People Share Their "Easy To Execute" Revenge Stories
22. Fire Me For No Reason? I'll Take Half The Store Down With Me
“When I was around 20 years old, I ended up getting a job at a game store that I always wanted to work at, and it was a job I truly loved. The pay was average, but the work and people (majority) were fun to work with.
I was super close to the manager, and we got along really well. Most employees were casuals, but she always gave me the most hours when she needed someone.
Sadly, about two years into the job, a new manager was coming to replace her, as she was being moved into a bigger store.
Unfortunately, this “new” manager had a horrible reputation. So, I wasn’t really looking forward to it. But, I try to see the silver lining in most things and thought I could get along with her and make it work.
So, I began working with her on a few shifts here and there, and she didn’t seem that bad, she seemed quite nice actually. She was fairly warm to me and would always buy me drinks and sometimes give me money for lunch out of her own pocket.
All seemed well, and I wasn’t entirely sure where her bad reputation originated. All was well in my mind. However, with saying that, there was something off about her and she had a “cunning aura” It’s hard to put into words.
Just some quick back story before I get right into the nitty-gritty details. I was very good at my job and was one of the better-performing employees.
My KPIs were usually the highest in the store, and I always ranked top 10 in the state, month after month. However, there was one specific worker this didn’t gel very well with, as he was super competitive and extremely arrogant. Let’s call him D*uche.
D*uche and, let’s call her New Manager for simplicity’s sake, became very close. I wasn’t sure how or why at this point, but it happened.
They would be rude and arrogant towards the other employees at times and just straight up disgusting at other times. I remember D*uche used to p*ss in the sink that was in the storeroom, instead of going to the toilet which was literally 30 meters away. The whole back room would stink like p*ss as the tap didn’t work, which means he always had p*nis infested hands as he wouldn’t have been able to wash them.
Now that I’m writing this, I realize how disturbing that actually is, yikes!
Around the same time, a new assistant manager rolled in. At the time, he seemed okay. I didn’t really deal with him that much, to be fair.
This is where it gets interesting. One day, as I was cleaning up a shelf near the storeroom door. I pick up on a few voices radiating through.
It’s the infamous three: D*uche, New Manager, and New Assistant Manager. The voices are muffled, so I leaned my ears against the door. I remember making out the words, “Just put them in your bag. They never check the cameras.” And D*uche promptly replied with, “Seriously? At my old job, they checked them all the time.” And I can’t remember which manager replied with: “Honestly, the only person that’ll ever check is the area managers, but they’re never here.” Something along those lines anyway.
I was super suspicious and I knew they were doing something dodgy, but I went about the rest of my shift like nothing happened.
It didn’t have anything to do with me, those were my honest thoughts at the time.
Anyway. Some time passes: D*uche is still a D*uche, and New Manager is becoming more hostile as the weeks and months go on. She is no longer nice to me and treats almost all the employees like trash. She is honestly horrible at this point and I now understand where her reputation had come from.
For those wondering why she may have been so nice at first, I guess she was just trying to hide her true nature and come off as this elegant queen so the employees like her. I don’t really know though, to be fair, seems super psychotic now that I think back on it.
One shift, I show up late to work. It was a shift with just me and the New Assistant Manager.
I was about 15 minutes late due to a car accident on one of the roads I take. It was completely out of my control. Keep in mind, in the 2 years I worked at this place, I had only been late twice. Once because the shift planner gave me the wrong starting time and once because of the said reason mentioned above.
New Assistant Manager says to me, as I show up: “You’re late, but don’t worry; I won’t tell New Manager, as she really hates people that are late.” I reply with something like, “Sorry, there was a car accident; couldn’t do anything about it.” After that, I get on with my shift and completely forget about the situation.
The very next day, I had a shift, and as I show up, New Manager calls me aside for “a chat” in the storeroom.
I’ll cut to the chase: She fired me for being late and tells me they don’t have any time for people that aren’t reliable. I also realized (obviously) that New Assistant Manager had told her, as there’s no other way for her to have known, as there’s no clock on or clock off system. At the time, you just showed up for your shift and everyone assumed you were just…there.
Fairly archaic system for 2014, now that I think about it.
Anyway. I leave in a foul mood and I am obviously extremely annoyed, as the area manager had told me two or three months prior that I would more than likely be offered a manager’s position in the coming months due to how well I work and how good my results were. A manager position would mean a permanent, full-time job and more money.
This was mentioned to me just before The New Manager had arrived. Anyway, I still remember D*uche’s smug look as I left the store. Still makes me angry thinking about it.
I called the union and talked to my old manager and even to the area manager. Sadly, there wasn’t anything anyone could do, as I only had a casual position. I was, essentially, disposable to the company.
This didn’t fly with me.
I guess you now know where this story is going. I remembered back to the little conversation that I overheard coming from the storeroom. But, it was a while ago. I can’t remember exactly how much time had passed between me getting fired and that conversation, but I assume it was no more than a month. It wouldn’t have been much longer, as I know our cameras were set to a two-month cycle, which, essentially means, the footage gets recorded over every two months.
I eventually remembered which day it was and around what time I had overheard them.
I promptly called the area manager to tell him the conversation I had overheard and on which day. He immediately launched an investigation, as the stock had been going missing from that store ever since the new manager had arrived. But! Supposedly the new manager and D*uche were blaming me the whole time behind my back, saying I was doing things that were “fishy” I had no idea of this.
The area manager called me a few days later and told me that he had gone over the cameras and witnessed all three of them: New Manager, D*uche, and New Assistant manger, piling games and merchandise into bags.
They were stealing hundreds and thousands of dollars worth of stock. He also promptly fired them on the spot and they were charged with stealing and had to pay back, what I assume is, a lot of money.
All three of them, gone in one hit. The three worst people. I had a smile that went from ear to ear. I also got my job given back to me and was eventually promoted to the manager position that I wanted.
I worked my way up to an area manager and was with the company up until 2019.
I think it was around 2017 that I came across the New Manager working at a coffee shop, making coffees. She served me, and I was in the company uniform. The look on her face, when she saw me, was priceless. I think that’s when she must’ve realized, “It was this f*cker that got us all fired.” I wonder if she’s found a way to steal the coffee beans and create a little posse that would do it with her.
I think that’s maybe why she was so nice to me at first actually, she wanted me to be apart of her posse, but when she realized I wasn’t a scumbag like the other two, she gave up and became hostile. That’s just my theory anyway. Still super psychotic regardless.
I have no idea what D*uche and the New Assistant Manager are doing, but I hope they’re doing horribly.”
21. Want Free Drinks? You Get What You Pay For
“I’m a bartender and the area I work in is upper class and petty as hell. As I tell people all the time, “I don’t go out here; I just work here.” One random night not too long ago I’m making drinks at the well for servers to take to their customers at their tables while the other bartenders handle our bar top guests.
It’s the middle of our rush and one of my servers comes up with a drink 1/4 full and sets it down saying the customer hates it and was demanding a different drink.
Specifically, they wanted a vodka mojito. I was too busy to put up a fight and the poor girl looked run down already from the night, so I went ahead and made it, even though it was obvious the woman was just looking for free sh*t. The server runs the drink to the table and it happens to be the table closest to my well, so I can see and hear everything.
She sets it down and hurries off to another table waving her down and I watch as this woman SLAMS the drink until there is nothing but mint and ice left in the glass, with maaaybe half an ounce of liquid in the bottom, then turns around and grabs the server again.
“Uhm, I specifically asked for this with VODKA.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.”
“I know what vodka tastes like.
This is clearly rum. Tell your bartender to make it right this time. I’m not paying for this.”
The server tried to say something but was rudely cut off and told to get it remade again, so she picks up the glass and walks over to me. “I’m so sorry OP,” she starts, and I immediately tell her it’s okay; I saw the whole thing. “Girl, don’t worry. I got you.”
So I remade the woman’s drink. One virgin mojito coming up. Nuthin but mint, lime, simple, and soda water.
I cannot explain the satisfaction we both felt when that drink hit the table and we watched the woman sip it and go “Now THAT is vodka.”
You get what you pay for.”
20. Won't Allow The Jukebox Volume To Be Turned Down? Listen To Songs You Didn't Pick
“So, this happened to me about 8 years ago.
I finally turned 21, and my parents wanted me to shoot on their teams in the bar dart leagues: one was a Thursday night league and one was a Friday morning league for the 3rd shifters that started at like 8 or 9 am?
Because I shot the night before, I was generally hungover for Friday AM league, and I am by no means a morning person in general, so I’m typically crabby for the first few hours of being awake… and on this particular day, we had to shoot at this bar that I did not care for.
When we started to shoot our match, this dude on the other team decided to start playing the jukebox, normally not a big deal except that it was at an extremely loud volume, and it was the Scream-o hard rock music (and this type of music I do NOT care for), especially so loud, and I’m so hungover…
I had asked the bartender if they could turn the volume down, as there were only 9 people in the bar (4 people per team and the bartender.
The people in the bar were not talking loud enough to justify the music volume), but the dude yelled at me for asking it to be turned down… saying he paid for it; I want to listen to it loud! Being this was their home bar, and he was probably a regular there; the bartender sided with them…
After the 2nd song, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I signed on the jukebox app, and I loaded my phone with over $40 worth of credits and started playing the most annoying (to the other team at least, it was music I liked…) nonscreamo music I could find, and of course, I paid the premium price, so my songs got to be played next…
So his next song got interrupted with….
Wait for it… Barbie girl. Oh yea. You know the one. “I’m a Barbie girl, in a barbie worrrrlllldddd.”
His teammates look at him, like what the f*ck dude. You play this? He’s confused saying like, “No, I didn’t effin’ play this sh*t. I must have hit the wrong button. (Remember, these internet jukeboxes aren’t like the old ones where you hit the letter and the number, so there’s really NO WAY you could have accidentally went from “insert screamo song here” to Barbie Girl..
)
My team knew what was going on because I showed them my plan.
The next song was a slower country song, then after that some backstreet boys or Nsync. I don’t exactly remember. I do know it was either pop, country, anything but rock, anything but screamo. But with each song, the guy who played the music originally just kept getting more and more mad, saying that he didn’t play this, while his buddies were giving him sh*t about the music selection because he was the only one physically at the jukebox.
Meanwhile, my team and I are all laughing and singing and having a grand time…
Whatever song played next was the straw that broke the camel’s back… He slams his fist on the bar and screams at the bartender to “skip this sh*t!” and he wants “his” money back due to the “broken jukebox” that wasn’t playing his songs…
I calmly stopped the bartender before she skipped it and said that if you skip any of these songs, you will have to reimburse me, as I paid for them.
I showed her my phone, and the bartender realized what had happened, but the dude was still confused, mad, and clueless:
Dude: What do you mean you played this? You didn’t even go up to the jukebox?!
Me: I played them on my phone.
Dude: Wait, you can do that?!
Me: Yup. That’s a nice feature of those internet jukeboxes. You can download an app and never have to get up off your bar stool.
Dude: But they should have played after mine; I played first!
Me: Yea, but I paid extra to have them skipped…
Dude: Well, how many did you play?
Me: About $40.00 worth of songs…
Dude: Are you effin’ kidding me? I wanted to listen to my songs!!!
Me: Well, you could have if you would of let the bartender turn down the music when I had asked.
I’m hungover and don’t care for what you played, but I maybe could have dealt with it if it was quieter.
Dude: Well, can you move some of your songs, so I can listen to mine while we shoot? I’ll turn the volume down now.
Me: Doesn’t work that way. I can’t change the order.
Dude: Well then I’ll pay more and skip your songs.
Me: Yeaaa.. that won’t work either.
Your songs will go to the end of the priority play but in front of your non-priority plays you had played earlier.
Dude: This is effin’ stupid!!!! When will my songs come on?
I looked at the app to see how many songs I had left and kind of guessed at about 3 minutes a song give or take…
Me: About an hour or so after we are done shooting…
Dude was so mad, cussing, and complaining about the music. But if he would have just been somewhat of a decent human being, he could have got his music, and I would have saved 40 bucks.”
19. Make Quota By Yourself
“Warning: this has some jacked-up comments in it that may be disturbing for some people to read.
I was working for a small manufacturing company that would bottle various products. The area that I ran was a pill bottling area. I really enjoyed working there and the people I worked with. That all came crashing down when my current supervisor received a premonition and moved to a different area of the plant.
That’s when I was first introduced to the supervisor from Hell. We will call him D-bag dave.
To paint a picture, the plant had a daily quota and a weekly quota. The plant manager made it very clear that he really didn’t care what the hell happens as long as we made all of our quotas for the day and week. D-bag dave was a 110-pound guy that stood around 5 foot 7 or 8ish that had some serious short man issues.
He drove a lifted truck, shaved his head, and would wear sunglasses inside until he was told he couldn’t anymore.
Over the next few months, he began to say comments to me that were pretty disturbing and really took me off guard. I began to notice that he would only say the comments when nobody else was around. He was saying stuff like, “If you don’t make today’s quota, I’m gonna kill your kids and r*pe your wife” or “You better pray to whatever fake God you believe in that you make today’s quota, or I’m going to kill your mom and assault your wife.” Pretty messed up sh*t.
I really didn’t feel threatened by him because I had a good 3 inches of height and about 100 pounds on him. I told him outright that he needed to stop saying sh*t like that and how it was messed up.
He just laughed and walked off.
As the weeks went on so did the comments and they were getting more disturbing. I went to the plant manager and explained the situation and he more or less said as long as we were making quota, he could care less.
The following day I decided to contact HR about the issue. I was trying my best to be professional and not beat the living sh*t out of him even though I thought about it many times.
Our HR department was across town in a building that managed the business end of the company. When I explained the situation to our HR lady she said, “You are in the plant! It’s a rough crowd! It happens.” I walked away super discouraged with the entire situation.
The next week, the comments continued and as the week went on I was growing more and more tired of it.
On a Wednesday, he said something to me and that was it. I had enough. I turned to him and told him, “Have fun making all the quotas by yourself” and walked to my locker. He soon realized that I was quitting and walking out. He then realized that there were still two and a half days left of quotas that needed to be filled and he couldn’t b*tch at anyone to go faster.
And then the best part is he realized he was going to have to explain to the plant manager and HR why I walked out. After he had the crushing realization he followed me from my locker, out of the plant, and to my car apologizing the entire way and asking me to please forgive him and come back in and we can make things right.
I drove off with him in the rearview mirror standing there like a lost puppy dog. I drove home to tell my wife I quit my job and I had a massive sense of relief. I put up with that a**hole for over 18 months. I really don’t know what happened to D-bag dave, but if I saw him on fire on the side of the road, I wouldn’t p*ss on him to save his life. Just saying.”
18. Bestie Thinks She Can Try To Get My Ex? Think Again
Yeah, I don’t think so!
“Background info: When I was in high school, I had two best friends of several years who I allowed to treat me like a scourge to society. If I’m being honest, I was their DUFF—the Designated Ugly Fat Friend. They’d flirt with guys they knew I liked, leave me out, use me for emotional support and rides to places, and they were never there for me when I needed them.
If I dared to bring up any of the mistreatment, I got gaslit. [TW: sexual assault] I’ll never forget when I got assaulted by a guy one of them liked and she victim-blamed me, telling me I should’ve just walked away. I can hardly detail all the sh*t I was put through without rambling for hours, so essentially, these b*tches sucked. This story concerns only one of them—we’ll call her Nina.
Nina LOVED getting involved with guys I liked. If I started talking to a guy, told her I had a crush on him, or otherwise expressed interest, she’d be in his face within days. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe in loyalty and girl code. I didn’t do these things to her, in fact, she’d be very angry if I did—so why do them to me? But, still, I allowed her to get away with it and trudged on through the friendship.
One night, in the middle of a casual group chat conversation, Nina sends a text saying she needed to tell me something.
I already knew what was coming. I mean even Stevie Wonder could see this level of disrespect.
You see, for months prior, I’d caught glimpses of Nina getting quite cozy with my ex (we’ll call him Billy). I’d been gaslit so much that at the time, I thought I was just overthinking—but there were heart eyes being exchanged in text messages, photos being posted of the two hugging and kissing, he even had her social media passwords.
All kinds of crazy sh*t going on. They were blatantly playing in my face.
This Billy guy wasn’t sh*t either—he cheated on me countless times, embarrassed me publicly, spread rumors about me that followed me for years, tried to get me jumped, and loads more traumatizing sh*t I’ve just barely recovered from.
But, lo and behold, Nina tells me that she likes Billy and that the two are getting ready to start going out.
She then has the audacity to tell me that I need to get over it before my sad a*s could even muster up a response. And you know what? In true dumb a*s fashion, I genuinely was going to push my feelings aside for the umpteenth time and “get over it.” If I haven’t already made this painfully obvious, I struggled with low self esteem. I didn’t think I could find better friends or that I was worthy of anything better.
I was heartbroken.
Suddenly, it hit me like a truck.
The years of being disregarded, of being treated like an afterthought, of being disrespected. I don’t know what happened—possibly someone had snuck a can of spinach in my mouth while I wasn’t paying attention or some sh*t. All I know is, you could’ve called me Popeye the Sailor Man the way I experienced that sudden burst of strength.
I began maniacally typing up the most disrespectful, hate-fueled, self-esteem-crushing paragraph I’d ever had the pleasure of writing.
To say I ripped Nina a new one would be an understatement. Venom flowed from my fingertips. I mean, it was so bad, I made the girl cry—something I never knew I was capable of. I remember telling her that she was so insecure that she limited herself to guys I’d already tried, but she could never keep them around because she lacked personality and was boring.
Can’t say I’m proud, but hey. Typically, I’d be the one crying in situations like these, and now I wasn’t. Witnesses say the tables turned so hard that every piece of silverware nearly went flying into her neck.
Still, I was enraged. The tears Nina shed weren’t enough—I wanted blood. I immediately began conjuring up a paragraph of vicious lies that I would then send to the ex in question, Billy.
I told him how much I loved and missed him, how I wanted to try again and make things work. To my surprise, he was f*cking thrilled. We immediately got back together. Nina was a wreck; she’d just lost the best friend she’d ever have and her potential man all in one night. Mutual friends of ours were texting me for days to let me know how upset she was.
All I could see were the two big a*s pigeons I’d hit with one stone.
I took Billy on a wild goose chase for a month (admittedly, I cheated on him and played with his emotions just because I knew I could. He was in shambles over me, the same way I had been over him in the past. Not condoning this behavior, but I was an angry high schooler, and he honestly had done far worse).
I considered this payback for all the cheating, lies, and embarrassment I endured while with him.
Just when I thought my circumstances couldn’t get any better, a very cute and popular guy (who I never thought would look my way) began showing interest in me. Coincidentally, he had rejected Nina a couple of months prior. I eventually left Billy high and dry for him and never spoke to either of my toxic a*s friends again. For years, I thought I couldn’t live without them, just for me to end up thriving on my own and in a relationship with one of the cutest guys in the school.
Moral of the story? I’m not sure. Never let people mistreat you. Curse your sh*tty friends out.”
17. Touch Me While I'm Sleeping? I Have Something That Will Hurt You
“This was the very early 80s and I often took Greyhound buses to go across the state, etc.
So I was on an overnight bus ride. It was probably the middle of the night and we stopped to let some more people on. The bus wasn’t crowded, still, a man in a suit sat next to me. That was ok. I was tired; I planned to sleep.
I covered up with a blanket and since I am petite, I was able to cross my legs on the seat and lean back comfortably.
I was woken up sometime later by the lightest, briefest touch on my thigh under the blanket. I didn’t move but lay there wondering if I had imagined it. I mean, I had tucked the blanket in around me. I couldn’t understand how the man had managed to get under the layers without me noticing; I am a very light sleeper.
Plus, I had lived with the fear of scorpions in my bed (I was in the Middle East for weeks) and I had gotten into the habit of waking up in the middle of the night and lying still as a stone in case one was under the covers with me.
Instead of reacting, I lay there and waited. And in a minute or so, yes, I could feel his hand move by the merest fraction of an inch.
It was hovering just over my leg. I was stunned. How had he done it? How had he kept his hand and arm so still? How had he worked his hand under the blanket which was over me without me knowing?
I turned to look at him and he appeared to be sleeping.
And then I got mad.
I carried a knife with me. I slowly pulled it out of my bag I was using for a headrest against the window.
I unsheathed it and held it under the blanket over my lap. Then slowly, very slowly I moved it, very slowly until the tip was against the man’s hand. It was a very sharp knife. The hand moved slowly back.
Then I pushed harder and faster and his hand became tangled in the blankets. He didn’t have a chance. During this entire encounter, I didn’t look at him and just appeared asleep.
He managed to get his hand out but I drew blood and he got up and left me alone.”
16. Karen Doesn't Get Her Black-Eyed Peas
“So I live in the South (Texas specifically), and down here, there’s a tradition that every good southern home makes and eats black-eyed peas for New Years’. It’s supposed to bring good luck in the coming year. I’m not crazy superstitious, but I’m not taking any chances with 2021.
Well, being the organized human I am, I left this until the last minute and only remembered when my partner asked if I’d picked up some peas on my last grocery run.
So I bolt out the door and head for the nearest grocery store. I went to four stores looking for these little b*stards! But the time I get to the last store, I’m ready to take anything (frozen, canned, pre-made, whatever) or call it quits. I decided to check the aisle with dried beans first, in the slim hope I could find the real deal. And as I round the corner for the aisle, I can see a lady has cornered some poor stock boy and has his back against the wall of beans.
She’s full-on wagging her finger in his face and ripping into him.
Karen: What do you mean you don’t have any black-eyed peas? I saw you restocking these shelves with beans and need them for tonight! Don’t you understand tradition?!
Employee: Ma’am, I don’t think we have any left. If they aren’t in the display case, then we’re probably out. But we do have canned and frozen-
Karen: NO! I don’t want canned or frozen! I need REAL BLACK-EYED PEAS!
She continues to ream out this poor kid as I walk to the other side of them and to the shelf where the black-eyed peas are usually stored.
Call it a hunch or a blind hope, but I crouched down to look all the way in the back, and sure enough, there were two bags left, tucked away in the shadows. I fished them out with a little difficulty (yay for having short arms), and by the time I got them both out, Karen had taken notice. When she saw me pull out the peas, she gasped.
Literally gasped like I had unmasked the villain in a Scooby-Doo cartoon.
Karen: So you DO have black-eyed peas! You lied to me! You ought to be ashamed of yourself young man! Excuse me, miss? One of those bags is mine.
She then holds out one hand and curls her fingers in a “fork ‘em over” motion. Now I could have given her the bag. I only needed one.
But d*mmit, I used to work retail and I can tell you that poor employee was not paid enough to deal with her attitude. Especially not this year. So I put on my best smile and said, “Sorry ma’am. I need these for my own New Years’ Eve. Tradition, you know?” And plopped them into my basket.
She had a fit! Called me a selfish, millennial brat with no respect for her elders and asked, “What was her family supposed to do now?!” I kept my head held high, squashed down my inner, anxious people-pleasing side of me, and headed for the register.
I’m now doing a quick soak of the beans and drinking a celebratory mimosa. Enjoy your unlucky 2021, Karen!’
Another User Comments:
“While you may have gotten a little revenge, just think to yourself how much better it would have been if you had said (since you stated you were thinking it), “With how you treat people, you think you deserve this. No. You deserve to get what’s coming to you and then perhaps you will think better of the people around you.”
It’s never enough to just leave an idiot stewing there; you have to inform them WHY you did what you did to them. It might just excite a brain cell or two into actually working for a change.” Krrak
15. Leave All The Work To Me? Let Me Tell Your Man What's Going On
“This happened a few years ago working in a supermarket. It wasn’t very difficult when two people were sharing the workload. Most of the time, we were two people except for one coworker. Let’s call her Phone Face. Phone Face was lazy to the extreme, and she was always glued to her phone, taking selfies, talking with her friends, or showing off the fancy places where her rich man took her.
She also treated her colleagues and the cleaning crew really badly (to the point that she made one cry on one occasion), she gossiped behind everyone’s back, and always had that “I’m too good for this job and this place” attitude, the typical toxic co-worker who makes life miserable for the others but is never fired.
The worst for me was that she would always leave me alone when we were busier.
She usually said, “I have to go to the bathroom” in her smug tone, leave for an hour, then proceeded to hide in the storage room to “check the products” for another hour, then repeat. Meanwhile, I was working to death with all the angry customers.
I could hear her laughing or talking loud on the phone. No matter what the bosses or HR told her, she didn’t change her attitude for more than a day, only to go back to her usual laziness and complain about how they made her work so much.
I was sick of this, but one day my opportunity came.
For days, she didn’t stop bragging with her friends about the other boys she saw and how her man (let’s call him Good Man) had no idea that she had spent the night before with her side guy and how that day Good Man would come to pick her up at work to go somewhere fancy and then she would go to spend the night with Side Guy.
As always, at the end of her shift, she went to change clothes way before her shift ended, leaving me with all the work, so the opportunity for revenge came by surprise.
A man approached me and asked me about Phone Face, at the moment I recognized him and I thought “this is my chance,” so our conversation went like this:
Me: Oh, you must be Side Guy, Phone Face’s man.
Good Man: No, I’m Good Man.
Me: Sorry, I thought you were Phone Face’s partner.
Good Man: I’m her partner.
Me: But you said your name was Good Man.
Her partner is Side Guy.
Good Man: “a little irritated” I am her partner.
Me: But she said on the phone that … oooooh “in a screw it tone” I’m very sorry.
After that, I pretended to be badly covering about her cheating, while giving the guy clues about where to look and what I had heard.
When Phone Face finally came down, Good Man was almost crying, and apparently, something clicked in him, and he realized all her behaviors were warning signs of cheating all along (I feel very bad for him).
Good Man took Phone Face’s phone and checked it right there in front of everyone, then called her a cheater and left her right in the spot. She begged him, yelled at him, and cried, but it didn’t work.
After that, she called in sick day three days in a row and then was fired. Apparently, after that scandal and everyone finding out that she had a partner and that she was cheating on him, suddenly the complaints against her were effective (we always thought that she was sleeping with some manager or something).”
14. Don't Mess With The Person Who Has Control Over The Router
“My roommate in college was a selfish d*ck. Now I have known him since preschool, and we are still friends, but he is one of those people you cannot live with.
He attended the local tech school that is supposed to be a pipeline into the main school that third roommate and I attended. However, he barely went to class and sat around getting high and playing Xbox…my Xbox specifically, which is where this story begins.
He used to have friends over all the time, and mostly, they’d get baked and play Xbox. Now I don’t like having a TV in my bedroom, so I set up my flatscreen and Xbox in the living room. I’d like to note that both he and the third roommate had Xboxes as well, but they had theirs set up in their respective rooms.
When the latest (at the time) Call of Duty came out, we would spend hours playing together in a big squad.
That is until the third roommate’s Xbox got the red ring of death. Shortly after, my Xbox got the red ring of death.
Well, we think it’s all good because our d*ck roommate has the next-gen Xbox 360 that wasn’t prone to the same issue. We’ll just move his Xbox out to the living room, so we can keep playing COD Zombies.
The response 3rd roommate and I got was, and I quote, ‘Nah, I don’t want people playing it all the time because it will probably break.
Plus, what if you and our 3rd roommate are playing it, and I want to play by myself?’
We were livid. How could he spend all that time using my stuff and not extend the same courtesy?
At the time, I had supplied the router for the internet in the house, which meant I alone had the admin password. I also found out you can block specific MAC addresses.
Well, guess who couldn’t connect to Xbox Live when he wanted to play online? I would turn it on and off sporadically over the next few weeks. I found out he spent like 4 hours calling both Time Warner and Microsoft trying to get the issue resolved.
Eventually, he started to put two and two together about when it would go out and come back. You’d think I would stop, but I adapted.
I found out that you could open a port to remotely access your router from the internet.
At the time, I had a blackberry (I know, I know), which could load the HTML router config page. Thus, I started turning off his access when I was gone. I was even away one weekend at our rival school and shut him down from 3 hours away.
To this day he still doesn’t know it was me. I still go over to his house and hang out on the weekends.
F*ck you, dude. I know they taught us sharing in preschool.”
13. Neglect Your Bird's Health? I'll Come Up With A Lie
“So I’m working in the live animal section of that popular pet big box store and a lady walks up to me.
Me: ‘Hello ma’am, is there something I can help you with?’
Her: ‘Do them birds has to have a cage?’
Me: ‘The parakeets? Yes, they have to have a cage.’
Her: ‘Why?’
Me: ‘Well ma’am, besides being extremely messy, they are also basically babies. They aren’t trained to be friendly yet and will try to and inevitably escape.
After they escape they will either fall prey to other animals or starve as they don’t know how to find food.’
Her: ‘What you mean they can’t find food?’
Me: ‘I mean, they don’t know what to look for in the wild.
They will look for a bowl to eat from and die if they don’t find one. It’s just like people. If you were dropped in the middle of the woods how long would you survive?’
Her: ‘You sayin’ I’m stupid?’
Me: ‘No ma’am, I’m sure you’d last longer than me, I’m a city boy (untrue but I was trying to mollify her still).’
Her: ‘Well, what if I don’t want no cage?’
Me: ‘Then we can’t sell you a bird.’
Her: ‘What if I get a cage at Walmart?’
Me: ‘That would be fine, you don’t have to buy the cage from us.’
Her: ‘Then I’ll buy the bird now and get the cage later!’
Me: ‘I’m sorry ma’am, you’ll have to bring in the cage so we can be sure it meets the needs of the bird.’
Her: ‘What cage?’
Me: ‘The one you are going to buy at Wal Mart.’
Her: ‘I ain’t buying no cage, and what business is it of yours, anyway?’
Me: ‘We guarantee these birds, if they die and we have to issue a refund because we didn’t make sure the customer will take proper care of them we get in trouble (And they are my babies and I’m not giving them to someone who doesn’t want to take care of them properly, is what I wanted to say).
Her: ‘I want to talk to the person in charge.’
*I go look for a manager only to find I was the most senior employee on the floor at the time*
Me: ‘I’m sorry, the manager is on lunch and I am in charge.’
Her: ‘Then you,’ she said poking me in the chest, ‘need to sell me my bird!’
Me: *Thinking quickly, I cough, then looking around as if I’m going to get into trouble, I motion her in close and whisper* Don’t tell anyone I told you this…
Her: *leaning in, suddenly confused rather than upset, she mimics my whisper* What?
Me: *still whispering and looking around periodically* I’m not supposed to sell any of the birds…
Her: ‘What? Why not?’
Me: *I cough again* ‘They don’t want a panic, so I’m just supposed to put everyone off buying them…’
Her: ‘Why would anyone panic?’
Me: ‘Our birds are all sick!’
Her: ‘What?’
Me: *cough* ‘Yeah,’ *cough* ‘with bird flu!’
Her: *her face drops in fright and she starts backing away from the cages* ‘What?’
Me: *coughing throughout* ‘We don’t have anywhere else to put them, and corporate doesn’t want to waste money by destroying them so we just have to hope they get better.’
Her: *covering her mouth and nose with her hands* ‘Why didn’t you just say?’
Me: *wheezing now* ‘I could get fired if word gets out, and I need the money for the doctor.
Please don’t say I said!’
Her: *starting to leave* ‘I won’t!’
Me: ‘Please!’ *I plead pitifully as she is walking hurriedly away.”
12. Stealing A Man's Expensive Golf Ball
And just like that, it went missing for all eternity.
“I was out golfing today because, f*ck yeah, summer. I was on the green putting with my group. I was lining up to putt for birdie (a good score on a hole, one under par), when I hear a golf ball land close. Very close. Like, three feet away close. That would have hurt, and the guy who hit it didn’t even yell ‘FORE’ (to warn other golfers that a small white projectile might be heading their way).
The golf ball rolled down a small embankment and into a sand trap next to the green.
Whatever. Sh*t happens. Then the guy shows up, decked head to toe in LaCoste gear, chewing a massive wad of gum and wearing Jersey Shore type sunglasses. My buddy is about to putt, and this guy strolls up to the edge of the green and just yells out ‘EY. I HIT A BALL THIS WAY.
WHERE IS IT?’ right in the middle of my friend’s backswing (a big no-no in golf etiquette). No apology, refusing to wait until the player playing has hit his shot, and demanding to know where his ball was. Like we’re gonna help you.
‘Yeah, it went into those trees over there.’ I say, pointing at a thick trees about 40 yards to the right of where we’re standing.
Long grass, not a lot of room to move, and plenty of thistle bushes.
A*holio turns on his heel and stalks off towards the trees and starts rooting around in them for his ball. I hear the occasional ‘F*ck!’ and ‘Ow!’ coming from his general direction, presumably when he jabs himself on some thistle.
While he’s rooting around in there, I casually stroll over to the bunker (sand trap) and pick up his ball.
It’s a Titleist Pro V1 (the priciest golf ball you can find that skilled golfers use to play good and that sh*tty golfers use to look good). I pocket the ball and proceed on my merry way to the joyous cacophony of cursing from the trees and thistle.
I used that ball for the rest of the round, and am debating keeping it for posterity’s sake.”
11. Aren't A Fan Of Our Fence? What About Our Boat?
“This happened in the summer of 2016 when my wife and I moved into our new home on a tree-lined, brick street. Nice neighborhood but nothing fancy. Blue-collar, working men and women.
We met the neighbors, my wife made cookies and they invited us to their pool parties. We swapped foodstuffs and recipes … It was all Ozzie and Harriet until I put a fence up around our backyard for security.
Firstly, because anyone could come off the back alley and right up onto our porch and back door. Plus, I wanted to be able to let our two shorthair pointers out to play without having to tie them up or supervise them.
Well, our neighbors didn’t like that, and who can say why? It disturbed their visual routine. They were resistant to change, and maybe they suffer from frachtiphobia? Never did find out.
Three things changed: One, they no longer invited us to their pool parties. Two, we no longer traded cookies and pies, and lastly…they began parking in front of our house.
It’s a public street and you can do as you will but my two spaces were constricted by a telephone pole that had guy wires coming down from it meaning you’d have to be careful getting into and out of your car lest you scratch the paint, or worse, clothesline yourself with metal cables.
So we had but one good spot that lined up our car door with the sidewalk perfectly…and that became their default parking space despite the fact that they had their spaces and a two-car garage off the alley in the back.
They also started a piano lessons business (better than drums, I suppose) and apparently decided to keep their front spots open for their customers.
I work odd hours and it always seemed there was a line of cars in front of both houses so I’d end up having to park frustratingly far away, and with winter coming, trudging through the slush carrying groceries had zero appeal.
So I watched and waited until one fine fall day with the leaves changing from green to vermillion and brilliant gold, and a morning chill that promised of winter soon to come – it happened! Their 3-5 cars (the live-at-home, unemployed daughter maintained a rotating cast of paramours) were gone, and nobody was giving piano lessons!
I struck! I raced to my dad’s and hitched his houseboat to his beater farm truck and towed the combo back home, parking 80 feet of gloriously tacky red-neck hardware directly in front of their house, while my vehicle took up our prime spot and most of the telephone tripwire space as well.
And I left the combo there for almost two weeks, unmoving, and rusting loudly right in front of their front porch swing that they liked to perch on in the evenings. Pressure from my wife and the impending monthly street sweeping finally led to my removing the blockade and they’ve not parked in front of our place since, nor have we spoken more than 5 words in 2 years … and that’s fine by us. The woman can’t bake anyhow.”
10. This Small Act Of Revenge Even Had The Teacher Laughing
“Halfway through high school my family moved to a new city several hours from where I grew up. I hated the move. I missed all my old friends and didn’t want to have to make new ones. (This was before the days of cell phones or social media. So I got pretty lonely since the main way I kept in contact with my friends was e-mail.)
I was a shy, quiet, nerdy girl who always got good grades and never got in trouble at school.
Someone who easily goes unnoticed and fades into the background. My first day at my new school i met my bully in biology class. Let’s call him Chad. Chad was your typical dumb jock. He was a tall muscular senior football player. I was a short, skinny, homely sophomore band geek.I don’t know why but he decided that his goal for the semester was going to be to make my life as miserable as possible.
Chad was constantly picking on me. He sat at the desk in front of me. All through class, every class, he would rock back in his chair, bumping it against my desk. This would shake my desk with every bump, making it difficult to write. Every single day he teased me. tried to embarrass me with dirty jokes. Once he stole my binder and textbook before class.
He knew I was to scared and shy to do anything about it. The teacher was upset with me and thought I had forgotten them. Eventually another student took pity on me and told the teacher. When we dissected frogs, Chad made his frog do a very rude dance and then threw it at me. I smelled of formaldehyde for the rest of the day.
All through this I ignored him as best I could.
I thought if I didn’t react maybe he would get bored and stop. Looking back on it I think maybe it was the challenge of getting a reaction out of me that drove him to continue. I don’t know why the teacher never did much in my defence?
Finally in the last week of school I had my small, petty revenge. He was rocking in his chair as he always did, bumping it against my desk.
But today he was attempting to balance his chair on just two legs. Then, without thinking about it, I inched my desk closer to me. When he leaned his chair back to hit my desk, my desk was not there. He fell flat onto his back on the hard floor. The whole class, teacher included, laughed at him. (He was not seriously injured) He insisted that I had moved my desk, purposely to make him fall.
No one believed him. I was to polite, quiet and shy to ever do such a thing!
Two days later Chad was not it class. He had drove to school, but then got on a bus to go on the senior class trip. It was a three day/two night trip. My teacher had apparently had enough of Chad to, and decided to give him a farewell/graduation present.
She swore the whole class to secrecy and then went into the class supply room and pulled out the buckets of dead things in formaldehyde. We picked a frog, a piglet and a cow’s eye ball. Then we went to the student parking lot to “decorate” his car. The whole class worked together to TP his car. We attached the cow’s eye to the end of the toilet paper tube and taped it to the hood as a grisly hood ornament.
His car was a 20+ year old beater with doors that didn’t lock, so we didn’t have any trouble putting the piglet on the drivers seat wearing a jaunty little cap styled from some printer paper and a stylish vest. The frog was tucked in somewhere hard to find so that even after removing the piglet the smell would continue to fill his car. The car sat there all weekend in the early summer heat for him to find upon returning for graduation.”
9. A Little Payback On Horrible Housemates
“I was at University (UK) and had planned to commute for my 2nd year but last minute realized that it was better to get a place. I’d lived on campus for first-year, so everyone had already signed leases but one acquaintance I knew (he went to school with one of my best friends at Uni) explained he had a spare room as someone had dropped out last minute (now I know why.)
I moved in in September and had entered my first relationship with a close friend over the summer, so nobody really knew we were together apart from my closest friends.
The house consisted of myself, 2 guys, and 2 girls.
The other guy was never home, and the 2 girls were awful (the reason a girl had dropped out from this house to begin with).
They were truly unhappy in their lives which I see now- but took it out on me because I was always in a good mood and generally very happy. They called my friends ghetto (because we’re from London and POC) and were shocked when they found out we were doing Physics and Chemistry degrees.
They used and broke a lot of my kitchen stuff where I had to keep all my dishes and pots in my room.
They would have s*x with their doors wide open (we had to walk past their rooms to go anywhere in the house). They occasionally left the front door wide open after a drunken night- we lived on a main road. They were dirty and caused me endless tears and I had to contact my student union for extra support.
In all of this- I realized the acquaintance himself had a crush on me in my first year and that was the only reason he’d asked me to move in- so he could make a move.
When he realized I had a partner, he changed instantly and would hide objects/things in the house and deny any knowledge when the girls asked him (fuelling the fire), they accused me of stealing mail(where I had to show them pictures that I was in London at home the whole time). He cornered me when he was drunk and went on a long spiel about the fact that my partner was too dark for me and it’s disgusting to go against my culture (we were both South Asian as was the housemate).
I cried actual happy tears when I finally left that house.
So to the actual revenge.
I had been working since I was 16 alongside my studies, and at the end of my first year, I got a job at the student bar on campus as I couldn’t handle commuting home for a weekend job. Throughout my second year, my colleagues (a team of 28 of us) knew what I was going through and witnessed some of it. Two of them asked me early on to point out the 3 troublesome housemates at work.
I found out about 4 months later that any time one of them would order a drink in that bar- unless it was a beer, my colleagues wouldn’t put any alcohol in and would put a fair amount of ice/ water in their cups.
If they thought someone was watching, they’d put about 5ml worth in the cup with the rest being topped up with the mixer. My colleagues ended up having a code word for it that they’d say if one of them had ordered a drink.
We often had drunk students arguing that there was no alcohol in their cups so management never really listened to anyone who would complain about it and would just ask we make it again if that issue arose.
The housemates would never come to me to be served so I wasn’t aware of what was happening.
I was shocked and felt bad at first but after a while each time I saw them hand over their card or cash, it made me feel a little bit better inside.
As all 3 of them were in various societies and we lived so close to campus- this was their go-to bar (around 3+ times a week). So I took pleasure in knowing the more they’d spend, the less they’d feel a buzz and it was a continuous cycle.
When I eventually was getting ready to move out- I sent a huge email with documented proof of their living habits (rotting food left in the fridge, burns in the carpets, etc.), along with conversations I’d had with housemates and the contrast of the rest of the house to my room to the lettings agent (they were staying on in that house), and as far as I heard, they upped their rent in their tenancy renewal.
The final thing I did was order a “box of d*cks” to my ex-housemate’s home family address the following Christmas, so he’d not think it was me but also have to explain to his conservative South Asian parents why he was anonymously receiving…a box of d*cks.
Not sure if this counts as petty revenge but it definitely felt good.”
8. I'm Too Big To Retaliate, But My Little Brother Isn't
“My family moved to the United States from Mexico when I was four, and we moved up to Michigan when I was seven. My mom managed to antagonize the local bully when she caught him bullying one of my sisters, and since he couldn’t retaliate directly, he took his frustrations out on me. My thick Mexican accent wasn’t doing me any favors, either, and I was beat up a lot.
Since I was the oldest kid, my mom liberally incorporated corporal punishment into my education. With so many role models, it’s no wonder that my two sisters got in on the game, too.
One of my sisters was only a year younger than me, so when I responded to her physical aggression in kind, mutual aggression ensued, and we went at it until one of us yielded.
One time my mom had to pull her off me because she had bitten through my sweatshirt and t-shirt and broke some skin as well. We each gave as good as we got, so there was no need to get creative with revenge.
My youngest sister, however, was another story altogether. She was three years younger than me, and for many years, she was the family baby.
She would often punch me without provocation, and if I retaliated in kind, she would cry at the top of her lungs and bring my mom’s wrath down on me. Instead of responding physically, I tried tattling on her, but my mom would half-heartedly tell her to be nicer to me and leave it at that. This continued for years.
When I was around eight years old, my mom unexpectedly got pregnant.
I was elated to learn the baby was a boy because I had been outnumbered two to one by my sisters, and he was a long-awaited potential ally. Unfortunately, as is often the case, the situation had to worsen before getting better. As soon as my brother was old enough to pull himself up to a sitting position, his crib was moved into my room, and I was tasked with comforting him any time he woke up crying at night.
For this reason, I developed a real appreciation for the plight of parents who are nursing infants.
Even though I was given this chore at night, my mom took it on herself during the day. For this reason, she looked forward to his daily naps, and one sure way to tick her off was to wake the baby during his nap. Back in the ’70s, a nice stereo system was pretty much a must-have in any suburban home.
In addition to being a status symbol, it was decorative and functional. Our super nice stereo system and speakers were conveniently located right next to the door to my room. Given my mom’s appreciation for my brother’s nap time, I still wonder why she chose to have him nap in my room.
This is where my revenge begins.
My youngest sister was obsessed with disco, and she listened to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack on the good stereo every chance she got.
My mother often warned her to keep the music down so as not to wake my brother. So it was that after yet another episode where she threw a punch and received no consequences whatsoever, I came to the realization that the best way to counter my little sister was with my little brother.
My little brother napped every day at around the same time, from noon to two, and it was almost guaranteed that my sister would be playing her music at some point during his nap.
At around 11:45 am, shortly before my brother was about to go down for his nap, I cranked every single frequency on the stereo up to full volume. As expected, she sauntered up to the stereo right in the middle of his nap and pressed the power button without even looking at the volume. The bass reverberated throughout the house, shaking the pictures on the walls, and the music could be heard all the way in my mom’s bedroom, on the other side of the house.
It was no wonder that my brother immediately woke up and started screaming.
My mom was livid, and even though she had never corporally punished my sister before, she more than made up for it on that day. She dragged my sister into her bedroom, and the sounds of slaps and punches were interrupted only by my mom’s screams of rage and my sister’s cries of pain.
I wish I could say that I found satisfaction in my revenge, but in truth, I was horrified at the fury I’d unleashed. I curled up into a fetal position on my bed and tried to ignore my sister’s cries and my mother’s screams in the other room as well as my brother’s crying. I even considered fessing up to my own part in the matter, but I was too cowardly to take the blows that were being showered on my sister.
From that day on, the immunity that my sister had enjoyed as the family baby was gone, and corporal punishment was incorporated into her education as well.
Emily Brontë wrote, “Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends — they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.” When I read that quote in high school, I knew exactly what she meant. On the other hand, my sister learned how it felt to be beaten, and she wasn’t so eager to punch me anymore. My revenge was a bittersweet success.”
7. Think You Can Get Away With Not Paying People Back? Let Me Make A Few Phone Calls
It was really that quick and that simple.
“Disclaimer to the US readers: This takes place in a socialist haven where you get welfare if you’re unemployed and where the trains and busses are safe for all to use and where it’s normal to use public transportation, even as a 1%’er.
Had a colleague in the volunteer armed forces (national guard’ish) who would never ever lift a finger unless something good came to him, and he always expected people to help him.
He was a kinda poor soul, who had been lost most of his life, never really had a job, and had no education. But he did find some meaning in the uniform.
He had huge issues with money. Whenever he got his welfare check, he would spend it all within a week on video games, a new TV, or something like that. The rest of the month he would beg scraps off the rest of us and borrow money.
He always paid back the money, but he always had such a big debt to the rest of us, that when he finally got the welfare check, most of it would disappear in seconds.
Eventually, he got kicked out of his apartment for “forgetting” to pay rent. He was of course furious that the city council wouldn’t pay the bills for him because “it’s not my fault I forgot to pay!”
Our platoon leader chose to go above and beyond for this guy and chose to take him in.
Not only having 2 teenagers in the house, he now had a third and even more useless “adult teenager” living with him. They agreed that the Platoon Leader’s wife would help him with finances, that he didn’t have to pay for food, and that the rent he paid the Platoon Leader didn’t even cover half of the expenses they had with an extra mouth to feed.
As you might be guessing, the guy has some serious issues with life in general, and especially money.
The guy was like 35 and still couldn’t manage on his own.
At some point, he started not paying for tickets on public transportation. Sure thing, he would get a fine, but being on welfare, he had no way of paying it, so he just didn’t. He even boasted to his squad of being soooo clever, as he was riding “free of charge” when the rest of us were paying a sh*tload to get on a train.
He literally told me, “It’s no problem; I just consider it a loan from the government.” I told him in no uncertain terms that what he was doing was going to land him in so much trouble, he would never in his life get out of it.
His reaction was to completely cut off any communication with me, despite both of us being NCOs and having to communicate on a regular basis.
It’s completely fair of him to think of me as an idiot for sticking my nose in his affairs, but when it starts to hurt the company and the soldiers are complaining about a “hostile work environment” and talking about stopping as volunteers, things are out of hand.
I let the Platoon Leader know what was going on, telling him that not only was this guy boasting of committing a felony crime, he was also refusing to talk to anyone, who called him out on it.
The PL took note of it and went “up the system” with it.
At the same time, I found out he was borrowing money from a couple of new soldiers and not paying them back. I told the Platoon Leader, who told his wife. The Platoon Leader and his wife decided to pay the soldiers back from their own pocket, as one of the guys was studying and didn’t have a dime the spend on anything.
At the same time, they raised the “rent” he was paying for living in their house, to cover the money they had paid back on his behalf..
He of course got super furious and started yelling at the Platoon Leader’s wife, who kicked him out straight away. He called the Platoon Leader, crying on the phone and saying how sorry he was. They let him stay.
Being on welfare, you have to do these pointless courses in writing a resumé, or you have to do some kind of practical activation job, like picking up trash or sweeping the streets.
He started not going to these things, stating that he had to go on some super important military drill and the city-people believed him. Only thing is, being a volunteer force, everything is evenings or weekends.
I called the city council gave them an anonymous tip that there wasn’t any training or drills. They called him and gave him 1 hour to meet, or he would get taken off welfare immediately.
Remember the story of him borrowing money from broke students and not paying back? Well a month later, he did the exact same thing. Again I called the PL, who told his wife. The guy once again got super angry at the Platoon Leader’s wife. Platoon Leader went straight home but didn’t say a thing. PL waited until the guy left to go hang out with a friend and then took all the guy’s stuff and threw it in the yard and called a locksmith to come and change the lock straight away.
The guy got super p*ssed and started telling everyone that me and the PL were against him.
Well, it wasn’t really a lie. Being homeless kinda sucks and being on the council watchlist for potential welfare-scammers sucks too, so I was actually pretty happy and thought I had my revenge.
The guy got so p*ssed he started calling my work and writing my facebook-friends outside the armed forces telling how big of an idiot I was.
I had decided that I had made enough phone calls, but this kinda broke my brain.
I straight away called both the city council and the national tax authorities to tell them of his “free or charge”-train trips. The city and the national authorities started working together sharing the info they had on him.
Last I heard of the guy was when I read a headline in the newspaper of a local man matching his age who got a 60 days jail sentence and a $40,000 USD fine for systematic cheating with train tickets. Having committed a felony (technically 300 felonies) and going to jail, he lost his security clearance and got kicked out of the volunteer forces.”
6. Getting An Entitled Woman Banned From Ordering Pizza
“I used to deliver pizzas for a great many years, we went to the local family restaurant and the entire time we were being served and eating, I was trying to think of where I knew the waitress from. Finally, when she brought me the bill, it clicked. I went out to my car and grabbed every piece of change I could find, and with delivering pizzas; it was plentiful.
We made a point of hanging around there ordering a few more drinks, decided to have dessert, and just generally make trouble for this waitress. I know for a good hour, I was her last table and she was just waiting on me, which was fine. Once we needed to leave to get to the cinema (taking the kids to the latest Pixar junk), I paid the entire $98.72 bill in change, with zero tip.
Spread the change out across the table to resemble a big smiley face.
As I scooped up my kids to put coats on them, she came over and her face dropped. I simply smiled at her and our family walked out.
As I was doing up car seats, the manager and the waitress came out and the manager asked what was wrong. I looked the waitress dead in the eye and spouted out her address and that I was simply returning the favor.
The manager looked dumbfounded, I backed out and left.
This dumb lady ordered pizza regularly, four or five times a week, delivered; paid with an obnoxious amount of unrolled change in a Ziploc bag if I was lucky, and never a tip. Not a single penny. On top of it, she’d frequently call and complain that we’d forgotten something, to the point that her order always showed up in red on the delivery screen to have a manager come visually check that all the items for her order were there before we left.
People in this area specifically think it’s OK to pay in large handfuls or bagfuls of change, regularly. I can’t remember many nights where I didn’t have at least $20 in assorted change by the end of the night. I used to clean it all out weekly and put it in a big 5-gallon water jug, it filled, and I got lazy. Just started leaving it in my car out of laziness, I’d clean it once either I got annoyed with it or got annoyed with my wife [fiancé at the time] complaining about it.
When I finally cashed in all my change, I had near $8,000 in change, from five years of delivering, minus quarters. I rolled most of the quarters and cashed them in myself at the bank. I did that slowly over time though, don’t have the slightest idea how much in quarters I got over the years.
As a note, I do genuinely tip; always at least $10, regardless of the bill.
I couldn’t bring myself to tip her. I had to make a point. I simply returned the favor and hopefully taught her a lesson.
I’d told the managers at my store what happened on my next shift and that she’d likely call and complain if I ever delivered to her again, which I knew was inevitable. It was a small family run pizzeria, managers told me I’d be taking the run anyway for a laugh if it came up and it was my turn just to see if she’d call and complain.
That’s fine, I’d be more than happy to smirk in her face again, even without a tip. Just to have my curiosity fulfilled to see if she learned something.
A few weeks later I managed to, unfortunately, draw the short straw and take her delivery. She just stared at me like an idiot when she opened the door and handed me what she normally does; she didn’t learn anything.
I treated her no differently than I would a known $20-tipper at the door, knowing I wasn’t going to be getting a freaking thing. She did, in fact, call the store to complain about the fabricated bull, and I just laughed. Apparently, I swore at her, drove through her lawn and hit her mailbox. We all had a good laugh, and she was banned from ordering deliveries after a manager drove past her house to simply make sure I hadn’t actually messed her lawn up or knocked over her mailbox.
If you work for tips, you should definitely tip yourself.”
5. Quitting A Toxic Job Environment
“My first job out of high school was working for a rather famous and nation-wide guitar store chain. At first, I thought it would fun, getting to be around guitars all day, and talking music with fellow musicians. Turns out I was wrong, and that 10-hour shifts 5-6 days a week while listening to slightly-too-loud overhead music and 14-year-olds play the first 5 bars of ‘Crazy Train’ over and over and over again wasn’t actually all that great.
But I stuck it out, I needed the money and I have one of those ‘don’t quit ever’ attitudes.
When I got hired, the store was in serious trouble. They had recently fired a huge chunk of the staff for skimming profits and selling drugs out of the warehouse. Their numbers were really low and corporate was breathing down their necks. But, as it turns out, I have a penchant or selling stuff that I know about.
I was the accessories guy and got really, really good at it. I was routinely rolling $30k or better a month out the door, and the most expensive thing I had in my department was only $500.
I also had one of the lowest return rates on the west coast, and a file with several letters from happy customers saying how much help I had been. Eventually, the store’s numbers improved, especially my department.
Eventually, we were #1 for our district, and #3 on the west coast, behind Hollywood and San Francisco.
However, NONE of that mattered to the GM or anyone from corporate. All they wanted was more from me. My numbers had to be better every month, or I’d get yelled at. I was written up for having a low sales month one January because I went on vacation.
I would get daily emails and phone calls from the district and regional managers, demanding to know why I hadn’t hit $xxxx in sales yet. My hours got bumped up to the point where my days consisted of sleeping, showering, eating, and working. I had zero social life. My gf at the time would go weeks without seeing me. Eventually, because of the stress, I developed an ulcer.
So I decided to quit.
I threw myself into my last month, which just happened to be December, the month all retail workers hate. I worked extra hours, sold as much as I could, contacted old customers, you name it.
Blew everyone out of the water, rolling just shy of $80,000 in gear. My boss called me into his office, and said I was doing a good (not great, good) job, and to keep it up.
I pointed to the sales numbers screen, pointed out how well I had been doing and how well liked I was by the customers and asked for a raise. He laughed and said no. So I handed him my resignation letter. 2 weeks later I was done and starting classes in college, something I’d had to put off since work wouldn’t allow me to cut hours for school.
I came back to the store a couple of months later, as someone who had worked with me called and said they’d found a jacket of mine in the warehouse. When I showed up, the GM wasn’t there. I asked, and what I was told was that apparently, corporate HAD noticed me, and when my GM had failed to retain me, they’d fired him. Also, that department went from #1 to #9 in the district, out of 11 stores.
The district managers were scrambling to recover, a few got demoted because of how things panned out, and the extreme higher-ups were not happy that the district was in such a state.
I laughed the laugh of the vindicated.”
Another User Comments:
“I hate that “no number is good enough” crap DMs and RMs pull. I get that bigger numbers are better, and that’s probably the way they are told to operate.
However, if you’re going to tell me my numbers are bad every time you see me no matter what, I’m going to get discouraged. After 6 years as a store manager, I finally quit and went back to school. I was honestly shocked when my boss tried to get me to stay with the company. I always figured he thought I was doing a sh*tty job because every time I saw him he was telling me I wasn’t doing good enough, even if my store was top in the district.
Company went out of business less than a year later. Kind of sad I missed out on the unemployment, but it all worked out.” Breakfastmachine
4. Can't Keep Your Paws Off My Stuff? I'll Mess With You Through Your Xbox
Sometimes the passive-aggressive revenge is the best!
“During freshman year of college, I roomed with my cousin and our friend Dan. The three of us really like to smoke drugs, but for college kids, it’s a luxury. So naturally, when we wanted to smoke together we’d all chip in an equal-sized amount so no one ended up getting short-changed and to obviously save a little cash here and there.
As time went on, Dan began to run out of money due to his constant smoking.
No money = no smoke. In our very small and cramped room, I had a mason jar filled with a baggie of my special stuff in a spot that NO ONE (I thought) knew about. After class one day, I wanted to sit back and enjoy a smoke when I pulled my stash out of the hiding spot to find that there was stuff was missing.
Instantly, I knew Dan did the dirty deed. My cousin wasn’t struggling too bad financially at the time so it couldn’t have been him. But before I pointed any fingers, I decided to wait it out and be 100% positive.
When Dan came back after class, I noticed he was more nervous than usual and didn’t make eye contact with me when we were chatting. Red flag 1.
Per usual, he’d throw his jacket on the floor, like he did with any other piece of clothing, and started to make ramen noodles. While he was busy, I slowly lifted the jacket with my foot to reveal the top of a baggy with some stuff poking out of the inside pocket. Red flag 2. I’m not a big fan of thieves, so I decided to get my revenge on Dan in a very petty way.
Just to let you all know, Dan is a very gullible human being and tends to believe anything, even if it’s a little far fetched…
One day, my roommates and I planned on having a Netflix night with a bunch of our friends later on in the week. I saw this as an excellent opportunity to do something devilish, but ‘what devilish thing should I do?’ At the time, there was an iPhone app called Xbox Smartglass that had just come out.
Basically, one would log in their Xbox Live account information, connect their phone to the Xbox, and control basic things like direction (think directional pad) and clicking the ‘A’ or ‘B’ buttons.
With this newfound information, I knew exactly what I was going to do, but had to bank on doing it right.
The Netflix night comes and all 10 of us are outside finishing up a special cigarette before we head back in.
I, however, excused myself early to go to the ‘bathroom.’ During this time, I quickly went inside my room, turned my Xbox on, connected my phone to Smartglass, and left it on my bed (it would disconnect if you were too far away). A few moments pass and we are all jam-packed into the room. Dan and I had bunk beds on the right side of the room.
He had the top bunk and I had the bottom. My cousin, Gucci, had his own bed on the left side of the room. Everyone else was squeezed in the middle. What’s perfect about my position is that I could conceal my phone very well with no one being the wiser.
Dan had the controller and began sifting through possible movies to watch. I started off with clicking to the right, left, up, and down every so often making it appear that Dan was messing around with the controller.
‘Yo Rivy, I think your controller is busted.’ said Dan.
I obviously told him it wasn’t and that he’s scrolling through everything too fast.
So I continued to mess around more and more until I started moving everything faster and faster. Naturally, people were like, ‘Dan! Stop being a d*ck!’ He responded by letting go of the controller to show that it wasn’t him and everything was indeed moving on its own.
Everyone was confused. This being the right moment, I stopped for a few seconds… then slowly shifted down to the ‘Horror’ section, scrolled to the right until I saw the movie conveniently titled, ‘Hell’ and clicked on it.
Everyone screamed and hollered. Dan jumped out of his bunk, nearly crashing into everyone, and ripped the plug right out of the Xbox.
As he turned back, I could see the look of true fear in his eyes.
Everyone was scared sh*tless and the commotion caught the attention of the Residence Attendant. It was painfully hard trying not to laugh during this whole ordeal.
Our room was the talk for the entire week. Dan was going around telling everyone, ‘Yo man, our Xbox is f*cking haunted/possessed…’
From friends to classmates, Residence Attendants and even the hall janitor, Dan told EVERYONE. He was so infatuated and scared, I decided to keep going with it.
It got so crazy that Dan, and I swear to God I’m not lying, would talk directly to the Xbox as if it was a person.
He’d ask it questions like, ‘Who are you?’ ‘Are you a kind spirit?’ ‘Can you communicate through other forms of technology?’
This was absolute gold.
Before you know it, I started communicating with Dan by typing on the keyboard for Xbox live messaging.
I got more daring and wrote words like:
‘Dan’…’Death’…’Car’…’Demon’…’Hell’
I also wrote places he would be that day, clothing he was wearing, people he knew, etc.
He was too busy freaking out that he never took a moment to logically think about the whole situation. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine pranking someone this badly especially with an inanimate object. I do want to note that my cousin found out about my prank/revenge due to the fact that he saw ‘Smartglass Connected’ pop up on the Xbox dashboard.
I told him everything and he promised not to interfere and encouraged me to continue.
One day after class, I walked into my room to find Dan sitting upright on his bunk staring into space. I asked him what’s up and he went on about how scared he was and how he believed someone was hacking the Xbox and sending him threatening messages. He also believed that whoever was doing it was also hacking the webcam too (lol).
Dan went on and on and even considered calling the cops (yikes). Realizing how out of hand this was getting, I stopped messing with him for a little while.
Overall, I kept my vengeful prank a secret for a few months before I finally told him. He was livid at me and firmly believed someone or something was out to get him. But he did admit to stealing my stuff and soon paid me back.
A word to the wise, never steal from someone, you never know what appliance will become possessed and haunt you.”
Another User Comments:
“My tv in my college dorm had a pause button on the remote like it would freeze the screen when you pushed the button and then jump to live when you pushed it again, just the tv, so whatever the input was kept playing normally.
The guy that lived across the hall would come over and play halo or Minecraft regularly on my tv. Whenever he was being annoying or loud, I would grab the remote and pause the tv for half a second at a time every few seconds, just to look like the Xbox was freezing. I would sit there behind him with my roommate and laugh while he tried to figure out what was wrong with his game.” defcon212
3. Spanking Me Is Going To Hurt You More Than Me
Some childhood revenge.
“I’d like to preface this by saying that I (25F) was, back in the day, what was considered to be a “gifted” child. I apparently did well enough on some standardized IQ test that my school’s administration saw fit to stick me and some of the other “gifties” in a series of specialized advanced classes. These were meant to test the limits of our creativity and forge geniuses out of us so that our apparent potential wasn’t wasted to the world.
Or something.
I say this not to humble-brag about my elementary-age achievements (I, like many “gifties,” am now a horribly depressed adult with a complex or seven), but instead to serve as a preface to the sort of devious, conniving child I was. With the brainpower to fuel my f*cketry and bamboozle my enemies, I was a virtually unstoppable force of chaos. A fountain of shenanigans.
More simply put, I was a little sh*t.
But I was a smart little sh*t.
When I was around eight or nine, I did something to p*ss off my dad. I don’t recall what, but it was bad enough to warrant a dose of old-fashioned corporal punishment—which wasn’t as frowned upon in the mid-2000s as it often is today. Don’t hit your kids, folks.
That being said, my father had a system. He would send me to my room for about ten minutes pre-punishment—something that gave me time to consider and reflect upon my crimes, and him time to calm down, as he did not believe in inflicting punishment while angry.
Spankings were doled out thereafter, responsibility for actions was taken, talks were had, and business was gone about as usual.
Most of the time.
But remember—I was both clever and devious at that age. It’s a dangerous combination. On this particular day, I did not especially feel like owning up to my atrocities, and the brain gears were turning to the tune of spite.
If he was going to spank me, I intended to make good of the age-old corporal punishment promise, “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.”
The revenge:
I had ten minutes post-banishment to devise a plan.
First, to soften the impact of what was to come, I donned several additional pairs of underwear beneath my jeans. Not enough to look bulky or be suspicious, but enough to cushion the inevitable blows.
Second, I looked around for something… hard. Something solid and sturdy, but small enough to fit down the back of my pants without its presence being obvious. I settled on a small hardback book, just the right size to fit where I needed it without giving me the telltale ass of SpongeBob SquarePants.
In the bathroom attached to my room, I checked myself at all angles to be certain that my ruse was not discoverable at first glance and was quite pleased with the results.
Then I waited.
Good old dad came into the room, sat down on the bed. He gave me The Look, and I assumed the position after fronting a few protests to mask my anticipation.
SMACK.
The sound of a grown man’s hand striking a hardback book cover isn’t usually satisfying, but it’s the most beautiful sound in existence when the alternative is the sound of that same hand colliding with your a*s.
I don’t think it would’ve actually hurt him if he had been expecting it—but he didn’t, and it did. I, on the other hand, felt nothing. Words were said—colorful ones—as dear old dad aggressively shook out his stinging palm and regarded me as though I’d just personally ruined his day. I hoped I had. I was a spiteful child, and proud enough of my b*stardism that I graced him with the most blatant grin of the sh*t-eating variety that someone at the age of nine-ish could muster.
Did the following punishment increase as a result of my childhood a*sholery? You bet your sweet, book-shielded a*ses it did. Was it worth the moment of pride, sass, and chaotic glee that my childish self derived from knowing I’d struck back?
Abso-f*ckin’-lutely.”
2. A Quick Grade Change Leads To No More Scholarship
“I stole my teacher’s grade book to alter the scores for a different kid.
This caused him to flunk final year of English with no time to retake the class, which caused him to not graduate on time which lost him his scholarship to Oregon to play football (yes, that Oregon football program).
Here’s why: This football playing jock was a permanent bully to kids. Always slapping weak kids in the back of the neck and yelling ‘red neck!’ He and his friends would often drag other kids into the bathroom and give them swirlies (holding them up-side-down and dunking their head in a toilet while you flush).
Daily, low level, high school bully stuff.
Administrators never really did anything outside of verbally warn him to stop because has hot stuff on the football team (I want to say Tight End or Linebacker, I never really knew).
One day, he and his friends take this little Mexican kid into the nice basketball gym, which was off-limits to all students and only used for the basketball team games so they knew no one would be coming around for a while (there was a second ‘main’ cheap and nasty basketball gym that was used for Physical and practice).
They held him down while he slapped this kid around then hung him from the basketball rim by his underwear.
Now, this Mexican kid was not physically disabled or retarded, but he was definitely physically limited due to some sort of inherent illness; we’re talking 4’9″ and 80 pounds.
He hung on that basketball hoop all afternoon, from about lunchtime until the janitor found him before the basketball game that night (so, like 5 or 6pm).
He was bleeding and passed out.
The school didn’t do anything because the little kid’s family didn’t pursue any charges (in that neighborhood, most likely they were there illegally and did not want to stir the pot, which really sucks, but that’s a reality for immigrants in this country). While there was never any formal investigation, he and his friends would brag about the incident.
So my friends and I on the hockey team figured this was enough.
I knew he had the same English teacher as I did in a different period.
My friend was a Teacher’s Assistant to another teacher so the administrators were quite used to seeing him going around the school with teacher’s grade books. One day, I swipe my teacher’s grade book from her desk by placing my books on top to talk to her (I was the ‘new kid’ still having just transferred back to the United States midway through the year and the teacher liked me) and then walked away with the whole stack; handed it off to my buddy the T.A..
He altered just a few big test scores slightly to push his mid-60s (bad but passing) grade down to a 55 (fail and not “just close enough” to deserve a bump). Then we left it in her office mail box (where the grade books get filed anyway), she never questioned anything (T.A.’s would have to deliver this grade books to the office daily anyway, so I guess she just figured her T.A.
did it correctly).
With no time to make up the scores, he failed his 4th English credit and did not graduate high school. He had to make it up over the summer from what I hear but lost his big-time football program scholarship.
Don’t know what happened to him much after that, all I know is that he was not starting for Oregon Football. He should not have picked on the tiny Mexican kid so hard.”
1. Go Ahead, Take My Rice
“I never really believed in the stereotype of the condescending, holier-than-thou vegan.
I figured it was an invention of omnivores that like to make fun of vegans and project some kind of judgmental attitude on them. And then I met her. She came into this really solid Asian fusion restaurant that does carry-out. She was talking to her friend, and the gist of the conversation was that she was appalled that she was even in this restaurant – the food didn’t even count as vegan since they also served meat.
In fact, for the ten minutes that I knew her, she basically had nothing nice to say about anyone or anything. It was pretty spectacular, listening to one person manage to say nothing nice for ten minutes.
She could win Gold in the A*shOlympics.
I’d been standing in line patiently waiting to place an order with only one person ahead of me when the girl sauntered over as the person ahead of me finished ordering.
She breezed by me like I didn’t even exist. ‘I’d like a tofu lo mein.’ The woman behind the counter looks at me, and I cough politely. ‘I’m sorry, I was here first.’ This elicited the biggest, most ‘how-dare-you-waste-MY-time’ eye roll I’ve ever seen, and she wordlessly stepped back. I order chicken fried rice. Then she orders her tofu lo mein, and we step back to wait for our food.
Ten minutes later, the first order pops up, at which point this woman, mindlessly chatting with her friend about how much someone they both knew is a total b*tch, swipes the order without thinking and without a thank you, and storms for the door in a desperate hurry to ruin other people’s evenings somewhere. My first thought was, ‘um, isn’t it likely that my order finished before yours?’ And I almost said it.
And then I realized she was storming out with a meal she really, really didn’t want.
The next meal popped up about two minutes later. I grabbed it knowing there was a solid chance it was tofu, thanked the very nice woman behind the counter, and left without stopping to open it, afraid that if I wasted a second’s time that angry shrew might have stormed back in and corrected her oversight.
I triumphantly ate a tofu lo mein back at home that night. Well, I ate the lo mein and picked around the tofu. I don’t know if that entitled girl returned demanding her correct meal or if she just got home, realized it was chicken fried rice, and threw it away dejectedly. I just hope she felt some level of the misery she seemed to enjoy forcing on everyone around her.”
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