People Share Their Hard-Hitting Revenge Stories

“Rewind the clock by a couple of decades and I was working as a team lead for an office supply store. This office supply store has a “copy center” where staff members would print, copy, and scan stuff for customers.

Enter “Penny.” Penny was a middle-aged woman who would come in every Friday smelling like wine, dressed somewhat elaborately, and who would make ridiculous demands on the copy center staff.

Penny: crazy lady!

Penny’s weekly Friday afternoon visitations had been going on for a while before I ever became aware of her. She would come in with elaborate letters including photos, keepsakes, etc written to England’s Royal Family – various members from the Queen to Prince Charles to Fergie. She would make the copy staff photocopy the letters, demanding perfection to the point where she measured the margins to ensure the contents copied were in the exact center of the page.

Then she would make the copy center staff package the letters and when she did include something such as photos, inspect the packing to ensure the tape was perfectly even and pay the shipping to Buckingham Palace in London. She would frequently make the copy staff read the photocopied letters back to her. When they had initially refused to, she had called district management and complained so this request was honored whenever she asked.

The copy center staff HATED her. Everyone else (coworkers, customers) hated the copy center staff because they were so nasty and condescending to everyone.

This office supply store was in a shopping center with a pub that had great lunch specials. It got to the point where I hated that job so much that I would go down to the pub for lunch, eat a steak sandwich, and drink as much “all you can drink beer” that came with lunch that I wouldn’t actually mind going back to the store afterward.

One Friday I went to lunch a little early and spotted Penny. Penny was sitting at a table with two people laughing their asses off as if they were going on about some deeply hilarious inside joke. I sat at another table facing them and watched while enjoying my lunch.

Penny said goodbye to her friends and left before. By the time I got back to the store, there was a massive battle at the copy center and Penny was acting crazy, with a crazy look in her eyes that was absent at the pub.

I became curious.

The following Friday, I went to lunch early. Sure enough, Penny was there at a table with two friends laughing maniacally and passing papers around to each other. I paid close attention. Penny seemed not insane. What was this madness? I ate fast that day and left immediately after her so that I was right behind her as she entered the office supply store.

And sure enough, Penny was acting crazy and had the copy center team fighting with each other while she stood next to the counteracting crazy with her crazy eyes and murmuring as usual.

Something was definitely up. The next Friday, I went to lunch early again and again found Penny at a table with one of the two friends I had seen her with previously. I had to know what was going on so, I approached the table, introduced myself, and literally just said, “I want in on whatever it is you’re doing” having seen that these two women were holding a 10-page handwritten letter and old photos, the exact sort of stuff Penny was always tormenting the copy center staff with.

Penny smiled wickedly, invited me to sit, and told me a story:

Penny was a successful realtor and real estate developer. She owned and leased several commercial properties and many residential properties. Along with this, she also ran a charity that sought to place single mothers and women seeking to escape domestic violence into stable home environments such as apartments, etc, at no cost until they got their feet beneath them, giving them the chance at life.

Penny had gone in once with her 501whatever paperwork because the office supply store offered discounts for nonprofits with the appropriate paperwork. Except for one Friday afternoon immediately after lunch, she had gone in to put in a large order for flyers that her non-profit team was going to the canvas with to solicit support, volunteers, and donations. For whatever reason, the three women who worked at the copy center refused to give her the refund despite her having the right form (tax-exempt something).

Penny decided “whatever, I’ll just pay.” Except then the copy center lead decided that Penny must be pranking them because she wanted a few thousand copies. The three women at the copy center-fed off each other’s ire to the point where the lead tore the 501whatever tax form in half, accused Penny of being a con-artist, and one of the other copy center staff members calling her nasty names.

So Penny left. She later came to learn that one of the copy center women called the county to report her charity as a fraud but, fortunately, the person who received the complaint was the same person who worked directly with Penny on placing people in need with her program.

She was so humiliated by their behavior that she decided to torment them. And that was why for a few months by that point she would go in at the same time on most Fridays to cause these three copy center employees distress.

The two friends she normally dined with on Fridays were in on it. The man actually owned the pub, her female friend worked in Penny’s real estate business. They would spend all week coming up with crazy sh*t to write in these letters to the royal family that Penny would make the copy center photocopy then read back to her from the photocopies. It was outrageous.

From that point on, I would always look for Penny on Fridays and pay attention to what happened as she came in. I watched as she would make these three women spin like puppets while she fingered a necklace, starved vacantly off in the distance, murmur, and constantly say, “You can do better than this” and things along those lines.

Week after week, this spectacle would unfold at the copy center counter.

The head cashier would watch and smile because she was always arguing with the nasty copy center team, I would watch from a distance, and an assistant manager would watch almost gleefully.

Right before I left that job, the district manager was in due to an incident with a coworker and the district loss prevention officer. The LP guy had mouthed off to this coworker of mine because his wife dropped off his lunch one day, a huge battle ensued.

It was my second to last day, a Friday, when the district manager had come in to talk to this coworker of mine and sure enough his visit was in time for Penny’s weekly torment.

To my surprise, the district manager stood in an aisle that didn’t have a direct view on the copy center listening. I spotted him smirking and asked how much he knew about Penny.

A sh*t-eating grim came across his face as he told me that between the two of us, since I was leaving, he knew everything, that Penny was a saint for helping all those victims of domestic violence and those single mothers, and that he encouraged her to express her discontent to the copy center team however she wanted.

I left that day just baffled that this situation was real and that I had been witness to it. I spent a lot of time just considering the scope of the situation and did two things: I made a negative review of the copy center and donated $500 to Penny’s charity.”

“I was at university. We always had to complete a practical course, before we were allowed to do the main exam. In this practical course, we had to learn, how a survey worked. This means: finding a theme, create questions, let people fill out the printed papers, evaluate, and finally interpret the survey results. We were divided into 6 groups, each group containing 5 students. Presentation to the others and the professor in 2 weeks.

As soon the task was clear, we sat together and started brainstorming.

5 min after that, one girl (let‘s call her Susan) started to sigh loudly, looking at her watch. Sigh again. Doing nothing, but looking worried and checking her watch again. 10 minutes later, she stopped our work to tell us that she was really, really in a hurry and couldn‘t stay any longer. The course was officially scheduled for two more hours. I took the word: ok, she didn‘t help finding the topic nor the questions for the survey.

Got it. How does she get the survey sheets to let the people, fill-in? Uh…haha….aahm…she again has to disappoint us….she would be too busy in the next two weeks to help us. Well….ok…what exactly would be her part? She offered, she would do the presentation part in two weeks.

I already had offered to the group to do the evaluation and interpretation of the survey (the main part of the work, by the way) to avoid to ask 30 random people to fill in the survey (I deeply hate these begging tours).

So I told her, we would meet 2 days before the next course, and I would explain to her everything she needs for the presentation. She agreed, took my phone number, and left.

Coincidentally 3 days later I talked about her with a friend. She told me, that Susan always was a lazy brat at such courses and let other people do her work. I was alarmed.

You can imagine what happened next? Yes. One day before our meeting she called. She couldn‘t come to our meeting, cause she was busy. Sooooo sorry. I said, ok, let’s meet 2 hours before the course starts, would be very tight in time, but enough to prepare her presentation. Ok. I was there on time. She wasn‘t. I sat the whole 2 hours in this room fuming, ready to start a b*tchfight.

She came 2 minutes before the course started. Sweet smiling, innocent, apologetic face. Telling me, how soooo sorry she was. But couldn‘t make it in time.

With a cold look, I handed over the papers and sat down. She looked at me in disbelieve. I would not dare to force her to make the presentation? I did. I had by far made the most part of this work, sitting hours to complete it and this little asshole thinks she could waste my time waiting for her? The other group members started to persuade me.

We would get a bad mark, oh please, blah blah. I didn‘t give in. I knew, the papers, which the professor would get in his hands were excellent. If he would look only a little bit closer, he would discover the lazy asshole. Until the last two minutes before her presentation, I saw in her eyes, that she thought I wouldn’t have the guts to do that to her.

Well, the presentation was an embarrassing DISASTER.

For her. I enjoyed every minute, every question the professor made (I knew, that the papers contained all the answers). He told her, that he was very confused. How could this be, that this work was done so excellent and she didn‘t have any clue? The other students started laughing. She stood there stuttering, red-faced.

Finally, we got a C, only because the work behind the presentation was flawless.

After the course, she stormed away, tears in her eyes. The members of our group were discussing with me on the corridor if this had been really necessary. I said yes and explained why, when I saw the professor walking by. He clearly had heard enough to know, what had happened. He looked in my eyes and winked at me with a big grin.

Hope, she had learned a lesson for her life.”

“My neighbor from a couple of doors down and I had a long-running feud. It all started when his dog came into my backyard, and my dog attacked it. I was nearby, and able to call my dog off before it got serious, but the other dog had a couple of bite wounds.

The neighbor wanted me to pay the vet bill. When he threatened me with a lawsuit, I offered to pay half, even though I owed him nothing; it was his dog that was off the leash and in my yard, after all.

He declined the offer, took me to small claims court, and lost. The trial lasted all of 3 minutes when the judge found in my favor.

That set in to motion him starting to f*ck with me on a regular basis. My garbage cans would get knocked over every trash day. He would honk his horn and flip me off if he drove by my house. He tried to get my 10 year old son arrested for riding another neighbors mini bike (never called the cops on their kids, just mine.) It was all stupid petty crap.

But it was a lot of stupid petty crap, and we were growing frustrated and mildly concerned what he might do.

We eventually grew tired of it, and filed a restraining order against him. We dropped the legal case against him when we received a letter from his lawyer stating that he would refrain from any sort of contact with any of my family for a period of 2 years.

Things settled down at that point.

But I was not yet satisfied. I had been staying on the high road through all of this, not responding to any of his bullsh*ttery in any way. I had a desire to get revenge but never acted on it. Then one day, I hatched my plan of evil genius.

I was in the hardware store and I noticed some Japanese Beetle traps.

These traps are just a plastic bag with a scent pack; the beetles are drawn to the scent, fall in the bag, and can’t get out. They also sold refill packages of the scent packs only, 4 per package.

My neighbor has a very large rose garden in his front lawn. It is his pride and joy.

Japanese beetles love roses.

So I bought 4 packages of the refill packs.

The scent pack is a waxy substance in a shallow plastic cup. I put the packs in the freezer overnight, to allow me to pull the wax out easily.

The next morning, I woke up at 3 am. I popped the wax squares out of their cups and put them in a baggie. Then I crept over to my neighbor’s house and spread the wax squares in the mulch under his rose garden, covering them from view with a bit of the hardwood mulch.

That day was a hot one. By 11am it was north of 90 degrees F. I figured the wax had probably melted in to the dark mulch. Also by 11AM, the Japanese beetles were starting to arrive at my neighbors roses. I went on a bike ride later in the evening and could see a small swarm of them attacking the roses. My neighbor had not yet noticed what was happening.

By noon the next day, there was a freaking cloud of them. There had to be hundreds, if not thousands. My neighbor noticed. That afternoon, I could see him spraying them and spreading Sevin powder and waving his arms in the air in frustration.

By the third day, there were thousands of the beetles, if not tens of thousands. They were everywhere on his front lawn and wreaking havoc on his roses.

By the end 4th day, there was nothing left of his rose garden, other than a few tattered leaves and the thorny stalks.

Those damned scent packs must have drawn every Japanese beetle in for miles around. I had never seen so many in a single place.

And that was it. The deed was done, and I was satisfied and laughing…quietly to myself, but laughing and laughing. And I never told a soul what I did, not even my wife.

This was a few years ago, and his rose garden is fully recovered now. And it will stay beautiful so long as he keeps being a quiet neighbor.”

“I live in a quiet little town in the Midwestern United States. My house is the last house at the end of a sleepy little dead-end road. New guy moves in next door, let’s call him “D*ck”. D*ck was probably one of those guys who was so popular in high school that he thought he had it made without doing any work and tried to spend the rest of his life living off being the “cool guy.” Type of guy who drives a lifted truck and a motorcycle.

(Don’t get me wrong, I ride motorcycles myself. What I don’t do, is sit in my driveway at 2 AM and rev my engine.)

There’s a bit of a downhill slope from the middle of the street to our houses at the end, and D*ck likes to race down this hill, then lock his brakes and “drift” into his driveway. The first winter after he moved in, I notice that my mailbox has been crushed and there are fresh tire tracks in the snow leading down the street, over my mailbox, and into his driveway.

A few days later I see D*ck standing outside and ask about this. He denies the entire thing says he doesn’t know what happened to my mailbox and that it must’ve been a delivery guy or something. I figure whatever and fix my mailbox. A few months later the same thing happens again. I fixed my mailbox and move on. Sometime later, this happens yet again.

This time, I’m pretty p*ssed.

So, I talked to my cousin who’s a commercial welder and had him make me a mailbox out of some scrap quarter-inch steel plate which was mounted on a length of old railroad track for its post. A little bit of glue and some cedar shingles and you’d never know it wasn’t a typical wooden mailbox. Also, the railroad track “post” was sunk in concrete four feet into the ground.

For the next several weeks I waited with anticipation every time I heard his truck roaring down the street, but nothing. Until, about five months later when I heard his truck, then a crash.

By this time I had forgotten about my mailbox and thought for sure he’d struck another car. I ran out to the street to see if anyone needed help, and there was his truck broadside against my mailbox all smashed up.

He saw me walk up and started yelling about how I had destroyed his truck and he’d make me pay, and he called the cops. A cop showed up to take his report and D*ck pointed out how my mailbox had been specifically designed to destroy his truck. I gotta admit, I got nervous at this point. The cop looked around at the truck and the construction of the mailbox then turned back to us and asked me if I’d had trouble with my mailbox before.

I explained how it has been smashed several times in the past year. The cop then said “It’s pretty clear what happened here. This is an obvious case of wanton destruction of property.” My heart sunk to the ground and D*ck got a smug look on his face, but then cop turns to D*CK and says “I’m going to issue a citation for this, as well as reckless driving”. You should have seen D*cks face at this point. He was boiling with rage as the cop wrote him two tickets AND told him he needed to pay for the repair of the damaged wood on my mailbox. (The metal was fine, hadn’t even tilted it, but the wood camouflage had broken off).”

“I like to think I’m a patient man. I’m hard to anger, my coworkers say they haven’t seen me angry in the 2 years they’ve known me. I have firm boundaries and as long as you don’t cross any of them I can let anything go.

One of my boundaries is don’t f*ck with my cat.

This story is about 2 of my coworkers and me, and happened the winter of 2013.

So I worked at a veterinary hospital as a vet tech/kennel attendant, and coworker 1 is a kennel attendant (KA) coworker 2 is the kennel lead (KL). KA is the one who comes in to take care of the animals, KL is in charge of overseeing everything boarding and kennel related. They both crossed that very simple boundary.

I went away over Christmas since I lived in another state from my family, and while I was out, I left my cat to board at work (one of the perks is free boarding).

I trusted my coworkers would take care of him even if it was a top 2 busiest weekend of the year.

So, I set up his cage the night before I leave. He’s a shy boy so I set up a tent with very distinct blanket s(one is bright green, the other has rocket ships). I kiss him bye, and am on my way. I enjoy Christmas with family, candy and fudge, and other things unrelated to the story, and come back 6 days after leaving.

It’s late when I get back, so the hospital is already closed and everyone has gone home. We all have a key so I swing by because I miss my cat and want to take him home.

What I am greeted by when I get to him is those same blankets, the white rocket ships now slightly tan/yellow damp with urine, old desiccated pieces of sh*t and smears on the wall, and a very stressed cat that smelled like pee.

We’re talking 6 days worth of filth. All they did was put in more food and change the litter box as far as I could tell.

I saw red.

KA, the attendant, was scheduled to take care of the animals that holiday. KL, the lead, had been there 3 different days I was gone, including the last 2. Figuring out how to destroy these people became the only thing I thought about.

I’m scheduled to work the day after I get back, and KA is there. I don’t look at her all day, as it’s the only way I could control my emotions. My blood is still boiling thinking about my boy who I’d had to bathe the night before (much to his chagrin). The sight of her makes that primal part of my brain reserved for beating the sh*t out of things starts to burn and makes my muscles tense.

(Now some important backstory here is that KA is kind of terrible at her job. We were kind of friends since she was the only one who wasn’t sh*tty to me when I first started. Whenever I’d find something she messed up, I’d gripe to myself but I’d fix it. She did some write-upable sh*t on a regular basis. I never did anything because KL was already aware and working on her so I figured ‘eh, none of my business.’)

I decided against violence and figured I’d let my manager handle it.

At first, I just told him about the condition of my cat and kept the rest to myself. He agreed it was unacceptable and said he’d talk to her. She denied everything, said she’d changed my cat’s bedding every night, that he didn’t get all of it in the litter box (unfortunately true, 12lb cat[not fat] aiming at a box made literally for kittens). Basically said I lied to my manager, to my manager’s face without batting an eye.

I gave her the chance to own up to it because that would’ve come with punishment enough.

My manager told me what she said, and her blatant bullsh*ttery poked the dragon that was already awake and p*ssed. I told him she’s f*cking lying, I work in the kennel too, and not to mention I know my cats sh*t well. He believes me, and I not so subtly point out that if she pulls this sh*t on an employee pet, what has she been doing with the lot of random boarders? The manager thought it was a good point, and asks me to keep an eye out for mistakes and let him know what I find.

The next day, I was in the kennel alone without her, and I began to document every single thing she did incorrectly. Remember me saying how crap she was at her job? She left me a treasure trove of sh*t to dig up.

To name a few of these nuggets, every single animal’s cage was filthy, like multi-day filthy like my cat’s was, two dogs had had their medications switched for the whole week, there were copious amounts of sh*t left in the yard(big no-no, spreads parasites and disease), and not even her documentation and charges were entered correctly.

It was a trainwreck that took me the whole morning to get back to an acceptable condition.

There was material here to get her enough writeups to lose her job if she had been perfect before, and she had already been disciplined a couple of times for other sh*t she pulled. I gather it all together and bring it to my manager, who is horrified and says he’s setting up a meeting with me, KA and KL, and him to discuss it all.

He encourages me to hold my temper and call them on their crap at the meeting. Until then I hadn’t even considered KL’s complicity in this bullsh*t , but I immediately realized there were 2 people on my wrong side. KL was not as horrid at his job as KA, he was old as hell in a demanding physical labor position. I figured what he’d got coming will be enough so I could aim everything I’d got at KA.

What’s the human equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel? Because this girl had already dug herself such a hole it was incredible she hadn’t been fired already. She didn’t do her job, she was stealing clients from the clinic by offering to petsit for cheaper instead of offering boarding(explicitly against our contract, fireable). She had been leaving 30 minutes early leaving the sh*t condition I’d had to deal with.

And I knew all of this.

The day of the meeting rolls around, and KA and KL are blissfully unaware when manager calls us into the office together. We all sit down and manager begins to explain what the meeting is about. He was a f*cking boss and we prearranged to give KA one more chance to own up to my face and leave out the rest at first.

He had asked me how far I wanted to take it, I told him I had a lot of dirt. Let’s let KA dig a deeper hole first so I can use it all.

She denied it all, swore up and down she had taken care of my poor cat properly. I graciously gave her the benefit of the doubt, saying ok I believe you did clean like you say, but then how did you miss this dried-up piece of sh*t ? She said my cat must’ve been dehydrated.

I say “oh, well you documented he’d been drinking well all week, why would he be dehydrated?” She says it might have been just from the last day. She wouldn’t just admit it… So I give my manager the look, and he tells her “ok so you took care of the cat, what about all of this?” And he pulls out my stack of evidence I’d collected.

KA’s face paled. KL had been silent up to this point and starts trying to apologize on KA’s behalf, saying it was a busy week and things slip through the cracks. I called their sh*t , saying I had been able to handle as many animals as she had had to a higher degree of cleanliness than the 2 of them could accomplish, so busy was not a valid excuse.

We went over every single sin KA and KL had committed for the past 3 days, individually and in-depth with a discussion about each one before moving on. As we worked through the stack, the manager wrote up KA for every single offense that warranted it. By the end of it she had 6 writeups(3 to get fired). She was sobbing, saying she couldn’t afford her kid’s daycare if she didn’t have that job.

My manager very pointedly told her he had never seen someone with such terrible job performance in 30yrs, and if she were worried about her kids she would have done her job better.

KL was written up and removed from this lead position, and KA was given the option to quit before she was fired.

Remember how she had been stealing clients from the clinic? She had built up quite a large client base and had told me some weeks before she was about to quit her job and petsit fulltime since she hates her job sooo much.

Plus when she returned her key after quitting, she made sure I knew the crying was fake and she was planning to put in 2 weeks in the next couple days.

At the clinic, we still saw all of those same clients she had skimmed all the time, and plenty of them asked what happened to KA. Manager told everyone we should tell the truth, since we had a petsitter we referred to and KA was not it.

For the next few months, we saw so many faces twisted into expressions of disgust, contempt, betrayal, worry when we told them why KA was no longer there and why they should reconsider letting her watch their pets. Literally dozens of people. Anyone who has tried to petsit or do yardwork for a living before knows how hard it is to build that client base. KA had a decent one, which we absolutely destroyed.

After a while, she texted me saying I was a piece of sh*t who was destroying her and her kid’s life and she couldn’t afford daycare anymore. She went from 2 or 3 petsitting gigs a week(about 300 dollars a week) to maybe 1 a month. I told her to f*ck herself and blocked her number, and haven’t heard anything since. B*tch.

Don’t f*ck with my cat.”

Edit 2: I’ll take this opportunity to give some advice on how to pick a good kennel facility.

Always, I mean ALWAYS, ask to take a tour before leaving your animal. Don’t schedule an appointment, ask to go back randomly. If they try to say no, say you don’t feel comfortable leaving your pet without an idea of where they’re staying. If they still won’t, and even a manager denies a tour, take your business elsewhere as they probably have something to hide.

If you do get a tour, here are some things to look out for.

Check water bowls for grime and dirt. Some pets are messy, but if a good number are dirty, it’s a big red flag.

If the kennel smells strongly of some kind of air freshener, be wary and look around for messes. A good kennel attendant will smell pee and clean and replace things until they get rid of the smell; a bad one will spray some animal odor eliminator and cover it up.

Make sure everything looks organized, properly labeled, and has some kind of system to it. Cluttered storage and unclear labeling is where so many mistakes come from; make sure they take those little things seriously, or something big may slip through the cracks.

Finding a good clinic and good boarding facility can be difficult, but they do exist. And just like you wouldn’t want you or your child going to a sh*ttty doctor or daycare, I don’t want anyone taking their pets to a sh*tty veterinary clinic!”

“Tenants on the trashy side had been living at my parents’ property for a while. After a cash windfall, they decided it was time to move out. Fine. Whatever.

They start complaining and being late on rent. Mold, etc….and take us to court. They never show up to court.

This elongates the process so they end up basically living for free in our house while taking us to court for poor living conditions (I know right).

A few months go by until they HAVE to go to court. One of them shows up crying that their baby is dying Bc of the mold blah blah. The judge goes in on her saying you’ve been living there rent-free for over six months if ur baby is sick why don’t you leave? We also had a mold guy come in and inspect the house and he basically said it’s not mold that’s giving your kid breathing problems it’s your cigarette smoke.

The case gets thrown out, they gotta pay back rent. Literally that night they get a u haul and leave town.

I followed their every move on IG knowing they were eventually gonna slip up. A few weeks go by and they start posting pics of their house and such. Eventually, they put a location on one of their pics. Bad move, honey. Bless your heart. Got on google earth, found the street, found the actual house by matching the red door to one of their pics. Sent it to the lawyer. Motherf*ckers got served and the guy had to sell his vintage car to pay us back.”

“A few years ago I used to work overnight (11pm-7am) for an insurance company. I did roadside service which consisted of people calling in about a flat tire, dead battery, or in this case, keys locked in the car. I’d then call and pay a contracted company to go out and help.

So around 3 am my time, a woman calls in from Phoenix for help. She’s locked out of her car.

She started the call off very impatient and belligerent. First off, she was slurring heavily so I was having a hard time getting her address. Which I guess was my fault. I had to have her repeat the city a few times since I genuinely could not understand her. She hated this and began mocking me and implying I wasn’t from the country, which I in fact was.

Apparently, my southern accent didn’t allude to that.

Anyway. Once I get the address I asked what the address was for a reference for the locksmith. House, store, gas station, etc. She said it was a house. I looked it up in google maps and it was, in fact, a dive bar. Uh-huh. Put her on hold to call the locksmith. Once I got back over she continued to be generally displeased and angry at me personally it would take 45 minutes for the locksmith to get there.

Which is actually a decent time, especially past midnight. It was my fault she’d have to wait for her keys. Whatever.

I hung up with her and googled the local police. Called them and reported her for potential DUI. Mostly because she p*ssed me off.

Sure enough, about 45 minutes the locksmith called back saying he couldn’t perform the service. I could hear yelling in the background. Apparently, the woman began fighting with the police when they arrived and was being arrested by the time the driver showed up. Her boyfriend/husband (who the driver said seemed sober) was trying to talk them out of it.

So it turns out she did have a DD, but her drunken anger made her start fighting the police that showed up.

Be nice to call center employees.”

“I was working as a dishwasher in a new Fine Dining restaurant in the downtown of a largish city. Chef Paul came from a rich family with a lot of connections, but he made his own way through culinary school and was both talented and dedicated to his art. His family ponied up the cash for a location right downtown in Office Tower Land, but Chef Paul made the place the “hotspot” for the movers and shakers of the town.

Our clientele was the Rolex set, people with a string of initials on their business cards and high-powered job titles.

Chef Paul was the nicest guy you could imagine away from the restaurant, but when he was on the cookline, he was an aggressive and abrupt bully of the old school. It was an open kitchen, meaning you could see it from the dining room, so he never raised his voice, but he could chew you out in a low-volume whisper, all the time with a poker smile frozen on his face.

This was his show, his restaurant, his baby, and woe be it to the person who f*cked up while Chef Paul had his game face on.

As I mentioned, we were downtown, and right next door was a civic building that held many offices, among them was a branch of Social Services….welfare. Obviously, we didn’t get any trade from them, not with us serving $30 venison burgers.

One day Chef had to scoot out after lunch rush to pick up a special ingredient for the night’s dinner special. I forget what it was. I had finished off all the dishes from lunch and was emptying garbages and grabbing a smoke during the slow period. This is maybe 3:40, 3:45 in the afternoon.

I see Chef pulling into the parking lot just as Douchebag is exiting his car….parked right in Chef’s spot, close to the back door.

I have a ringside seat for this, I’m maybe 15 feet away, standing on the metal stairs. Chef tells him that spot is reserved, it’s his spot, and Douchebag will have to move his car.

Douchebag goes off like a bomb. Chef Paul is mixed-race, and the profanity and racist rant coming out of Douchebag’s mouth is appalling. By the end of it, Douchebag throws Chef the finger and tells him to go and f*ck himself.

I’m astonished that Chef doesn’t retaliate, but I can tell he’s steaming. He parks further down the lot, and I give him a hand carrying the boxes in. I was smart enough not to say a word, but I sure wasn’t looking forward to working with Chef for the rest of the night.

Now I mentioned that this was about 3:45, right? In this city, rush-hour parking takes effect at 4 pm sharp, and tow truck drivers swoop in like vultures to hook any car parked on the street at 4:01pm.

These trucks are parked and staged all over downtown. A city parking tow is a contract fee, but a private hook pays a LOT more.

I had left the back door open for some ventilation, and a few minutes after we carted the boxes in, I hear an unholy commotion outback. I go to have a look, and sure enough, Douchebag’s car has its ass end in the air, held up by a tow truck.

Chef had called in the tow.

Douchebag is now going off on the tow truck driver, who has a bored expression on his face because he’s heard all this sh*t before. It’s now just after 4 pm, and the office workers are streaming out of the building next door, but Douchebag doesn’t notice.

He’s screaming at the tow truck driver that he has to have his car, right now, because he needs it for work in the morning.

Well, that was a dumb thing to say. One of the office workers was heading over to check out the fuss, and it turns out this was the person Douchebag was in the neighborhood to see.

It was his Welfare worker.

Oh, did she get furious in a hurry! “You lied to me, Douchebag. You’re not supposed to have a car. Or a job. So not only won’t your check be ready tomorrow, but I am sending your file for investigation.” Douchebag follows her to her car, stammering bullsh*t excuses, but she’s having none of it, gets in her vehicle, and drives away.

Right behind her is the tow truck, pulling out Douchebag’s car.

I head back inside, and it isn’t long before I hear Douchebag’s voice again, only this time it’s coming from the front of house. There’s maybe two tables wrapping up a late lunch, and Douchebag. He’s over by the service counter and pitching another fit at Chef Paul. If he comes over the counter, Doucebag is going to have a real bad time, because Chef has a long knife in each hand, held low where Douchebag can’t see them.

Not only that, but every staff member is watching this, including me.

Douchebag is screaming that he’s going to kill Chef, he’s going to find his family and kill them too, and then he’s going to come back here and burn the place to the ground. Calls Chef every name in the book.

I mentioned that the clientele are pretty much the movers and shakers in town, right? Guys with high-power job titles? Well, one of the people at the two tables has one of these powerful job titles, and this job title is Chief of Police.

Now if you or I call in to the cops about a disturbance, we might see a uniform in a while, but if the Chief calls up and says he want uniforms at a certain place right NOW, they get there right NOW. Douchebag is in full rant when 4 cops roll in. This shuts Douchebag up in a hurry, as everyone can tell, Douchebag included, that these cops are looking for him to make the slightest twitch so they can beat his ass silly.

He meekly submits to the cuffs as the Chief of Police himself informs Douchebag that he’s under arrest for creating a disturbance and uttering threats.

And the icing on the cake? As the uniforms are patting him down one pulls out a baggie from Douchebag’s jacket. It contains what looks to me to be a green leafy substance.

I left the restaurant before the case came up for court, but I do know that Douchebag lost his car as he was jailed, and couldn’t spring it from impound. It was a piece of crap, anyway, and the fees were probably more than it was worth. I can’t imagine that his chances were good, as it was known that the Chief was planning to testify…never a good thing to have that going against you in a courtroom.”

“Sooo imma just lay the facts on the table: I was in a relationship with my ex-university lecturer for 3 years. (U.K. Based, Catholic University FYI). Let’s call him Puke. My relationship with Puke started after I graduated so as far as I was concerned we were just two normal adults with a bit of an age gap getting together.

Although I was aware that he had dated one student previous to me, I genuinely believed that Puke and I had something special and our relationship was a bit of a case of star-crossed lovers.

(Or not even that, cos we’re all adults here, right?)

He would take me out to beautiful restaurants, buy me roses, chocolate, and books, and basically be the textbook romantic; opening doors for me, whisking me away to hotels for the weekend, making sure I got home safe, messaging me saying he was thinking about me, etc. When we would talk he would make me feel like I was the most important person in the world and that he cared about my thoughts, ideas and opinions.

I felt like I really mattered. I fell for him hook, line and sinker.

What seemed to start as a romantic and loving relationship slowly descended into an abusive one over the course of 3 years. (It’s amazing how warped your normal meter will get when it is slowly manipulated over this time, I honestly can’t believe that I stayed with him for so long even though he treated me the way he did.)

Long story short, he treated me very badly.

We broke up and I moved on.

A few months later, I hear through the grapevine that Puke is under investigation with his university. Turns out he’s been “secretly” seeing a current student and has been posting naked/inappropriate images of her on the internet.

LOADS of students had seen the images and he even put the hashtag #collegegirls underneath it.

His university was asking questions about his general conduct with ex-students in the past, and an acquaintance of mine was asked to go in and give a statement.

It was all very low key (I assume as to not tarnish the “good name” of this catholic institution) but in light of this, I decided to do a bit of digging.

When Puke and I were together, he would tell me that particular female students would take a liking to him. At the time, I believed him when he told me that they had made advances that were unsolicited on his part, and also believed him when he told me he had reported the incidents to his universities HR department.

(IKR?! I was stupid and in love.)

However, in the light of this new information, I began to realize that this was unlikely the case.

So I Facebook searched some names of the female students that I remember him mentioning- there were a few names that stuck in my mind.

I messaged them all, telling them who I was and what was going on at the university, inviting them to submit a statement if the stories that he had told me about them weren’t true.

I opened a very big can of worms.

The young women were all lovely, and shocked to hear that Puke even had a girl (me) at the time. They all had very similar stories to me. The roses, chocolates, books; offers of weekends away in fancy hotels- our stories were all identical, right down the topics we would talk about and restaurants he would take us to.

It was clear to me that our relationship was not one based on mutual love, but a fulfillment of his teacher/student and power play fetish. We were all either current or ex students of his. We were all the “geeky” type. We were all vulnerable for one reason or another.

So how did I get my revenge?

All I had to do was tell the truth.

I wrote a statement to the University and told them about how we got together and what he had told me about the other young women.

I also told them some other things: about how he would have me mark his students work for him, (I did it because he would claim that he was too stressed and didn’t have the time to do it. He made it out that he was depressed and that they were overworking him at the uni. Turns out that me doing his work for him was just to give him more time to date other students.)

On its own our relationship didn’t have much to do with his place of work/ my old uni- there’s a chance that he may have planted some seeds beforehand while I was still a student, but I had long since graduated when we began seeing each other.

Although he was awful, manipulative, and abusive, frankly our relationship in and of itself wasn’t any of his place of works business. However, his patterns of behavior (dare I say, grooming behaviour?) were clear, as was the fact that he would have me mark his student’s essays for him. He also told me that he covertly recorded his colleagues in the hope that they would “say the wrong thing” so he could “whistleblow” to the university.

I shared all of this with the university, with evidence to back it up.

On top of that, the multiple relationships he had kindled with these other girls were current students at the time of the romances. In fact, he had supervised all of their dissertations while the romances were going on too. I’m pleased to say that they all (or at least, the ones I knew about) made statements, with ample evidence to back up their testimony too.

I found out in September that Puke was no longer lecturing at the uni, and a new person had been hired to teach his classes. More recently his details have been taken down from the university website. I’m taking this to mean that he has gone for good.

Puke has probably ruined his career now. Regardless of whether he lectures again or not, I hope that he will never be able to abuse a position of power like that again.”

“The story begins in the summer. The Wife and I moved from my mother’s basement to a fantastic apartment just down the road from my university. The building is mega soundproofed, the neighbors do piano lessons, lots of people with kids and dogs and we can’t hear any of it… with the exception of one dog from across the hall.

The neighbors across the hall are retired, perhaps their senior father lived with them…

I’m not sure about that detail. But they were enjoying their retirement going out all of the time for hours at a time, and whenever they left their dog would bark the entire time. An 8-12 hour continuous barking session wasn’t uncommon, typically 3-7 days per week.

Now a few details about myself. I am a dog person, I love them and I understand this little guy is probably just anxious without his owners.

I am a student, as mentioned before, and I didn’t mind listening to the dog while school was out for summer but come fall this problem needed to be dealt with. And lastly, I am incredibly patient and kind to a fault.

I also look like a strange combination of Dave Grohl and Hank Hill but that’s more of a bonus fact.

So after two weeks of this listening to this dog, I put a sticky note on their door that read something along the lines of “Hey, just so you know your dog barks constantly when your not home.” Of course, nothing changes so after another two weeks, I put in a single formal complaint that goes something along the lines of “Hey, the last thing I want to do is cause trouble but this dog has been barking for a month and it’s really annoying, I hope we can all come to a peaceful solution.”

Over the next week we notice a drastic change, Dog no longer barks.

It still whines loudly which is still crazy annoying but an improvement. Also, the noise reduces to about 2-6 hours a day, maybe 3 days a week max. Turns out they got anxiety meds for the dog. Regardless, I’m happy. The problem seems to be slowing and perhaps it won’t so loud come school. A month and a bit go by and I’m writing a timed, online quiz for a class in my home and this dog is barking as it used to when we first moved in.

I can’t concentrate and it’s driving me insane. I leave my quiz and leave another sticky not, this one along the lines of “Not a complaint, just letting you know your dog was crazy loud tonight.”

I’m just about done my quiz when there is a knock on my door. I answer the door and low and behold. The lady from across the hall, holding my note, looking p*ssed.

She asks me if I wrote the note. “Yes”. Do I understand how frustrating that is? Well, I sure understand the frustration, so “Yes”. She is screaming at this point. I ask her if she would like to have a calm conversation. She talks over me to say how unfair it is that I would treat her dog like that. I ask again if she would like to have a calm conversation.

She talks over me to tell me how much anxiety pills are. Would you like to have a calm conversation? She talks over me again to tell me that the poor dog she leaves at home 8 hours a day has to wear a shock collar because of me. I decided we were not having a calm conversation. “Listen here you piece of f*ck, you started this, all I wanted is to live in peace.” I take a step into my apartment, she steps towards me as if she is entering.

I’m pretty sure I literally hit her with the door when I slammed it in her face. All I know for sure is something stopped her in the middle of screaming the word “A*SHOLE” at me.

I come back to my computer and see that the quiz timed out while I was arguing with the neighbor. I failed to submit it and got a 0. F*ck this b*tch.

It’s Friday night and I am p*ssed, so start the most meticulous backpedaling.

First I make a complaint about her interrupting my homework late at night to yell at me. Next, I move onto texts from my wife. The neighbors had a habit of slamming the door which my with would text me about. Check the time signature on the texts, find the reference code for the applicable hallway camera, hoping they slammed the door from the outside, and e-mail a single detailed noise complaint.

Next slammed door text was another separate e-mail as a separate noise complaint. I remember once they parked in our spot once when we came home from Costco. So I do what any sane, reasonable person would do and check the credit card charge time stamp. Separate e-mail parking complaint, noting the two camera codes that can see our parking spot. God damn, I wasted so much time.

I print off my original e-mailed complaint, highlight the words “peaceful resolution”, and write the words. “You f*cked up” at the bottom.

The next day their dog is barking for an hour. So I record the noise from the bedroom, kitchen, and hallway. While in the hallway I give the security camera a little thumbs up. I must have looked like a lunatic. I do this every day, multiple times per day.

I called bylaw after 10:00 pm as there is a city law about noise at that time. Turns out Bylaw in my city has no authority within apartment buildings; however, the bylaw officer let me know the RCMP can issue tickets for noise. So I submit a police complaint. Now a police file is open. By the end of the weekend, I had called the non-emergency line of the RCMP twice.

Had her ticketed once and filed 17 individual complaints to my building manager. And I carried on every day. video recordings, audio recordings, witnesses in the hallway. The contractor comes in to fix something on the 3rd floor, he and I get talking and he agrees to smile for the camera while I record the dog barking way off down the hallway.

Today I was informed that they have been evicted.”

“Not about me, but about a guy I used to work with. He was a mountain of a guy, a huge Turk, and the kindest guy I ever met. He’d do anything for people he liked. Nobody ever saw anybody get on this bad side until that fateful day.

As it happens, he was also our delivery driver, and he spent most days on the road in his semi, leaving before dawn and returning quite late, if at all that day.

Our warehouse had a driveway large enough for him to pull the semi into, and load/unload.

The supermarket next door decided to do some renovations, and expand. When they started construction, they started tearing out their brick parking lot, and getting close to tearing out our driveway. Boss runs out, tells them where our property line is and is assured they won’t cross onto our property. Everybody goes back inside, nobody worries, until there’s suddenly a raging bear-Turk standing in the break room, shouting about how the driveway has been torn up and he can’t get his lorry in.

We go out, and indeed, the driveway is half missing, and there’s a concrete building foundation poured in. Construction workers are nowhere in sight, boss sends the supermarket manager an e-mail message, and everybody goes home.

The next day, we arrive to the sight of very angry construction workers. Apparently, the delivery driver went back in the middle of the night with some bolt-cutters, ‘liberated’ about 30 of their shopping carts, and stuck them into the drying concrete in various comical positions.

Overnight, the concrete hardened, and the carts became quite difficult to remove. Construction crew brings in the jackhammers, and four days later, most of the concrete is gone, and they start preparing for another pour, this time leaving our driveway intact. Foundation comes out fine, everything is looking good. At that time, my boss shows up with the announcement that he had a survey done, and while they didn’t tear open our driveway the second time, they were still closer to our property line than allowed, and he’d already filed a complaint to get the concrete removed. Took them another week of jack-hammering to get it out.”

“Many years ago, my psychiatrist decided to retire and I had 60 days to find a new one to continue prescribing my PTSD meds. I found one that had immediate appointments and accepted my insurance. Great. I went to my first appointment, met the doc, and immediately felt that something was wrong. He refused to discuss my PTSD but had no problem writing my Rx for my meds.

I thought this was odd but I knew discontinued meds would result in a hell that I was not willing to live in. My appointment lasted about 10 minutes. I figured that I’d continue to see this doc while I searched for someone who would treat and not just prescribe. The wait time for new patients in that area seemed to be about 4 months for other providers so it was what it was.

6 weeks in, I lost my insurance. I needed my meds so I became a cash pay patient. The fee was $90 for the session and I was told that there was also a charge for the Rx to be written which was $20. I was hesitant about the legality of this and made my concern known to the practice administration who advised me that as there was no insurance contract as a cash patient, they were permitted to charge such a fee.

By this time, my EOBS from my prior 6 sessions started to arrive in the mail.(Note- this was before EMR so everything was filed via paper and insurance companies had 30 days to pay the claim). I noticed that the description of the services was for a time frame of 45-60 minutes. Bullsh*t. I called the prior insurance company and told them that this provider was not seeing me for that duration of time and they opened up a case with their fraud department.

My understanding is that my file was reviewed along with the doc’s schedule of appointments and other stuff and it was concluded that this guy was basically running a pill mill, filing fraud claims, and ripping off his patients. Months later I got a reply from the insurance company that the provider’s contract was terminated with the insurance company.

I found out later on that his license was suspended (for other ethical violations) and shortly afterward he was arrested for pushing pills on the side.”

“My Auntie told me this story a while back.

My aunt is a Paramedic and used to drive an ambulance in England. One afternoon, she and her colleague were driving along a motorway (in work time) when she noticed a BMW weaving in and out of traffic, driving well over the speed limit. The driver was also breaking in the fast lane in front of cars and generally, being an all-round a**hole.

Before too long, the driver, going around 80/90mph, spun out and careered off the road into a ditch.

Regardless of his a**holery, they immediately headed to the scene to offer aid. Amazingly, the driver only suffered very minor injuries and was refusing to receive any medical aid. He ‘needed to be somewhere’. My auntie, however, wanted to make sure she did her job properly and refused to let the man leave or get out of the car.

She told him to stay still and remain seated whilst they check for any neck or back injuries (which he clearly didn’t have). Being the professional that she was and wanting to make absolutely sure that no further injury could arise, she called in the fire brigade to cut the man out of his car.

And they f*cking did. The cut the roof of this guy’s BMW off to allow for easier access. To say his was p*ssed off was an understatement, but as she said to him – ‘’it’s better to be safe than sorry.’’

Maybe he’ll think about the consequences of driving like an arse in future.”

“My story has some moving parts, and plays out over a year or so.

At one point, I was managing a small team of business development reps at a small software company. These are the recent grads that would be phone monkeys, making cold calls trying to set-up appointments for the real salespeople.

I had two reps at the time: Amy and Paul. They were young but hungry.

They listened to training and were generally great employees. At one point, Paul and I realized that we had some mutual friends, and that helped our relationship.

Fast forward a few months from their hiring, and my boss grabs me one morning for a meeting with HR. Apparently, Amy had filed a harassment complaint against me, alleging some crazy things. She reported that my single goal was to ruin her career and that I would make sure she was fired.

The HR meeting was a formality, as no one believed it, but they had to do the investigation.

Nothing came from it, but I would never be alone in a room with Amy again. If she came to talk to me with no one around, I would go to a common area of the office or invite someone into the discussion.

A few more months and Paul asked me to be a reference. The company was a mess, and the CEO was running it into the ground.

I was more than happy to do it, as I was job hunting myself. I just asked that he keep me in the loop about interviews and offers, and I would cover his time out of the office.

Not surprisingly, he landed a job pretty quickly and gave his notice to me. Also at this time, IT was doing hardware upgrades to laptops adding more RAM, allowing us to run the latest version of our product for demos.

I coordinated with IT to have both their machines done one day and told them to take a long lunch.

Well, a little over a year before this happened, one VP had been fired.

After he left, I learned it was common practice for IT to review all the Skype chat logs from the machine. Luckily, it meant me getting a small bonus because the VP was trashing the company to me, but I wasn’t, and I was vaguely praising the CEO (I’m no dummy, and don’t have those conversations over channels that can be reviewed.)

With Paul out the door and Amy being a lying c*nt, I asked IT to review their Skype logs during the upgrade, because “something seemed fishy.”

I was right.

Even though Amy deleted her chat logs, Paul didn’t. There were chats in there about how they were both job searching, and Amy had gotten an admin password for our CRM. She had been pulling customer lists to take with her.

Furthermore, she had been bragging about receiving a $1,500 bonus to drop the harassment complaint against me, as the CEO was worried that any complaints or lawsuits would scare away the investors needed to keep the company going.

Oh, and she chatted that “They made me sign a non-disclosure about it, but they won’t find out.”

Oh, she was toast. Director of IT and I went straight to HR and the CEO with the print outs. The decision was quick: both were to be terminated immediately. Amy for unauthorized access of data and breach of her non-disclosure, and Paul for some bullsh*t reason for not reporting her.

They got back from their lunch, and I immediately called them into HR.

Paul was given a 2-weeks severance, but Amy needed to pay back her $1,500 “hush” bonus. Because of her gross misconduct, she wasn’t eligible for severance or unemployment, and the re-payment was deducted from her final check and quarterly bonus. Her exit check was for less than $10.

Paul had two weeks off, with the severance. We remain connected, but I love seeing Amy changing jobs on LinkedIn every 6-9 months.”

“So I work in medical manufacturing/sterilization of lab tools and the job is generally really good. My coworkers are great, my manager and director both actually care about us and often times take our suggestions on making the workplace better and implement them. It’s just an all-around good job. My supervisor is also nice, but as a woman who is in her mid-40s and me being a 20 yr old with a phone, I like to browse Reddit and FB when there is nothing to do in our smaller 2 person department (sterilization).

She does not like it.

So about two weeks ago. she comes into our small lab to me on my phone and we have a discussion about it (both autoclaves and dishwashers are running and since one of the labs hasn’t brought in their gear for that day there’s literally nothing to do for about 10 mins and im all caught up on my SOPs). The conversation goes something like this.

Supe: “I see you’re on your phone. Are you on the clock?”

Me: “Yeah, but there’s nothing to do at the moment because Genotox hasn’t brought in their stuff yet.”

Supe: “Well, there is ALWAYS something to be done, why don’t you head down to the warehouse and start marking some boxes?”

Me: “Gotcha.”

To work in the sterilization lab you have to gown up in the appropriate lab equipment, lab coat, gloves, facemask, bouffant, safety glasses, boot covers and etc.

So putting it all on and taking it all off is a pain when entering and leaving the lab. We also often time have small 5-10 minute windows where there’s just nothing to do. Me and my coworker in the small lab often take our breaks and lunches during these times but they just occur too often to be covered by our 30 min lunch and 15 min breaks throughout the course of our 8 ½ hour day.

So I head down to the warehouse and start individually marking every single box (we need to mark the boxes that manufacturing puts the product in to show that they went through us and not some other facility), and I quickly get a text from my labmate who gets back from her break and needs me back. However, the little convo I had with my supe is still stuck in my head when I go back to sterilization.

Cue Malicious Compliance.

If there’s ALWAYS work to be done then I’ll just do it all. Being a 20 yr old who doesn’t go to school and gets paid plenty in a medical lab (17/hr+full benefits+bonuses), I have a lot of time on my hands and not a lot of responsibilities. I talk to my manager and tell him I’m going to stay late on Friday to get ahead of the workload on Monday (sterilization goes home on the weekends, but the labs still run their tests so on Monday we come back to a ton of dirty lab stuff), he okays it and I spend the next 4 hours (until 8p when I usually leave at 4p) marking every single box in the warehouse and every single label in the manufacturing lab.

“There’s always work to be done.”

On Monday a few days ago, my Supe saw me on my phone again and told me that I should be working (not being paid to sit around, after all). I then ask her what else I could be doing, and she tells me that I could be marking boxes and stickering labels.

I tell her that they’re all done.

She’s kind of bewildered and we walk down to the warehouse where we see all of the crates of boxes with markings showing that they’re all ready for use.

She looks at the boxes and looks at me standing there grinning. “Well I guess you can be on your phone if there’s nothing to do.”

Now I can enjoy my small Reddit and FB breaks.

We recieve new boxes and labels at the beginning of every month, so come next month, I’m probably going to stay late again, for some reason.”

“So, this happened in the 90s. I’m sure many people are familiar with this, but in the late ’80s and early ’90s the Air Jordans were all the rage. Michael Jordan was all the rage, especially in the sports-oriented town I lived in, and for the record, myself and the “victim” were both seniors.

So, I grew up not having a lot of money. Sure, I had a loving family who supported me, and everything was great, we just had a lot of money issues.

However, after months of working a job I had gotten a few months before, I had finally gotten enough money saved for these Air Jordans. This was a huge moment for me, I felt as if I had earned these and my confidence skyrocketed whenever I wore them. That’s a little background of the importance of my shoes and to put into perspective of how much these meant.

So, let’s meet our antagonist. Let’s call him “$”. $ was on my baseball team. He was a prospect his entire life, an absolutely amazing player, and had enough money for his parents to fund him into becoming the best baseball player out there. They constantly hired him personal trainers, the best gear, and, of course, whatever shoes and clothes money could buy. So, of course, he had at least 20+ pairs of Air Jordans.

Normally, I wouldn’t care about a lot of this information, but $ was extremely stuck up and knew he was the sh*t. He knew he could get any piece of clothing, any girl, and, with a “sports-oriented” school, could get away from trouble among many of the teachers.

So anyway, let’s set the scene. We are waiting to go out to our baseball game in an hour.

There is no one else in the school except for my team, who is scattered among multiple hallways. I knew I had homework to do so I picked a quiet hallway, and I was alone just sitting on the floor, up against some lockers, doing homework on one of my binders, sure enough, wearing my new Air Jordans. Suddenly, I hear footsteps. It’s only $. It looked like he was probably going to the bathrooms at the end of the hallway.

Whatever, I kept doing my homework. But, as he walked by me, he purposefully stepped on my shoes. No, not just stepped on them. He specifically made sure to drag his foot across my shoes. Pushing down into the leather, making sure I knew it wasn’t an accident. I suddenly start seething in anger. “What the f*ck dude??” I say in a slightly raised voice. He does an extremely obnoxious grin, one that I will never forget.

$ then says; “Hey, you should be happy, maybe some of my money will rub off onto you.”He proceeds to do a decent chuckle and walk away. His statement was so unclever (I know it’s not a real word, but I feel uncleverly describes it best), so ridiculous and obnoxious, yet it really hurt. Most people knew I wasn’t the most fortunate, but it didn’t get in the way that much.

He purposefully made fun of my lack of money, said something equally as a*shole by stating how he had money, but worst of all, there was a large dirt streak on my shoes. The shoes I had worked so hard for.

I know it didn’t absolutely ruin the shoes altogether, but it had such an impact on me. And, I know people who are into sneakers would get this, you never step on someone else’s shoes, especially not on purpose.

It was horrible, and I knew that the bastard had to learn a lesson. He couldn’t continue living his life as (practically) a literal king and be able to get away with something so horrible. I had to do something to him. This bully, and not just to me, had to be put into his place. This narcissistic fool. I had to devise a plan.

Clearly, $ wasn’t perfect.

He got away with bullying multiple kids, so he wasn’t some squeaky clean goody-two-shoes prospect. I knew he had to be up to something else. So, I studied him.

As little money as we had, I knew my dad was into technology, so the first thing I did was borrow his video recorder. There’s no possible way he’d get into trouble without proof, which would become important later on.

Next, as I briefly mentioned earlier, I studied him. I learned what he did after practice, after school, every day. Yes, it’s creepy, but I was a bored teen on a mission. I believed so hard in karma. I wanted him to pay so badly that I learned what he did when he thought no one was looking. After a month of studying, I learned one thing.

Every week, he would go behind our local grocery store, which is super close to our school. I couldn’t see what happened behind the store, but I knew he went there every Friday. By this point, I was extremely curious as to what made him spend 5 minutes behind the school on every Friday. But, I had to act soon. As I mentioned before, we were seniors at the time, and the baseball season was during the spring.

We had very little time left in school, and by the time it ended we’d have all graduated and I wouldn’t be able to do anything. So, I took a risk. One that I found out would pay off later.

On Friday of that morning, I acted. I put my dad’s video camera in the location which I thought they met up. There was a car parked there which hadn’t moved in ages.

It hadn’t moved the entire month of myself checking the area when $ wasn’t there. I slipped the camera at an angle behind the tire, that would capture the area outside the back of the grocery store. I placed some rocks under and around it to tilt it at an angle. As much as that seems super obvious, and I still question myself as to how stupid I was in that aspect, I just went with it.

I go through the day super giddy. Then, right after school, while we normally had baseball practice, I let my coach know that I had to pick up something from the store real quick. He reluctantly said okay, and let me go along and run to the store. I wait for about 10 minutes, and right before I had to go back, I begin recording the camera.

I estimate I have about 2 ½ hours of recording on the camera, so I have to make sure everything is consistent. Baseball today lasted an hour and a half. The practices eventually got shorter since we had a game coming up, so it worked almost perfectly. By this point, I’m shaking. As minutes pass by, I get more an more anxious that things run smoothly.

By luck has it though, most people, including $, rushed getting changed so that they could leave and enjoy the weekend. Awesome. And, sure enough, he stops behind the grocery store. Now, we wait. I sit for a good 20 minutes until I’m sure he’s gone. I make my way to the back of the grocery store and sure enough, everything is right as it is.

I pick up the camera to see that it’s still recording. I carefully make my way back home. Can’t quite celebrate until I see the footage.

Sure enough, I processed it into a VHS tape. I still vividly remember myself literally shaking as I put the tape in. Here goes. There’s a ton of waiting. I sat around for the first while sitting around while it rolled an empty back of the grocery store.

Then eventually, I leap up when I see a man appear. The man is scraggly, a little overweight, and looks like a bum of sorts. Then, about 2 minutes later, $ enters. $ looks extremely nervous and timid, yet at the same time it looks as if it isn’t his first rodeo. I think you can guess what happens next. The scraggly guy pulls out a dime bag with what clearly appears to be that special green plant.

Perfect. This is perfect.

I’ll skip a few of the “in-between details.” I submitted the video, and the administrators watched it and thanked me for the heads up. I knew with our EXTREMELY strict no drug policy there were going to be dire consequences. I’ll skip to the collateral that $ suffers.

I remember it was a brisk day at the beginning of June. One of our last few practices.

I remember seeing the Principal and our School Officer walking across the field to $. Him getting escorted out. He never showed up to school after that, but I knew from gossip that his life was crashing down. He lost all of his scholarships and his college invitations were withdrawn. He was suspended for 10 days, basically the rest of the school. He missed all of his finals so clearly his grades were worse.

He lost his girl, all his friends.

Last I heard from him, about 3 years ago, he was working as a construction worker, still in our local town, still trying to relive his high school glory days. Sometimes I wonder if I took it too far, but soon after I realized that he exploited almost everyone who knew him. He was a horrible person who didn’t deserve the future he would soon get.

Thanks for reading, everyone. I absolutely love this sub and thought maybe my story would have a place here. I know the way I caught him wasn’t as cool or clever as some of the other submissions, but maybe you high school kids know a person just like this and this makes you feel a bit better.”

“This happened to me in the early 1990s, and I ended up with revenge I really didn’t deserve. Most good revenge stories are about an a-hole getting what he deserves. In this case, I was the a-hole. LONG STORY!

I was working in a large union manufacturer, and I was the shop’s problem child. At the time, I was a raging alcoholic/addict, and you could fit the f*cks I gave into a matchbox and still have room for the matches.

I had a big mouth, and a bad attitude, and naturally, management was somewhat less than fond of me.

Of course, being an a*shole, I thought I was the persecuted one. It was all about me, don’t you know. My problems with authority were all because of the authorities, and I couldn’t see that my problems were of my own making.

This union shop had a disciplinary system in the contract where certain infractions were given a number of points, and at 100 points, you were fired.

If you were good and kept your nose clean for three months, 30 points were deducted from your score. Missing 2 days in 4 weeks was a 20-point shot. Being late twice in 5 days was a 20-point shot, you get the idea.

The workforce was pretty diverse, and we had people from all over the place working there. In my department were 2 guys, from some SouthEast Asian country, I can’t recall which.

They were very hard workers, and they were overtime hounds. I think they were living cheap and sending their money back home because they jumped at every opportunity to get overtime. They had less seniority than I did, so the Foreman, Ernie, would do the rounds a couple of hours before shift’s end, asking people in order of seniority if they wanted OT. These guys, let’s call them Bill and Ted, would follow Ernie around, looking worried that they would get shut out.

Once Ernie got to their names, their faces would light up.

The Union hated OT. The way they looked at it, if the Company offered 40 hours of OT work in a week, that was one less worker that could have been hired. And one less worker being hired means one less worker paying Union dues.

As I mentioned, I was a troublemaker, and I f*cking hated Ernie, and he hated me.

Every time there was a sh*tty job, I got it. And for good reason.

Ernie: “Where have you been hiding? I have been looking for you for the last 20 minutes.”
Me: “If I tell you, that means I have to find a new place to hide next time.”
or…

Ernie (shouts across the department) “You’ve got an attitude problem!!”
Me (also shouting) “No, you’re wrong. I have an attitude. You have a problem”
You get the idea.

I would do stuff like, if asked to do something, do it, then stand there doing nothing, until told to do something else. I would bring several copies of the newspaper in to work, and place a copy in each of the bathroom stalls.

Anyway, one of the problems I had outside of work was a fondness for intoxicating molecules of an astonishing variety. This had a rather negative effect on my personal finances, and I owed money in quite a few directions.

One Wednesday, I returned home, and my roommate handed me a sheet of paper. He had signed for it from a process server, thinking that it was related to his divorce. Only afterward did he notice that it was addressed to me. Sh*tty Finance Company (SFT) was taking me to small-claims court over an unpaid debt, and the hearing was the next day.

And I had 95 demerits.

And I had taken a day off the week before.

What the hell? I looked at the form, and they were supposed to give a minimum of 7 days notice, and here they ambush me the day before the hearing, don’t even serve me, but my roommate. The problem was, if I didn’t show for the hearing, I would have to argue all this sh*t after the fact.

AFTER the judgement in absentia, which would be a LOT harder to win.

I had no choice. I had to go to the hearing. I had to take Thursday off and go to court.

REVENGE ONE:

I call in to work and explain to the receptionist that I wouldn’t be in as I had to be in Court. I show up there about 20 minutes beforehand and ask how things work.

There was a Justice at the front, doing paperwork.

I could be a manipulative bastard when I wanted to be, and put up my best goody-two-shoes tone of voice. “Excuse me, but I don’t really know how this works. I am on your list for this morning, do you know when I might be called?”

Justice: “Well, we do a roll call, and then call up the cases one by one.”

Me: “Sir, if it’s not too much trouble, can you call my case first? I really need to get back to work.”

Sure enough, they do the roll call, then announce the first case.

Justice: “thrownaway147852?”
Me: “Here, Sir.”
Justice: “Sh*tty Finance Company?”
Silence.
Justice: “Sh*tty Finance Company?”
More silence.
Justice: “Dismissed. Next.”

And just like that, I won. SFC was still owed money, they just didn’t have any legal means of collecting it. No seizure of assets, no leins, no garnishments.

I actually called them, and gave them sh*t on the way out of the building, for ambushing me with a notice when they legally were required to provide 7 days.

SFC: “That’s not really a problem, we can deal with that at the hearing.”
Me: “I don’t think so. The hearing ended 5 minutes ago.”
SFC: “What?”
Me: “Yeah, your guy didn’t show. It was dismissed. You lost.”
SFC: “But you still owe us…”
Me: “Yeah, good luck collecting. So long, pal. Thanks for all the money.”

REVENGE TWO

Did you think I went to work after Court? Like hell I did. I picked up a Havana cigar and a bottle of Grand Marnier and celebrated it.

When I showed up on Thursday, it was late in November, there was Ernie, the Plant Manager, and a Union rep standing beside the time clock. Ernie was clutching a 20-point shot, and a sh*t-eating grin. It’s off to the office for a meeting.

Ernie: “Here. You’re served. That puts you at 115 points, and we’re letting you go.”
Me: “You can’t do this, I got called into Court.”
Ernie: “There’s nothing in the contract that says anything about an exemption for Court.

The points stand.”
Me: (to the Union rep) “Let’s go to your office and file the grievance.”

So that was it, I took my tools, and headed home. Christmas was pretty bleak…unemployment insurance didn’t kick in until January. The wheels turned slowly, as the Company wanted to punish me and they denied my grievance. The Union took it to arbitration.

The company argued that there was no exemption in the contract for a Court summons.

The Union argued that the duty to obey the Court superseded an employee’s obligation’s under the contract. If, for example, an employee was called as a witness to testify in Court, and their testimony lasted two days, then the Company shouldn’t be eligible to discipline them.

The Arbitrator agreed, and instructed the Company to reinstate me. This happened late the following August.

In early September we had what I call my Victory Meeting, after the company considered it and decided not to appeal the arbitration.

That’s right. Reinstatement. With full back pay. And holiday pay. Ernie was there, and he had a glint in his eye. “I look forward to seeing you back on the floor on Monday.” I could tell he was eager to pick things up right where he left off.

I turned to the Union rep. “This means that all the intervening time counts toward my seniority and everything, right?”
Rep: “Correct.”
Me: “So this is ‘live’ time and not ‘dead’ time?”
Rep: “Also correct.” I look Ernie right in the eye.

“So that means that three 3-month periods have passed without any infractions. So in other words, 90 points come off my demerits. That means I now have 5 demerits, not 95, right?”

Ernie’s face falls, and he looks to the Union rep, who replies, “He’s got a point, there. He has 5 demerits now.”

This means that if Ernie is going to want to get rid of me, it’s going to take more than one 20-point shot to do it.

Now, I had no intention of returning at all to that sh*thole. I was planning to move out of town, but they didn’t need to know that.

Me: “Listen, I think we both know that the working relationship has been damaged beyond repair. I am willing to consider an offer of separation.”

The Union rep asked me to leave the room while he talked with them, and I went down to the cafeteria for a coffee.

About 20 minutes later he came and got me, and the meeting continued.

Ernie, as uncomfortable as I could imagine him, said that they had agreed to offer me 2 months’ pay to go away. Hey, it was a chunk of money, so I accepted.

Then I played the ace. I asked the Rep to step outside for a minute. He was all happy about negotiating a good deal for me.

Me: “What about overtime?”
Rep: “What do you mean?”
Me: “Don’t they owe me for overtime?”
Rep: “I’ve seen your stats. You NEVER work overtime.”
Me: “That’s not the point. I wasn’t there to be asked. I could have worked overtime, but I didn’t have the chance.”

Then it dawns on him. Overtime had been a sticking point for ages, and here was the chance for the Union to stick it to the Company on the issue.

Oh, was he happy about this.

Back to the meeting.

Rep: “We need to address the issue of overtime.”
Ernie: “What do you mean?”
Rep: “Since thrownaway wasn’t there to be asked, every time someone with less seniority in his department worked overtime, you have to pay him as well.”
Ernie: “Oh.” He realizes that every single time his two superstars, Bill and Ted, worked a minute of OT, I get paid.

He could have asked for another employee, but no. Ernie was trying to keep the Administrative overhead for his department down, and it bit him on the ass.

And that about wraps it up. I was fired because I was a jerk, but the reason they used to fire me didn’t stand up. I was able to play their own system right back at them, and when it was all over, I was able to collect about a year and a half’s pay for being off less than 10 months.

I wish I could tell you it ended perfectly for me, but as I said, I was an alcoholic and an addict. I did get to spend a great time in Amsterdam and London, bought some toys, and had some fun, but the money went quick.

I don’t behave that way anymore. I grew up, matured a lot, and quit behaving like an idiot. And I have been clean and sober for almost 5 years. If I had a pile of cash like that land on me today, I would handle it differently.

But it wouldn’t have landed on me in the first place if I hadn’t been an a*shole at the time.”

“A little backstory: One day, my girl and I  decided to go to a shopping mall to get some kitchen stuff (a spatula, a grater, etc.) and buy ourselves city cards (basically a card that lets you use all of the city transit: buses, trams and subway). We chose a specific mall that had both a city transit office and a small IKEA.

When we arrived at the queue to the office was massive (at least an hour of waiting) and so we decided that I’ll wait in the line while my girl does the shopping.

After half an hour, my girl comes back and we still have to wait at least another 30 minutes. Fifteen minutes later and we are fourth in line. Then Entitled Man (an average 40-something balding male) comes onto the scene. He notices the queue, (I already knew he wasn’t having it by the look on his face) and simply stands in front of Assertive Woman who is the first in the line.

We had at least 1-meter long gaps between each other due to the pandemic, and he just stands there like it’s nothing.

The Assertive Woman calmly asks him to go to the end of line to which he replied, “I just have one thing I need to pick up, it won’t take longer than 5 minutes.” A small argument between the two continued for a while and it ended up with the lady gaining back her first spot in the line and Entitled Man occupying the second spot.

Now, standing behind Entitled Man was Shy Man. He tried to get in front of Entitled Man but just couldn’t do so. After Entitled Man started being aggressive, Shy Man backed out.

Seeing that Shy Man was not able to stand his ground, I decided to give him a helping hand. I came close to Entitled Man and started a conversation that went somewhere along these lines: “Excuse me, sir, there is a line here, please respect others and move to the end of the line.” “No, It’ll be three to five minutes and I’m gone, what do you not understand?” “Sir, do you not realize everyone in this line is waiting for a five-minute service? I was standing here for forty minutes and I doubt it will take longer than five minutes for me as well.” “I don’t care, I’ve got sh*t to do.” Then, he faces away from me, so I come right in front of his face.

“So, you just come here not giving a f*ck, waiting for an opportunity to skip the f*cking line?” “Yes. F*ck off.” He faces away from me once again. At this point I knew the conversation was going nowhere so I just stood in front of him, being the 1st in the line now.

“So now you are skipping too you little sh*t?” I didn’t reply and just waited for Assertive Woman to finish her business.

When she finishes and leaves,  me and Entitled Man literally race to the counter. I won and said to the lady behind the counter, “Excuse me, this man is skipping the line and is generally disrespectful to others. Could you please not service him?” The worker nods and asks who is next in the line, to which I point at Shy Man. Then I go back to my spot in line where my girl was standing.

Entitled Man tried his luck skipping the line once more. Thankfully, the worker knew what the right thing to do was and ignored Entitled Man like he wasn’t even there.

Entitled Man realized his defeat, looked at me, and said, “See you outside you little sh*t,” and gave me a middle finger. I won, it felt so good sending that guy home with nothing, but after a little while I realized he might be serious with the “see you outside.” remark.

I actually felt scared for a second, as a 177cm, 75kg guy (5″10’, 165lbs for fellow Americans). I’m not much of a fighter, to say the least.

Looking for a way to protect me and my girl, I went and bought a little pepper spray (legal to carry it without any permission where I live) as well as notified a guard that a man had told me he will be waiting for me outside, possibly to hurt me.

I made my way to the exit with the guard following me, unlocked the pepper spray in my pocket. If Entitled Man really wanted to settle this, I was ready. I exited the building, the guard stayed inside but was watching me through the glass doors. Lo and behold, Entitled Man is standing around the corner, with his cap on, approaching me.

I was so frightened that I couldn’t think straight.

With my right hand already grasping the pepper spray, I took it out and sprayed him. Entitled Man started screaming in pain and tried to retreat. I yelled at my girl to stay away and then proceeded to spray some more for good measure, but this time I was spraying his hoodie so it didn’t do much. The next thing I notice, the guard is tackling Entitled Man to the ground and calling for support over his walkie talkie.

He also ordered me to stay where I was.

After what felt like an eternity, three other guards come out of the mall. Two of them help strangle Entitled Man, who was refusing to forfeit, and one of them asks me to come with him. We were taken to the guards’ office, and police was called. By that point Entitled Man had surrendered; he was sitting restrained in cuffs.

The police arrived extremely quickly – less than five minutes – and questioned the guards, examining both my and Entitled Man’s ID cards. They went on to review surveillance footage, came back and told me they would no longer need my assistance. One officer also warned me that if I’m threatened again I should call the police in the first place and that I’m not exactly allowed to pepper spray people who haven’t even touched me.

I agreed, thanked them, and left the room. I then called my girl because she was nowhere to be seen. It turns out she went to the toilet. As I was waiting for her, Entitled Man comes out of the guard’s room, handcuffed, with two police officers grasping each of his arms and leading him outside. Oh man, did that sight put a smile on my face.

I then went on with my day.”