People Pass On Their Enthralling Acts Of Revenge
17. Oh, I Apologize For Giving You The Wrong Amount Of Pork, Let Me Throw Some Of It Away
“I work at a US western popular counter-serve, laid back Mexican place. It’s most popular in Utah but has locations in the surrounding states. It’s like a Subway for Mexican food. We serve burritos, tacos, enchiladas, salads, quesadillas, and more, all with customizable ingredients.
At this place, we have very organized and guideline set portioning. The meat is the most portioned, with there being regular checks that the guest is not being given too much or too little.
So, we get really busy at times. This happened last night, and it was really crazy. I was working at the front of the line, where the guest selects entree, tortilla, rice, beans, and meat.
One guest, a larger woman, comes in and immediately starts complaining about how long the line is. Loudly. We are getting through guests as fast as we can, but it is quite slow because it is incredibly busy and we keep running out of our more popular meats because they have to be grilled and cooked.
Karen gets to the front, and absolutely starts laying into me about how long the line is. I try to keep the interaction moving in order to keep the line moving, so I take her order. She orders a pork salad. Now, I don’t care all that much for the portioning, so I give a little extra if I can get away with it, so I do this for her.
“That’s not enough meat.” Karen snaps.
“Oh, I’m sorry, would you like extra meat? That will cost just a bit extra,” I reply.
“No, I just want regular, but you are being freaking stingy. That’s not 4 oz. I know the owner of this place, I know exactly how much it should be.”
“It is accurate according to our portion standards,” I say.
We go back and forth for a minute, but I’ve had enough.
“Just get me the correct amount of dang pork!”
Ok then, I will.
I get a scale, and she watches me put the pork in, and it reads:
I then scoop out some into the trash until it reads exactly “4 oz.”
“There you go,” I say. “The exact amount of pork.”
She doesn’t even bother finishing her order; she doesn’t even ask for the manager. She just flips me off, says “Screw you,” and storms out.
Not the most dramatic story, but it was dang funny.”
16. Terrible Foster Parents Become The Talk Of The Town
My parents were both killed in a hit-and-run car accident when I was ten. My dad was only 39 and my mom 35. Neither of them had relatives who could take me in. We lived in a really small, church-going town where everyone knew one another.
My dad had been the heir to a small fortune and so didn’t really have to work. He didn’t like the big city, so he and my mom decided to move to a small town where he could have an antique store.
My mom was into collecting antiques.
I would have had to go the orphanage route when they died, but this couple from the church, who I will call Mr. and Mrs. Banks, made this big to-do in church about how “a little girl needs a loving home, and God has given us this joyous task of bringing her up in our home and hearts.” It’s been a long time and I don’t remember if those were Mrs.
Banks’ exact words, but they were something cringe-worthy like that.
The Banks had their own daughter “Kitty” who was a year older than me.
That should have meant we would be super good friends, but Kitty had her own thing going and practically ignored me. She was a holier than thou type. The Banks received a stipend from the state to take care of me, but they also received checks every month from my dad’s estate, which was supposed to take care of me until I was eighteen.
When I did turn eighteen, I would receive full control of my inheritance.
The Banks weren’t exactly cruel to me, but in private it was clear they were just using me to build up their reputation in town. In front of other people, they’d fawn over me in a sick, cotton candy fashion that made me uncomfortable. They’d also make Kitty be nice to me in public, which she resented.
The Banks would also put on a big show whenever social workers came to check up on me. They’d coach me before the lady would come, and tell me to praise how godly and wonderful they were. After the social worker left, they’d go right back to ignoring me and spending my dad’s funds on stuff on the internet or on trips.
It was clear to me even as a tween and teen that the Banks were only using some of my endowment, both from the state and from my trust, to take care of me.
The rest, they spent on themselves. As I grew older I could see that my foster parents would pretend as though they had great business acumen and that’s why they had more income and could buy a new Volvo (where I’m from, a new Volvo is an event) and take a trip to New York and buy fancy clothes for Kitty. When I was seventeen I noticed that my foster parents were stockpiling away my trust fund to pay for Kitty’s tuition to college.
Throughout this time, the Banks would never outright say so, but would heavily imply that I “owed them” and that once I got control of my inheritance, that I should be Godly and generous and give them some material compensation for “all the work” they did to raise me.
I think they already got lots of material, especially since Mrs. Banks practically stole all of my mom’s antiques from her store and kept them for herself, gave them to Kitty, or to her other relatives.
One thing my mom never kept at her store was an extremely expensive, Baroque-era fine china set, absolutely complete and worth tens of thousands of dollars. Not a replica, but the real deal. So real, Napoleon Bonaparte himself might well have eaten a steak off those plates. Probably not, but you get the point. It was my china set of course, but Mrs. Banks thought I was an idiot and didn’t know that.
She would always talk about how “this china set will go to Kitty on her wedding day.”
Mrs. Banks assumed that since I always dressed like a tomboy, I didn’t care about all my mom’s antiques that Mrs. Banks stole or gave away, that I just didn’t care about the china set.
When I was a kid, my mom told me that things were things, and not to obsess over them.
So, having the frou-frou china set for me wasn’t an issue. What WAS an issue was Mrs. Banks acting like it was hers to give away.
So, once Kitty went off to college thanks to MY biological mom and dad, I had to make my own plans. I had always done well in school and had actually gotten a partial scholarship to attend school out of state.
The rest, I could easily pay for with my inheritance, which I would very soon have control of.
Per usual, Mr. and Mrs. Banks were haranguing me about how I owed them compensation and since I was going to be rich soon I ought to share the wealth.
I figured that over the past seven years they probably stole or misappropriated more than two hundred thousand dollars from my parents, to say nothing of the state funds they misused.
I think they more than shared the wealth.
I never promised anything, I just smiled and kept a tally of every single bank statement (I got them quarterly) that my trust issued over the years. The Banks family never shared them with me of course but when I asked the actual Bank for a rundown, they were more than happy to oblige.
I also wrote down every single major purchase my foster parents clearly made over the past seven years with funds that were clearly beyond their means as a housewife and an insurance salesman.
Things such as a $40,000 car, a used $20,000 car that they gave to Kitty, trips to Hawaii, New York, gifts to the church that made them look super generous at my deceased parents’ expense… I kept it all in a nice, three-ring binder.
I already arranged my travel to my new campus. I didn’t have much stuff at the Banks’ house anyway and had zero intention of coming back, at least to their home.
The Banks knew I was leaving but didn’t bother seeing me off, because they assumed I’d come back to “give them their due.”
I waited for our church’s yearly antique sale extravaganza, set to begin in three days.
Per usual, the Banks donated all sorts of random stuff, many of it knick-knacks that used to belong to my mom and technically belonged to me. They weren’t shy about giving away my stuff and taking credit for it.
While Mr. and Mrs. Banks were on one of their shopping sprees and away from their house, I boxed up the china set and brought it to church.
I told the rummage sale committee that Mrs. Banks wanted to donate the priceless antiques for sale, all benefits to go to the church.
“This donation is made in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Banks.”
I was being fair.
Banks was really so godly, she would be delighted that such a wonderful donation be made in her name.
Sadly, I knew she’d go the other way because she was faker than implants.
The ladies were flabbergasted, especially when I told them the appraisal of the set’s value. I also told them that if they needed proof of ownership and right to sell, to contact the number of a certain attorney in New York.
They thanked me profusely and praised the Lord Jesus for Mrs. Banks’ generosity. This would be the most expensive item in their sales history. Everyone knew no one could afford to buy the set outright, but everyone would love to buy the pieces piecemeal.
Like, “I got a cup and saucer,” or “I got one of the chargers,” “I got an egg cup…”
The Banks were supposed to work the sale the second day and I wasn’t there.
What I did hear was that my foster mom went ballistic when she saw “her” china set for sale and that it was a huge hit, and ladies from all over the county had bought pieces of it, and it raised SO much for the church!
My foster mom threw a tantrum and said that I had stolen the set from her house.
The ladies at the church explained that I had made the donation in HER name, and she was getting credit for the donation to the church.
My foster mom was practically yanking her hair out, according to what I heard later. She was trying to track down who had bought pieces and trying to get them back. Of course, she was unsuccessful.
What she WAS successful in was looking like a Grade-A jerk.
The entire church thought she was selfish and materialistic and acting very ungodly, especially the way she cursed her foster daughter.
A week later my foster parents received a package by registered mail from me and my attorney. It contained my binder where I showed my bank statements and also a list of all their spending extravagances. It also contained a warning from my attorney that should they ever try to contact me again for moolah, that they will receive a BILL and a court date.
That was that.
Ten years later, I work as a third-grade teacher. I’m married to an accountant, and we have a three-year-old son and a one-year-old daughter.
Kitty ended up working through college, and as we’ve gotten older, we’ve reconnected.
She apologized for the way she acted when we were kids. We’re friends now, and see each other multiple times a year, often just for lunch. She’s an elementary school teacher, too, and married to an engineer.
She has a four-year-old daughter. Both of our older kids play together when our families meet.
We both have our OWN wedding china.
She has gone to a lot of therapy due to her toxic parents, she tells me.
As for her parents?
They still live in their small town because they’re too broke to move.
Their reputation is of being “that couple who drove both their children away and stole from that poor little girl whose parents died, and they tried to steal from Jesus when they whined about getting their baroque china back.”
I hope your Volvo was worth it, buttholes.”
15. Suing The City
So after a year-long battle, this finally came to a close.
Maybe not my revenge, but revenge on my behalf. A little backstory, I bought a house about 5 years ago and in 3 years, flooded 3 times. It never flooded in the 40 years before. Thanks, climate change! Finally, after the 3rd flood, my wife and I were financially able to move out and sell the house for a loss.
We search around and find our dream house.
Or so we thought.
After living in the new house for about 6 months we noticed something very peculiar. Whenever it would rain hard, the bathtub would backfill with sewage and the toilets wouldn’t flush. So we called a plumber. The plumbers were awesome and told us that our sewer lines had broken between the house and the city sewer line and while we could try and spot fix, we would probably need to replace the entire line.
Ouch. Having just spent a lot on a new house and taking a loss on the old house, we said to try and keep it as cheap as possible. They dug up where the line was broken. Broken is an understatement. The line had all but dissolved. We were going to have to replace the whole line. About $5k. Not the best time but okay, let’s do it.
Once they exposed the line the best they could, I got a call from the plumbers. The line has broken up so badly, they cannot find where the residential line ties into the city line or “tap”.
Now the home-owner is responsible for the residential line, but the city is responsible for the tap and the mainline. I ask the plumber what is needed. He says we need to get the city plans and dig to uncover the tap.
More digging = more expenses. At this point, it’s been 2 weeks and I just want to poop in my own house and take a shower. Okay, dig the hole. They dig a 4’x4’x10′ hole and find nothing. We double-check the city plans and they are right on where the plans say the tap is.
Now we have to deal with the city. We call 311 as directed and after sitting on hold for 3 hrs, a city official sends us the same plans with the location where we dug.
We call back and say we already dug there and there is no tap. Getting nowhere with the city, my wife finally goes down to city hall and after spending a vacation day, hanging around waiting for someone, she finally gets in to meet with an official, let’s call him Richard. Richard prints off the same plans we have already been given and says we need to dig where it’s marked.
My wife takes out her phone and says, ‘look, it’s not there.’
At this point he mutters to himself and takes out a pen and draws on the plans, marking the “actual” location. It shows the residential line doglegging from the original drawings and is about 10′ west of the initial location. It was apparent that he doesn’t want to waste his valuable cushy government job time on my wife.
It was pretty obvious he just made something up to get her out of his office.
Plumbers come out, dig a 2nd 4’x4’x10′ hole, and surprise surprise, the tap isn’t there either! Fun. Back to city hall and another vacation day wasted waiting for Richard.
At this point, we don’t want another hand-drawn map, someone from the city needs to come out and mark where this darn tap is.
They come out and I burn a vacation day to wait around for them. To their credit, they got down in the sewer, did some digging around, and mark a new spot between the 2 big holes. Finally! A real location! Plumbers come out and dig the 3rd hole. And if you think they actually found the tap, then you would be mistaken. At this point, the entire backyard is destroyed.
Piles of dirt everywhere, the lawn is dead, the trees are dead, it’s ruined. Our beautiful new house’s backyard is literally trash.
Back down to Richard’s office, another vacation day burned, and we are livid. We remain calm but insist that we must have not been tied into the city’s mainline. There was no tap! Now you might be thinking, how did we not know? 6 months of sewage just piled up in your backyard? In the backyard, there is a large dirt mound that had been turned into a nicely landscaped “forest”.
There were lots of room to absorb the sewage that only 2 people would produce. But if it rained hard, the dirt was saturated and would backfill the bathtub and the toilets wouldn’t flush. Richard doesn’t accept responsibility but does send out the contractor who did all the work for taps in my area.
The contractor comes out and I get the full story.
2 years prior, while the previous owner was doing improvements and not living in the house, the mainline of the sewer was replaced.
Basically, they slide the new tubing into the old tubing underground and then go in and install new taps for each house. Since no one was living in the house, they couldn’t get into the backyard and told the city they did not service our house.
I am FURIOUS. It’s been 3 months, >$20k, and all the wasted time and vacation just because Richard was too lazy to do his job and make one call to the contractor to sort it out.
Now, remember how my first house flooded 3 times? I learned my lesson dealing with people and once we knew we had to talk to the city, we recorded everything. Every phone call, every email, I videoed the contractor and his explanation, everything and all obtained legally (in my state you have to have both people’s consent to be recorded).
He installs a tap and I take the first shower at my house in 3 months.
I am ready to act.
I go down once again to Richard’s office. I show him everything and want to file a claim. I agree to cover the cost of the residential line as that is my responsibility, however, I want the city to reimburse the cost to dig the unnecessary holes.
I think I have a good case! Pursuant to our city, we had to file a claim before starting any work and provide 3 estimates in writing to file a claim.
Since none of that was done and could not be done after the fact, Richard denied the claim right there.
Left without words, I walk away completely defeated. I perk up on the way home after calling my wife and being reminded that I have some lawyer friends.
Surely one of them could help or knows someone who can. Unbeknownst to me, my state has something called “sovereign immunity”.
Basically, you can try and sue the city or state but it will be thrown out immediately, and Richard knows this. No credible lawyer will help me pursue this case because they know I would just be wasting my time. I am pretty much SOL.
After months of calling around to try and find anyone to help I have resigned myself to defeat. Almost a year goes by.
The loans I took out are about to start coming due and I have no idea how I am going to pay for them. All communication with Richard and his office is blocked. I have also tried his boss and crickets. I tried going back down there, but Richard refused to meet with me.
I finally reach out to my council member in a last-ditch effort. I include a synopsis along with all the evidence I have.
I don’t expect much. One hour after hitting send, my phone rings. It is my council member and she is LIVID about how we were treated. She has a meeting scheduled with the head of public works for later that week. She doesn’t promise anything but says she is going to fight for me until they kick her out of the building.
After the meeting, she calls me on her way back to the office.
The head of public works has accepted full responsibility. She wants receipts for everything. The plumber, pay stubs showing the vacation we took, phone logs from the time we spent on hold, the quote from the landscaper to fix the backyard, all of it. She has them all in her inbox by the time she makes it back to her office.
That was about 3 weeks ago.
Yesterday I met with my council member at her office.
Me – “Thank you so much. My wife and I cannot repay you for all you have done!”
Her – “It was my pleasure!”
We chit chat for a bit
Her – “Here is a check for what you are owed!”
Me – “This is so great! We can pay off the loan and finally get someone to fix our y….
Wait, this is much more than we need.”
Her – “You forgot to include emotional distress. I added it in for you.” She winks. “Oh, and if you ever have any issues, you won’t have to worry about dealing with Richard, he no longer works there. Just come to me, I have become good friends with the head of public works.”
Me – “Oh my god, you are literally the best person I know, if there is anything I can do..”
Her – “Elections are in the fall, maybe you could turn out and vote?”
So I went home, paid off everything and the landscapers are coming out next week.
Oh, and I am volunteering on her re-election campaign! Since Richard didn’t go for that, I got him fired and almost 30k for the extra work, my wife and my’s time and effort, plus emotional distress.”
14. Tenants Try To Leave Their Trash Behind When They Move? I Have A Quick Solution
Don’t worry; we got your stuff!
“About 10 years ago, my parents decided to rent their shack (summer home) to our long-term tenants as we weren’t using it much. It was a nice house, and they had put in a lot of time and effort to make it as good as their main home.
Backstory: The area was nice with a mix of shackies and permanent residents. We had water views, a short walk to the beach, and about an hour’s drive to the central business district.
The family they got in seemed ok. The dad had a job, and the mom was on DSP as their 7-year-old old daughter was mentally disabled.
After about 6 months, they started getting behind, paying rent late and were letting the place get all tatty. My mom wasn’t impressed, and she is very house proud.
In this state, if a tenant is late, you can give them the notice to vacate, but if they bring the rent up to date within 14 days, the notice is void.
It’s an important step because after issuing 3 notices, you can evict the tenants.
Anyway, I was tasked with driving the hour trip to issue the first notice, I did it as I had the time, and I wanted to also let them know that it wasn’t an ‘eviction’ notice and to explain that it was null and void so long as they paid their rent.
I get to the property and see what Mom had mentioned about the property being tatty, see their mastiff dog tearing around the yard with their kid’s toys, and trash everywhere.
I start thinking that this isn’t a nice family; this is gutter trash.
I go through the gate, ignoring the mastiff as I’m about 6’2″ and 220+ pounds, and nudge the jumping dog out of the way, knock on the door, and await the answer.
I nearly pooped myself when the guy opens the door and is about 6’8″ and built like a brick house. I explain that I’m the landlord’s son, that I was there about the rent, and nicely explain that they just need to bring it up to date, and if they do, the letter doesn’t mean anything.
He then opens the letter and loses his mind and basically tells me to screw off.
Anyway, they bring the rent up to date (buying themselves some time) and then stopped paying.
The second time, I go down with another notice, and they’re gone, which wouldn’t have been a bad result, but I see the state of the property and realize that these aren’t just gutter trash; they are proper trash nuggets.
Dirty mattresses outside, an old couch their dog has been sleeping on, broken toys, and gear outside. Garbage inside and out, broken furniture inside, and one of the worst, the dog’s been inside the house, torn carpet, poop stains. Filth!
Anyhow, they’re gone, and my parents and I start the process of many weekends of work to get the place suitable for human occupation, in addition to starting the small claims court process (Dad got a summons but has to be served) and lodging the matter with a collection agency.
I’m determined to find these trash nuggets. He’s been fired from his job, but I did find her social media profile, so I know it’ll only be a matter of time…
A week or so later, Mom spotted them in the local supermarket near home! A lead, this means that they’re most likely in the local area. I spend a few hours driving around looking for their car but to no avail.
In the meantime, we’re still cleaning up the property, and all their stuff has been dragged to the carport ready for disposal.
Another week or so passes, then I hit gold. The stupid witch has posted on her public social media page that they’re having a birthday party for their daughter… at their house… and their address!
Not the revenge yet, but I go around to serve them the summons.
Anxiety peaking, I knock on the door of their new house, and the brick house opens the door to my grin. It took him a moment to realize who I was (he’s only seen me once), with a look of shock he tries to slam the door but not before I yell that he’s been served and throw the summons inside.
Now some revenge.
All of their stinking, half-wet, moldy ‘possessions’ are still at my mom and dad’s rental.
Dad takes a day off work and hires a tipper truck, and we set about filling it. (Can you see what’s coming?)
It took a good few hours and really filled the truck, garbage, and everything. At night, we roll past their house, and happily, they are home as their car is in the narrow driveway.
I open the gate on the back of the truck and remove the ropes and get back in to watch the fun.
Dad starts to reverse, raising the tray as we go, timing it perfectly so as he makes the driveway, it’s about to fall. We’re in the driveway, and he dumps it, filling the driveway, blocking the car in, covering the front yard with all of their stuff. Hearing the noise, trash nuggets come running out of the house screaming, but we’re on our way lowering the tray as we go, so freaking happy.
They’re going to have fun with everyone turning up for their kid’s birthday the next day, especially as it will take them hours to move the stuff even to get their car out.
Christ knows what their neighbors thought.”
13. Don't Give Milk To A Lactose Intolerant Person
“I (19f) live at home with my parents and my older brother (23m). We generally all get along okay. However, recently my brother has been doing a lot of stupid pranks on me I didn’t really mind that much the first few times, but once it got into double digits, it just started to get tiresome and annoying. I asked him to stop, but he ignored me and continued to play these tricks on me.
Yesterday, he took things too far. I’m very lactose intolerant, so I always use substitutes like lactose-free milk and non-dairy alternatives. If I don’t, I get really bad diarrhea, stomach pains, and gas. I usually get a glass of lactose-free milk in the morning.
So, yesterday morning, I poured a tall glass of it out for myself and drank the whole thing straight. I realized after drinking all of it that it did taste a bit different from the regular.
My brother then walked in laughing, and he told me that he had poured the regular dairy milk into the carton of the lactose-free milk, so I had just drunk a full glass of that stuff. He knew full well that I’m lactose intolerant and that it would be very painful for me if I consume dairy, but he just did his prank on me anyway.
He just said “have fun” to me as he walked off cackling.
Later that day, I was heading out to pick up some groceries in the car, and my brother asked if I could drop him off somewhere along the way, so I said fine. I had spent most of my time that day on the toilet after the incident in the morning. I got some severely bad stomach cramps, and I felt absolutely awful even after taking medication to help ease it.
For those of you who don’t have lactose intolerance, it can be really painful. So, despite all this, I went on out in the car with him.
On the way, I felt a really big fart brewing in my stomach.
Again, for those of you who don’t know, being lactose intolerant makes it pretty much impossible to hold any gas in. I was not physically capable of holding my farts in due to my medical condition.
So, I decided I would teach him a lesson for causing me all that pain earlier on and bothering me so much for the past while.
As the pressure of the gas built up to its peak, I quickly put the child lock on and then I unleashed a truly resounding fart. It was long and deep; it must have lasted at least 5 seconds. And it was extremely stinky.
I’m honestly proud my body can produce something that dangerous. I just turned to him and said, “I hope you enjoy smelling my farts; have fun” and then I just blew him a kiss and winked at him.
He then absolutely flipped his lid and started freaking out at me. He began cursing at me and calling me disgusting, all while I was just laughing my butt off at him.
He kept on asking what the heck is wrong with me and that it was disgusting unladylike behavior. He said a real woman would not do anything like that, and he continued to call me some vile words. I just giggled and said to him that if he didn’t want to have to smell my lactose intolerant farts, he shouldn’t have tricked me into drinking milk earlier.
I told him that this problem was his own creation. He just ignored me and kept calling me unladylike and revolting.
I eventually reached where I had to drop him off, so I turned off the child lock, and he left the car, slammed the door shut, and stormed off.
I just laughed all the way through his freakout, and the angrier he got, the funnier it became. Anyway, I think it’s safe to say I taught my brother a lesson, and he won’t be messing with me again.”
12. Think Dancing With Me Is A Joke? I'll Keep The Rewards
It’s only fair since you tricked her into thinking you genuinely wanted to dance with her.
“Back when I was around 11-years-old, they held these dances every Friday at an elementary school. The dances were called “Friday nighters.”
At the time, I had a good group of friends: the “cool” kids, if you will. They liked me cause I was funny and genuinely nice, so I’m glad we became friends instead of them taking advantage of me.
However, I did not look like a cool kid whatsoever. I was overweight (still am) had glasses, braces, and no real sense of fashion.
One evening of these dances, a girl (we’ll call her Joan and her friend Fiona) approaches me and says, “Hey, my friend Fiona really wants to dance with you for the next slow dance. Do you want to?” I look over to see Fiona and a few other people snickering to themselves.
I did, however, find her attractive, and since I always assume the good in people, I didn’t really pay attention to the snickering.
A few minutes before the song came on, I heard one of my buddies was looking for me. I went to look for him, but the song started, so I thought it could wait. Fiona and I start dancing, the classic arm length away slow dancing, while a group of Joan and their friends kinda gather around laughing and whatnot.
The song finishes, and they just kinda runoff. Whatever, I’m thirsty, so I’m gonna grab myself a drink.
I get to the concession, and there’s my buddy, looking pretty concerned. He asks if I danced with that girl, and I said, “Yeah, of course.” He then shows me a picture that Joan posted of Fiona with the caption, “If this gets x amount of likes, I get to pick the ugliest guy at the dance to dance with her.” So, now I’m quite devastated and have a lil breakdown in the bathroom.
I finish, and I’m going to grab my jacket when I hear the DJ say, “Congrats to Phatboi (me) and Fiona for best slow dancers. Come and collect your reward!”
A little taken aback, I head over to the guy, and he’s got 2 $25 iTunes cards, 1 for me and 1 for Fiona. Phatboi brain turns on and I say, “Oh, Fiona went home. I can bring it to her tomorrow; we’re good friends.” Homie agrees and gives me both cards.
My mom gives me a call and says she’s waiting for me in the parking lot. As I’m leaving, I see Fiona and the gang walking by, so I let her know we won the gift cards and told her to go talk to the DJ.
It instantly made my night feel a heck of a lot better, and I ended buying a few movies and some of my favorite albums for my iPod.
So, Fiona got to try and humiliate me, but I got $50 worth of screw yous, which as a kid is a lot.”
11. Have To Keep University Furniture In The Dorm At All Times? I'll Find A Resolution
I mean, it’s still in the room, so no rules broken.
“I worked for my college’s housing office for two summers, mostly for the free summer housing and decent spending dollars. So after the students had left for the summer at the end of my junior year, I was able to get a set of master keys to check out the dorm room I was assigned to the following year.
It was then that I noticed the awful desk.
The top was covered with burn marks, and it smelled like trash. Two of the drawers were broken. Plus, I’m tall, and that model of the desk wasn’t made for tall people.
Now, I had a nicer desk at the time, as I had spent a year living off-campus (we were only guaranteed three years of on-campus housing). I figured that I could just use my nice desk my senior year, with its keyboard tray and ample space, and move the bad desk into storage with its equally broken awful furniture kin.
My housing office boss at the time shrugged and said, fine, do whatever. So come the move-in time, that’s what I did. I moved the bad desk into storage down the hall.
Then my floor’s resident assistant came by for his beginning of year inspection, saw my nice desk, and asked where my university-issued desk was. I told him it was awful and down the hall in storage.
And then he said:
“That’s against University policy. You gotta keep University furniture in the dorm room. No exceptions.”
“But my boss at the Housing Office said it was fine,” I said.
“Well, University policy says otherwise,” he said.
“But it won’t fit,” I said.
“Not my problem,” he said.
So, after ten minutes of stewing and considering how I would fit the desk into my room, I took a closer look at the bad desk.
And I saw it was put together with screws.
Now, having had a handyman dad, I had been sent off to college with a goodly supply of hand tools. And it took three hours of work with screwdrivers and pliers on a Sunday night into Monday morning in the floor lounge (the screws had been glued in place and required much force and foul language to remove), but I had successfully disassembled the desk.
The panels, bag o’ screws, and three of the drawers I was able to store under the bed in my room. One large drawer had to go in the closet on the floor.
The next week the RA returned for another inspection. He asked me where the University-issued desk was. I slid the panels out from under the bed. And before he could say anything, I said:
“You said the desk had to be in the room.
You did not say how.”
The RA, to his credit, simply rolled his eyes and told me that I had to reassemble the desk upon move-out, or I’d be fined. I told him I would, and when I told my dad the story, he laughed and said he’d bring a drill and screwdriver bits when it came time to move out.
And true to my word, I reassembled the desk at the end of the year, the day after I graduated college, though the process gave it an awful wobble too.
I presume it was replaced by the university; I never got a fine or bill.
My nice desk continued to serve me faithfully for the next 15 years, through first jobs and law school, until it too developed a wobble and went to its eternal reward.
Moral: When life gives you something awful and says you have to keep it, break out the tools, break that trash down, and shove it somewhere out of the way.”
10. How I Got Four Open Class Periods
“This story takes place nearly 20 years ago when I was in high school. In my senior year, I had to take my last required class.
Everyone at school knew there was one teacher, in particular, that was easier than the rest. He was one of those teachers that was hired to be a coach, but he had to teach a class in order for them to actually hire him.
His class was easy, and if you actually tried in his class, it was basically an open hour.
One day at the start of class, he tells us that it’s state competition next week, so he will be gone all week, and we will have a substitute teacher. He prepared a list of what he expected us to accomplish each day he was gone. The assignment was basically to write a one-page double-spaced short story or something just as easy; I can’t remember specifically.
The point is that it was a super easy assignment that could easily be done in less than 1 class.
Well, the day comes, and I’m looking forward to all of the open time I have ahead of me. The substitute takes the first few minutes laying out the expectations and showing us what we are expected to have done and on their desk by the end of each day.
They then tell us to start working, 15 minutes later, my friend and I had finished the first step and placed it in the turn-in box. We both went back to our desks, and I started to show my friend a card trick I had learned.
We may have been making too much noise because about 10 minutes later, the sub comes over and asks why we aren’t working on our assignment.
I told them we were done with what we needed to be for today so we were just relaxing. They didn’t like that and decided this was the perfect moment to teach us a lesson; I just don’t know what lesson exactly. The sub took my deck of cards away and something my friend was working on and said, “Why don’t you use this time to get ahead on your assignment?” I was a little dumbfounded.
They clearly could tell how easy the assignment was and that we still had 4 whole days to finish it, which I pointed out. They didn’t care:
“When you finish the assignment, you can have your cards back and do whatever you want.”
By the time class was over, I had had a peer review on my paper, written a second draft, had another review done by another person and printed off my final revision to hand in.
I walked up to the sub sitting at the desk, reading a book, and handed in my paper.
“My final draft.”
“Already?! Let me see it.”
They read my paper a couple of times while comparing it to the assignment syllabus trying to find an error, but they couldn’t.
“Can I have my cards back now?”
They muttered this next bit under their breath without making eye contact, grumble sounds, “I thought you were one of those kids who just mess around.”
They handed me my cards, and I spent the next 4 days doing absolutely nothing with the sub avoiding me the entire time.”
9. Go Ahead And Try Stealing My Car, See What Happens
“This story happened approx. 4 years ago to a friend of mine. He and his wife took a house loan, bought a new Chevrolet Camaro, and in general, were preparing for a life together (he had just proposed to her).
Because of their lack of free time due to their hard work to pay off the loan they didn’t have time for themselves, nor for the abnormal amount of other things such as the housework.
So they hired a maid. His first impressions about her were good and they decided that she’s the person they will trust. They handed her their house keys because they were at work most of the time she came around to clean their house.
First few weeks she worked hard and always paid attention to detail and nicely cleaned their house from the bottom to the very top.
She was also instructed not to let anyone in and to always lock the door when she left.
After 6 months of her working there, strange things began to happen. Not in an anomalous way, but things started to disappear (being stolen). It all started with small things like AA batteries which are barely noticeable when missing.
But soon things graduated to phone chargers, perfumes (the more expensive ones) and some electrical gadgets went missing.
My friend thought that he simply lost them, but soon the maid raised suspicion as the things went missing when my friend wasn’t present and when she was detailing their house.
But without any evidence blaming her wasn’t in place. Also, he found out on social media, that she has got some serious debts at least in thousands of dollars (aliments, divorce court settlements, etc.)
So he decided to install security cameras.
And he didn’t tell the maid.
5 weeks forward and he had enough evidence to press charges on her as the things she stole were valued at 250$+ (In my country anything stolen above 250 bucks is considered a crime). He got furious when his flash disk containing private documents as well as some of his billing and his official work documents were stolen. But he wanted to keep catching her so he can squish even the last cent out of her.
So he came up with a plan. He told the maid that he and his girl will be gone for a week for a honeymoon and that he will be going by taxi, as not to pay the extra airports charge for the parking. That means his brand new Chevrolet Camaro will stay parked in the house the maid has got the keys to. They rented an apartment through Airbnb just a few blocks away from his place and he placed a GPS tracking keychain into his car so he could see where his car is through the phone app.
He then placed the car keys in a visible spot on the house so the maid will notice.
All that was left was to wait for the magic to happen. And his intuition was right. After 2 days of almost constant watching the GPS tracker’s location, the car left the garage. All of a sudden the car was cruising at 90MPH on the highway. My friend immediately called the cops.
They caught the maid something like 20 miles (30KM) away.
And now revenge can take place. He decided to press charges on the maid. At the court, the maid told the judges my friend told her to drive the car to some “untold” location (she acted like she forgot where it is) and the one that should go to the jail is him because he wrongly accused her and he’s going through all this so he can get the funds out of her to pay his loan.
But the tables turned. My friend and his lawyer showed the court all of the video evidence of her stealing his stuff valued HIGHLY above $250 (it was like $40,000 including the car). So it was a crime. She starting swearing and telling every single lie she could think of. The security had to calm her down. She is facing 5 years in jail and she was charged $5,000 including all the stolen property but the car, his lawyer, and some other court staff.
(The price was excluding the car because it was returned almost immediately.)
A few days later police did a house check on her and most of the stolen stuff was there. There were also some other things reported missing from other customers of her. Due to her previous debts and the new ones she owes she will very likely become homeless when getting out of the jail.”
Another User Comments:
“This happened to my dad. He use to have a maid, but she started to get lazy and not doing her job, and stealing the sheets, pillows, towels, and food. Sometimes she would bring her man around, and he would drink from my dad’s collection, my dad stopped paying her and fired her.” TheWolfQueen_01
8. Using A Nanny Cam To Catch An Office Food Thief
“A couple of things about me that made it really suck to have a food thief:
-I have a lot of food allergies, so I can’t just get lunch at the cafeteria or at a nearby restaurant
-I have a new baby, who I’m breastfeeding, and who I pump for when I’m at work. Do you know how hungry pregnant people are? Yeah, the caloric requirement for breastfeeding is 100-200 calories higher.
I am always hungry.
-Because I have a new baby, half the time I don’t manage to show up at work with lunch. I either run out of time to pack one or if I did remember, I leave it on the counter.
My solution to all of this was to leave lots of nonperishable snacks in my office.
(And also a lot of candy, because I also have a three-year-old and therefore work is the only place I can shovel Skittles into my mouth without a little hand extending into my field of vision and a little voice saying ‘pwease?’)
Snacks that were specifically free of my allergens.
Some of which were specialty foods because of this. The type of specialty food that just doesn’t taste as good as food that contains the allergen, and also costs twice as much.
Because I’m not getting a lot of sleep right now. I deserve nice things.
So, because I’m not getting a lot of sleep right now, when I first came back from maternity leave, assembled my snack hoard, and started having things go missing, I genuinely thought I was just losing my mind.
Boxes of candy were running out faster than I thought I was eating them. I’d come in in the morning and things wouldn’t be where I’d left them.
At one point I brought a bag of chips to work, folded the rim of the bag down so I wasn’t plunging my arm elbow-deep into a grease pit, and then put a bag clip on it when I went home, and when I came in the next morning the bag was unrolled and re-clipped.
I went, ‘Wow, I must be more tired than I thought,’ rolled the bag back down, and the next morning it was unrolled again.
Just little things like that, almost every day, that made me go ‘wow, the post-baby brain is worse than I thought!’
And then. And then! Then I got the flu. I got the flu, and I was out for a whole week. Left behind at the office was an almost full box of Enjoy Life cookies, which are not enjoyable but are free of all major allergens, and are also $5 a box for, like, 12 sad little sand pies with some cinnamon on top.
I ate one row of these cookies. And then I was out of the office for a week. For one week, I was not eating any of my snack hoard.
But someone else was. Because I came back to work, opened my box of cookies, and found one. There was one single, solitary cookie left.
And, on further examination, the one box of candy that had been opened was nowhere to be found, and on top of that, the thief had done me the courtesy of opening a new box for me, except that they actually followed the ‘push here to open’ instructions instead of just ripping one end of the box open like I do, which they should damn well know at this point because by this time they’d been stealing from me for two goddamn months.
The combination of these two things – the sheer freaking audacity it takes to open a new box so you can continue stealing from someone, on top of the consumption of almost a whole box of specialty cookies that aren’t even GOOD – enraged me enough that, after going to my boss and getting some vague promises about checking if the security cameras in my wing of the building are functional or not (what??) I went straight to Amazon and ordered myself a nanny cam.
Not for my baby. For my snack hoard.
Conveniently, it arrived the day before Valentine’s day. I set it up on top of a file cabinet looking down at my desk. On the desk, I laid out a fantastic spread of bait snacks. I got all my thief’s favorites, and then I took it one step further. I bought myself a Valentine’s heart, broke the seal to make it more inviting, and left it out on my desk.
The next morning, I came into some very obvious snack carnage. My thief had slowly been getting more brazen (again, who OPENS a new box of something?? And opens it DIFFERENTLY than the person they are stealing from??) but this was just on another level. Individually wrapped things had been dumped out of their boxes.
Bits of the packaging had been thrown away. And, yup; they’d eaten some of the Valentine candy.
For shame, office thief! Don’t you know that’s from someone who loves me??
I played back the video. All was quiet throughout most of the evening, and I was just watching the shadows lengthen as the sun slowly set through the hallway window. And then! Shortly before midnight! The night janitor arrived!
And went right ahead and took a 12-minute break in my office, sitting in my chair, eating my food.
I started taking screenshots. I got him shoveling candy into his mouth with full palm-to-lips intensity. Pouring things out onto the desk to pick his favorite flavors. Not even bothering to put them back where he found them. And yes. Eating my goddamn Valentine’s candy.
Screenshots went directly to my boss in an email. I went directly to my boss’s door to hover and grin and ask if he’d read my email.
And I got assurances of a strongly worded email to the cleaning company and the barring of this particular employee from our place of business.
I was also, tactfully, asked to please take my unauthorized spy camera home, which I did.
I thought this was over until the girl who works the concession stand dropped by to thank me. Apparently, the food thief would start his shift just as she was closing down for the night, and would try to get free coffee in that “creepy guy” way.
And then one of the reception staff came by with the same sentiments. I’d never met the guy face to face, but apparently, as a woman, it was not a fun experience to have. I’d shown my screenshots to a few coworkers (‘who’s eating Op’s food’ had become office gossip by this point) and word had spread fast. I worked an earlier shift, so I didn’t recognize him, but people whose shifts overlapped with his did.
I hadn’t told my husband about what I’d done because, when I came home raging about the blatant theft that had gone on while I’d had the flu, his only response had been ‘you really shouldn’t be leaving food at work, then.’ But, when I came home with the nanny cam and explained where and why I’d gotten it, his reaction surprised me.
‘You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you stand up for yourself. I’m proud of you.’
Y’know what? I’m proud of myself too!”
7. Exposing My Manager With One Video
“I really don’t care; it’s been long enough. It’s been 2.5 years since I left that awful store and now work at a job that pays less, but I enjoy far more.
Would be in my preferred career track if I wasn’t incredibly bad at making important decisions. The decision in this post was not one of those. Information regarding locations, coworkers, and managers will be kept to a BARE MINIMUM.
I worked at a fairly large store that sells all sorts of stuff. If you need it, they probably got it unless it was a highly specialized item. Anyway, for a year, I worked at the store. 8 hours a day. Still part-time with one week off. Somehow never promoted to full-time. That was strike one for me. But I needed the paychecks and did not want to raise a stink, so I kept going.
Most of what I did was check people out and do inventory and tidy up.
That’s it. 8 hours a day. Except for the last two where I straight up just tidied the department. Or get pulled into another. I would say 4 hours a day at most was actual work, and the rest was actually mindless.
Strike two. I wanted to be transferred to another department, one where I excelled after I was put there temporarily after a coworker called in sick for a few days.
That department’s manager, Nick, liked me a lot. He was a cool dude. And a great manager. Busted butt making that department shine. And I wanted to be transferred there. For weeks, I was putting in requests. They went nowhere. Both my manager, Tony, and Nick wanted me there. Or so I thought.
I caught Nick during one of his walks through the store and asked why I wasn’t transferred.
“Tony keeps denying it.” I WAS LIVID. But didn’t raise any trouble and kept going. We hired some new guys, one of whom is now a good friend. So, it wasn’t too bad. Nick was soon replaced by Mark, who was kind of a jerk. And my dreams of transfer really died.
Strike three. For a few months before summer classes for university started (before my immediate departure, as you will see why in a second), I submitted my summer schedule to HR repeatedly to make SURE it was put in.
I was NOT going to miss class. Hard stop.
Two weeks before, June 1st (summer 2017) was the first day the classes started, and within two weeks of the anniversary when I was hired (pay rate increase, yay!), my schedule was shown to me.
I was working during every single one of my classes. Tony never approved any of the requests. Oh heck no. This is where I got mad.
The petty-ish borderline pro revenge.
I submitted an emergency leave of absence due to university classes knowing HR would fully approve. They told me to call in every time I was scheduled and stated that the reason was the leave of absence while it was being approved. For a week, my manager had to take my shifts. Those ladies at HR had my back. They are among the few people I miss from the store.
It gets a little better, and NOT because of me.
HR filed it in error and had me fill out another form, and add some stuff, to be absolutely sure it would be approved.
BOOM. Another week of taking my shifts, butthole.
I left that company, and to my knowledge, I am still on leave. I have no intentions of going back.
The Pro Revenge Nuke, what you are all here to see…
So, my fellow coworkers had a chat where we caught up about all kinds of stuff and just talked.
It was also a massive gossip and rumor mill.
I never really spoke besides blasting memes at them, and it never served a purpose. Long after I left the company, I kept in touch with one coworker from that chat, another friend. But not the one I mentioned earlier.
He sent me something privately. Something amazing. Something I never knew I wanted. Things happen. But this was like walking up to Bill Gates and him giving you a billion dollars.
I couldn’t believe my freaking eyes and ears. I was overwhelmed with the urge to just… break havoc.
A WHOLE DANG COMPILATION OF VIDEOS OF MARK, TONY, AND ANOTHER BUTTHOLE MANAGER, SARAH, SLEEPING WITH THEIR EMPLOYEES!
Mark and Tony made GREAT targets, with Tony being the main focus. Sarah was just collateral but very much deserved it for a multitude of reasons, not that she slighted me but others.
(Sidenote: Sarah was a manager who once told me that she didn’t take maternity leave after she had a kid because the job was more important than her family, both her husband and child. Yea. I know. She told me this right after I let my supporting coworker clock out and left me alone with all of the work after his girl was in a serious car accident.
She ended up being fine and making a full recovery.)
I weaponized this. I was salivating at the damage I was going to do. These 3 managers were all married. And it gets worse from there. I kept some email addresses from corporate after detailing and outlining some “policy and company issues” in my contacts. I long had forgotten them until now. They were all sent these videos with a burner email.
I also shot a few out to other managers in the store that were competent and hard workers and the head of the store. HR got the email as well. All in all, about 15 people saw that email. Not only did I want to cause some havoc, but I also have a sense of decency and want people to be held accountable for their actions.
Also, infidelity REALLY MAKES ME MAD!
The aftermath was amazing. And it was just dominoes falling. One after another.
All managers involved were immediately terminated. No severance either. A major breach of contract and policy and whatnot. And it made a scene. Coworkers I never really talked to reached out to me and told me the news. But it remained inside the store and really didn’t make any waves outside of the store.
Within a day, the store went down half of its department managers and began to BURN. Metaphorically of course. The rest transferred out of that store within the coming months. I recognize no one in that store now, aside from the head of the store. And he is in hot water now too.
What came next was relayed to me via the confidant and friend who sent me that nuke.
Mary, one of the associates who was hooking up with Mark (and Tony), decided that she was in love with Mark and was hoping that he would leave his wife for her, and she was, surprise surprise, angry when he wouldn’t. She angrily sent his wife the videos (no idea where she got them). Mark’s wife was devastated, but furious, and came unhinged. Mark’s wife then sent the videos to Tony’s wife and Sarah’s husband.
Three freaking terminations and three quick and bloody divorces with the managers being left with dang near nothing. Careers destroyed, income gone, and their families destroyed.
I do genuinely feel bad for the kids and the spouses.
I really, really do.
But the managers got what they deserved. By rights, I never thought of doing this, nor ever felt the need to cause so much havoc. But that nuclear football fell right into my lap, and I was overwhelmed…
And I let those missiles fly!”
6. Putting A Jerk Jock In His Place By Planting Something In His Locker
“I was the sort of the outcast kid in high school who never really fit into any group. At the time, I was 6’0” and about 210 lbs and was considered fat and unhealthy. I had a few friends, and we just did our own thing during lunch, but that was it as far as my high school social life was concerned. I kept to myself and didn’t want to make enemies of anyone.
This happened back in 2006 in my sophomore year of high school.
At the beginning of the school year, we are given the option to choose our own elective classes for the first and second half of the year. (Science, math, English, and reading were the four mandatory classes, and then we could choose elective classes such as photography, PE, woodshop, auto shop, etc.; you get the idea.)
Anyway, at the start of the second half of the year, I chose weightlifting as my second elective class because I really wanted to build my muscle mass and get in shape.
This was when I met the main antagonist of this story whom we will call Chad. Chad was a two-faced butthole in the most literal sense of the words. He was co-captain of the football team and the biggest brown-noser of the gym teachers (who were also the coaches of the football and wrestling teams) you have ever seen.
Chad liked to cozy up to them to stay on their good side, but if he decided he didn’t like you, he was gonna make your life a nightmare.
I don’t know why he had it out for me, but he would do anything to make me look like a fool. He’d kick weights in front of me so I’d trip, he’d mock my efforts in front of the other jocks (also buttholes), and even stuck his dirty gym socks in my lockers on Fridays, so I would come into my locker on Monday smelling like a landfill.
I put up with Chad’s nonsense for nearly four months.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was when he had something bad to eat one day, and instead of throwing up in the toilet like any normal person, proceeded to throw up in my backpack.
It wasn’t like vomit levels of puke or anything, but it did make a mess of my paperwork and folders. I finally had enough of this jerk and decided it was time to get even.
Just in case any of you are wondering, yes, I did inform the teachers of what was going on, but they were just making excuses because they didn’t want to risk losing the star football player just before heading to the state tournament.
Okay, buttholes, you wanna play hardball? Let’s play hardball. I spent the night at home thinking about how I was going to get back at him.
Then my brain hatched an idea. He wanted to screw with my personal things, so I’m going to do the same to him.
Objective 1: Find out his locker combination
The following Monday was a normal day as Chad was up to his usual stuff, but this time, I was discreet. I played nice with him, trying to butter him up, hoping he would drop his guard. He finally did when I saw him put in his locker combination.
Objective 2: Find some booze
This one was obvious yet difficult. My dad had a bar inside our house in the basement and had quite a respectable collection of liquor. I figured he wouldn’t miss one or two bottles as I was doing this for a good reason. (Dad, if you ever read this, I’m sorry. I hope you understand.) Objective satisfied.
Objective 3: Plant the booze
This one was difficult as I knew I was risking suspension and possible expulsion from school.
(I didn’t have the privilege of being on a sports team, so I would have been thrown to the wolves immediately. You’ll see what I mean here in a bit.) I had to be discreet and make sure no one was around.
When school was over the next day, I went to the locker room and waited. It was easy enough to convince the teacher I just needed something out of my locker.
I was fortunate he had to step out real quick to deal with some issue with another teacher and trusted me to be quick and close the door behind me. Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Cole, I will be; of that, you can be assured.
The moment he left, I worked fast.
I got Chad’s locker open pretty fast. I took the booze out and stuffed it in the back part of his locker.
Then I reset the lock to the number it was on before I opened it. The little details are always important. Objective satisfied.
Objective 4: Tip off the principal and security officer
We didn’t have a weightlifting class until 5th period, so I had a good window to get this last objective done. During lunch, I went to the computer lab (bless you, Ms. Fraser, for being so kind to me) and typed out an anonymous letter stating that I believed a student in the weightlifting class was bringing adult beverages to school and taking drinks while in class.
I thank the powers, that being I was born with a silver tongue, because I was able to just walk into the principal’s office with smiles from the staff.
I left the note right on her computer, so she would see it the moment she walked in. Next, I went over to the security guard’s office and left the note taped to his door. Objective satisfied.
And now, the waiting game.
Pretty much as soon as the principal and security officer got the notes, they immediately called for a search warrant of all the lockers in the boy’s locker room. Every boy was ordered to come from their class and open their lockers, including me. Chad was completely unaware of what was about to happen to him, and man, I couldn’t help but smirk a bit when he opened his locker to find bottles of booze in there.
He tried to tell them it wasn’t his, but the security guard was having none of it.
He was escorted to the principal’s office.
I don’t know what happened to him exactly, but I do know he was no longer a part of the football team and was suspended for two weeks as a result. He’s thankful that the investigation remained in the house and didn’t catch the attention of the local news media.
(This was before things like social media really took off.) He also still got accepted into the college he wanted but lost his football scholarship.
I never truly hated Chad; I just hated that he didn’t know when to stop being a butthole. From what I understand, he’s doing alright now. He has a wife, one kid, and a fairly good job working as a garbage truck driver.
Moral of the story? Always be kind to people because you never know what kind of person you may be messing with.”
5. Best Friend Gets With My Girl, So I Get The Police After Him
“I live with my partner Karen and my old grade school friend Jake who was working as a ‘sales rep.’ We live on the outskirts of a well-known city in the states.
When I was in my late 20s, I found myself looking for work, as the bar I was working at closed down.
Knowing I was desperate for work Jake calls me and tells me his new partner Jill just purchased a motel/bar with a small kitchen and she is looking for hired help.
Needless to say, I jump at the opportunity as Karen wasn’t working, the bills were piling up, and our health insurance was due.
I called Jill and arranged to meet her at her new property to introduce myself.
Jake made the introductions in person and had already told Jill I was a hands-on DIY person with hospitality experience.
Now to explain, my Dad is an electrician and believes if you can pay someone to fix something, you could probably do it cheaper yourself.
He taught me lots and still does to this day.
After a 30 minute chat, Jill tested me with a few odd jobs like rewiring an outlet, fixing a clogged sink, and quizzed me on liquor laws.
Needless to say, I was hired that day.
Originally work was all about getting the property ready for business. Jill thought it would have been minor works (paint, replacement of fixings, and furniture) we soon found out the electrical wires were shot, the whole place needed re-wiring which was a cause of stress for Jill as it would have blown her budget.
Lucky for Jill, my Dad was between contracts and offered his services using leftover stock (already paid for from other jobs), Jill would need to cover the cost of any new product required.
As for labor, his payment, he said he enjoys a steak and drink on Friday nights. After 3 weeks of my dad helping, the wiring was done, was up to code, and at a fraction of the cost.
Jill and I spent 1-2 months painting all 15 motel rooms, bistro, bar. Cleaning the kitchen, cool rooms, etc. Jake would offer to help but always left after 20 minutes saying he has to “make a sale.”
Jill often worked well into the night. After all, this was her dream. I’d take some furniture home to restore after hours and return it once restored.
The business opened up after 6 months (and thanks to Dad) opened under budget.
Jill managed the business and ran the kitchen, I worked where I was needed. In the kitchen, on the bar, tending to maintenance. I was on salary, second in charge, and could work in any position.
Things went smoothly for a year. The business was turning a profit. Dad was getting his weekly drink and steak. Karen seemed happy, Jake was still working as a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company.
One day I felt crook at work, so I clocked off and went home early. Pulling into my driveway, with the exception of a turning gut, things felt normal. Jake’s car was there but he lived there so I didn’t think anything was wrong.
As usual, I parked behind Jake (important for later). When I opened the door I found Karen hooking up with Jake on the couch.
After seeing me Jake grabbed his pants and ran out through the back door. Karan and I argued into the night, she tried blaming me saying I’m never home, I’m spending too much time with Jill (we were keeping things professional, I was her employee).
I went to bed and told her she can sleep in Jake’s bed as she clearly finds it more comfortable.
I called Jill and informed her of this as Jake was her man, she was upset as he was unfaithful to her but admitted she suspected he was seeing someone else.
Jill offered me a room at the motel until I figure out my next move.
The next day I loaded my personal effects in the truck. (Jake’s car was still there as I had blocked it in).
I told Karen she can keep the rental and the furniture. I said to Karen I’d be back for my tools in a few hours and I would appreciate it if she wasn’t there.
I went home that afternoon to load my tools into my truck, while I was grabbing something from under my workbench I found a bag I wasn’t familiar with… Upon closer inspection, I found and a large number of little tablets.
The way they were packed and hidden made me realize they were probably for selling. A thorough search of the house led to me finding 2 more bags and about 12k.
I put 2 and 2 together and realized that Jake’s pharmaceutical sales job was code for dealer, and Jake probably traded pills to Karen for hookups. I was beyond angry until I realized that I have all I need to get him back.
Jake’s car still hadn’t moved, I went inside and grabbed his spare keys, chucked on a pair of gloves that were in the garage.
I put half the funds and one bag of substance in his boot and thought “hang on, this won’t pass.” I removed his spare tire from the wheel well and put the bag in there. The other 2 bags, I threw down the storm drain in the laneway behind my house.
As for the 6k? Jake did cost me a house full of furniture! Just saying.
I sent a message to both Jake and Karen with the typical hurt script, “I can’t believe you did this, we were friends blah blah blah.
I’ve left I hope you two are happy together.” I then made an anonymous tip to the local police and ATF about a man fitting Jake’s description, loading what looks like an illegal substance into the boot of a car that sounded Jake’s car, and provided a partial number plate number that matched Jake’s car.
It didn’t take long for law enforcement to find the car and locate the substance.
What I wasn’t counting on is Karen was driving the car at the time. She was later released when they found out she was driving the wrong car at the wrong time. A warrant went out for Jake’s arrest.
The icing on the cake? I found out later that not only was the police after Jake, but his supplier was also as well as he lost a lot of product.
Fast forward 3 months, I purchased a house, I was still working with Jill. Karen was pregnant with Jake’s baby and he was on the run. I suspected she was keeping contact with Jake because she suddenly left the district when she was 8 months pregnant.
12 months after the incident, after a night of drinking, Jill and I mixed business with pleasure and started seeing each other.
That was 10 years ago.
We are married, have 2 children, and just opened our 3rd business.
Dad still gets his weekly steak and drink.
I did hear a rumor that Jake and Karen wound up in Alaska but can’t confirm this.
I do feel a little bad about it now because Jake made it possible for me to see Jill and live a wonderful life. I do hope he is well.”
Another User Comments:
“I really love it when a bad breakup has a crazy better outcome. My brother’s ex was unfaithful to him with my other brother’s friend’s older brother. She got pregnant, and they don’t speak anymore. Meanwhile, my brother and his wife teach in china and vacation like 10 times a year.” Auhaden72190
4. Forcing Our Grouchy Bus Driver To Quit
“From 7th grade to just before my 11th-grade year, I and the other kids on the bus had this horrible, vindictive bus driver. I’m going to go ahead and say her real name, Cristina.
Our school system has too many kids for k-12 to all ride the bus, so we have an “Early Bus” for kindergarten through 5th grade, and then the “Late Bus” which had 6th grade through 12th grade.
My bus came around 7:40 a.m., and I have to walk half a mile from my house to get to the bus stop, so I would leave at around 7:20. (This is important; trust me.)
Cristina would always tell us we “HAVE to be at the bus stop five minutes early or else you’ll be left behind.” She would purposely come ten minutes early to make kids miss the bus, and then she’d yell at them if they were coming up on the bus stop just before she pulled away.
She would scream at us for stupid nonsense. Everybody hated her.
When I was in 7th grade, I witnessed her screaming in her own daughter’s face as soon as her daughter got on the bus from the high school. I later learned her daughter was taken into DHS custody after running away multiple times, but I never heard what came of that.
She was also a REALLY reckless driver.
She would run off the road, she hit a stop sign, she ran the bus into a ditch, and she even backed into a DISABLED MAN’S TRUCK. Wonder why she wasn’t fired? We didn’t have enough bus drivers to cover someone being fired. Welcome to the Oklahoma Bus System.
Now, I have some anxiety when it comes to car accidents because when I was in 3rd grade, I was in a school bus accident (different driver).
A car T-boned the bus, and I was thrown from my seat and got my face a bit torn up. I have one noticeable scar just above the right side of my jaw, but it’s not super big, and I also have four other small scars that aren’t noticeable. I have a scar on each eyelid, a scar on my left cheek, and a scar on my left cheekbone.
So, every time she put us in danger with her reckless driving, I’d get major anxiety.
The final straw was when Cristina nearly got us all killed when I was in 8th grade. There’s a train track that runs through my town, and there were two different stops we had to go over the tracks to drop kids off.
We came upon the tracks, and Cristina decided “screw it” and STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TRACKS WHILE A TRAIN WAS COMING!! The safety arms were coming down, and we were all screaming at her to move the freaking bus.
She finally moved off the tracks, and the safety arms literally scraped across the top of the bus.
All of us were panicked and started calling our parents in tears. My mom knows how bad my anxiety about this kind of stuff is, as I had completely blocked out the traumatic memory of the bus wreck for years and finally remembered it when I was around 11 or 12 when I started riding the bus again.
Literally, every single parent of the children on the bus called the Bus Barn and complained about Cristina constantly putting us in danger, and she was investigated but never fired.
We had a substitute for the rest of the year, but she was back when we got to high school. We decided to put a plan into motion to force this jerk to quit her job.
Cristina was always telling us about how much she hated us and wanted to move out of the town.
So, we decided we’d help her with that. We all decided to be as misbehaved as we could to force her to quit. We refused to listen to anything she’d say. We’d get up and walk up and down the aisles any chance we could. We’d eat and drink and leave the trash on the ground (jerk move, I know, but she deserved it), and some kids even smoked on the bus.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and announced to us that we were “the most disrespectful little brats” she had ever had the displeasure of transporting, and she was quitting because of how horrible we were to her. We told her that she was the most horrible bus driver and that she traumatized us and nearly got us killed, and we’ll be glad when she’s finally gone.
This story does have a happy ending. The new bus driver, I forgot her name, but she was a sweetheart, was the nicest driver I’d ever seen. She would greet us with a big smile and tell us good morning, and she passed out candy every Thursday. (Our schools go to school Monday-Thursday because of budget cuts.) Unfortunately, she had to stop driving for a few months because she’d had intense knee surgery, but as far as I know, she’s back on the route.
I don’t feel bad for making Cristina quit. She deserved it, to be quite honest. I’m glad that I’ve graduated and don’t have to deal with that nonsense anymore.”
3. Prank Her Into Thinking She Won The Lottery? Wait Until Rumors Fly
My wife and I like to play harmless pranks on each other, things like swapping all the photos in photo frames, or playing around with clocks, etc., etc. All mild stuff. Once I convinced her she had won the lottery with the old ‘record-last-weeks-lottery-and-play-it-back-having-bought-the-‘winning’-ticket’ prank. After the initial excitement, and before she tried to contact anyone, I revealed the prank and she didn’t take it well.
In fact, she got quite upset. It took a few hours before we both could have a good laugh about it. Or so I thought.
Anyway, a few years later I was serving at sea as an officer onboard a warship. We were deployed and had been for several months at this point. The routine was fairly dull, but the Ship’s Company were keeping themselves entertained for the most part.
The ship’s Chaplain (also known as ‘the Bish’) had commandeered the internal radio broadcast system and set up a schedule where members of the ship’s company could DJ for a bit, or have a discussion, host quizzes, etc., etc. The Bish’s favorite bit was his ‘messages from the home segment’ where he would read messages sent to the ship from the families back home. As you can imagine, the majority would be insipid stuff like ‘Hey Smithy, I and the kids miss you so much, can’t wait for you to get home xxxxx’.
Families would email the message, and the Bish would read it out, exactly as written.
Anyway, on this fateful day, I was on watch in the ops room. For those who don’t know, the operations room (CIC in US parlance) is quiet and busy and everyone is focused, especially in an operational environment, which is what we were in. After being in there for a few hours, I needed a leg stretch and a drink, so I let the team know that I was popping out for two minutes and headed into the wardroom to grab a cold can of diet soda and come straight back.
As I opened the door and stepped in, a massive cheer erupted! There were about 10 other officers in the wardroom, all cheering and looking at me.
‘Ummm, what’s going on guys?’
‘Didn’t you hear the Bish on the ship’s radio?’
‘No, I was in the Ops Room on watch, like you lot should be.’
‘Go see him, now, NOW!’
‘You have an important message, you’re going to want to hear it!’
So I left the wardroom, aware that around half a dozen of the other officers were following me, and made my way to the compartment the Bish did his broadcasts in.
As I walked through the ship, one sailor yelled out ‘Nice one, sir!’ and another ‘How much, how much?!’ I was very, very confused.
I stepped into the compartment and the Bish was mid-flow reading someone’s message. As soon as he finished he looked at me, a huge smile breaking across his face.
‘Here he is, the man of the moment! What have you got to say, OP?’
‘About what Bish, I have no idea what’s going on?’
‘So you didn’t hear your message? Shall I read it again, listeners?’
I realized that he was still broadcasting throughout the ship; a muffled ‘YEAH!!!’ could be heard.
He did a little fake cough, and proceeded to read the message:
‘Dear OP, I’ll get straight to the point, we have won a life-changing amount on the lottery. Please call me as soon as possible! Lots of love, Snugglepuss, the Sausage Monkeys, Blockhead and Pest-Cat.’
I was utterly confused. The message would’ve been sent to the Bish around a week ago, and my wife had made no mention of it in the daily emails/phone calls I’d had with her.
It was also odd that she’d signed off using our silly little family nicknames (Snugglepuss = wife, Sausage Monkeys = kids, Blockhead = dog, Pest-Cat = well, the cat). This was not normal for her on any level; something was off.
The excitement in the compartment was electric; everyone was slapping me on the back and shaking my hand.
I managed to leave, saying something like ‘there’s a phone call I need to make’ and retreated to my cabin.
On the way there I bumped into the XO (second in command), who enthusiastically shook my hand.
‘How much, how much? You lucky, lucky jerk!’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t talked to her yet.’
‘Call her! I need to know if we have to put ‘special measures’ in place.’
A little worried about what that would mean (turns out the navy has procedures for sailors who come into a lot of dough unexpectedly in order to protect them; who knew?) I dashed away.
‘Ummm, ok. I’ll let you know.’
Finally, in my cabin, I check my watch for the time back home and called my wife.
‘Hey you, apparently we’ve won a life-changing amount…’
A muffled giggle.
‘It’s a prank, isn’t it?’
‘YES! We won £10! Got you!!!’
‘Not really, I knew the message was odd as soon as I heard it.’
‘OP, you don’t understand, the prank is just beginning. You’ll see!’
And, at that moment, I understood the genius of what my wife had done.
I was due to stay on board this ship for another 2 months. She had just told the entire ship’s company that I was a lottery winner.
It started reasonably enough. Pretty much everyone wanted to congratulate me, shake my hand and talk about what I was going to do. I would try denying that I’d won anything, and then I’d get an ‘of course you haven’t (wink), (wink)’, or in at least one case, getting outright hostile with me for ‘trying to lie.’
After a couple of days of congratulations came the beggars.
From slips of paper under my cabin door to people onboard I barely knew taking me to one side, telling me their life story, and asking to either borrow or take some bucks from me. Any attempts to convince them I hadn’t won a lot were met with either ‘I understand, I wouldn’t hand out anything either’ or be just plain nasty.
As much as I tried to tell everyone I hadn’t won the lottery, it took a lot to convince some people. Even two months later, in my last week on board, I was still being asked what I was going to spend it on and whether it was enough to leave the Navy and retire.
Even now, years later, I receive the odd text from someone who heard about my ‘win’ asking for some financial help.”
2. Won't Promote Me? I'll Make Everyone Think I'm A Manager
“This story takes place in the mid-2000s. I had just graduated high school and was working my first job. This job was at a children’s gambling center arcade. If you’re from the US, you probably know it. If you’re not, imagine an arcade aimed at children where you play games to get tickets which can be exchanged for awful rewards you could buy 30 of at a Walmart, and in the corner, is some terrifying animatronic mascots that sing and dance.
Anyways, to set the story, you need a little background info. When I started working there, we had a district manager who was awesome. He only came to the store maybe twice a year and left basically everything up to the store manager. This included everything from enforcing rules, to firings, to us getting complimentary food on breaks. He really didn’t care as long as the store was doing well, and he wasn’t forced to travel across the state to us too often.
About 6 months into me working there, though, he decided to retire. Corporate didn’t want to fill his place yet, so our districts got reshuffled, and our store was added to the neighboring state’s district. This meant a new district manager.
This district manager was an absolute witch. She came in all high and mighty as the fancy district manager of the other state, which is so much better than my lowly state.
She immediately went on an absolute tirade over our store. She fired a bunch of people and changed a bunch of rules, and when my store manager fought back to keep some of our perks (food on breaks, in particular), she fired her too and changed the rules. Lastly, she changed our schedules, so we would never work more than 4 hours in a shift, so she didn’t have to give us breaks ever.
This made a lot of the remaining workers quit because they were getting so few hours a week that it wasn’t worth working there anymore.
Then spring came. I was in line to get a promotion from a regular worker to a preventative maintenance worker. It would have been a small raise, set hours each week, and work that was more interesting to me and much less customer service.
District Manager, though, absolutely hated the idea of me doing this job. The upper management for my entire time there was a bit sexist when it came to giving the game room work, and it was even worse when it was one of the nicer positions. That in addition to the District Manager hating me in general because I wasn’t afraid of her and didn’t worship the ground she walked on.
(I had another job that was paying me more for fewer hours, so I really didn’t need the job anymore; I had just been holding out for the preventative maintenance position.)
Well, the time came for the position to get filled after I had been doing it to fill in for the person who had left for a few months.
I came in one day thinking they would pull me into the office finally and make it official since I knew both District Manager and our main game room guy would be there that morning.
Turns out, District Manager hired someone else from outside the company. When I asked her about it, she told me she thought I was quitting.
Well, I wasn’t, but I certainly wanted to after that. But I wanted to do something to get back at her even if it was something small. So, I read our handbook as much as I could to find any pedantic little thing I could find that would make her angry.
Turns out, our uniforms were a little more open than they led on.
We were to wear a solid red polo shirt and black or khaki pants and tennis shoes. There was also an allowance for a solid black jacket or sweater over the polo shirt. This was mostly for the winter months when it gets cold, but the handbook didn’t say anything about it only being allowed then.
And our managers all wore solid black shirts, so wearing a black top usually meant you were a manager (since no one ever used the sweater clause).
Well, I figured I was apparently planning to quit, so why not make District Manager a bit mad in the process? So, I went out and got a solid black sweater thing to wear every day I worked. I didn’t care what temperature it was; I wore this sweater every day.
People often mistook me for a manager too which was just fun. So, when the weather got hot, and District Manager showed her face again, it was so fun to watch her eyes on me in disgust at my uniform. I had made sure I was completely up to dress code, so she couldn’t possibly retaliate on something petty too. She even came up and told me I needed to take off the sweater because it’s not uniform, and I just directed her to read the handbook.
Was well worth making her mad even just the handful of times I saw her before I finally quit. (They refused to give me more than 4 hours a week total, so I gave in and quit.)”
Another User Comments:
“For anyone reading this, cutting your hours to almost none is called a “constructive dismissal,” which still entitles you to unemployment (in most states) as if you were fired without cause.” UndergroundLurker
1. Like I Said, I Don't Want Kids
“So a friend of my sister has a set of twins. No clue where they picked up this habit, but about every two minutes of their waking lives, they love to scream in the way only 4-year-old children can. The kind of scream that is so high pitched your ears will ring after only a few seconds of it.
But these two little girls don’t just scream for a few seconds, they hold this sound for what seems like an eternity until their mom screams back at them to stop.
So this sounds really annoying, and it is, but these girls have actually turned out to be pretty good for me since I don’t see them but like 1-2 times a year max, and here’s how.
Just a few months ago, my sister asked if I wanted to go to the zoo with her and my nephew, the friend with the two mini-banshees, and our other sister who is child-free like me.
I say sure, I love seeing the animals and taking pictures of the pretty birds, so why not. We go, and the twins throughout are pretty good, no screaming and we’re already about halfway through the day.
We’re taking our lunch break at this big multi-restaurant plaza on one side of the zoo, and the two girls start their screaming thing when they finish eating. My sister’s kid, my nephew, is pretty laid back and usually pretty quiet.
He’s just like his mom, except that my sister is also one of those people that once they get a stick up their butt, will push their point in a conversation until you just give up because she just doesn’t make sense anymore. Being that I am child-free, and have proclaimed as much for many years, she likes to say ‘someday you’ll change your mind’ all of the time.
So on this fateful day, as I’m eating a piece of pizza and have just heard the first set of screams from the twins, she starts with how that sound doesn’t bother her as much as it bothers me because I’m ‘not a mommy YET.’
As soon as she says this, I look down at my nephew, who is just at the age of understanding and being able to kinda-answer questions.
I say, ‘Do you hear the sound they’re making?’ He looks at them for a second, looks back at me, and nods, and I give him my most encouraging smile. ‘Mommy loves that sound! You should make it for her all the time.’ Cue the moment I stood and walked to another table with my other CF sister who is just laughing her butt off as our nephew joins the chorus of screams and ignores his mom who’s saying ‘stop’ over and over again in the parent patented ‘my snowflake does no wrong’ voice, and she is being promptly ignored by him as usual.
The rest of the zoo visit continues with me and CF sister splitting from other sister and friend so that we can actually look at animals instead of walking past as the kids can’t stop or they’ll disengage from their strollers and run amok. We enjoy ourselves even more as we get a chorus of vocal reminders of where they are in other parts of the zoo the entire afternoon.
We leave that afternoon before our sister and her friend are done, since we drove separately, and I don’t think much of it.
Fast forward to today, 3ish months after the zoo trip. We live in different cities, which are only 20 minutes apart, and because of work and stuff, we don’t meet up very often.
My sister calls me, and in the background, I hear the screaming.
It’s been over 3 months and he still does it, even when the twins aren’t around.
After hanging up from our brief chat about an upcoming wedding we’re both attending, I suddenly realize that I have gotten the most longstanding revenge I could possibly get without actually being there and doing anything to her myself. I shall now bask in the glow of what I’ve done.
Update: We went to our sister’s kid, so our nephew’s, birthday party recently.
He turned 1. Her screaming monster finally quit the screaming sometime recently, but I know that dad must have been the one to do something based on what happened there.
Brother in Law, D, is playing with all the kids and trying to keep them entertained when I notice the screamer being really mean to D.
Hitting him with sticks and saying mean things because he talks more now.
We’re sitting at a nearby table with some other adults watching all of this.
Me: ‘Shouldn’t you stop him from acting like that?’
Her: ‘Well I didn’t rile him up, D did, so D gets to settle him back down.’
CF Sister: ‘I thought you were his parent?’
Me: ‘No, because that means she’d actually take responsibility and whip his butt for something once in a while.’
Her: glares then walks away after a minute to go talk to someone else while ignoring her child.”