People Share Their “Cold As Ice” Stories Of Revenge

When someone does us wrong, don’t we all want to get back at them? There’s a little part inside that feels victimized, before growing sad, before becoming angry before becoming vengeful. Then ice forms.  While some of us may not have it in us to actually plot out a cold act of revenge, there are a few people who are willing to go the extra mile to show that they aren’t pushovers. The following stories prove there are folks out there to who refuse to be treated as a doormat, and they aren’t afraid to show it. Some are rather small and petty while others are a bit grander. Like the man who was absolutely fed up with his neighbor’s pigeon coop. In his mind, he was more than accommodating, until his neighbor pushed too far and enough was enough – so he had to be inventive and come up with a solution once and for all. It’s pretty hilarious, but, hey it got the job done!
There are way more where that came from. Take the chef who was done with how his restaurant’s management was treating him. To retaliate, he took his 5-star gumbo and all the trade secrets with him.

No gumbo, no restaurant. Simple as that, people! These are just a few of the many instances of people encountering less than favorable circumstances. When faced with adversity, they are no shrinking violets. They show up, guns loaded and don’t give a flying saucer about their next move. Tit for tat is the motto, cold as ice is the way of life. Ready for a few stories guaranteed to rev up the engine? Here you go. You’re welcome.
14. Try To Fire Me Because I Stood Up For Myself? K, I’ll Hire A Thief To Take My Place

“I was recently let go from my job as a store manager.

The company I worked for was abusive to both me and my staff. Some examples (there are a lot more) would be:
• The owners/upper management coming to the store and chasing the staff around while snapping their fingers and saying “You’re not working hard enough! Go, go, go!”
• The owners/upper management coming to the store and telling me how fat X employee is.
• The owners/upper management spreading rumors about the staff and me.
• The owners/upper management screaming at us over the phone loud enough that customers could hear it.

A month or so before I was let go I had a pay dispute wherein I explained bluntly, but professionally, how they need to pay me because it’s the right thing to do.

They had promised extra pay above my salary for working hours I shouldn’t have had to do because of something they did and then purposely did not pay me that money. Eventually, they paid me but they REALLY didn’t like that I stood up for myself and thus started their plan to get rid of me. One of them even stopped speaking to me altogether.
After this, I was strangely given permission to hire staff for the store. I needed one so I happily posted an ad online and started interviewing people. It took a month but I finally found one I liked and called their references which came back average but good enough.

A sales representative I knew saw the resume on my desk and told me I should call X business (which was not on the resume). I did and it turned out this person had been fired for theft of money and product (in the same industry of which I’m hiring for). I decided not to hire the thief.
A few days after deciding against the thief I was forwarded a resume from the owner that had stopped speaking to me. It was instructing me to interview the thief I decided against. But how did this owner get the thief’s resume in their inbox? The ad was mine and forwarded only to my email, and only I had the password to the account.

I followed the link back to an ad that I didn’t write and post from a different account. This ad was for a store manager. A poor attempt at being sneaky. I could have quit right then, but I had a better idea.
The owners are notoriously spiteful. But I know they are also lazy and don’t do their due diligence. They think they are having me hire my own replacement without me knowing. So, I hired the thief as my ’employee’ while the owners, having already seen the thief’s resume, sees them as a good fit for the store manager. I vouched for the thief’s references knowing they’d never call them themselves.

3 weeks later I was let go when I arrived at my store. The owners seemed confused by the big smile on my face when they told me. I was genuinely happy to be finished there. It was the worst employment experience of my life but it was a job of necessity. I was able to collect Employment Insurance, thankfully.
The thief took over managing the store. Thanks to the new store hours the thief works 5 days a week, with no staff, open to close, unsupervised.” Colo1984

13. Physically Take Advantage Of Me While I’m Vulnerable? I’ll Finish You Like A Good Christian Girl

“I have had migraines since I was 3 or 4.

Sometimes they start slow and sometimes they hit like a hammer. I can be instantly unable to function if they hit quickly. In college, this could be a huge problem. The only available medications just knocked you out so you didn’t care that you hurt and wanted to vomit. My freshman year (1987), I was at a party for my roommate’s boyfriend’s birthday. I had never had champagne and didn’t know it was a migraine trigger. I took a sip or two of champagne and instantly got a migraine. We were at someone’s house about 20 minutes away from the dorm.

My roommate didn’t want to leave the party so she arranged for a guy she knew to drive me home. She had no idea what he was really like. She just knew him from a few parties.
On the drive that I thought was to my dorm, this guy pulls over on the side of the road in an undeveloped area. No one was around. He sexually assaulted me and left me on the side of the road. I didn’t even know where I was, much less how to get back to the dorm or to a hospital. After a while, some lady found me curled up on the side of the road.

She thought I was dead. Cell phones were not a thing, so she half lifted me into her car, wrote down where she found me and drove me to the nearest hospital. I could barely speak enough to tell the hospital people my name. I was beaten black and blue by this guy. The hospital knocked me out for about 8 hours with pain meds and muscle relaxers, once they were sure I didn’t have a head injury. He only hit me in places that it would not show.
My roommate didn’t get home until about a day after I did. She was staying at her boyfriend’s dorm room.

She probably wouldn’t have come home as early as she did but her parents called at the same time every weekend and she HAD to be home for that. She was shocked when she saw how beat up I looked. I asked her how she knew that guy and learned she didn’t really, he was just at a party now and then. I wasn’t happy with the situation, or that she let some creep she barely knew to drive me somewhere. She felt really guilty, but guys don’t advertise that they like to take advantage of girls. She did have some information on the guy.

He didn’t live in our city but instead went to a really Christian school with a great law school. He was in law school and was visiting for the party. His dad was a really well-known lawyer for a televangelist’s church. That was the beginning of what I learned about him. Remember, the internet was in its’ infancy and social media did not exist.
I called some other people who knew him from the party and got some information from them. I found out his girlfriend’s name. Then I went to the library and learned about this girlfriend, the church, the law school, the college he was at, etc…. I had photos from the hospital.

I had declined to press charges because even then I knew that it would be hard to prove. Even with all the bruises. It would be my word against his. He was from “a good family” and went to a Christian college and law school. My family was not prominent, and I was wearing a miniskirt that night. At the time, it was normal for lawyers to smear victims based on what they wore, if they had a drink (especially if they were under 21), etc… I didn’t want to have to deal with all of that. I just wanted to ruin his life without having it ruin mine.

I got phone numbers for the Dean of his Law school, the head of the college overall, for his father, for his girlfriend, and for the person who owned his apartment complex. He lived in some fancy apartment owned by a guy who was a big donor to the college. It was for people getting Master’s or law degrees or medical degrees after they already had bachelor degrees. The apartments were given out as a type of scholarship to the school, and they were supposed to be really nice (I never went there, so I don’t know firsthand what they are like, but I heard about them from this guy’s friends).

I wrote some letters, including tear stains that made some of the writing blurs a bit. I included copies of the photos of my bruises. I said that I didn’t want to press charges because I knew it would be an embarrassment to the college/law school/televangelist/his parents (whichever one fit the person I was writing to). I just thought they ought to know because he could harm a member of their family/congregation/school. He could also be a HUGE publicity nightmare if he did this to someone else and I didn’t want that because I believed in their message (sent to the church and the school).

I called the girlfriend (her number was in the phone book) and told her that her boyfriend sexually assaulted and beat me. She cried and said he had beaten her too, but she thought it was her fault. I told her the assault was not my fault, I was trying not to puke when he attacked me. I told her to stop seeing him and have nothing to do with him if he treated her that way. She said that her family would be upset as he was from such a good family and he was so well thought of at the law school.

I didn’t tell her that I was working on ruining that for him.
I sat back and waited for things to happen after I mailed the letters. His family was shocked but not surprised. They wrote me an apology, saying he had been in trouble before but they thought he had gotten better after the church intervened in his life. Apparently, he hadn’t and they were cutting ties to him. The man who owned the apartments actually called me. He wanted to hear what happened from me so he could figure out if I was telling the truth. So I told him what happened and why I didn’t press charges.

He believed me and started eviction proceedings. A representative from the church called me to ask me to stop telling lies about the guy. I told them that they shouldn’t protect an attacker. To ask girls he dated how he behaved because his girlfriend told me that he beat her when he got angry. They were shocked. I never heard from the college, but the Dean of the law school called me. He asked if I told the truth and assured him that I had. DNA wasn’t commonly used (it was 1st used in a criminal case that year), so it was my word vs.

his word. Just the accusation was enough to have the guy kicked out of law school, especially with the photos of my bruises and the tear stains on my letters (which was the reason I wrote them out by hand and let myself cry while I wrote them). Apparently, those accepted to that law school should be above reproach. I don’t know if they would have handled it the same way if I tried to prosecute the guy, but since I “was trying to keep it quiet so I didn’t harm the school’s reputation”, it meant I was a good Christian girl who could be believed.

I was actually surprised that the letters had so much success. I expected his father to send a letter telling me to stop slandering/libeling his son. The letter saying they were cutting all ties to him was a surprise, but a good one. Sadly, it indicated that I was probably not the 1st to accuse him. About a year later I found out he was working for a company installing carpet in homes. I called that company and told them that they were sending an attacker into people’s homes. I even offered to send photos of the bruises if they wanted them.

The woman that I spoke to was horrified. Just the idea that he had been accused of sexual assault and that I cared enough to call when I learned he was going into people’s homes was enough for her. I learned that not only did the company fire him, but they also called other companies and told them what a liability he would be if they hired him. He had started to drink heavily by that point, at least according to the friends who knew him at my school.
I went on with my life, got therapy to help me cope, eventually got married and have had almost 30 years with an amazing husband.

I don’t know what happened to this guy, but I know he never became a lawyer (his dream). I know that I made his life a LOT harder. I did google him a few years ago. He has had many arrests and has spent quite a few years behind bars. I like to think that by getting him kicked out of law school and getting his family to understand that he was very much un-reformed, I helped speed him into the defendant’s chair in a courtroom.” Zeldaspellfactory

12. Don’t Screw You Over? If Only You Had Been A Little Kinder…

“I used to work at the post office as an RCA, which is a Rural Carrier Associate.

It was a part-time driver job. It paid well, and I wanted to get a full-time job with benefits, so you have to start somewhere. The full-time driver on my route was Bill.

Bill was his own man. He did what he wanted, and the Postmaster allowed it. When I was trained, I rode one day with Bill. The next day, Bill called out. I then had to sort the mail and drive the route all alone. It was horrible. The PM should have told him to come in, but he was a spineless man. I didn’t finish until around 8 pm.

It should have been around 3 pm given the time of year and how long it would eventually take me.
My schedule was every Saturday, and any vacation days Bill would take. I also covered every time he called out. Now, as this was supposed to be a one day a week job, I had a full-time job as well at my local hospital. My post office job was in the next county over, about 45 minutes away from each way.

I would get calls at 6 am from Bill with some bs excuse for him not wanting to come to work. He would say he had to see an orthodontist ‘today.’ I worked with these doctors, and I know that there was no way he would be able to get an appointment that early.

If he needed an appointment, he should have called me the day before so I could get my second shift job covered. Again, the spineless PM would allow it to happen without any recourse.
On my anniversary, I had told him I was going to take my wife out to a nice lunch before we’re both went to our job at the Hospital. At 6 am the phone rang, and it was the same lie as always, and I had to go in. I reminded him it was my anniversary, and he said ‘too bad.’ I went in, totally pissed off. The same thing on my birthday, and them on my wife’s birthday, he called out, and I had to work both jobs.

A few months later, and nothing had changed. I applied to nursing school and was accepted for the fall program. I had several months, so I kept it to myself. My plan was to work the same way I had, and if I was offered a full-time post office job, I’d take it. If not, I’d go to nursing school. Both were great careers.
Bill called out whenever the workload was heavy, like with Sears catalogs. They were the worst. The postmaster would do things like remove all the toilet paper from the bathrooms, thinking we were wasting time pooping I guess.

He’d also turn up the heat in the summer so we’d be miserable and leave on our route faster, which was physically impossible because no matter how hot you got, you had to sort everything before leaving on your route. Sorting was by hand, and I was trying to be very accurate.

Now Bill had gotten remarried shortly before I started with the post office. They never had a chance for a honeymoon, so they put it off. They scheduled a two week trip to the Caribbean. When he told me, there was a month to go before they left, which was plenty of notice.

He told me the tickets were non-refundable, ‘so don’t screw me over!’
I had had enough of Bill and the PM screwing me over all the time, so 10 days before he left, I put in my two-week notice. The PM assumed I’d work through Bill’s vacation. Nope. Just the first four days. Bill called me at home. ‘Man, I’ve been good to you. You’ve got to cover my time off. The vacation is non-refundable.’ I remind him of all the times he’s lied to force me to cover, and the days I had to work for him like my anniversary, my birthday, my wife’s birthday, etc.

Also, how he screwed me over in orientation, making my first several weeks miserable.
I left the day I said I would, the PM refused to cover, and Bill had to cancel the trip and come in and work.

I loved nursing, so I made the best choice.” FuddieDuddie

11. Threaten Me And Abuse Me? I’ll Destroy The End Of Your Life

“When I was a young lass, I was sexually abused by an adult male who volunteered at the school I went to. It went on that entire year, and the next year I had the good fortune to change schools for totally unrelated reasons.

Due to the standard-issue threats and manipulation that come with these scenarios (‘I’ll kill your family if you ever tell them and take you to live with me once they’re dead,’ ‘What we do is a special secret that nobody else can ever know,’ etc.), I never told anyone. I pushed it down and just tried not to think about it.
Many years later, I had a friend confide in me that something similar had happened to her, and we swapped stories. She had done things the proper, tidy way: she told a trusted adult, the perpetrator was tried in a court of law, he was convicted, and he was jailed for a long time.

Everything wrapped up nice and neat with a little bow on top.

She was pissed at me for not telling anyone about what had happened to me, even if it hadn’t been until years later (because what if it had happened to someone else?), but I pointed out that once it was past the statute of limitations, I couldn’t really tell anyone. Doing so when he wasn’t tried and convicted would come back on me as slander. So it felt like there wasn’t anything I could do. For a while, I left it at that. But it started to nag at me.

Was there really nothing I could do?
I started by looking him up online. A basic Google and social media search were all I needed to find him (living far away from where I was, and I wasn’t sure if that meant good or bad things for my revenge, whatever it turned out to be as I had no definite plan then). On his very public profile, I got some news that rattled me: he had terminal cancer.

It didn’t seem like he was going to drop dead the next day, but still, it was now or never if I wanted to get some kind of closure from him.

So I requested him on social media, and he accepted. I sent him the first message: ‘Hey, I’m (OP) from (school). Do you remember me?’ He answered yes, and that was it. I asked for his phone number. ‘I just want to talk to you.’ He said he didn’t think that was a good idea. I said, ‘It’s been so long, there’s nothing that could happen. I’m not mad, just sad more than anything, and I just want to talk. Now that I’m older, I want to understand.’
He believed me, and I got his number. I tried calling him immediately, straight to voicemail.

He said he would set up a time for us to talk. Okay, fine. I can be patient. It only gave me more time to think about what I would do.

About a week or so later, I called him, and he picked up. I barely remember this conversation, and went through a lot of it on adrenaline, shaking like a leaf. He sounded… sick. Old and sick. Not intimidating, like he used to be. Not scary, not anymore. He asked me what I wanted, and why I was talking to him after so long. I said, ‘I just need to hear from you what you did to me so I know I’m not crazy.’
He said he couldn’t do that.

I told him he owed it to me, and that it had been so long ago, the statute of limitations was expired so there was nothing that could be done about it. I said that I knew he was dying, and it would clear his conscience to talk about it and answer all of my questions, win-win, right? He still said no.

So I told him that was a shame, and that I’d hoped to get closure from him, but I guess asking his wife and son that I’d seen on social media would have to be enough. This was a bluff on my part–I knew that by telling him that, he could do preemptive damage control.

If this didn’t work, I’d be out of luck.
He said fine. He first said in a very bland sort of way, ‘I was inappropriate with you back then.’

Not good enough.

I pushed and pushed and pushed until I almost thought he was going to hang up, and he finally admitted it, in detail. I thanked him and asked if his conscience felt better. He said yes. I said good, that was all I wanted for both of us. I hung up. Now the actual revenge part: I had recorded the whole thing. (Not illegal, I was in a 1-party consent area, and although he lived in a different area, he did too.) I uploaded it to cloud storage and sent a link to his wife and his (adult) son.

I explained that I had found them as a mutual contact on social media, and since he was nearing the end, I thought they might appreciate knowing some of the memories he shared with me about the time he volunteered at that school.
I never got a reply from his wife. I didn’t expect one, but still, I was a little disappointed. It took about three months, but then I finally got a message from his son. It was glorious.

He wasn’t the guy’s son, he was his step-son, and he’d never liked the guy from day 1. He’d told his mom this repeatedly, but she insisted he was just bitter about his bio dad leaving and told him to get over it.

Something just felt off about him, and now he knew what it was. He apologized to me for how the guy had hurt me, not that it was any of his fault, they didn’t even know him back then yet.
He told me that he knew his mom hadn’t replied to me, but she had listened to it. Afterward, she had left him. While he was dying of cancer. The step-son said this guy didn’t have a family of his own, and that he and his mom and his own kids were all he had left. They severed ties with him.

The best part: the wife never actually married him, and even if she had, when she left, it wasn’t exactly like there was time for the guy to contest anything in court.

He was fading fast, and that stuff can take a year or more to get settled. He didn’t have that kind of time. When she left, she took all the money (it was all hers, he hadn’t worked in a long time due to cancer), she took the closest thing he had to family, and the best part: without her, he no longer had the money to pay for his private health insurance.
I thanked the step-son for contacting me and asked if he could do me one more favor: tell me when it was over and he was dead. He happily agreed.

A few more months later, I got the news: he died alone in a state hospital. They weren’t going to publish an obituary, although the step-son had decided to have him cremated so that he could just scatter the ashes. No plot, no lasting proof that this man ever existed.

Apparently, he had spent the last few months writing constant letters to his now-ex and step-son, calling them, texting them, everything. Neither one had responded, and he died alone, knowing that what he had done had eventually ruined his life and taken away what mattered to him. I thought it was a pretty fitting ending, although in the end vengeance just felt meh.

I always wish that I hadn’t believed him back then and had just told someone.” Rawr92109
10. Don’t Want To Pay Me For My Service? I’ve Got The “Sweetest” Solution

“My father is a plumber. Great guy, does the work you want and does his best on every job, acting like it’s his own home, to try to make sure the customer is satisfied.
He was doing a job at a home where they wanted a complete bathroom to remodel. Asking the owners of the home the whole way through specific things like
where they wanted the sink, shower, toilet to be located. What kind of tiles, what designs for said tiles, Even down to what color grout they’d want.

He did everything to their specifications, and on one of the last days of work (the day he was grouting everything) they decided to say it wasn’t the correct tiles, they didn’t like it and were going to pay him HALF of what he quoted them. Half of what he was owed for this two-week-long job (two weeks being a decently short amount of time to demo and rebuild a whole f*cking bathroom). He told them what was wrong, that they literally picked everything so why was it wrong now?
They didn’t care, told him to finish and leave. My father, ever the people pleaser, did so.

Except he mixed sugar in with the grout. Then grouted their bathroom. Their WHOLE BATHROOM WAS FINISHED WITH SUGAR GROUT, GUYS. He only got paid half, but much more than that they had to spend on bug sprays, for years. Years. Nothing could keep the bugs away from that sweet, sweet bathroom. (According to a neighbor of theirs, who was a friend of my fathers). Don’t f*ck with your serviceman. Pay them. Don’t be a prick or they may just be extra sweet.

(Obviously, the sugar screws with the stability of the grout, which is why they had to have it redone about a year later (they were not bright people and blamed the degrading grout on the sprays/bombs they used.

Even though it was redone, they still had issues with ants/bugs for years. They regrouted but the sugary grout residue is still there, nicely screwing with them 🙂 (according to the neighbor who has recently updated my father on this matter).” ThatFagChick321
9. Want To Feed Every Bird In The City? We’ll Put A Stop To That– Stat

“I live in a 10 story apt. building in a dense part of a city with numerous other tall complexes, but also a number of old single-family homes. One such home abuts my building, directly under my 8th floor apt.

The long-time owner has had a pigeon coop in his backyard for years–the birds smell and are a nuisance, but no big deal.

Then about 6 months ago, the owner took it upon himself to dump 20 pounds of bird seeds in his backyard daily–attracting 200-250 city pigeons. They are ferals that lived in a nearby park, but once the feeding started, they ended up hanging out my neighbor’s roof most of the day. Every day.
Complaints to him to desist were fruitless. Numerous neighbors also complained to city officials, but they were useless; animal rights activists on our city council who halted a pigeon control program a few years back as cruelty to animals are very pro-animal. They refused to take action under the pretext that there is no sort of nuisance law the city could use in this case.

The smell from pigeon sh*t in his yard progressively got worse, and the birds started roosting on our property and crapping on parked cars.
Several disgruntled neighbors, including me, pondered a solution for months. A neighbor and I arrived at a solution: Artificially escalating the nuisance level of the problem, specifically the bird reek, so the city can no longer ignore the nuisance. It had to be logical, secretive and calibrated; someone couldn’t throw dog poop onto his property and expect an outcome.
Long story short, we concocted an odorous slurry (The neighbor who helped me got his brother, a chemist, to input.

It was some kind of sulfur mixed with an oil and another product. ). Using my 8th-floor balcony directly over the pigeon-lover’s back backyard, I gave it a gradually increasing midnight sprinkling of slurry, which disappeared into the grass in his messy backyard. Within 1 week the increased odor emanating from his property reached 1/2 block away.

Suddenly the problem was resolved. We did not see the official action, but word was that several prominent businessmen who own a restaurant down the street complained to the Mayor about the stench. The city took action. The guy is now only allowed to keep about 15 pigeons in coops–no more feeding the ferals.

An unorthodox solution to a problem that needed to be dealt with.” GullibleAntelope
8. Don’t Treat The Chef Right? He’ll Leave With All The Secrets

“At the restaurant I used to work at, there was a chef who made the best gumbo I have ever had. However, the management where I worked was awful. The only employees who stayed for very long were the ones who were paid well, eg mr.gumbo. Customers knew him by name. Then one day, he called in sick (which he had never done before) and they didn’t let him. He had enough, and quit. But he also burned a few bridges.

He took all his notes, which had ratios, spices, times and temperatures. Everything. We had no idea how to make his gumbo. They then tasked me with recreating it. When it was nowhere near as good, most of the gumbo customers, which was a lot of them, left. I quit shortly after. From what I heard from my friends who still worked there, the business almost went under. This was his way of making the management pay.” sixOvermore
7. Cheat On Me? Spend A Night In Jail

“This happened years ago when I was around 18 and dating a girl I had gone to high school with.

We had been together for about a year and towards the last month of our relationship things started to die out, we wouldn’t talk as much and she never had time for me. She claimed she was always working at her families grocery store. Her family had their own business for years. It was a small grocery store that at one point while I was in between jobs I even worked at for a short time. Her family was lovely, and her father and I got along great and still chat every now and then because I was always working or studying, didn’t party and had set goals for myself early in life which her father thought was awesome.

So anyway, back to our relationship. Because we both worked we only had the weekends free so usually, we would do our best to spend time with each other, but she had grown distant and I hadn’t thought anything of it. But one weekend I receive a call from a friend of mine who tells me she had seen my girlfriend out with another guy. I didn’t want to believe it, I was devastated. But I thought before I throw any accusations I would get my own proof first. It took me almost 3 weeks to convince her to spend time with me
When she agreed and came over for a night after work, I had planned on confronting her to find out for myself.

she arrived shortly after dark and told me she was going to have a shower. She went into the bathroom but had left her phone with her bag and keys on the table. So I did what anyone who has been told they were being cheated on would do, I went through to see for myself. And what do you know, she was cheating on me with her ex-boyfriend who was a dirtbag.

You see he was one of the kids at school that messed around, never came to school. Was out smoking and drinking instead. I never really interacted with him outside of being asked for a lighter for a cigarette.

But he was also selling drugs at school. I’ve always thought people who sell drugs to kids are dirtbags. Not cool at all bro
I found out she had been going to see him on the weekends to do drugs and drink as well as sleeping with him. There were messages talking about how I was “too nice” or focused on work too much. How she’s only with me because her family loves me and I can handle that if you tell me that, not cheat on me because of it I would rather leave a relationship freely. This hit me really hard and messed with my perception of women afterward.

I had never been cheated on before and didn’t know how to handle the feeling
But I wasn’t going to let her do me like that. Here comes the sweet revenge. You see in those messages they had been talking about needing money for alcohol or drugs and not having enough, this conversation led to him convincing her to steal it from her family business. She had been getting away with almost 800 dollars or so every weekend as well as stealing items from their shop. So I thought fast, screenshot all the messages, and sent them to her father from her phone.

I told him it was me, and that this is what I had found on his daughter’s phone.
Shortly after she had finished up in the shower. I told her we were finished and I knew everything. I told her to leave and I had a surprise for her when she got home to which she was confused. She left after that and I received a call from her dad who was apologized to me for his daughter’s actions and sounded almost as devastated as I was. He told me he had already called the police and they were waiting for her to get back home as well as collecting her ex-boyfriend as an accomplice.

I was shocked but thankful that I had cut the dead weight from my life in a just fashion considering she cheated on me.
She got to spend the night in a cell with her ex and was ordered to pay back the amount by a judge and given community service. He on the other had happened to have previous warrants out and I don’t know what happened to him after. I wiped my hands clean of her and moved forward. But man, that felt so much better that she at least got some punishment as a result.” MonkeyD2209

6. If You’re Going To Set Me Up, Do It Right Or Don’t Do It At All

“This actually isn’t my story but my aunt’s.

We recently had a family dinner together and she finally told us this story of why we never meet our uncle anymore.
For some backstory, my aunt is a high functioning, high octane UNIT of a woman. She’s a surgeon and has time to run marathons and play with her two kids. She married James when they were like 20, so she had spent a whole chunk of her life with him.

She received an email a few years ago blackmailing her. It said if you don’t leave your husband I’ll release your sex tape (that was filmed without her knowledge) online. There was a screenshot of the sex tape in question, in which you could see her face clearly, but not her husbands (although it was him, his face was out of shot).

She said she was terrified, but when she came to her senses, she thought that it was weird they didn’t ask her for money. She became suspicious of the email itself, and then she began to suspect James. She thought it was his ploy to separate from her without needing to file for divorce first, and if there was a sex tape filmed, he must have access to it as she wasn’t the one filming.
She went through his phone to find the sex tape. Instead, she found that he had been cheating on her with another woman while he was stationed in Japan (navy seal).

She saw the texts, nudes, and eventually arrived at the part where James sent the video to the woman who suggested they use it against my aunt in order to get her to leave him first and get custody of the kids as they claim neglect. She went berserk. She said, ‘not only did I find out he was cheating, but that I had married an idiot with a mind of an undescended testicle who doesn’t know basic custodial laws.’ She then promptly downloaded their Whatsapp chat data and did the following:
For James:
1. She immediately called her in-laws and explained the situation in graphic detail.

They love her, so they begged to remain in the kids’ life granted they financially support the kids (not her).
2. File for divorce and used the cheating against him. She ended up getting full custody and he didn’t get visitation because
3. She sued him under unlawful surveillance. He went to jail for 3 months, was fired and now has a permanent criminal record.

For the other Woman:
1. Called the husband of the woman. Explained the situation and sent him the texts and pictures.
2. Called into the woman’s workplace and stated she had been distributing photos of herself over a secured website. She apparently was a civil servant (not anymore).

3. My aunt contacted the woman’s parents and explained the situation in detail, and they offered to pay for the legal bills.
4. She applied to a bunch of escort/stripper clubs with the woman’s information, using her work and personal email.
5. She put her phone number online as a sex call service. When she changed her phone number, my aunt found out through social media and did it again.
6. She wrote a letter to the woman detailing how small her tits were. Petty? Perhaps.
Jokes aside she is still going to therapy over this, so I think it’s well deserved. Don’t f*ck with my aunt, guys.” Yogedong
5. Want To Steal A Phone? Better Grab It Next Time And Don’t Forget Your Keys – Or Car

“So this wasn’t me but happened at one of the retail cell phone stores I manage a few hours ago.

We put out demo phones for customers to play with. The funny thing about these phones is that they are locked, cannot be used, and have no real value. From time to time, a dumb thief will come in the stores and take one of these phones. Today was one of those times. This particular store is usually slow, so having one or two employees working at a time is normal. Today one was at lunch so only one employee was in the store. In walks two guys. One is engaging with the employee asking questions, acting as an interested buyer.

The second is ‘looking’ at the demo phones, but in reality, is taking it off the security stand.
The employee notices the guy has removed the demo phone from the security device and turns to look at him. The thief makes a run towards the door, and unbelievably, the employee tackles the thief. The two roll around exchanging blows outside the store. It was a completely crazy scene.

The good part about all this is that the thief got away with the phone, but in the process of wrestling with the employee, dropped his car keys out of his pocket. The employee picked up the car keys and went inside the store, locked the door, and called the police.

To keep a long story short, the cops came and towed the thief’s 2016 Honda Accord. So he got a play phone that is as good as worthless and lost a good car. Also, the cops were easily able to identify the thief and put a warrant out for his arrest.” Iworkatasmallbooth
4. Think I’m Breaking The Trash By-Law? Here’s A Little Token Of My Appreciation

“My mom lives in a really small town, where people get into other peoples business quite often.

My brother and his family live next door to my mom, on opposite ends of shared property. Though it is shared land, they have separate addresses for their homes.

They will often share responsibilities and the like.

Well, neither household accumulates enough trash each week to justify both of them having trash service. My mom pays for the pickup and they share a trash can. They rarely even fill the one can between both households.

The trashman noticed a piece of junk mail with my brother’s name and address on it one day and had a fit. Saying that they had to pay for their own trash service. My mom ignored him. They weren’t doing anything wrong. Trashman didn’t like this. He started going through her trash before dumping it in the truck to make sure there wasn’t anything in there with my brother’s information on it.

My brother’s household started burning all junk mail, so no one is the wiser, even if they weren’t doing anything wrong. The trashman kept threatening to have their service canceled. Again, my mom ignored him. He kept digging through the trash and just being a dick in general. I told her she should have reported him, but she didn’t.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. My mom has chickens. Something kept killing my mom’s chickens. My brother set a trap to catch or kill whatever it was and they waited. A few days later, the culprit of the chicken killing was caught.

It was a skunk. At this point, the skunk was dead and smelled awful. Instead of disposing of the skunk properly, my mom decided to be a dick. She had my brother put the skunk in the trash can under a bag of trash. It baked in the sun for a couple of days before the trashman came again.

Mom stood outside and watched as the smug trash man opened the can to dig through it and gagged from the stench of the dead, recently sprayed skunk. I don’t think my mom had ever been so proud of herself. Trashman stopped digging through the trash and stopped making threats after that though.” UpChuckDaBoogie

3. Use My Dad, And Take Over The House? I’ll Move You Out Myself

“I’m an only son. My mom died of ovarian cancer at only 55 five years ago.

It broke my dad’s heart. They had been together since college and were the same age, with my dad being a month older. I’m 22 and am about to graduate college with my degree in chemistry when the main events start to occur. I went to college on a full-ride scholarship. This is important later.
My dad met my now stepmom when she was my mom’s nurse at the hospital where she spent her final days. My stepmom ‘Grace’ played all the right notes to gain my dad’s trust. She was empathetic to him, nurturing, comforting after my mom passed. I was seventeen and old enough to sense that she was just trying to weasel her way into getting my dad’s resources, but it was up to my dad if he wanted to be in a relationship with her.

I was in my final year of public school and had just won a scholarship to attend college out of the country the following year.
My dad mourned my mom for a year and that whole time Grace would check in on him by phone every month or so, in my opinion, to scope out the possibility of sinking her hooks in him.

After a year passed Grace took the gloves off and went hard after my dad. Grace was only 40 when she and my dad started seeing each other. I didn’t like her but at the same time my dad at least didn’t seem so depressed anymore, so I tried to be less pessimistic about her and give her the benefit of the doubt.

In my gut, I didn’t trust her, though. But we are Scandinavian and at least in my family, the son does not tell his father what to do or even offer any opinion. Grace is from the Czech Republic if you’re wondering.
My father was a very successful banker during his career and amassed quite a portfolio of wealth. I’ll spare you the details, but after six months of dating, Grace and my father are married. My dad never really got over my mom though, and he was getting weaker and weaker even though he was only 57. Since his health was fading he called me to him and asked me point blank, ‘Boy, what do you need to set you up in this life?’ I told him I don’t need anything, I’m a man and can take care of myself, but what are you even talking about dad, you’re going to be around for decades yet.

I did remind him that he had living sisters with children (my aunts and cousins). I also reminded him that I had a full scholarship to college so don’t worry about giving me any cash. He was dead only a year later at 59.
I, of course, have seen lots of Hollywood movies so I consider the conspiracy theory that maybe my dad’s nurse wife poisoned him and made him sign over all his money to her, but I really honestly do not think that’s what happened. Other relatives didn’t like Grace either, but they knew my dad was totally in love with my mom and that her death utterly broke him.

Well, long story short, my dad bequeathed his five-bedroom house to me even though I wasn’t expecting it and didn’t ask for it. He gave a small endowment to each of his sisters and their children.
He left about 80% of all his existing money to Grace, which amounted to several hundreds of thousands of dollars. My dad ignored me because he’s generous to a fault and still gave me several tens of thousands of dollars, which were of course very useful to me.
Grace tried to put on a friendly front but I could tell she was angry as hell that she didn’t get my dad’s house, too.

That belonged to me, and I had the legal papers to prove it. She was especially mad because we live in an extremely upscale and trendy location, and houses are hard to come by and easily sold for massive profit.
During the first few months after my dad’s death, I had the nauseating, creepy experience of knowing that Grace was trying to feel me out to see if I might be into a little relationship with her. Um, GROSS.

She still stayed at the house though because over the last three years she had gotten used to living there and acting as though she owned it.

And, even though I officially owned it, I was always away at college and only visited my dad’s old house once every couple of months, and even then it wasn’t to see Grace but to see my cousins who lived just a few miles away. I downplayed the fact that it was really my house, and over the months I think Grace gradually forgot that she really had no legal right to the house. She probably believed that sooner or later, because I never asked her for any of the hundreds of thousands of my dad’s dollars that she now had, that I was somehow independently wealthy and would just give up my house to her.

I knew I’d eventually hydrogen bomb this b*tch when she started dating some new guy only five months after my dad was in the ground, and one time when I came home from college after graduating she and her new boyfriend (some sleazy looking D-bag named “Ivan” who was only a few years older than me) were acting like I was a guest in my own house and that they owned it. I played along.

Grace told me she gave away my Playstation 4 to Ivan’s cousin because “I’m too old to play with video games.” I don’t even know this motherf*cker and you give him my PS4 to give away to some other sh*t who I also don’t know? I quickly changed all my network passwords that same day.

I smiled but I knew what I had to do eventually. She also said that she and Ivan were getting married because ‘I just can’t mourn your father forever. I have to move on with life.’ I tell her that I graduated from college and already secured employment with a local firm, and ‘will soon find a new place to live.’ She looks thrilled. Especially the part where it looks like I’ll soon have a new place to live. Then in a patronizing way she tells me, “you always have a place in our house though, you are welcome to stay whenever you please.”
Thanks, Grace, really generous of you.

What I really say is that I will probably have a new place in three months. She says that is wonderful because she intends to go to her homeland to have a wedding with Ivan and afterward have her honeymoon. She assures me it’s a local affair ‘otherwise I’d invite you, honey. And anyway I know you’re so busy.’ I congratulate her. She asks me if I can watch the house for her. Watch my own house? Sure. What I really say is, of course, I will take care of the house. I am careful to not say ‘your house.’
She and her D-bag fiance (who I am 100% sure is only there for Grace’s money) go on their trip and I immediately put out advertisements in rental websites offering to lease my house.

I hire movers and have all of Grace’s furniture and possessions boxed up and put into a storage rental facility. I retain all of my parents’ furniture that they had before my dad met Grace. Locks? Changed. All of them.

Within days, I am inundated with dozens of inquiries regarding my amazing, furnished house with fantastic views. I rent it to a wonderful young family. A barrister and his schoolteacher wife and their two preteen children. They pay me their first and last month’s rent and sign a lease for a year. I warn them about my crazy stepmom who thinks this is her house, but I present them with contact information to my lawyer (the same lawyer my dad retained) in case they need any assurance that I’m on the level.

I also give my lawyer the information about the storage facility, including the fact that I generously paid four months of storage in advance, which is a whole month longer than Grace’s Czech honeymoon adventure. I then found a great apartment in the city near my new place of work. There I met a woman in a restaurant I frequent at night after a long workday. We have been dating six months now and are engaged to be married.

Grace, of course, tried to shriek and cause trouble when she realized she got kicked out of MY house but my lawyer quickly shut her mouth without my having to ever speak to her garbage face again.

From what I hear, she and her trash husband left the country and I assume they’re blowing through my dad’s money and will soon be broke like Chavs usually become when they taste a little bit of what they think is a good life. So maybe Grace will go and try to exploit some other lonely man into giving her his money.
Speaking of money, the house that I rent out is generating so much money that I not only am able to help pay for my cousins’ college, but I moved into a larger apartment of my own, together with my fiancee.

I love my job but really, I could survive solely on renting my dad’s old house.

And to think. If Grace had only been cooler and nicer I might have let her stay at the house, just to be a good sport. And definitely, if she stayed the hell out of my room. But no, she had to act all proprietary, so I had to make her homeless as a wedding gift.
Postscript. I bought another PS4, even though I didn’t even use my old one that much. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t for Grace to give away. You don’t give away other people’s things.

You give away your OWN things. Which is why I chose to kick Grace out of my house. Because it’s mine, and I decide who stays there.”
YoungSourSwede

2. Tell The Town I’m Breaking The Law By Dating My “Former” Teacher? I’ll Reveal Who You Really Are

“I come from a really small town.

Think of the littlest, most nothing-happens-here city extended layover in your flyover state nightmares, and my hometown is even quieter than that. Think, half a mile or more between neighbors, a single main street downtown, one McDonalds, one department store, one movie theater with three screens, where everyone goes Friday and Saturday night.

Church every Sunday, everyone knows everyone else or at least knows their business, the whole city is invested in the fortunes of the high school football team, that sort of place. Graduating class of sixty. Not because the senior class was dumb. It was just a tiny high school.
I didn’t really fit in at school, and kind of was a loner by choice. I cringe about it now that I’m almost twenty-six, but I was a wannabe emo/goth rocker. I still got invited to party with the other kids, not because they liked me, necessarily, but because there just weren’t many people to invite.

My mom baked cookies and cakes for church and when she wasn’t doing that, she cut hair in the town’s one salon. My dad owned an internet cafe for a while when those were hot; once everyone even in our little nowhere town got WiFi, he turned it into a tax service. Business is always slow because most people did their own taxes, but he didn’t really depend so much on his business. He served twenty years as a petty officer in the Navy, and so he and mom got by on his pension. In high school, I worked at the private burger place that competed mostly unsuccessfully against the town’s single chain fast-food restaurant.

My boss always told me I should ask my mom to cut my hair to ‘stop looking like a dang girl.’ No thanks, old man.
So, with all this boredom everywhere, you can imagine the sensation ‘Miss Amber Fontaine” caused when the high school hired her to be the eleventh and twelfth grade English teacher. Miss Fontaine was of French extraction and had moved to America in her later teens to go to college in New York. She was only twenty-four, and very beautiful. She spoke perfect English but did so with a very pleasant accent. Obviously, all the guys loved her, and lots of women hated her.

She appeared oblivious to all the attention, however, and just stuck to her job. Really, we didn’t know too much about her. She mostly kept to herself and nobody ever saw her hanging out with any men in town, and it wasn’t for lack of the men’s trying. It soon became clear that she wasn’t into dating any of the men our city had to offer. Much, later on, I found out that she had just taken the job in our small town to gain experience, with a future goal of being a college professor in a big city. A sort of two-year plan.

Obviously, I had a crush on her. We all did. It was and still is a small, church-going town, so nobody really acted out on his urges or tried to harass her or anything like that. As guys, we’d talk about how hot she was amongst ourselves, usual locker room stuff teenage boys do, but that was it. My one real out of school experience with Ms. Fontaine was when she stopped by the burger joint I worked at and saw me working there. She told me I had a nice smile, and that she wished I smiled more because in school I was always frowning (because I was in my emo, ‘everything sucks’ phase).

When the food preppers came up with her food and handed it to me to give to her, I was impressed and not at all surprised that she ordered a salad. She didn’t strike me as someone who ate the greasier slop we sold there. In school the following Monday she smiled at me in the hall and I smiled back. Then she said, “you’re learning,” but not in a condescending or patronizing way. Just a fun, kidding way and I exchanged a smile with her every time after that.
And that was the extent of my great, high school romance with Ms.

Fontaine. Exchanged a few hellos and smiles during my senior year, when I was seventeen.
Things changed the following year, though.

I was eighteen and still working at the burger joint when Ms. Fontaine comes by the restaurant. ‘Oh hey, OP!’ she says, and asks with real seriousness, ‘are you going to college?’ I tell her the truth. I’m working with my band (I cringe about this period in my life, too), playing guitar, and saving money for community college. Only sort of truth about the last thing. Honestly, I spent most of my on weed and ecstasy. I was the main vocalist in addition to being guitarist, and our band’s only other members were ‘Jerry’ the bassist and ‘Gabe’ the drummer.

Both of them were just out of high school, like me. And, like me, they had no plans to go to college. Gabe worked at the same burger joint as me, and Jerry, who had been one of my best friends in high school, ironically worked at the chain fast-food restaurant down the street from my restaurant. Our lives at this time revolved around wasting our youth, skateboarding, getting high, and playing in our punk band (we liked to think that we played an emo/punk/metal fusion, but looking back our sound hasn’t aged well).
Ms. Fontaine tells me that now that she’s in her second year of teaching, she has a better sense of how to do things.

She tells me that she wished that her current students were as well-behaved and put in as much effort as me. I earned mediocre grades throughout school but consistently earned an “A” in English because I liked to read. She says she’ll see me around.

A few days later she comes into the restaurant again, and we get to talking, and she asks me if I’d like to go to a movie.

I can tell she’s bored because there’s really no one her own age for her to hang out with in town, or if there are, they’re all lame. I think we both get the feeling that it’s natural we should hang out.

And now that I was completely out of high school and she wasn’t my teacher, and we were both adults (by this time I was newly eighteen and she had just turned twenty-five), why not? So, that’s how it started.
We’d meet up in the early evenings, totally innocent, and go to the movies, or to dinner at the one good restaurant in town. Ms. Fontaine was cool about letting me slide when it came to paying for our dates because she knew I made minimum wage.

It was actually me, who started to push our relationship to the next level. After a while, I started to hold her hand when we walked places, and finally, we started kissing.

Never in front of anyone. She taught me a lot of French words and phrases over the next summer and fall while we were going out. My parents knew I was sort of dating my former teacher, but since it was keyword ‘former’ they didn’t really raise any stink about it. Ms. Fontaine would always try to convince me to go to college, but she did see our band play a few times when we got a rare gig at the roller rink, and she was nice enough to not tell us what she really thought of us LOL.
We didn’t have sex until we had been dating casually for nearly two months.

That was my idea, too, but she admitted that she really liked me and she wanted it to happen ever since we reconnected earlier that year, after I had graduated.

I’m not the kiss and tell type, but my bandmates sort of knew that the dynamic in my relationship with Ms. Fontaine (she had been ‘Amber’ ever since we first made out) had changed. They appeared cool with it. I stopped doing so much dope and really began putting money away to save for college. The JC near my house was super cheap. Amber would often tell me she thought about applying there for work but said that she really wanted to move to the West Coast, or back to the East Coast to teach at a college.

Eventually, she told me she’d like me to come with her.
After a few months, I was in love with Amber and she was in love with me, too, she said. We didn’t throw our relationship in people’s faces or show public affection, but it’s not like we pretended not to know each other, either. Amber had come around the house and my parents really liked her and thought she was a great influence on me. I didn’t exactly cut my hair, but I was neater and more presentable, and eventually, I really did begin enrolling in GE classes at the local two years.

But then, things went downhill fast.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Amber got called in for a meeting with the local school board. This is my second account of the situation, as Amber was the one there, not me. There had been reports that she was dating a former student romantically (they were talking about me). And that she was having a sexual relationship with said student when he was still a minor and still attending high school. Of course, she denied everything. Of course, they believed nothing. She had sent me a desperate text, and since ours is a small town (I think I’ve mentioned that a couple of times already), I was at that meeting in literally ten minutes.

I told them the truth, that I was in Ms. Fontaine’s class in twelfth grade, and that I was her student. That was all. I told the truth that we reconnected several months after graduation, and only then did we begin dating. And I was over eighteen. The opinion of the board was essentially like, ‘Look, son, we appreciate the noble effort you’re making to defend your friend’s honor, but we’re looking for the truth here, not omissions.’ I insisted that I was telling the truth and not trying to cover anything up.

After a lot of tears, Amber was simply warned that it wasn’t becoming of a teacher to be seen with students outside campus, even if they’re former students.

And we assumed that was all. We were really wondering who complained about us, or who would make up tales about us having sex while I was still a minor and a student of Amber’s. I was staying at Amber’s apartment by this time (I kicked in a portion of the rent of course). I had even met her parents, albeit only on webcam. They’re good people. They don’t speak a lot of English, but Amber filled them in on missing pieces. They knew my age and they were cool about it. We assumed it was just small-town gossip and that it would blow over.

Boy, were we wrong.

Over the next several weeks after Amber’s meeting with the school board, vicious rumors started to spread about her. I won’t insult your imagination. You know what people were saying. One day my boss at the burger joint just told me he had to let me go. Some crap excuse about the store losing money and my hairstyle was driving away customers. Whatever, dude. Amber told me it wasn’t my fault, and promised to support me while I looked for another job.

But then one day, SHE got fired, too. She was working as a probationary teacher. It meant that during her first two years, she could be fired for any reason, and actually, no reason had to even be given.

Explanations were for those who earned tenure. We both knew why she was getting fired, but the district strongly implied that it was simply because she was an ‘ineffective’ teacher.
In her defense, I looked at the data on the district website, and the number of students from our school who did well on standardized tests in her subject area leaped by double-digit points during the time she was a teacher there. Her numbers were far above the state average, and to this day, since her departure, those same scores have nose-dived. Amber told me that students tended to respond well to her, and she was very popular among the students.

It was true that she was immensely popular when I was a student, and I’ll assume the same carried true the year after I graduated. Aside from the obvious fact that she was eye candy, she was simply a good teacher, and a good person, and that’s why the kids liked her.
Lots of students threatened to riot when she was fired, but being the non-dramatic, non-attention-seeking person she is, Amber asked them to just focus on their studies and doing well, and helping their new teacher adjust when he or she arrived to take her place. My dad told her she ought to sue the district, but Amber didn’t want the drama.

Besides, she said, she was ‘allowed to resign’ so that it wouldn’t show up on her record as her having been fired. Also, she said that the district promised not to try to revoke her teaching credential.

Her own parents suggested maybe she ought to come home to France, but she insisted on sticking it out in America. My parents were cool in that they offered to let her move in with us while she figured her life out. She’s lucky that her parents are well off because they gave her some money to relocate to California. She asked me please to come with her, that she loved me, and we could start new there.

I’ve always wanted to move to California, so I jumped at the chance. My parents were happy that I was in a relationship with a good person who obviously cared about me, and gave us some money, too. We got an apartment together in the Los Angeles area. Neither of us drove, so we both got bikes to get around. Our new area was a world apart from my old life, though I know Amber’s own teenage years were in Paris so Los Angeles wouldn’t be as much of a culture shock for her.
I immediately enrolled in a local community college and got a job as a waiter in a popular French restaurant.

Our gimmick was that some of the servers actually spoke French. Over the last several months Amber had taught me a lot of French, so I was a popular server in that restaurant because I gave it ‘authenticity.’ Unfortunately for Amber, the school district misled her about her teaching license. When they promised not to have her license revoked, they spoke the truth, but they left out the part where they would attach an official reprimand to it that accused her of inappropriate relations with students under her charge. So, whenever Amber applied for teaching jobs, this would immediately come up as a red flag on her applications.

Another surprise red flag was that schools that she applied to would notice that she was fired from her last job. ‘No I wasn’t,’ she’d say. ‘I resigned.’ ‘Yeah, but it says here you were forced to resign to avoid termination for cause.’
Amber is seven years older than me, but I think in some ways I know a lot more about how nasty Americans can be than her.

Everywhere she went, doors would slam, career-wise. She appealed to the state teaching license organization, and they said they’d look into it, but months later, nothing came up. Calls to her former school resulted in her getting the runaround.

No one knew anything.

So, for the next several months I was paying our day to day bills and helping to support Amber, though I must acknowledge that the loans both our sets of parents gave us helped tremendously, and we couldn’t survive without them. Finally, one day, Amber tells me, ‘You know what? F*CK trying to teach public school. Oh, and OP, I’m pregnant.’ So, TWO pieces of good news. Many, many months later, Amber and I are happily married. The wedding was beautiful, in sunny Los Angeles. Amber’s parents and mine and our families all attended. We had a pregnant honeymoon in France.

We now have a son, Richelieu. I am closing in on earning my AA in Information Technology. I’ve been promoted to Maitre D at the restaurant, and have health benefits for my wife and son. We live in a studio apartment, but at least it’s a huge studio, and it’s enough for now. Amber stays home with the baby, but she also teaches online English and French courses for a private school. So, even though she’s blacklisted from teaching in the public K-12 district, she can still teach, which is her passion.
More months pass, and I got my first job in IT, troubleshooting computers for a small company downtown.

I make double what I used to at the restaurant, and my employer has a program where I can finish my BA while I work, and they will subsidize fifty percent for free, and the other fifty percent they will dock from my pay in small monthly installments. Sounds like an amazing deal, and I take it. We move to a bigger apartment. Amber is making her awesome contribution both as a mother and to our finances with her tutoring. We’re planning for her to eventually go back to school for her graduate degrees so she can finally fulfill her dream of teaching college.

‘Oh, more good news, OP. I’m pregnant again.’ Life is sweet, haha.
So, while everything is going awesome, one day I get a text from mom.

She was at a local school board meeting with her neighbors, regarding a bill proposal to hire more teachers. Apparently, over the past few years, the population has grown, and the high school needed to expand. So now it’s a two-horse town, mom says.

While she was at the meeting, my mom ran into Jerry’s mom. Jerry, the bassist from my old band that I quit once I got into a serious relationship with Amber. My mom never met Jerry or his mom.

Or at least in a way that connected them to me. The reason was that I never brought Jerry around our house. Because, for a couple of years, Jerry was my drug-supplier. He had the hook up for anything you wanted. Well, what does all this have to do with anything?
My mom doesn’t know Jerry’s mom, but she hears her and some other lady talking about me, and Amber. My mom heard them saying that Jerry had been the one to tell everyone about Amber and me supposedly having sex before I graduated, and his mom went straight to the school board.

Their names as informers were protected under confidentiality. I had lost touch with Jerry over the years and had stopped playing music with him long ago. I knew he resented all the time I was spending with ‘my chick.’

It’s a shame because he used to be such a good friend of mine. It sucked that he was behind getting my now wife and mother of my child and soon to be childREN fired from her career. Jerry’s mom was a teacher at Amber’s former school of employment. It became a joke of ours—that his mom had such a huge stick up her @ss regarding prim and proper behavior, and was a goody-two-shoes teacher whose sh*t didn’t stink… Yet her kid Jerry, a student at her school, is basically the biggest drug dealer in town.

Also, looking back, I know he had a crush on Amber, too, and probably always resented that I got to be in a relationship with her, while he didn’t.
I was interested to learn that Jerry’s mom was now on the school board. I didn’t tell Amber about all this right away. I just asked her to tell me what she remembered about Mrs. [Jerry’s mom]. She told me that Jerry’s mom was always really mean to her, and often one of the main instigators in getting everyone (the adults) on campus to exclude her from teacher social activities. It’s one of the main reasons why Amber didn’t make friends with the other teachers.

Amber tells me that the male teachers tended to be nice to her at first, but female teachers overwhelmingly despised her before they even knew her. Jerry’s mom, Amber told me, was also the teacher she knows who started a petition not to renew her contract for even a second year at the school. This was the first I heard about this.
Evidently, only a few female teachers signed the petition, but the petition was placed in Amber’s permanent file as ‘evidence’ that the staff lacked confidence in her. They were basically setting her up to be fired even though she was doing a good job teaching, and the students liked her.

Well, I’m more Cali than Iowa these days, but I still keep in touch with a few kids (now grown-up) I knew in school, including Gabe the drummer from our old band. From what I hear, Jerry manages the burger joint I used to work at, because the old guy who owns it retired. I have a social media account but only use it to contact people in emergencies. I never update anything. My profile is practically blank, online. I’m not one of those people who check it daily or uploads pics of my lunch. Didn’t post about marrying or having kids or moving to LA.

I told the people that matter directly.
Jerry was still my “friend” on social media even though we stopped talking ages ago, so I clicked on his profile. Yep, he definitely managed my old place of employment. I clicked on his friends’ and family’s profiles and recognized his mom, my old history teacher. She was on the school board now. Sanctimonious as ever.
I think I mentioned before that I came from a small town. And in a small town, there often isn’t anything for bored kids to do other than do dumb stunts and do drugs. And for the biggest loser kids of all, a group that included me, we were dumb enough to record ourselves partying and talking sh*t and doing the aforementioned drugs.

That’s exactly what my band used to do all the time.

Whenever we had a show, we’d go around taping ourselves using our cellphones. We’d take a video of us rocking out, skating, drinking beer in the vacant lot, and take a video of us getting high. We’d also talk to the camera. I haven’t thought about the old recordings in years, but I never erased them from my old phones. I’m the kind of guy who hoards his old cellphones, not because I think they’ll increase in value or that I find them especially interesting, but I kind of think of them like file cabinets of my past, because I don’t erase anything.

Aside from phone numbers, I don’t really transfer data from one phone to its successor, easy as it would be. My current boss knows I used to do drugs, and they don’t care. In IT, I’m told, everyone used to get lit, and many still do.
I ask my wife, offhand if her new job knows about what happened in our old town. She says yeah, but that they don’t care about any of that. They only care that she teaches expert-level conversational French. That’s what their clients—many of them traveling professionals—demand. Many of her coworkers, she tells me, had real felonies on their records, but her employer was a firm believer in rehabilitation.

So I check some of my old videos and find what I need. I have no trouble finding videos of Jerry getting high as a motherf*cker. That’s like practically every video. And in practically every video, he brags about how his parents know he’s a druggie and a DEALER and wants to ship him off to the army and make a man out of him. The video I really want is… Nope, it’s not on this phone. Maybe the LG? Nope, just more of Jerry rolling on ecstasy at a rave we snuck out of state to attend when we were in eleventh grade.

Maybe my old Galaxy? Bingo.
Jerry talks about how his mom knows all about his drug use and sometimes even smokes weed herself, with his dad. And how they caught him with drugs once and yelled at him and his dad kicked his @ss, but then Jerry came home the next day from school to find that his mom was doped out on the kitchen table. And she had called in sick that day. The video was timestamped. I think that’ll do. I still don’t tell Amber. It would only upset her, in her condition.

But I ask my mom for the contact info of all the people who are on the little town’s school board.

I already know the school’s basic email address, and I graduated not that long ago and most of the administrators are still mid-career at my former high school. I still have their emails.
I make a throwaway email account and attach all the relevant videos to it, and send it to everyone that matters in town. All the teachers, the administrators, even from elementary and middle schools, the church, the pizza place, the burger joint owner, the roller rink boss, you name it, they got the files.

The files where Jerry exposes himself as a doped up drug dealer, with his mom having full knowledge of the fact, and she and her husband even indulging in the drugs themselves.

The next day Amber asks me, while she’s feeding our son, ‘Honey, why are you so happy?’ I tell her, and she starts crying. ‘ No, I’m not sad,’ she assures me. ‘I’m just so happy you did this for me.’ Then me, Amber, Richelieu, and our bun in the oven go for a walk because it’s such a nice day. Still need a haircut. Not getting one. Do I even need to say what happened afterward? All this ancient history shouldn’t matter. But in a small town, it’s devastating. The videos are just of Jerry talking trash, who knows if he’s even telling the truth?
Doesn’t matter.

In a small town, gossip becomes gospel.

Kind of like how everyone believed Amber and I were f*cking before I turned eighteen, even though that was 0% true, and they ran us out of town on a rail.
My parents had to endure the fallout of my “disgrace” when I left town years ago with that ‘French tramp,’ as all the idle busybodies have dubbed my wife. Mom and dad made their peace with it and have numbed themselves to the slurs, and always stood up for us. They are what’s good about small-town America. Jerry got fired from his job. Police searched his house—that is to say, his mom’s house—and found a lot of drugs.

Evidently, when the rumors went flying that Mrs. Jerry’s Mom had a drug-dealing son, kids busted for drugs at the high school caved under pressure to admit who hooked them up. Oopsie! So he WAS telling the truth! Jail for you, d*uchebag.
His mom was summarily dismissed from her job, along with all the appropriate blacklisting that being a drug-abusing, child-endangering, fraud-committing public official entails. My mom wasn’t clear on the details, but there’s a possibility she had her husband might face jail time, too. It came out that Jerry’s dad had been cheating on his wife for years with a woman from the church.

Jerry’s whole family are persona non grata. They want to leave town, but can’t pending court case. Until then, they’ll just be hated to their face. I’ll hate them from across the country. Small town. Everyone knows everyone. Or, at least their business. Which means sooner or later word will slip, people will drop the “it’s confidential” charade and figure out that I was responsible for a family’s downfall.” LargeTownPizzaLawyer
1. Pull A Prank On A Wonderful Old Lady? You Got Another Thing Coming

“For backstory, this story isn’t mine. It’s my grandpa’s. Since he died before I was born, this has just been one of those family stories that I’ve heard since I was a little girl.

My family has a lot of those, which I may tell if I find the willpower to do so. But it may not be 100% what happened but the main points where a bully got covered in poop are.

My grandpa grew up in rural Iowa, I’m not gonna say where exactly but Iowa is basically all cornfields anyway, so ya probably got a mental image in your head already. He was always a stand-up guy, and despite this happening over 70 years ago at this point, you can still hear people speak very highly of the boy scout of a man that my grandpa was; I sincerely wish I knew him.

At this point, my grandpa was in his junior year of High school and despite being well-loved in his community, he had his bully; everyone has that one bully. His bully though just seemed to be a dick to everyone. Teachers, Parents, kids, hell there was even a small-town cop fresh to the force who got bullied at one point (which would probably go under entitled people if I make another post about when I ended up meeting his sh*thead). No one seemed to stand up to this stupid little high school-er that thought he knew everything. It got to the point were he’d go out of his way to brag about it to people.

This did not sit right with my grandpa, but he didn’t really know how to stand up to him without making things worse when it came to how he was being bullied. But, one day, mistakes where made.

My grandpa was getting a pop at a gas station with his friends, and this particular gas station had a restaurant attached, since it was a good spot for people to pass through, on road trips or for a truck stop. And in the restaurant was the bully laughing loudly with his little weasely friends. My grandpa listened, just sipping his drink and heard that they were going to pull a prank on an elderly woman that owned a farmhouse nearby.

This woman’s house wasn’t in town since her family had built that house long ago and worked the land around it. She was widowed, her children had moved away, and she hired people to help her maintain the place. Despite her age, I’ve been told that she was still a spitfire and insisted on doing a lot of the farming herself. The main issue with her health was heavy lifting.
Anyway, back to the supposed ‘prank’. This woman didn’t have indoor plumbing, which meant that she got water from a spigot near her house and that she had an outhouse instead of a normal bathroom that we had today.

For those of you that aren’t entirely aware of how Iowa farm outhouses work, it’s basically a big pit in the ground that someone digs, and then they stick a wooden shack on top of it. The shack then has a seat with a hole in it for a person to relieve themselves in. The bullies were going to wait until the dead of night so that they could tip the outhouse over.
My grandpa was furious when he heard this. He had been hired before by her for summer work and knew that she was a strict but kind woman that didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

Because when your only outhouse is tipped over, and ya gotta go, there’s no way your gonna be able to lift it, and there’s no way to safely crouch next to the hole without falling in.

So my grandpa did the right thing and immediately went with his friends to tell the old lady what was being planned. They expected her to be furious when they told her the story, but instead, she sipped her coffee and gave them a chilling smile.
‘Let them, but we’ll have a surprise for them…’

And she let them in on a plan to make sure that things wouldn’t go as far as the bullies had planned.

That night, my grandpa and his friends, telling their parents that they were at one another’s houses to hang out, all gathered at the old woman’s house, munching on some cookies and pumpkin bread (my grandpa got the recipe off her and it’s an amazing recipe that my family uses to this day) and waited.

At around 11 o’clock, they heard disgusted screams from the direction of the outhouse.

You see, the way that the yard was set up, was so that there was only one way to get into the yard and still have enough room to take a running start to tip the outhouse over.

My grandpa and his friends, didn’t tip the outhouse over, but they did move it over about 5 feet, and lightly covered the now exposed hole in excess corn stalks from the harvest. The screams were from my grandpa’s bully being waist-deep in human excrement. The bullies friends were frozen in place by the gate they came in, and the old woman immediately turned on the lights and started yelling that if they didn’t get off her property that minute, that she was going to call the police. My grandpa and his friends waited inside and heard the whole thing, laughing when they heard the pitiful cries from the sh*t pit and the running of feet from the co-conspirators.

Wouldn’t you know it, he couldn’t get out himself, and since he wasn’t getting off her property, she called the police.
My grandpa and his friends watched from a window as the poop fiend was dragged out of his rancid prison and made to go to the police station to explain just what he was doing. He wasn’t an adult so he wasn’t charged, from what I was told, but word got out around the school and his last two years of high school were absolute sh*t. No one knew it was grandpa and the old lady never told a soul. Thank you, old lady.

May you rest in peace, you wonderful woman.” IMajorInMagick

Some are straight to the point, while others take a minute or a few years to unfold. Either way, there’s a payoff and it’s served colder than Alaska in a snowstorm! Got any well-executed stories of revenge to share? Tell us everything!