People Share Their "Casually Calloused" Revenge Stories
22. Always Grocery Shop Minutes Before We Close? Enjoy The Wait Time
“I work in an East Coast supermarket chain as a front end cashier.
Our store stops accepting new customers at 8:45 and closes at 9:00. After this, we have to break down the aisles and clean, so we all leave around ten. If this schedule is disturbed, we all go home much later. Onto the revenge…
It was a Thursday night, and our store was running at a decent pace up until about 8:30, where only a few customers remained.
At 8:56, a customer walks up (C) with two carts of groceries, overflowing onto the floor as she dragged them along behind her. She’s a regular and does this same thing every time she comes in, even the managers complain about her.
We’ve always talked about ‘teaching her a lesson’ and such because she is just so nasty as well. She walks up to me and says, ‘You’d better look a little more lively than that, I don’t want to be here all night!’ She began to haphazardly toss all her groceries across the belt, in no order whatsoever.
I looked over to my bagger, and she looked like someone just killed her puppy, but I had an idea!
Her groceries needed to be sorted and carefully placed in carriages to avoid anything at all from being crushed, right? Just to give an estimation, a normal transaction runs about 3 minutes.
We made hers last about 15. We sorted everything into sections by item type, and then by subcategory.
After each section, I stopped and waited for my bagger to finish, and would carefully review the last section to check for any double scanned items or incorrect prices. After about two sections she began tapping her foot and sighing frequently…
(C) ‘Would you just hurry up?!’
(Me) ‘I’m just doing my best to make sure your order is correct!’ (retail smile)
(C) ‘Let me talk to your manager, smarta*s.’
I call over the manager and continue carefully and precisely ring the order.
(C) ‘Look what he’s doing! This is OUTRAGEOUS I mean it’s 9:10 and I have places I need to BE.
Do you know who I am?? etc. etc.’
(Manager) ‘He’s just doing his job, and very well I might add. You should come in earlier next time. Have a good evening, ma’am.’
(C) *Sounds you would expect from a rabid dog*
I can see she’s paying with a check, so while she is chewing out the poor manager, I quickly remove the strip of ink from the printer and finish her order.
(Me) ‘Ok, the total comes to $407.67. How would you like to pay?’
(C) ‘Check. And you’re lucky I’m paying at all.’
(Me) ‘I’m so sorry you feel that way!’
‘I take her check and place it in the printer.
Oh no! It doesn’t work!’
(Me) ‘Looks like we’re going to have to take you to another register, ma’am! Our check printer is acti…’
(C) ‘I’LL JUST PAY CASH!!’
(Me) ‘Okay, so sorry!’ (retail smile)
I slowly count her change (might’ve lost count a couple of times) and wish her a ‘night as wonderful as she is!’ We all stayed late that night, but no one complained even once.”
21. Take My Parking Spot? Hope You Don't Have Anywhere To Be Anytime Soon
People don’t like to receive the mean treatment back that they’ve given to others. Funny.
“This happened over a decade ago. I was running errands with my grandmother, and, due to her declining health, I was driving. We got to the post office in a strip-mall, so she could get a book of stamps and had been patiently waiting for an end spot that was just about to open up (watched the person get into the car and settle in).
I turned on my blinker, signaled my intent, and waited patiently.
While waiting, I scanned the scenery and watched the other vehicle in question enter the driveway two large shops down and heeded no mind to them. Meanwhile, the person finished backing out but did so in such a way that we were blocked off from accessing it rapidly, but as soon as they cleared the area, I swung a bit wide (I was driving a conversion van) to approach the spot, when the car I watched enter the driveway, acknowledged my blinker, pointed at me and laughed as they swooped into the spot, nearly tapping the bumper of the vehicle in the spot directly across from him (important later).
I mentioned to this smug entitled jerk that I was OBVIOUSLY waiting for this spot, even had my blinker on and that he should move.
I know, I know, futile, but I figured being nice would be the right approach (I was in my early 20’s). “I’ll only be a minute” was his smug response. Alright… You want to play games, sir? Games we shall play.
I told my grandmother to go ahead and go into the post office to do her business, after confirming that we had nowhere else we needed to go in a timely manner.
A plan, formulating as I’m ushering her out of the vehicle, so I could exact my revenge.
2 things of note: a conversion van is capable of getting insanely close to other objects and STILL be able to allow a person to climb in or out, and the vehicle to the right of this jerk was shorter than his, which left extra room for my grandmother to get back in.
While my grandmother was in the post office, I rocked the conversion van as close as I possibly could to his bumper without touching anything, while leaving JUST enough room for my grandmother to get back in through the passenger door.
Turns out, his business took longer than hers, so I was able to get EVEN CLOSER to his bumper, ultimately blocking him in, with as close as he was to the car across from him and as close as I opted to park MY vehicle.
He had no moves he could make without hitting other vehicles, whereas I was able to move freely to allow the other vehicle to leave, while still keeping Jerk pinned in place. What made it better was my grandmother picked up a free calendar from the post office, and we used THAT as a means to occupy our time and attention.
After coming out and seeing what I had done, he started yelling…
I don’t really remember exactly what was said, but he was fuming. We took this opportunity to smile and wave at him, and my grandmother, catching onto what was happening and with the window cracked, loudly announced that she got a new calendar, and the pictures were breathtaking and that I needed to see them as she pushes the calendar into my field of view and loudly describing what the pictures were of, reading the captions, discussing the various shades of the many colors on EACH and EVERY picture.
When she was done with that, she felt obligated to obnoxiously discuss the days of the month the holidays landed on for that year, the lunar cycles, birthdays, and so on. 25 minutes rolls by at this rate (who would have thought calendars were so interesting?!), and Jerk gets out of his car, yelling profanities at such a rate that I swear he was about to pass out.
He approached my window and aggressively asked me why I’m taking so long. I responded with, “Well, had you allowed me the spot I patiently waited for, I wouldn’t be blocking you in right now” and drove off.
Act like an a**hole, be treated like an a**hole. That simple.”
Another Users Comments:
“I had someone go the wrong way down a one-way parking lot and steal a space I had been patiently waiting for about 10 minutes, then was a straight a**hole to me when I pointed it out to him.
He was driving a convertible mustang and left the top down.
I put a very polite note on his windshield about karma coming around to people who were sh*tty to others, then sprinkled the popcorn I had to snack on all around his car (some may have slipped inside, oops) and had a great view from my job of the seagulls (did I mention this was a beach) feasting.
By the time he came back, all the popcorn and birds were long gone, but his car was completely covered in bird sh*t inside and out.” subtleglow87
him. He quickly thought better and moved on
20. Keep Hitting Kids With A Ball? Now It's Your Turn
“1st grade here. Had a boy that would not stop hitting kids with basketballs.
He’d run up and pop the ball right at students. Sometimes he’d toss it real fast and say ‘Catch,’ but most often, he’d just throw it at children on the playground who were completely unaware. This kid seemed like he was trying to knock other children down, he’d laugh his a** off if he saw someone stumble or fall after they were hit by his basketball.
After talking with his parents, we told them we’d be taking the balls away from him until after spring break to see if his behavior improved.
As promised, he was allowed to play basketball again after the break, but we warned he better behave.
It didn’t take even 5 minutes before he stalked and shot that Spaulding special at this poor little girl, knocking her down. She cried and pointed at him, mulch dangling from her hair, ‘He’s mean, Ms.
Mysty!’ I agreed and told her he’d have the basketballs taken away for the rest of the school year.
As I got up and walked his way, he started to bolt. He ran out of the playground, past the sandpit, and on to the basketball court. He maintained eye contact with me, and before I could take another step, a stray ball from a 5th-grade game hit the edge of the backboard, bounced off, and hit that little sh*t square in the face…He went down like a sack of potatoes.
Of course, I ran over to him and made sure he was ok. (He may be acting like a little sh*t, but he’s still just a child.) I called for the nurse since he was out cold. He woke up with me above him and started crying saying he’d never do it again. ‘Please… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I won’t do it again!’
He didn’t want to pick up another basketball the rest of the school year.”
19. Be A Nuisance At Our Office? Your Lunch Will End Up On The Wall
“I work alone in a small office in a public building that is undergoing some renovations while it’s closed to the public.
There is an office space in front of my office that is usually unoccupied (think of an office space with a manager’s office attached at the end; I just rent the manager’s office).
The building managers were supposed to notify us if they ever intended to rent out space in front of my office, so we could build a temporary wall or something, so I didn’t need to walk through someone else’s office to get to mine.
But I guess they thought they didn’t need to do this because the builders are only there temporarily.
So, now the space is occupied by the site office for construction. I’m slightly annoyed at the building management for not notifying me of this, but I’m WAAAAY more annoyed at the builders because the space has turned into a dumping ground!
To get to my office, I have to walk past light fixtures, tool bags, random chairs in the walkway, and A TOILET BOWL, and I have to listen to builders talking sh*t while 12 of them sit in a room fit for 5 having lunch.
It’s like a teenager’s bedroom, but instead of clothes and stale socks the floor, is covered in building materials and tools.
I ask them to keep it clear as it’s the walkway to my office and not a storeroom, and they say sure but basically roll their eyes at me and do nothing.
So, I took some pictures of the mess and reported it to building management, and one week later, they tidied up SLIGHTLY and gave me a sassy, “Ah, we cleaned up a bit around here for ya mate.
No need to thank us” as I walked in that morning. A few later, and it was almost worse than it was before, to the point where I couldn’t leave my office without moving 4 boxes of supplies out from DIRECTLY in front of the door yesterday. I also hear them “whispering” about how I’m such a c*nt and a stuck up public servant.
(I’m private sector, but whatever.)
Cut to today: I go to step out to get a coffee, and before I open the door, I look through the window of the door to see someone’s half-eaten spaghetti sitting on the floor right in front of the doorway.
I lose my composure for a moment and say, “F*ck it,” open the door, and trip on the bowl of spaghetti, causing it to spray all over the room and the two builders in the room.
Spaghetti gets on everything: sauce on their computers, noodles in the bloody toilet bowl; it’s in the carpet and most impressively all over the builders.
They start to shout at me, but I get just as mad saying, “Who the hell puts a bowl of spaghetti on the floor in front of a door?!” I kind of snapped at this point and started lambasting them which is very out of character for me.
I told them, “This is an office, not a storeroom,” and “You’re worse than my teenage nephew” and told them to clean their sh*t up, or I’ll start kicking everything aside that’s in the path, delicate or not.
They sheepishly say yes, and I go get my coffee. When I return, no one is in the office, and the mess is still on everything (I think they wiped the laptops down), but I don’t care at this point and retreat into my office and focus on work.
Fast forward a few hours, and I get an email from the building management.
I crack a huge smile as I read an email basically saying, “The builders reported your conduct and had us come to inspect the damage.
However, we noticed the unacceptable amounts of mess in the office space had not been cleared up from the last time we asked them to, and they admitted the food was placed on the floor in front of the doorway, so we expect them to clean up the mess, pay for cleaning, and place no blame on you in this case.
If the mess comes back, call us directly as they are on their last warning from a few other incidents in the building.”
It was a longer and more official email, but you get the point.
So, now I’m occasionally looking through the window on the door while builders crawl around on their hands and knees scrubbing spaghetti out of the carpet.
I’m not proud of losing my cool and handling things the way I did, but I won’t deny that it worked…and it felt really good.”
18. Exploiting The Dress Code At Work
“One summer during college, I worked at a telemarketing agency. This was back when telemarketing was a semi-respectable job.
I sold lots of different products from long-distance phone plans to retirement annuities via a patriotic credit card company.
Anyway, being a semi-respectable firm, our call center had a dress code. Nothing out of the ordinary really. Men had to wear button-up shirts with collars, a tie, dress pants, and dress shoes (no jeans, t-shirts, or sneakers).
Women had more lead way pretty much the only restrictions were no open toe shoes, and dresses had to be below the knee. Violating the dress code was punishable by being sent home for your shift.
One day, I had a laundry emergency. The clothes drier had broken, and all of my work shirts were still wet when I went to retrieve them. The only shirts I had left that were even close to dress code were shirts with a Nehru collar.
That is to say almost no collar. As such, you don’t wear a tie with this type of shirt.
I decided to roll the dice. I suited up and threw on a blazer to help camouflage my dress code violation. Once I get to work, I go straight to my cube and work my shift with no problems.
This is great! I had just doubled my work wardrobe! So I would wear one of my Nehru shirts once a week or so.
I didn’t want to push my luck.
During this same time, I had noticed some of the women blatantly violating the dress code. Way too short dresses, sweat pants, flip flops, etc. No one ever called them out on it. I figured the dress code had been relaxed, and I just didn’t get the memo.
I continued to follow the dress code with the exception of my occasional Nehru shirts.
This went on for several weeks until one day my manager calls me into her office. I figure the jig is up.
Sure enough, she has called me in to reprimand me for not wearing a tie. The HR manager is there as well. I tried to explain that you don’t wear a tie with this type of shirt. The HR manager replied with, “That’s a good point! That’s two violations!” I got a write-up but got to finish my shift since it was almost over anyway.
Cue the malicious compliance.
It was Friday, so I went home and stewed about the encounter. I hatched a plan. Saturday morning, I went to the local thrift store and bought some of the ugliest ties and button-up collared shirts I could find. One particularly eye scorching tie I found was knitted, bright orange with horizontal teal stripes. The shirts were mainly pastel colors, but I also found a few gems that included a pink, green, and yellow plaid.
A red and neon green Hawaiian shirt. And a red, white, and blue vertical striped shirt. All button-up with collars. I paid less than $10 for ten shirts and fifteen ties.
To be fair, most of the items were not too bad on their own. However, when I went back to work, I made no effort to color coordinate. The result was a mix mash of clashing colors and patterns that should have come with a “warning may cause seizures” label.
I went to work the full week without acknowledging my outlandish attire.
Why would I? I was following the dress code to the letter.
By the Wednesday of the following week, management had had enough. Again, I was called into the manager’s office. Again, the HR manager was also there. But there was a new guy. Turns out, he was an executive from a patriotic credit card company.
The manager starts with, “We’ve had some complaints about your attire.”
I looked confused.
“It’s a collared shirt,” I replied as I patted my tie as if to make sure it was still there.
“Oh, it’s not that. Your look is just… Well, it’s jarring.”
“I don’t follow.”
I drug this out for about two minutes before the HR lady had had enough and just full-faced screamed at me.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, you little sh*t with your ugly clothes.”
Such language! And from an HR person.
The executive guy was visibly taken aback.
For my part, I just started crying. Huge crocodile tears. “…you think my clothes… are ugly…“
At this point, everyone in the room is visibly uncomfortable as I continued to ugly cry in the office.
The manager attempted to diffuse the situation. “What we’re trying to say is it’s just unprofessional.”
I snapped up and screamed, “She didn’t say unprofessional. She said UGLY!” As I jabbed my finger at her.
I was loud enough that I’m sure they heard me in on the call floor.
I calmed down after a minute. “What exactly is wrong with the way I’m dressed?” I asked still sobbing.
“Well.. the colors…” she started.
I interrupted, “What colors am I not allowed to wear?”
I caught an amused smirk from the executive guy.
“Um… well…err,” she stammered.
“Because there is no mention of prohibited colors in the dress code,” I interrupted again.
“I don’t think this is working out.
You’re fired!”
I stood up collected myself. “You will be hearing from my attorney,” I said as I left the room. My attorney being my cousin, but they didn’t need to know that.
So yeah I got fired. But it was a win in my book. I made them tell me my clothes were ugly. Also, I found out afterward that not only did the company lose the Patriotic Credit Card Company Annuity account, the HR manager was fired (asked to resign), and my manager was sent back to Corporate. I would like to think I was the cause of that.”
17. Do Your Work In My Spare Time? Sure, But It Might Not Get Done
“Nearly a decade ago, I worked as a receptionist on a sales floor. I had a lot of downtimes when the company wasn’t super busy. Winter was kinda slow for us, and one year as the accounting department was getting all their year-end crap sorted, Andrea asked me if I could help her organize her receipts since she’d gotten behind over the holidays. I said sure.
She’d been in the job less than a year, so she’d never done year-end stuff before, and I was happy to help her out. It took me almost a week, and it sure seemed like she was more than a couple of weeks behind, but it was something to do.
About a week later, she asked me to help her again. Getting all the end of year stuff done had put her behind on January, and our boss was starting to question her overtime.
No worries.
Toward the end of February, she brought me a huge stack of receipts from the entire month and said, “Here you go!” I went ahead and did them in my spare time, but didn’t rush myself. She ended up taking the last bit back because I was being “too slow.”
You can already guess how March went. She didn’t sort or file anything until the last week and then dumped it all on me.
Well, we were getting busy again, and I had a lot of work like promotional mailers and merchandise stuff for the sales floor. I said, “I’m busy. I won’t have time.” She said, “I know you have other stuff to do. Just do it in your spare time.” I agreed.
Unfortunately, I just didn’t have much spare time that whole week. She checked in every day getting increasingly frantic that her work wasn’t in order yet.
I calmly pointed to the piles of letters I was mailing or the merchandise I was unpacking and sorting.
She took it all back and tried to get it done in time, but no one can do an entire month’s worth of work in two days. She got called in to talk to the boss and tried to blame the whole thing on me saying that she thought it was my job to sort it for her.
I got called to talk to the boss.
I explained to her that I had helped Andrea because she got behind at year-end as a favor. I said that I was happy to help rather than sit around with not enough to do but that I’d told Andrea that I was too busy to help this week. Boss asked how long I’d been helping Andrea, and I said just since January. Andrea had been in the job since the previous summer, so she and the boss and I all knew that it wasn’t part of my job to help her.
Boss sent me back to my desk, and that was the last I heard about it.
Andrea got in huge trouble over the whole thing. She hated me. She talked trash about me to the other women in the accounting department. A few months later, a position opened up in the office, and I got it. When I started working in the accounting office, no one would talk to me or look at me except one girl who was already my friend. She told me that Andrea had been badmouthing me for months, and since no one else knew me personally, they obviously believed her. Over time, everyone warmed up to me since I’m a somewhat likable person, so I guess I won in the end.”
16. Park In My Driveway And Block Everyone? Two Can Play That Game
“Tuesday, we had a snowstorm in my province (yay, Canada!), and we received 20-25 centimeters of snow (approximately 0.8 foot of snow). The snow is not the problem. The problem is the snow removal. The neighbors have a sh*tty contract with a sh*tty company who blew the snow in front of their driveway.
I live in a 5-apartment complex. Behind the complex is three-spot parking for the other residents.
My partner and I both have a spot to park, which is a two-car long vertical parking beside the complex. We share that big driveway with the neighbors on our left, with a gap in-between for the cars parked behind to get in or get out.
Well, Wednesday afternoon, I come back from work and imagine my surprise when I see this big a** snow mountain. As my partner’s car is parked where I am right now, I can’t park on my usual spot in front of him.
I’ll block everyone from leaving or entering. I go park in the streets, but since there has been a snowstorm and the snow removal process is starting that night, I can’t stay there for the night, or I’ll get a ticket.
My neighbor Y downstairs decides to call the owner of the complex on our left, and he says, ”Yes, she can park in front of the snow on our side.” I do that.
2 hours later, an old lady rings everyone’s bells in my apartment complex and demands to speak with the black car’s owner. I get down. The conversation goes like this:
Old lady: ”Are you the owner of THIS car? ”
Me: ”I am indeed. Is it problematic?”
OL: ”It is! This… is my parking spot! My daughter comes regularly to visit me, and I need this spot. This is my spot! You have no right to park over there” (mind you, there’s no one parked there.
Only her husband has a car, and his spot is behind the complex. Her daughter will not visit tonight nor tomorrow morning, nor in the next weeks, and not only that, but no one can come visit anyone anymore; the pandemic rules are pretty strict where I am).
Me: ”I’m sorry, ma’am. The owner of your complex said it was okay!”
OL: ”I’m so tired of fighting with everyone.
I always fight with everyone. This is not your spot, kid. ”
(I’m trying to explain how I will block the passage if I park in my driveway. I keep asking her to look at the snow; it blocks anyone entering or exiting if I take my usual spot.)
OL: ”I don’t care. I. Do. Not. Care. You take that car and park in your own driveway.”
Me: ”But I will block the pass-”
OL: ”I don’t care.
You park in your driveway or go in the streets! This is your problem!”
Me: ”I will not get a ticket when your owner said it was o…”
OL: ”YOU LEAVE IMMEDIATELY, OR I CALL THE POLICE, blah blah…”
I shut the door, f*cking mad. Fine. I’ll park in my spot, and I’ll block the whole driveway, ma’am. I simply do that. The thing is two of my neighbors work from home, my partner has a day off on Thursday, the old couple downstairs is retired, and the other one takes the bus.
I simply don’t block anyone, except for the complex on our left.
Thursday morning, who wants to get out at 6:30 and honks loudly in the parking lot? OLD LADY and her husband, whose parking spot is behind the complex (not even on the side, you got me! I could’ve parked there; it would have made no difference). I go downstairs, pajamas, coat half-zipped, and wet hair.
I wave and smile. ”Your car is blocking the entry,” she yells through the downed window. ”I know. You asked me to park in my driveway, which I did.” I see her husband in the driver seat, looking at her like, ”Janet, not again?!” She rages a little bit and says: ”Fine, go in my driveway if you f*cking want. I need to go to work now; I’m late.” of course, ma’am, thank you ma’am.
I simply smiled and got in my car, rewinded, let them pass, and parked in her driveway. Oh, joy!
This morning, my partner and I left for work. When I came back, I took his spot. Tonight, she’ll be happy to see no one is parked in her driveway… until my partner comes back home.”
15. Make Fun Of Children With Disabilities? No Apple Pie For You
“This happened several years ago, when I was chaperoning a young man with Autistic Spectrum Disorder (let’s call him S) to and from speech therapy. S was using a PECS book for communication (for those unfamiliar, PECS stands for Picture Exchange Communication System, and the PECS book is a binder full of pictorial representations of objects, persons, actions, etc., attached by self-adhesive hook-and-loop fasteners, which are used to build a sentence on a detachable sentence strip.
The user builds a simple sentence – a request or a statement – and hands it to a communication partner. These days, PECS books have been replaced by digital devices. this story takes place a while back.).
It became a custom of ours to stop at McDonald’s for a meal after therapy. The place was quite busy, and as we waited in line, we used the time for S to prepare a sentence strip with his order.
Enter a mother of 5, with her brood in tow. Woman with a ‘can-I-speak-to-the-manager’ haircut began making loud remarks about how slow the service was (it was not, by the way, there was just a lot of customers in the store and the drive-through line was wrapped around the building).
Her eldest kid, a girl of about 10-11, whined in turns about the wait, and about wanting an apple pie.
When it was our turn to order, S gave his sentence strip to the cashier who read it back and entered it into the register. And as all of this was taking place, I heard the ‘R’ word from the whiny girl. Something to the likes of, ‘Ugh! That retarded kid is taking soooooo long to order!’ I saw red. I looked at the mother, and she did nothing, did not say anything to her kid, did not look ashamed in the slightest.
Nothing! I kept staring, but she was just avoiding looking at me. I guess in her mind, there’s nothing wrong with her kid calling someone with a disability a retard. So, I did, what any reasonable person would do, I purchased 23 apple pies. Why 23, you ask? Because that’s all they had available. If the spawn of hers wanted an apple pie, she’d have to wait for a fresh batch.
S and I got seated in a booth with a good view of the registers, and oh joy, it turned out the restaurant did not have any more apple pies. Mother was fuming, and I felt bad for the staff, but the manager handled it quickly with a coupon offer, and her kids were hungry and whiny, so she gave up the fight, and they all went to sit down.
They were shooting me angry looks from across the restaurant, to which I responded with a wide smile because Phase 2 of my petty revenge had just occurred to me.
After our meal, I had S build a sentence on his sentence strip that asked, ‘Do you want apple pie?’ (Not the most polite way to ask, but PECS book had their limitations) and we made our way from table to table asking it to diners and handing out pies as I explained about S’ condition and this being a good exercise in communication and social interaction for him.
Everyone was responding kindly, smiling and high-fiving.
Overall, it was a very nice experience for S. When we were down to the last pie, I decided to keep one for myself because there was only our favorite family of 6 left, and they were not getting a crumb. As we walked past, the mother went, ‘Excuse me, my daughter would like a pie.’
The audacity! So I got the box out the bag, looked the woman square in the eyes and said, ‘I know.’ Then I opened it, took a big bite, went, ‘Mmmmm,’ and we walked out of the place.
Very petty, but very, very satisfying.”
Another User Comments:
“This is what is wrong with children nowadays. The parents do not teach their children any respect for people that have disabilities and limitations. I found that many people with autism or mental handicaps are the most honest and generous people around. I know this didn’t register to the girl, but your ignorant actions have consequences in the real world.” dukat2978
14. Lock Us Out Of Our Storage Closet? We'll Find A Way In
“I work at a resort restaurant that’s located in the main hotel building on the property. Due to particular things this year, I can’t say the name of, our resort and restaurant as a whole has had to go through a lot of changes and needed to adapt to a lot of new and different things. We’ve also been losing a lot of employees, and it’s been affecting our performance and overall motivation.
As a result, the resort hired a new head manager for the restaurant, Samuel, to manage the chaos. Samuel got to work almost immediately, resolving any issues he found or was told about by one of the employees and made changes accordingly.
One of the things he decided to do was put a lock on what we in our restaurant all lovingly refer to as “The Cage.” The Cage is basically a couple of tall shelves surrounded by an iron bar fence and gate that housed all our paper supplies like to-go boxes, cups, and bags along with a few miscellaneous things like crayons and such.
Samuel worried that leaving it unlocked the whole time looked unprofessional and people could easily steal some of our supplies whenever they wanted. He told us during a meeting that he’d give keys to each of the managers so any of them could unlock The Cage if we needed to get in.
I was really skeptical of this idea and worried that it could lead to issues.
For one, the managers at my workplace tend to have the ability to “teleport,” meaning they vanish 99% of the time you need them and you don’t know where they are. Sometimes, they’d all be unavailable because of a meeting or something, and you’d have to wait or find an alternative answer if one existed. Samuel assured me that I wouldn’t need to worry because he’d have a key everywhere in that case.
Well, he IS the boss so…
About a week or so later, I was working the night shift on a Wednesday and was anxiously counting down the minutes till closing. It had been an incredibly slow day, so we didn’t have much staff on duty, and we only had one manager on duty, Jerry. Jerry is not one of our main managers but manages a neighboring department and has helped us a lot when we’re short-staffed or if a manager isn’t available.
He’s a lot like our former boss: kind, patient, organized, and a bit goofy, so we all get along with him. Jerry had also been absent from work for the past couple of months, which he revealed he had spent on medical leave. He had been in a bad accident and broke three ribs, but despite being well enough to work, there was still a little pain, or so I remember.
An hour before we were scheduled to close, Jerry asked me to start restocking our EXPO station’s paper goods, so we wouldn’t have to worry about it later on.
I nodded and headed towards The Cage to collect the supplies.
Well, what do you know? The Cage is locked. Guess I’ll have to ask the manager like Samuel said I’d need to.
I told Jerry about the lock and said I needed the key to get in. He was silent for a moment before he turned to look at me with a face that I can only describe as a mix between irritation and disappointment.
“I don’t have one,” he said in a sigh, “Samuel said he was going to give me one, but he never did and I completely forgot until now.” He rubbed his head and we both walked to The Cage.
As he stared at the heavy-duty lock and chains, he told me to go to Loss Prevention (our Security department) and ask them for the spare key they should have. I did as I was told and left him scratching his head while studying the gate intensely.
Unfortunately for us, no one was home. The door was locked up tight and you couldn’t see any lights on through the windows aside from the TV monitors that played camera footage.
It was likely that all the Loss Prevention officers were busy doing tasks around the resort property. There was no way of knowing where they were or how long they’d be gone for. I’ve seen times when they’d be gone for hours and tonight, we only had less than one before we really needed to close up everything.
Again, it was a slow day and we all wanted to go home as soon as possible.
I relayed the news to Jerry and he just sighed again looking up and down at The Cage with a forlorn look.
At this point, I think any normal person would just say, “Heck with it” and walk away.
It wasn’t like we needed to restock that night and could in the morning when Samuel would be there. If we just explained the situation to Samuel, he may have been understanding about it.
Not Jerry though. Jerry was DETERMINED. No lock in the world was going to keep this man from his destiny of obtaining the priceless paper and/or plastic goods beyond that metal prison. Not even his recovering ribs would stop him.
At that moment, Jerry made the executive decision that if we couldn’t go through the gate, he was going to go over it instead.
The thing about The Cage is that the fence is basically just iron bars running horizontally and vertically about two inches apart, so basically there’s enough room for a foot to fit in.
The fence was also about 6 feet tall and there wasn’t a roof covering it. Needless to say, it was possible to jump The Cage’s fence, but it would be difficult and dangerous. I tried to stop him, offered to do it in his place (I’m 5′, 23, and probably wouldn’t have an issue) but eventually caved in and helped where I could. With a few makeshift platforms, collaboration, and a conveniently placed stepladder, Jerry had managed to get in and out of The Cage and we had obtained our paper goods.
I convinced Jerry to leave the stepladder inside as I was feeling petty and thought it’d be funny for someone to ask why it was stuck in there.
Jerry told Samuel everything the next morning as they shared the same shift. Jerry said Samuel wasn’t mad, just a bit surprised and a little apologetic. I wasn’t there to see it, but I think Samuel got the message, and since then, we haven’t had issues with the keys.
Never underestimate the power and determination of a restaurant manager and his petty sidekick.”
13. Freak Out Over The Word "Courtesy?" Lose Out On Your Fee Waiver
“This technically wasn’t my petty revenge, but that of a coworker of mine that I was witness to. I worked in a call center for a credit card company. At the time there was a $10 fee for processing a payment over the phone, I’m not here to justify it, that’s just what it was and it was perfectly legal. It was one of those things that a CSR could choose to waive but were definitely not required to and in fact would have to justify their reasoning for waiving it (waive too many, and you’ll get a lesser raise, worse shift choices, etc.), so not a lot of people waived them.
Anyway, I was sitting with a girl, listening to her call as part of my job at the time, and she received a call that went like this, verbatim.
“I want to make a payment over the phone,” the customer said gruffly.
“That’s no problem,” replied the rep. “It does have to be with a check, and there is a $10 processing fee for that.”
“A fee? I didn’t know there was a fee.”
“Well, I can waive it for you as a courtesy, since this is your first time paying by phone.
Just remember you can always pay online or in the store-”
“A courtesy?!?” he shrieked, cutting her off. “It isn’t a courtesy! You can’t consider it a courtesy if there is no other way to pay the dang bill.”
“I’m going to waive it for you, sir,” she pleaded, trying to talk him down from his unhinged fury. “It’s no problem, but there are other payment methods, as I was saying you can-”
“This isn’t right,” he continued to berate her.
“How dare you say it’s a courtesy, I want to talk to your supervisor right now!”
At that point, she was required to transfer to a supervisor, getting someone I knew quite well and who had little patience for jerk customers. I didn’t hear that call myself, but I talked to the supervisor after. Upon getting the call, the customer screamed at her (the supervisor) for the word ‘courtesy’ being used and demanded an apology and to pay his bill.
She apologized (she was required to, we all were, regardless of fault or logic when talking to a customer), and offered to take his payment, however, because he was being an a**, she refused to waive the $10 fee, which was her prerogative and totally allowed. The prior rep had made a judgment call to offer to waive the fee, that was that individual’s decision and since he didn’t allow her to process the payment, thus he didn’t accept her offer, the next person was not bound by that and the way our phones were set up it was impossible to transfer it back to the original CSR. It is definitely a fine line she toed, but it was still allowed. He ultimately made the payment with the fee and that was that. Let that be a lesson – don’t be a d*ck and set your ego aside.”
12. Steal My Special Stuff? I'll "Haunt" Your Xbox
“During freshman year of college, I roomed with my cousin and our friend Dan. The three of us really like to smoke drugs, but for college kids, it’s a luxury. So naturally, when we wanted to smoke together we’d all chip in an equal sized amount so no one ended up getting short-changed and to obviously save a little cash here and there. As time went on, Dan began to run out of money due to his constant smoking.
No money = no smoke. In our very small and cramped room, I had a mason jar filled with a baggie of my special stuff in a spot that NO ONE (I thought) knew about. After class one day, I wanted to sit back and enjoy a smoke when I pulled my stash out of the hiding spot to find that there was stuff was missing.
Instantly, I knew Dan did the dirty deed. My cousin wasn’t struggling too bad financially at the time so it couldn’t have been him. But before I pointed any fingers, I decided to wait it out and be 100% positive.
When Dan came back after class, I noticed he was more nervous than usual and didn’t make eye contact with me when we were chatting. Red flag 1.
Per usual, he’d throw his jacket on the floor, like he did with any other piece of clothing, and started to make ramen noodles. While he was busy, I slowly lifted the jacket with my foot to reveal the top of a baggy with some stuff poking out of the inside pocket. Red flag 2. I’m not a big fan of thieves, so I decided to get my revenge on Dan in a very petty way.
Just to let you all know, Dan is a very gullible human being and tends to believe anything, even if it’s a little far fetched…
One day, my roommates and I planned on having a Netflix night with a bunch of our friends later on in the week. I saw this as an excellent opportunity to do something devilish, but ‘what devilish thing should I do?’ At the time, there was an iPhone app called Xbox Smartglass that had just come out.
Basically, one would log in their Xbox Live account information, connect their phone to the Xbox, and control basic things like direction (think directional pad) and clicking the ‘A’ or ‘B’ buttons.
With this newfound information, I knew exactly what I was going to do, but had to bank on doing it right.
The Netflix night comes and all 10 of us are outside finishing up a special smoke before we head back in.
I, however, excused myself early to go to the ‘bathroom.’ During this time, I quickly went inside my room, turned my Xbox on, connected my phone to Smartglass, and left it on my bed (it would disconnect if you were too far away). A few moments pass and we are all jam-packed into the room. Dan and I had bunk beds on the right side of the room.
He had the top bunk and I had the bottom. My cousin, Gucci, had his own bed on the left side of the room. Everyone else was squeezed in the middle. What’s perfect about my position is that I could conceal my phone very well with no one being the wiser.
Dan had the controller and began sifting through possible movies to watch. I started off with clicking to the right, left, up, and down every so often making it appear that Dan was messing around with the controller.
‘Yo Rivy, I think your controller is busted.’ said Dan.
I obviously told him it wasn’t and that he’s scrolling through everything too fast.
So I continued to mess around more and more until I started moving everything faster and faster. Naturally, people were like, ‘Dan! Stop being a d*ck!’ He responded by letting go of the controller to show that it wasn’t him and everything was indeed moving on its own.
Everyone was confused. This being the right moment, I stopped for a few seconds… then slowly shifted down to the ‘Horror’ section, scrolled to the right until I saw the movie conveniently titled, ‘Hell’ and clicked on it.
Everyone screamed and hollered. Dan jumped out of his bunk, nearly crashing into everyone, and ripped the plug right out of the Xbox.
As he turned back, I could see the look of true fear in his eyes.
Everyone was scared sh*tless and the commotion caught the attention of the Residence Attendant. It was painfully hard trying not to laugh during this whole ordeal.
Our room was the talk for the entire week. Dan was going around telling everyone, ‘Yo man, our Xbox is f*cking haunted/possessed…’
From friends to classmates, Residence Attendants and even the hall janitor, Dan told EVERYONE. He was so infatuated and scared, I decided to keep going with it.
It got so crazy that Dan, and I swear to God I’m not lying, would talk directly to the Xbox as if it was a person.
He’d ask it questions like, ‘Who are you?’ ‘Are you a kind spirit?’ ‘Can you communicate through other forms of technology?’
This was absolute gold.
Before you know it, I started communicating with Dan by typing on the keyboard for Xbox live messaging.
I got more daring and wrote words like:
‘Dan’…’Death’…’Car’…’Demon’…’Hell’
I also wrote places he would be that day, clothing he was wearing, people he knew, etc.
He was too busy freaking out that he never took a moment to logically think about the whole situation. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine pranking someone this badly especially with an inanimate object. I do want to note that my cousin found out about my prank/revenge due to the fact that he saw ‘Smartglass Connected’ pop up on the Xbox dashboard.
I told him everything and he promised not to interfere and encouraged me to continue.
One day after class, I walked into my room to find Dan sitting upright on his bunk staring into space. I asked him what’s up and he went on about how scared he was and how he believed someone was hacking the Xbox and sending him threatening messages. He also believed that whoever was doing it was also hacking the webcam too (lol).
Dan went on and on and even considered calling the cops (yikes). Realizing how out of hand this was getting, I stopped messing with him for a little while.
Overall, I kept my vengeful prank a secret for a few months before I finally told him. He was livid at me and firmly believed someone or something was out to get him. But he did admit to stealing my stuff and soon paid me back. A word to the wise, never steal from someone, you never know what appliance will become possessed and haunt you.”
11. Won't Put A Leash On Your Female Dog? My Male Dog Knows What To Do
“I own a male Keeshond named Dante. He is just 2 years old and while he is neutered, he will still try to mount any female dog in heat that he encounters.
Today we were out in the park when we encountered a female Husky running free. (In my city, only dangerous breeds need to be on a leash.) By Dante’s reaction, it is obvious that this girl is in heat, and while I am able to catch him before he does anything, he refuses to move.
Dante may be medium-sized, but he is big for his breed and extremely strong. Normally I would have been able to move him if the b*tch had gone away, but she insisted on staying beside us. I tried to shoo her but to no avail and trying to control my dog was becoming more difficult.
I could see the Husky’s owner (maybe a 25M) was some meters away exercising in the public equipment (which, by the way, is forbidden at the moment due to COVID, and he was not wearing a mask), so I kindly asked him if he could leash his dog for a little while so that I could move Dante.
The dude said he was busy and that it was not his problem I could not control my dog.
At that moment, I decided to give this dumba** a scare and freed Dante from my grab. The two dogs played for a moment before going away to do the flowers and the bees. I gave them some minutes before I started screaming at the top of my lungs, “STOP, DANTE, STOP!”
This finally snapped the guy’s attention away from his burpee routine, and when he saw Dante mounting his dog, he went crazy.
Guy: “WHAT THE F*CK, DUDE! STOP YOUR F*CKING DOG!”
Me: “I tried, but your girl was pretty insistent.”
Guy: “WHATEVER, GRAB HIM, OR I WILL DO IT MYSELF!”
Me: “I dare you to try it.”
This was pure bluffing, Dante is non-aggressive and would probably run instead of fighting back if anyone threatened him, but the amount of fur makes him look bigger than what he truly is.
Add this to his wolfish appearance, and you will understand why people get somewhat intimidated by him.
The fact that the guy didn’t move and just opened his eyes wide open showed me he believed my lie.
He kept rambling for about 5 minutes about that I was irresponsible, that we needed to stop them, etc, etc. until I said that if we both grab our dogs, it would be easier. He complied, and faster than you would think, we were able to separate the animals.
Keep in mind, Dante is still neutered, and while he can have erections, doing the deal is not so easy. Also, dog mating is not that fast. They normally do a lot of “fake” mounting before actually doing the real thing, so I am pretty sure we just interrupted their “foreplay.”
But back to the story… The guy was obviously mad and threatened to sue me and said that I would pay if the b*tch got pregnant and some other things.
I told him that my dog was fully neutered, so that was impossible and that if someone was getting in legal trouble was him because I had a video of him doing his forbidden exercise routine without any biosecurity. (After unleashing Dante, I recorded him on my phone.)
This just made him angrier and made him throw an even bigger tantrum. I got tired of it and went my way while he kept insulting me. A really unfunny day at the park, but hey, at least Dante got a little action!”
10. Don't Want To Hire Me? Think It Over
“To understand the setting, you need to know what a “crossdocker” is. That’s a logistics company that ships LTL loads, (less than trailer). So let’s say that you have a customer that has 2 skids for City A, 3 skids for City B, and a skid for City C. You go to the customer, pick up all of his shipments, then put them in with the other orders for their respective cities.
The freight moves “across the dock” into its destination container.
With this arrangement, you spend the day running around, picking up orders. Late in the afternoon, the loads start to arrive at the warehouse, and the fun begins. The dock crew worked 4 pm to midnight, sometimes later, depending on volume.
Let’s call my friend “Charlie.” He was a temp in the dispatch office. When he was hired, it was staffed by Old Manager, Manager’s Nephew, and Day Dispatcher who set up the pickups.
That was the day shift. Charlie was the afternoon shift, along with two data entry clerks.
So the dock would load a container destined for a particular city. They hand the folder with the waybills for each of the shipments in the container to data entry, who get it into the server, and generate a manifest.
Most of these containers were intermodal, and they were shipped out by train.
You’ve seen ships with containers piled on them? Same thing, except for domestic shipments they would use 53-foot containers, rather than the 40-foot containers you see on boats.
Charlie would take the folder and then:
-
Verify that everything in the container was headed for the correct city
-
Check for temperature-controlled freight
-
Check for dangerous goods and make certain the container was placarded correctly
Then he would go online and check the container into the railway’s system.
When Charlie was hired, they were doing about 5-10 rail shipments a shift.
He was told to copy-and-paste the information from the railway’s webpage into a report, then send a heads-up email at the conclusion of the shift to each of the partner terminals in the respective destination cities.
By the time he’d been there 2.5 years, that volume had increased to about 40-50 loads a shift. Day shift might handle 3 or 4, and Manager and Nephew would use the copy-and-paste routine, but Charlie didn’t have the time to do that.
His brother was a bit of a techie, so when Charlie noticed that he could “export to Excel” a report from the railyard site, he got his brother to write a script that would harvest the relevant info and generate reports for each of the cities and would do it in a few seconds.
Charlie approached Manager and asked for a position with the company, as it would be a raise, and he would get health benefits.
The manager dragged his feet and finally said “no.”
Charlie thought about it for a bit, then told the manager, “I’m going to be taking two weeks off starting Monday. Call the Agency and get them to send someone else over.”
Manager was furious, but he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He wasn’t Charlie’s employer, so he had no authority to deny Charlie the time off.
Charlie was in good with the agency, one of their stars. Temp workers aren’t the most reliable, so anyone who kept his head down and caused no issues was valued, and the agency backed him up.
Charlie had friends on the dock, and they kept him informed.
The first problem was that the replacement the agency sent had nothing in the way of experience, and Manager had to train him from the ground up.
This resulted in many phone calls throughout the evening to the manager, which got him more and more cranky as the days went on.
The second was the reports. This company was on the West Coast and was shipping across the country. Each destination location had a huddle scheduled at 7 am in their respective time zones where they would review the incoming shipments. The dock would shut down sometimes at 1 am, and the new temp needed to get the reports out by 3 or 4 am, and the copy-and-paste routine was taking WAY too long.
Which bring us to the third problem: overtime.
The temp was running 12- to 14-hour shifts.
Manager delegated Nephew to work afternoons to help out. That meant Manager had to cover Nephew’s workload as well as his own. Nephew was really not happy either as he was a sports fanatic and played hockey several times a week. He had to miss his games.
Even with Nephew on the job, the reports took forever to get out, and there were mistakes made.
Temp controlled freight was sent dry, and in one case, they had to send the dock foreman racing to the rail yard to placard a container before the yard would accept it.
After a week or so, Charlie took the opportunity to distribute his resume and put Manager up as a reference. So now Manager was getting calls about Charlie and realized that Charlie might not come back.
He was taking flamethrower heat from all directions, and his only way out was to put Charlie on the payroll. By this time, the agency had sent TWO temps to cover what Charlie used to do, with the oversight of Nephew.
Manager called Charlie in for an interview.
“Okay, Charlie, we’ll put you on the payroll. We’ll pay you the same as the agency paid you, and we’ll give you benefits.”
“No, thanks.
I have other interested companies that are offering more.”
“Fine. We’ll put you on salary and bump it up by 10%.”
“Again, no thanks. I won’t accept a salaried position unless I get to go home after 40 hours. If you need me to stay late, you need to pay me overtime.”
“How much an hour are you looking for?”
“Well, I know what you pay the agency for my services, and right now, you have two temps working to cover the shift.
Tell you what, pay me what you were paying the agency and add the benefits, and you have a deal.”
“What? That’s almost double what you were making before.”
“….and that’s what other companies are offering. You can cut what you’re paying out to the agency by half, and there won’t be as many f*ckups. Nephew, can strap on his skates, and you can watch TV all evening without getting phone calls. Or things can continue the way they’re going. What’s it gonna be?”
Charlie got hired on, made a good chunk more money, and as a sweetener, negotiated 3 weeks holidays a year.”
9. Bratty Kids Get A Little Present At The Grocery Store
Enjoy, kiddos!
“Every Sunday I hit up my neighborhood grocery store for my weekly meal prep. I don’t like shopping so I make a list beforehand. I get there at 7:00 am and know where everything is, so I’m usually in and out of there in 15 minutes. However, this particular Sunday I was busy in the morning and ended up at the store later than I prefer at 9:00 am.
After grabbing my cart I get stuck behind a group of slow walkers who are heading straight for the first aisle on my list. Okay, change of plans, head to aisle 2 on my list. After grabbing my stuff there, I enter the other side of aisle 1 to get my things before heading to aisle 3. Of course, there is a woman with her 2 children standing right in front of what I need while she looks at the opposite side of the aisle.
I politely ask if I can grab a couple of things behind her. She makes a face and begrudgingly moves over.
I passed by the butter four times before I could get in the cooler because some woman was mining for gold or something. My body went on autopilot as the next thing I know I have a full cart and am standing behind two people at the checkout.
A family gets in line behind me and I’m not sure who I want to punch more:
The three children screaming and running around my legs, but not quite hitting me.
The silent father with dead eyes.
The mother, barely audible above the screams, telling her children, ‘You are not behaving very well right now,’ then immediately turning around and letting the kids continue.
Not wanting to cause a scene (and forever have to drive across town for groceries) I stewed.
I’m now next in line when I feel a hand on my hip/ass. I turn to see a woman twice my age holding a bottle of malt liquor. ‘Hey. Lemme get ahead of you. I only have one thing I need to get out of here before my husband notices I left.’ My two modes at that moment are ‘catatonic’ and ‘murderous rage,’ so I take the high road and just let the lady go.
I’m staring daggers into the side of her head as she wills her last hopes into the card reader that the sub-$5 purchase is approved.
A guardian angel must have taken mercy on me as my first glimmer of hope came in the form of the cashier handing her a receipt and she exits. Finally, the only thing standing between me and my now very much needed beer is upon me.
I enter my loyalty number on the pin pad (gotta get them points) and put my card in the chip reader. The family behind is standing much too close as I’m ready to enter my PIN. Side note: I know I am grumpier than most, so I try to let the things that don’t physically harm me go.
However, one of my biggest pet peeves is people looming over my shoulder as I am entering my PIN.
As I’m shifting my body to turn my back to the family, I feel it: last night’s dinner has descended, and it was packed with cheese, ground beef, and taco seasoning. My guardian angel was still with me.
I stealthily enter my PIN and grab my card with the family still on my heels. Then, I released. Silent but deadly does not do this abomination justice. It was as if Satan himself was singing Careless Whisper.
Pausing for just a moment to make sure the area of effect was centered at the family until the first stink particle hit my nose signaling my exit before it made me gag.
The heat leaving my pants with each step was symbolic of rising from the depths of hell. With only a few yards before I was outside, I turned to see the children holding their noses with one hand and flapping the other and the once oblivious parents frantically looking around to find the source of the chemical attack. I walked into the morning sun with a new lease on life and went home to a celebratory beer. Hopefully, the cashier can forgive me.”
8. Giving Weird Guys My Number? I'll Send Them Back Over To You
“Over the past 3-4 years, I’d been getting these random calls from guys asking for the names of various women. Asking for Jennifer, Jenn, Sue, Susan, Marie, Maria, Lynn, etc. These random guy calls would be very infrequently apart, sometimes a few weeks, others spanning 6 months before another would occur.
Last year, a persistent guy asking for ‘Jennifer’ (different name from the previous random calls) called several times, refusing to believe he was stiffed.
He couldn’t understand that this was the wrong number as this girl he met wouldn’t do that to him. The conversation turned from me being very annoyed to realizing that some chick had given him this number, on purpose. My number. Realization dawned on me that this [wrong number] shtick had been going on for years now.
Months go by and another random dude calling for another chick that obviously wasn’t me.
I almost hang up but remembered the previous dude and asked, ‘Hey, whoah… sorry to ask. Who gave you this number?’ ‘Uhh, huh? Ohh, this brunette down over by [Local City Nearby].’ He was p*ssed that he got stiffed a possible hook up but was cool about answering some questions about said girls description.
Her features didn’t ring a bell and I knew that it wasn’t a friend playing a prank.
Yet another few months later, and another guy calls my number asking for a yet another female. This time, when I asked for a description of who this chick was, it was close to that of someone I had briefly went out with. A particular facial feature under her left ear gave it away.
Introducing Sarah. She and I briefly saw each other for years. It didn’t work out.
We went on several pleasant dinners, trips to the beach, etc. But we had no chemistry together.
Sarah called off our short-lived relationship only AFTER an expensive night out at a steak house and an entertainment-filled week of Amusement Parks and a night at the Improv. Her words exactly, ‘Yeah, I felt that you and I weren’t connecting. It’s been this way for a few weeks now.’ Wow, she basically used me for a nice dinner and entertainment for over a week.
I told her off in the frustration of it all and may or may not have told her she was a gold digger. Hindsight is 20/20, I shouldn’t have done it. P*ssed or not, it was wrong and I probably deserved a bit of what she did afterward.
But this was now 4 years later… give it a rest! Her form of karma revenge was to give the loser guys she met MY PHONE number? Ok, I admit, it was ingeniously petty.
So I was 99% certain it was her, but I had long since removed her phone number from my contacts and she and I shared no social circle. I received one more call from a random guy asking for another random female (he didn’t want to answer my questions) and this set me into revenge mode. I ended up finding her old emails from 4 years back and the number she had given me was disconnected.
Reversing a google search on her email brought up several recent social media pages. Won’t bore you all with the details but after many pages of public entries, one of her reply posts listed her new phone number. A fake sales confirmation call from my buddy’s phone confirmed it was Sarah’s new number. Bingo!
Fast Forward to this last New Years Day, I got yet ANOTHER random guy calling and he got the bad news he had the wrong number, but he was in luck. I DID feel obliged to give him ‘Sarah’s’ new corrected cell number as it was the only polite thing to do.
I even encouraged him to give her a call that day, as I was just the old guy friend of hers who shared phone lines. I had her old phone number and she probably just made a mistake. [wink wink]”
7. Keep Stealing My Legos? I'll Set Up A Trap
“Backstory: From the time I was 5 or so, I loved Legos. I had bins and bins full of them. I always got a few boxes every Christmas, and I spent a few good weeks putting them together and setting them on my Lego model shelf. My one problem was that I always wanted to play with them, so they slowly fell apart and ended up in bins.
My mom tried a few times to get me to sort and rebuild them, but I gave up pretty quickly. So they just ended up in bins.
My brother started liking Legos around the same age I did, but he didn’t like putting his sets together as much as opening the box, putting the mini-figures together, and making them fight (to be fair, I liked making them fight too, just after I built the set).
He started stealing my Legos then, but I quickly got them back anyway, so I didn’t care much then.
However, we then moved, all the Legos got put in one huge bin, and when we got into the new house, my mom said we had to share the Legos. She then went to IKEA and bought these four rolling bins and we spent all day putting them in the bins.
I made sure to put all the cool stuff and mostly built sets in the blue bin. My brother saw and complained, but I just said I was innocent, and that it wasn’t my fault. So we split Legos and all was fine. For a few years that is.
You see, my brother and I liked to create massive story arcs and make new mini-figures out of broken ones, blending series and sets.
So I made a new story arc when we moved since a lot of old characters were lost. Gradually though, I got bored and gave them to my brother. A year later, I bought a massive baseplate, using a ton of Legos to create this massive base with tons of new characters in it. I was so proud of it and formed its own story arc around it.
However, my brother was not so happy about it. He didn’t like that I had a cool building to play with and lot’s of new minifigs to play with.
You see, he was pretty rough with his characters, and they slowly broke, or got lost, until he only had a handful left. And around this time, I had gone through all the bins and taken all the good stuff out (gold, rare items, weapons, new people, etc.) He was not too happy about this, as I had doubled the number of characters I had.
And some of them were characters that he had lost. He was kind of a d*uchebag to me. So he started stealing my people. I complained to my parents, and he was made to return them. However, he didn’t stop. He kept on going. I complained and he got shut down, finally ending this. Or so I thought.
I looked into my base a month later, and I noticed something.
A few of the mini-figures didn’t have weapons, or whatever else they were holding, and I was missing some treasures. I found them in his room, on HIS characters. I reclaimed them, but he kept stealing. My parents were tired of this and told us to sort this out. He didn’t return the stuff.
That weekend I watched Home Alone for the first time. (sad it was the first time I was watching it I know) I bet you can guess what was going through my mind.
Cue the petty revenge.
I knew what I wanted to do but not how to do it. I decided to go to the garage and grab my old water gun. Through some string, a drill + some little metal hole thingies, some duct tape, and some elbow grease, I had a mechanism that when the door was opened, the water gunshot at whoever opened it. (I put this in my closet where I stored this on a shelf and had a way to disarm the system)
Whelp, a few days later my brother starts screaming while I’m eating lunch.
(He screams like a banshee for the smallest things, so no one was immediately worried.) He then stomps downstairs with his hand over his eyes, crying like crazy. He says “I got water in my eyes.” Next, he goes full-on male Karen mode, saying It’s all my fault. My parents look confused, as I was downstairs, talking with them the whole time. I explained to them what I did, telling them that I was told to sort it out with him, so I did.
My parents burst out laughing. My brother never stole my Legos again, and my dad brings this up every chance he gets. Lol.
One last thing, afterward, I took it down, and attached a chain and lock to it.”
Another User Comments:
“My evil stepsister liked to wait until I’d built this huge fortress, then grab it and smash it on the floor. Stepmom thinks this is my problem 100%.
I learned how to build stronger, more structurally sound buildings than ever. There was no doubt stepsister would pick it up and hurl it at the floor immediately upon its completion.
The last time she tried this on me, the building didn’t even break. A few bricks were loosened but all was in order within 30 seconds.
My stepsister found other ways to irritate me after that.” MaceGrrrL
6. Horrible Customer Gets Burnt Coffee
Here’s your coffee, jerk.
“Now my story happened 11 years ago. This was back in the days when I was not a coffee drinker; I would only make it for my wife in the mornings.
At the time of the story, I was working MID shift (11:00 pm to 7:00 am) as a maintenance crew lead. Mainly this consists of long, boring hours of making sure everything that the other shift did not finish got done before the DAY shift showed up.
Now my crew was 4 people deep covering three DAY teams. So, when the DAY shift came in, I would have to give turnover to three different teams.
It is noteworthy here to say I do not work for any of those three teams. My crew and I worked for the shop as a whole, so my boss was the same as each team lead. 99% of the time, we had no issues.
I would tell each team in the morning what we did with what they left us then head home and sleep till 3 pm.
Onto the story.
So, as I told you, in the mornings, I would give turnover to each team. Well, team 3 lead was a jerk. He would always moan about the work my team did. Side note: my team of 4 always made his team of 20 look incompetent.
For example, they would leave us a unit that would not start, that they would have worked on for hours, and it would be dead batteries and took us ten minutes to fix.
Now the morning of this story jerk was mad because I didn’t make him coffee and that my predecessor would always make a fresh pot of coffee for the DAY shift people coming in.
I laughed at him and told him that I would not make him coffee. He did not like that I laughed at him and said that I was required to, and if I did not make him coffee, he would make me regret it. I just smiled and said I make bad coffee, and you would not like it and left.
The next day, I did not make coffee, and true to his word, jerk made me regret it.
He kept me late for about 2 hours asking about everything I had done that night.
Note: I work salary so no extra money on this time wasted. So, once jerk was done asking stupid questions, he said maybe I would have a better time at turnover if he had fresh coffee. I am annoyed, to say the least. For one, I was not able to make it home to see my kids off to school or my wife before she went to work.
So, then I hatched my plan: he wanted coffee; I would make him coffee. Yes, I will say that I had the typical ideas such as eye drops in the pot or make it with toilet water, but then it hit me: I know how to make sure he never wants my coffee again.
I set up my plan the next night two hours before the DAY shift would show up.
I found the cheap coffee the shop uses, and I filled the reservoir with water. The pot normally makes 12 cups, so I put in the 6 scoops needed of grounds before I hit start. It takes about 20 minutes to finish. I pour the fresh coffee back into the reservoir and add fresh grounds and hit start again.
Now my crew is starting to wonder what I am doing because I do not drink coffee, and they would not drink any at this time of day.
Then they saw me pour the fresh coffee into the reservoir for the third time and add new grounds.
It all came into focus for them, and as DAYS started to show up, my crew told them not to drink the coffee. The pot was at about 6 cups, and no one had drunk any of it. I am sure I broke that coffee maker.
Finally, the jerk showed up, and I told him that there is coffee, and I hoped the others left him some.
I walked with him and watched as he poured himself a cup. I noticed that someone other than me had hidden all the creamer and sugar. For those who do not know what I did, I wasted a lot of coffee grounds to make it really strong and burnt tasting. So, hiding the sugar was making sure that the jerk would have to drink it like that.
The jerk did not notice anything at all. He took that first sip and I saw the look. I asked if anything was wrong. I asked if it was too strong for him and if I should see if there was any milk around. I then informed him if he ever screws with me or my crew again, he would regret it.
I never made him coffee again, and he never kept me or my crew late again.”
5. Yell At Your Child For Reading? Get A Serious Sunburn
“When I was younger, around the age of 13 (I’m 20 now), my mom used to encourage my sister and me to read as much as we could. For this reason, I would love to take books with me everywhere.
One day, my family was taking a trip to Cartagena, Colombia to enjoy the beach for my sister’s birthday. (We were living in Colombia at the time.) Even back then, I wasn’t a big fan of the beach because I hated how the water was so cold and salty and the feeling of hot sand on my feet.
I just never liked it. So, I opted to just read my Chronicles of Narnia book on a beach towel under the umbrella.
It was at this point where my father started to scream at me to go into the water because we took such a long trip to get there. The trip was about 2 hours. I told him I’d get in when I finished the chapter I was on.
I just said that to please him. It was at this point where my father took the book from my hands and told me he wouldn’t give it back to me for the rest of the trip. We were staying in Cartagena for 3 days, so I was kinda p*ssed.
Now, enter my mother! My mother is the kind of woman who gives people chances and is slow to anger unless they mess with her children.
My father was frustrated with the trip for a multitude of reasons, so he decided to take a nap on his towel. One thing to mention is that Colombia is a very hot country, especially in Cartagena, and we were in the middle of summer and were on the beach at the hottest time of the day.
So, normally, my mother would have woken up my father in a situation like this.
But as she was fed up with the way he had treated me that day, a lightbulb went off in her head. She noticed he fell asleep about a foot away from the shade of the umbrella with no sunscreen on. She thought to herself for a sec and decided to go back sunbathing and acting like she hadn’t noticed anything.
He was asleep in the sun for 5 HOURS.
It was safe to say he had a sunburn for the next week. He couldn’t even sleep properly for the rest of the trip because his body ached so much.
My mom didn’t tell me this story until after she divorced him because he was an emotionally abusive father to my sister and me and didn’t treat my mom right. I love this story because my mom never stood up to my father directly, but when she saw the chance, she would act all innocent and let him dig his own grave. It was a small victory for her, but a victory nonetheless. Plus, I thought my mom was a bada** after telling me this.
Also, this story is funny to me because I hate reading now! My sister is the fastest reader I know and can finish a 500-page book in one day, but reading has never been my forte.”
4. Say I'm Such A Bad Driver? Hope You Like Slurpees
Everybody loves Slurpees… until…
“Back when I was a senior in high school around Christmas time my parents allowed me to skip school to go buy Christmas gifts and say off it for the day.
I had my license so I was excited to just do my own thing that day. I head out to the mall in the other town and am having one of those really good days.
You know, where for no particular reason you are just happy and floating through the day. It was sunny out and not too cold. Just a perfect day. After I finished up at the mall I figured I would treat myself. I got one of those big gulp slurpies from 7/11. The almost gallon looking cup that barely fits into any of your cup holders with the red shovel end straw of Mountain Dew Code Red.
Hell yes, this was continuing to be an awesome day.
I needed to cross a bridge to get over the big river in our area and onto the highway I needed. The bridge had the outside lane closed midway through. Im in the inside lane and need to get to the right turn lane at the end of the bridge. Before the closure this lady in a nice BMW tries to speed up and cut in front of me before the lane closed.
I was like wtf? This was dangerous as it is being all tight and everyone following close so I don’t let her in and she slides in behind of me cutting off the person behind me.
Whatever. I can see in my mirror she is waiving her arms around and upset. As I pull into the right turn lane she pulls up next to me and rolls down her window.
All I see is animated movements and someone yelling.
So I roll down my window. This old b*tch isn’t going to ruin my day. My initial plan is to just be overly nice to her. B*tchy people in a fit hate when you are super nice to them. But after I roll down my window I hear her breaking into a tirade against teenage drivers. ‘You kids should learn manners.’ ‘You kids shouldn’t be driving.’ ‘I’ll have you arrested!’ and just being a mean woman because I wouldn’t let her break the rules and cut everyone in line.
So I had a moment of brilliance. I reach over, grab my fully filled and bright red slurpie and with my right arm I sorta chucked it across my body. My initial plan was that it would hit her door or something and spill everywhere on her paint causing her to have to go to a car wash. What actually happened turned out better than I could have imagined.
Now, remember she was leaning over into the passenger seat to yell at me. So as I chucked this tank of red sticky slushie out my window it didn’t hit her car door or any part of the outside.
Instead it sailed perfectly into her open window and exploded when it hit the headrest of her passenger seat.
I’m talking bright red slushie exploding all over the nice tan leather interior, windshield, and best of all on the woman’s face.
The look of utter shock and awe on her face was absolutely incredible. She went from one moment being rude, mean, and authoritative to suddenly shocked and trying to process her situation. I simply said, ‘Merry f*cking Christmas’ and drove away. Those were the only words I spoke to her. Afterwards I felt kinda bad. I mean I didn’t mean to throw it IN her car but rather on it.
That mess must have been a pain to get cleaned up. But after thinking about it a little more I was very happy that it turned out the way it did.”
3. Steal Others' Work To Use For Our Group Project? I'll Let You Get Caught
“So, this story took place about 10 years ago when I was at university studying forensic anthropology.
One of the courses we had to complete was one that was designed to teach us how to properly write up a report that could be used for medical records and in court.
For the final, we were put in groups and given pieces of real skeletons and had to do a full report on them, all measurements, photographs, etc.
that would normally be involved, as well as a self-written paper on how we would go about cleaning the bones if we received cadavers in various states of decomp. (This was easy for me as I worked in the bone lab and had to do this very thing more often than I wanted to.)
I was in a group with three other people, and being the guy that was at the top of the class, this was a treat for my team because I could make their life a lot easier by helping them make sure all T’s were crossed and I’s dotted.
I also had hands-on experience, something most of my classmates did not since because, as I said before, I was an overachiever who worked in the bone lab. I was basically leading the group, setting up tasks for everyone to complete, trying to keep it balanced, and we worked together great. Well, 3 of us did. One of our team members thought she didn’t need to do anything.
The first weekend, we all wrote our papers on how to clean and prepare the bones, so we could get that out of the way, but what one of our teammates gave us was just a copy-paste from the text. I mentioned this before class the next day, telling her it needed to be in her own words, not taken directly from the text, and she immediately went into tears and “you’re so mean” mode, calling me all kinds of names, and saying that it wasn’t fair because she was spending time with her partner, and they barely got to see each other, so we should just understand and cover for her.
Since one of the other team members was also a woman, I pulled her aside to talk privately with her just to be sure I wasn’t doing something unwittingly, and she confirmed that I was being professional and not at all condescending.
The tears and namecalling continued on everything I assigned her to do from taking measurements to writing conclusions, to the point where my teammates and I took it to our professor just to be sure nothing came back on us.
He told us to be sure to clearly label everyone’s individual contributions when we turn in the final report, so that is exactly what we did. Everyone signed their work, writing separate sections of the reports and sending them to me to compile.
We also started comparing notes and talking with each other via email just to have records of what was being said…by everyone. And boy, did she let me have it a few times for mentioning something was taken directly from the text or that her measurements and conclusions made no sense.
She also reiterated the fact that she was spending time with her partner, and they had been going of town on the weekends and so we would just have to fix it if we wanted our “precious A’s.”
I still met with the other 2 in person. We would go have coffee and work on our reports, and they even came to spend a shift with me in the lab a few times to get a more visual glimpse and have a better understanding of what they were writing about.
We got along excellently.
Here is our revenge.
We didn’t change a single word or number she gave us, and I submitted our full report as it was sent to me, and wouldn’t you know, everything she wrote and put her name on was immediately flagged for 100% plagiarism, and the bones she worked on did not match anything in the records for them.
Well, this, of course, was taken to the dept, and our group was called into a meeting with our professor and a few others from the dept and the university.
The three of us told them exactly what had happened with our fourth. And boy did she put on a show, crying and wailing, accusing me of being cruel and threatening her, all of which was refuted by our other 2 team members.
Then she accused me of tampering with her work – wrong again; I had all the emails of our correspondences as well as the ones she sent me with her “work.”
That was all the dept.
and the university needed to see, and they let me and my 2 fellow students go home with an A since the work we had each done individually was all worth it. My new friends thanked me for all my help, we laughed a bit about the situation, and they went home for the summer. (I had to stay because of my job in the lab.)
I never found out what happened to her; the professors I worked with would never give me a straight answer, but she didn’t return the next year, and I never saw her at the national anthro convention, which was held in our town that year and attended by all students in the dept.
Something I also attended with the 2 classmates that were part of the project.
So, I guess she got to spend more time with her partner.”
2. Use My Food Delivery App To Get Free Food? Enjoy Junk Mail
“I had just moved home from a big city to my home village because I was poor and had to move in with my parents. This also meant that I was no longer using my Deliveroo account because no one delivers to my village.
NO ONE.
I was therefore surprised to get an email saying I had just ordered over FIFTY QUID worth of Thai food to an address in Birmingham (where I have never lived).
The people using my account had failed to change the email address for confirmation before making their first order. They had, however, realized their mistake and changed the account email, so I could no longer log in.
I contacted Deliveroo, got the money refunded, and they closed my account. Turns out, I had used the same password for it as for a Linkedin account from 6 years before, which had been hacked.
(This is why JustEat is better because you have to put in your 3 digit card code to make a purchase.)
Now I am a Taurus and a person with too much time on my hands at a low-grade admin job.
So, obviously I am not letting this go. First things first – that address gets reported to their local police for card fraud, and the police basically say they can do nothing.
Fantastic. I also report them to the local council on the off chance that they are council renters (no shade, I am too) because reports of criminal activity can pile up and make you lose your council spot. I also report them to the restaurant so that they know this address is linked to fraudulent purchases. No idea if any of that did anything, but it made me feel a bit better.
Still doesn’t feel like enough though, so I find a website where you can sign someone up to receive bunches of junk mail and input their address.
I also find a website where you can order any university prospectus you want to be delivered to you (you know, those massive brochures that will fill up your recycling and just generally be annoying to hear thumping through your letterbox).
I order all the ones I can. I use fake names like ‘Anthony Thief’ and ‘Arnold Fraudster’ on some of them for lols.
I also use mail merge to create a letter to everyone on their street with the details of what happened, titled ‘A Thief Lives Near You’ because I have access to the company franking machine; this costs me nothing to do. I also send a copy to the thief with a printed picture of the Mulan meme that says, ‘Now all of China knows you’re a d*uchebag.’
LASTLY, I fill a box with coal from the shed, add a picture of Santa with ‘I hear you’ve been bad’ written on it, then post it to the thieves with only a single, second class, stamp on it.
This means that they will get a slip in the post saying that they have a parcel waiting at the post office with insufficient postage. It is around Christmas, so I’m pretty sure they will think it is a gift or something and go pick it up. This means they will have to go to the sorting office, wait in line, and pay around £2 to get a box of coal.
I know they might have ordered the food while at a friend’s house, but to be honest, I don’t care. If they were friends with a thief, they either knew and deserved it or didn’t know and I let them know what garbage they were hanging around with.”
1. Aggressive Customer Gets Special Ingredient In His Stew
“Former BBQ restaurant worker here.
I’m talking a tiny, mom and pop BBQ joint (shack) with a drive-thru window and a kitchen barely big enough for three workers to move around in type of place.
But this place was packed every day, as are most of the well-reknowned southern BBQ restaurants.
We had this one guy that came through our drive through a lot.
Our nickname for this guy was ‘Fudd.’ He was nearly completely deaf and would place orders through a deaf assistance service.
Fudd ate our BBQ every single day and would pull up to the drive-thru window at around 11 am every morning to get his food.
He expected everything to be ready the second he arrived at the window.
He was generally a jerk about everything. So, I’m working one morning and I receive a call from his ordering service with his typical order, which included a pint of Brunswick stew.
I am one of two working that day, so I immediately begin preparing Fudd’s food so it would be ready for him.
45 seconds after hanging up the phone, one of our better regulars comes in and orders two full-size pans of banana pudding.
I look in the cooler and see that there’s only one. Right as I begin to delegate the banana pudding-making task to my coworker, I hear the ding of the drive-thru window and glance to see Fudd knocking on the window from the front seat of his decrepit van.
I run over, give him his food, and think that’s the end of him. No tip of course.
I come back to finish ringing up nice regular’s banana pudding, and I hear the front door of the restaurant open and Fudd’s 280-pound, 5’8″ frame walking in.
He immediately begins screaming unintelligible things to me (he is deaf and cannot properly create word sounds, it was actually kind of hilarious).
As I try to decipher what this thing is saying to me, I remember that I hadn’t yet scooped out his Brunswick stew. It was an honest mistake.
As I go back to get his stew, I make out what I believe is the phrase ‘wimpy frigging kid.’
Note that this isn’t my first run-in with Fudd.
This is a daily occurrence, and I was nearing my wits end with him.
And one thing I am not is a ‘wimpy frigging kid.’
I am a wrestler, and one of the negatives about wrestling is that sometimes you develop some nasty skin conditions. Unfortunately for me, I was dealing with some herpes gladiatorum (wrestler’s herpes) which had broken out on my face a few days prior.
As I’m scooping out Fudd’s Brunswick stew in the back of the kitchen which is out of the customer’s view, I reach up and give my face a nice scratch, watching gleefully as scabs fall into Fudd’s pint of stew. I walked back to the front and gave him his stew and wished him a good day.”
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