollywood touches: weird vocal inflections, thoughtful pauses before tepid endorsements, seemingly careful and precise word selection. They must have heard from others about her penchant for talkativeness because they asked me point blank about that too.

I went super cagey in my response; “I mean, she certainly is friendly enough but I can’t recall any personal experience with her being distracted from her work by talking too much. Of course, I spent so much time in my office that perhaps I just didn’t see it.”

Got the word this morning thanking me for the reference and saying they hired someone else for the job. I expressed my condolences and told her to feel free to let me know if she needs another reference. She told me she would definitely be in touch.”

2 points (6 votes)
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