People Laugh Over Their Humorous Revenge Stories
19. How I Got Everyone To Stop Copying Off Me
“Years ago in my high school AP economics class, I was assigned to sit in the corner of the room where I was flanked by a handful of very popular, very lazy kids. After every exam, the teacher would announce (much to my chagrin) my “high score” to the class.
After a particularly challenging exam where I only scored 93%, the teacher announced that the guy to my right (let’s call him Matt) had ALSO scored 93%, his friend behind him 90%, and the friend behind HIM 90%! Needless to say, I vacillated between self-doubt and suspicion for a few days before I finally “congratulated” one of the 90%‘ers on his score.
With an impish grin, he admitted that his friend Matt had been copying off me for months and “thanked” me for helping “so many people do so well” in the class. The petty revenge gears started turning in my head for what seemed like ages before I replied “no problem, I’m just glad to help!”
At the next exam, I put my paper in very clear view of Matt.
He had been told that I was now willing to “help” him and his friends. I circled all wrong answers while making a special mark for the correct ones. Just before the time was up, I quickly changed my answers back when nobody was looking, turned in my exam, and smugly walked back to my seat.
What I didn’t know at the time was that the copying conspiracy didn’t just involve the kids sitting next to me but that my answers were written down and forwarded to the next 4 periods, all of which took an identical test.
One week later a record 22 people failed the exam. Matt empathetically remarked “Oh man, did you fail too!?” I flipped over my sheet: 100%.
Nobody ever copied off me in that class again.”
18. Let A Random Person Sleep In My Bed? Enjoy Vinegar-y Everything
“This week is the 10 year anniversary of my petty revenge story, so I felt it was an appropriate time to share.
During my second year at Uni, I (32f – at the time 22) lived with two other women, one a mature student and the other a recent graduate, both a few years older than me.
The student was a friend from my course, we’d always gotten on very well and as we were both a few years older with a bit more life experience than most students, so we figured living together was an ideal plan.
Better than living with a bunch of 19-year-olds anyway. Turns out I was completely wrong about that.
For the first few months, it was great and there were no issues at all, we had a great time living together, the three of us got on well, we got on well with the neighbors – fun times were had by all. I thought I had friends for life!
Things went wrong early in 2010, starting with an event I’m still struggling to get my head around 10 years later.
I’d been out for the evening with my then-partner and returned home at about 4 am. It’s important to note that at no point had I given my housemates the impression I’d be out all night, nor had they asked. So imagine my surprise to get into my bedroom and discover a middle-aged man I’d never seen before asleep in my bed! I had no idea what to do – I hovered on the landing trying to figure out what was going on and debated sleeping on the sofa and figuring it out in the morning.
But no luck there, the housemate was asleep on the sofa. Eventually, a middle-aged woman I’d never seen before comes upstairs, wakes the man, and takes him downstairs without a word.
I was, understandably I think, confused as heck but exhausted, so just went to bed and planned on dealing with it in the morning. When I woke up my housemates and the couple had gone, the house was empty.
My housemate had texted me, turns out the stranger in my bed was her dad… I replied and asked if next time if they could ask before letting people into my room – a reasonable request I thought.
Well, apparently not. This prompted both housemates to ghost me – they spent the next 3-4 months completely ignoring my existence. Except for the following super-fun experiences:
– When they changed the wireless password (which I’d paid for) and ignored my requests for it
– Took all my food out of the freezer and left it to defrost and go bad over a weekend I was away visiting family
– Cooked some of my newly bought food and left it out to go bad
– Talked loudly and unkindly about me in the next room, knowing I could hear
– Refused to pay their share of the water and electric bill, leaving me painfully out of pocket.
Basically just making me feel very unwelcome and unsafe in my own home, which sucked. So, revenge…
The day I moved out (2 months before I planned to), I bought a lot of white vinegar. Housemates were big wine drinkers and one was a big foodie, so there was always a lot of good wine and food in the kitchen. So I added white vinegar to everything that was open.
Wine, milk, juice, water, sodas, sauces, ice cream, even butter. As I shut the door behind me, I stuck gum in the keyhole. Believe me, that’s a pain to fix once it’s hardened.
Then when I got back to my parents, I called the water and electric company and told them I no longer lived at that address.
Since they were both in my name and I’d been solely paying the bill they were both cut off.
I’d contacted the housemates and given them the opportunity to pay their share and been told to swivel, so I figured that was fair.
But hey, at least they still had the wireless password!”
Another User Comments:
“Did they ever try and contact you again after they found out what you had done?” stu1314
“I never heard from them again. I have to wonder if they actually figured it out or just lived with no power for a while! I saw one of them a few months later, and she literally turned around and walked in the opposite direction when she saw me.” Charlescence
17. Change The Price Of The House After We Already Applied? Nice Try
“My partner and I were looking for a place to live in a new city where she had just accepted an internship that didn’t pay but would hopefully open big opportunities in the future.
(I travel for work, so it’s easy for me to live anywhere.)
We looked and looked, but there was nothing in our price range, so we increased a few hundred dollars and finally found a house.
It was a bit pricey for what it was, but we weren’t finding any better places. The lease term was written as 1 or 2 years. We went ahead and submitted an application, which we were pretty confident about since we have good credit, and my job pays pretty well. We specified that we wanted the one-year lease as her internship was only one year long.
So, a few days go by, and we hear back from the agent. Our application was accepted, but the owner wants $150 more rent than was advertised per month since we were only wanting to sign the 1-year lease.
I mentioned that it seemed unfair that she had taken our $100 application fee before telling us about this price increase, but I kept it pretty civil since I didn’t want to burn a bridge for the only viable option we had.
She assured me condescendingly that this was perfectly legal and that the owner was entitled to it since he might have to go through the rental process again in a year, and since the rental market was so tight, they could do whatever they wanted.. and she was right. We had no other options. So, I told her that I was sorry and that I would call her back after discussing it with my girl.
We were so frustrated. The place was so expensive for what it was, especially considering the condition that it was in.
It really was tiny (the bedrooms were about 10′ x 10′) which made me feel a little claustrophobic, and the walls were very dirty from the former tenants who apparently had a couple of big dogs living inside. There was literally dirt and grease smeared around the walls on the entire interior at about the height of a large dog.
The yard was overgrown and trashed, but the lease stated that the tenant would be responsible for all landscaping and even specified that we had to keep the lawn in good condition. (The lawn was about 2 feet high, completely dead grass.) All of this we convinced ourselves that we could deal with scrubbing the walls and paint, getting a lawnmower off Craigslist, and pony upping the water bill for resurrecting the lawn as well as be minimalistic with our possessions.
Hopefully, the new paint would take care of the lingering dog smell.
We had paid 50 dollars each for the application fee and now felt as if we had been baited and switched but had no other good options, and our deadline was coming up fast..My girl was crying, and we both felt like homeless misfits that were terrible at life. I couldn’t sleep in our hotel that night, but when I pulled up my bookmarked Craigslist housing searches, I saw something new: a place that looked nice and was about $500 cheaper than the house and actually inside our original price range! I cautioned myself that it was probably a scam but sent an email anyways, and in the morning, got a phone call from a nice, old man.
I set up an appointment, and it was great: spacious, clean, and much cheaper! The landlord liked us, and we signed a lease the same day! We felt so lucky and happy.
We were still angry about the other house. The agent had taken our $100 and raised the price on us, probably because she knew how tight the rental market was in the area and that we may not have other options.
It had been just one day since she informed us about the $150 monthly price increase. I typed an angry email about how we were baited and switched, etc.. but knew that it probably wouldn’t get us our $100 back and that they would probably barely even read it.
I asked my girl if I should send it. She then came up with a brilliant plan for revenge: do nothing.
First, I deleted the email without sending it.. and we moved into our new place… A few days went by, and I got a text message from the agent of the other house asking if we were still interested. I replied that we were still very interested and that we had gone on a trip but would be back in a week or so and would meet up to sign the lease then.
She replied that since we were well qualified, that would be fine as long as we were sure we wanted the place.
So, we started settling into our new place and enjoying ourselves.
About 10 days later, I received a call from the agent who seemed to have forgotten about us until then, and she was frantic about getting the lease signed. I made up excuses: my girl was very ill! We need a few more days.
We are still 100% interested, and I will call her on Monday to set up a meeting. On Monday I typed up an email: “Sorry but we decided not to move in after all! Thanks anyway!” My girl and I smiled nervously together as we shot the email off.
The phone rang almost immediately; it was the agent. I exchanged glances with my girl and answered it, putting her on speakerphone.
She was very upset that she hadn’t shown her place for over 2 weeks and that her well-qualified tenants were dropping out.
She pleaded with me to reconsider. “What if I dropped the price back to the original price in the ad?” She asked with desperation heavy in her voice. “Ummmmmmmmmm…” I pretended to think about it. I Looked over at my girl, and she was silently laughing and hiding her face in her arms, overcome with emotion. I could feel the tension on the line as the agent hung on to my next words. “Yeah, sorry, no.” I cheerfully declined. The agent was distraught. I hung up. My girl’s plan had worked perfectly. We felt avenged. Next time maybe she’ll think twice before bait and switching!”
16. Disrespect Your Potential Future Employer? Yeah, You're Not Getting The Job
“I had never really put much stock into college courses, as I had always been pretty content with my life. I spent 8 years in the Army reserve, worked entry-level security jobs, and eventually wound up in construction (Garages in particular). I loved construction! I loved the freedom of being outdoors, being active, and I was actually really good at what I did.
Eventually, I moved into the Chicago area and started at the bottom of the employment totem pole.
However, I was able to move into a property management position within a couple of years. I was hired by a big box chain store (won’t name which one, but their uniform is red) back in 2015 to oversee one of the newer properties. It was mostly just maintaining the upkeep of the physical building, making repairs, and organizing any of our outside contracted vendors for work that I could not perform myself.
Now there was one particular manager that was so notoriously hard to work with, I had co-workers from other locations warning me about her before I even knew what location I would be assigned to.
We will call her Karen. Karen is originally from one of those small Eastern European/Western Asian countries, and has this story about moving to the US and working herself out of poverty…she came to the US when she was 5…and went to a private school…
Anyway, she always had that giant ego of somehow being better than everyone else.
The first few months were fine, but then she started micromanaging. I’ll keep this part really short, but she eventually became verbally abusive and condescending to the point I filed several harassment complaints against her which never went anywhere (found out later that management really didn’t care as Karen was producing above and beyond her metrics-at least on paper. As long as she was productive, corporate just didn’t care).
The straw that broke the camel’s back though, was when I was written up for using the wrong broom….that’s right, the wrong ….BROOM. I had completed my daily workload and wanted to kill some time before my shift ended, so I just thought I’d sweep up the stock room with one of those wide dust mops. Karen told me I had to use one of the little hand brooms and dustpans to sweep…the entire stock room…because “It’s more efficient.”
I thought she was joking and kept using the big dust mop to push everything directly into the trash compactor…It took 15 minutes to sweep the entire stockroom.
Karen apparently saw this and gave me a final written warning the next day…yes, I was given a formal written warning for using the wrong broom.
She went on this long rant about how I’m supposed to do exactly as I am told because her ways are superior to mine because she is educated, and I would never be able to understand why her ways are better than mine, so I should do what is asked of me at all times.
Then she said the words that still ring in my ears today. She concluded the write-up interview by telling me, “You just don’t understand how a business works, so leave that to the real managers.”
What nobody else knew at the time was I was planning on starting a small business because I had enough of Karen’s nonsense, and corporate doing nothing about it. I quit without warning shortly after the “Broom” incident.
I was very proficient at construction, specifically with garages, so I pulled some contacts, and started up business in late 2018. Now I still don’t have a college degree, but I took specific courses like basic accounting, economics, pretty much enough to learn so I am not paying for services I could do myself.
Fast forward to a couple of months ago. Business had initially started out slow, but after working my butt off to build my reputation, I’ve somehow managed to get near-perfect reviews on pretty much every platform (a total of close to 65 reviews in the first year).
Although the first 3 months were REALLY slow (only $4k in total revenue), the last 9 months really took off (cleared a total of over $200k for the year), and now I was ready to create my first job postings!!! YAY!!!
I created two jobs. One for an entry-level labor position (helping me at job sites, and one front desk/account manager job (take phone calls, set appointments, organize product delivery, etc.)
Unbeknownst to me at the time, was Karen was actually fired from her management position, and had gotten a couple of other similar positions with a few other companies, but it looks like she was always fired within a year of starting.
Somehow she decided to apply for my front desk position. Maybe she thought it would be a for sure hire because she knew me? Anyway, I almost put her resume directly into the shredder….but I realized an opportunity to put an absolute lunatic in her place. I called, feigned pleasantries, and scheduled her interview.
She comes in, we chat, I ask the standard interview questions, then I offer her a job.
Me: Well you are the most qualified applicant yet for this position, Can you start on Monday?
Karen: Wow…um yes! Thank you so much!
Me: Great, starting pay is the minimum wage for the first few months until you feel comfortable doing service calls and repairs on your own.
Karen: (Blank stare, looking confused) Oh, I thought the starting salary was $25/hr, and that it was a desk job?
Me: Ah, that is the front desk position I am hiring for, I am interviewing people this afternoon for that position.
Karen: I thought that’s the position I applied for.
Me: Yes it was, but you don’t qualify for that position. After speaking to all of your former employers, it is quite clear that “You don’t understand how businesses work.” So, as you can see, I can’t afford to have you attempt to run the front half of MY business. The entry-level position is yours if you still want it though.
If you have never seen anyone “angrily” scurry away…it’s quite funny.”
15. No More Marriage For You, Jerk
“My mother passed away from cancer when I was 6.
It was very tough for me because I was very close to my mother, I always spent time with her whenever I could. It was especially tough on my dad. During her diagnosis and treatment, he escaped into his work and was hardly home. When she passed, dad fell into a deep depression and turned to drinking for almost a year until my older sister pulled him out of it and gave him a wake-up call.
Our dad had always been distant and cold before my mother’s passing, but after my sister talked to him, he was very involved and oddly caring to me and my little brother. He started going out again and he went out with a few different women. Dad always brought us along and I didn’t think much of it, he usually saw women with kids, so we had kids to play and hang out with.
Even if it was somebody without kids, we still went out to eat and go to fun places.
This continued for around a year. Eventually, my dad met the woman I came to call Satan, for reasons that fit her perfectly. Satan had kids, but they were all grown up and out of the house. She had all her son’s toys and stuff that she allowed us to play with, which were the best of the best at the time, so we had a ball.
Satan was also super sweet and spoiled us rotten, so we thought she was awesome. They went out for 3 or 4 months and my dad seemed happy and we were enjoying all the stuff we were getting.
It wasn’t long after this that our dad sat us down and asked what we thought of her. We said she was awesome and it was cool that she treated us so nice (most of dad’s girls treated us like an eyesore or something).
We didn’t understand why he asked that until about a week later when we were told to dress up real nice and we were at a church for a surprise shotgun wedding. It was weird, but we were kids, so what did we know? We were old enough to know this meant she was our new mom, so we thought, awesome, what could go wrong? We, especially myself, learned that everything would go wrong.
Almost immediately after the wedding, Satan showed her true colors.
She started treating us like absolute trash, especially me. As the oldest, I had the biggest target on my back. Satan started accusing me of things neither I nor my brother did to my dad to get me in trouble. Like breaking things we didn’t break, stealing candy and food and stealing her clothes, and destroying them (really? What do we care about her clothes?) To make it true, she’d hide food and candy wrappers in our room and her clothes to make it look like we did these things.
And we got chewed out and were severely punished and grounded.
I got it the worst. And it wasn’t long before she was straight up verbally and physically abusing me. I tried to tell my dad about it a couple of times, but he blew it off because of all the trouble “I” was causing and thought I was making it up.
I had to suffer from this from 8 until I was 12.
By the time I was 12, I was big enough that I physically could take her and intimidate her, and I had enough. I was tired of trying to play by the rules. I was tired of walking on eggshells and most importantly, I was tired of HER.
I started acting out and doing whatever I could just to anger her. I started growing my hair out and blaring metal music from my room.
Standard acting out from a teenager but amped up to the ninth degree. Satan started barging into my room screaming at me, saying that I was the devil (oddly ironic, coming from Satan’s mouth).
I would just crank the music louder and spray body spray in her face (she claimed she was allergic to it) and would run out telling my dad about it, which I would get stuck doing all the chores as punishment (chopping firewood and working in my dad’s shop).
By 15, Satan started kicking me out of the house, like it was some sort of punishment. I’d happily oblige, pack my stuff, and stroll out the door. Every single time she did this, she’d call the police and claimed I ran away. The cops would pick me up, take me home, and tell me to straighten up or I’d end up in juvie. And of course, Satan would play the innocent victim, that I was out of control and she didn’t know what to do with me.
It wasn’t long before I ended up being forced to see therapists (plural because I went through several, I turned it into a past time to screw with them).
The kick-outs and call-ins eventually ended up getting me thrown in a couple of different mental institutions. My dad was getting frustrated by the situation, but not entirely because of me. He was getting angry because of Satan pushing him into all of this.
I think he was starting to see that she was really the one responsible for everything and not the other way around. After my last institution stay, Satan was trying to pressure him into putting me on a boy’s ranch at 16. Dad put his foot down and essentially told her to go screw herself.
This stunned Satan and all the attention she had put on me, switched to my little brother after that.
Unfortunately for her, he had no patience for it and promptly made it evident when he nearly took her head off with a sledgehammer after she tried going off on him when he was driving posts for her stupid miniature horses in front of my DAD of all people. Little bro was his golden child and he wasn’t having it. He started ignoring her and any time she got in his face, he’d lose it.
At dinner one night, Satan started getting in his face and he just threw his plate across the room, making a huge mess. She started screaming at him to clean it up.
I got up and proceeded to clean it up. Satan started screaming at me and him, telling him to clean it up.
I was seeing red. I told her to shut the heck up. My dad told me to stop cleaning and go to my room.
He knew I was out of my mind with rage. I turned and stormed off to my room, seething. My dad had gotten up to go to the living room to watch TV. Satan was not letting him off the leash though. She kept screaming at him. I could hear from my room and stood in the doorway watching.
Dad eventually got up to go outside to smoke to calm down (Satan claimed she was allergic to smoke, so he went outside to smoke as a courtesy, even now).
She BLOCKED him from going anywhere. So, dad plopped back down on the couch and started lighting up a smoke and she swatted it out of his mouth. He looked at her and told her, “If you won’t get out of my way and let me go smoke outside, I’m going to do it right here,” while pulling out another.
Again, she swatted it away. My dad is a 3 strikes guy and after 3 strikes, he’d follow through on what he promised.
“You smack another smoke out of my hands and you’ll regret it” and she proceeded to taunt and mock him.
He started to light up another one and lo and behold, Satan smacked it away and proceeded to full blow slap him across the face. Dad jumped up and shoved her so hard, she bounced off the wall. She got back up and looked at him stunned.
She started stomping towards him, hand slung behind him. Now I had enough. I rushed out and grabbed her hand, stopping her dead in her tracks. “Don’t you dare touch my dad again you jerk,” in a way that sounded more like a growl.
Dad got up and told me and my brother to pack our stuff, we were leaving. We packed and headed out, the entire time, Satan was screaming at us.
At some point, she called the cops and told them WE had assaulted HER. The police arrived and took the reports from both sides. We were told to vacate the premises, to which my dad replied, “Why do you think we were loading our stuff up when you arrived? She’s been acting insane the whole night.” Satan was doing no favors for herself by flailing her arms and screaming at us the entire time.
The cops told her several times to stop or they’d throw her in jail for causing a disturbance and disrupting the investigation.
The cops asked for our reports and statements and we left. We bounced around a bit for a couple of months until we found a new house to move into.
During this time, Satan had filed a restraining order against us, so we couldn’t get the rest of our things.
Dad had filed for divorce. Satan was a big churchgoer (who knew Satan loved going to church?) and was telling everyone we were evil and accused us of doing terrible things to her. We were treated like outcasts and criminals for months by the community.
Then came the divorce court. Dad had studied legal documents and statutes for years as a hobby and had a personal friend and customer for a lawyer.
He was representing for nearly no charge as a favor for all the work my dad had done for him, at near rock bottom prices. We were coached on how to act and how to present ourselves, along with the case.
Each of us went up to give a testimony and Satan was sitting there all smug like she was winning. This didn’t last long. I was the last one from our side to give testimony.
When my name was called, she looked at me like she was ready to kill me.
This woman hated me with a passion after that ring went on her finger and the thing that made her mad the most was my happiness. So, I knew just how to set her off. I walked up and smiled all sweet and innocently at her as I walked by her.
She was glowing bright red. I sit down and the judge questions me and asks for my testimony. I give one look right to Satan before I start and smile.
I turn away and before I can utter a full sentence, she EXPLODES into an incoherent rant. The judge proceeds to call for order in the court, yelling at the top of his lungs, to no avail.
He finally starts banging his gavel before she finally calms down and goes silent.
The judge is stunned and looks at his gavel in shock saying, “In my 20 years of being a judge, I’ve NEVER had to use this,” in a humorous tone. Everybody in the courtroom snickers and I can’t help but bust out laughing. The judge looks over and I stop immediately and apologize.
I look over at Satan and give her a big grin. She absolutely LOSES it AGAIN and the judge is yelling for order in the court and slamming his gavel again.
Again, she goes silent and the judge is again stunned. “20 years I go without using this thing and here I go using it twice on the same day,” he remarks, met again with snickers from everyone but Satan in the courtroom.
By this point, only my dad, brother, and I had (in my case was going to give mine) given testimony, Satan had not. The judge immediately threw out whatever case she had and reversed the restraining order from against us, to HER. What’s more, he made it a PERMANENT restraining order, citing that anyone crazy enough and stupid enough to go off in front of and to a judge was obviously a danger to the people she was trying to sue and press charges against.
No awards were given to her and everything would be split equally.
We walked out of the courtroom grinning ear to ear. We didn’t have to lift a finger and Satan had dug her own grave. As we got into the car, Satan came storming out of the courtroom being escorted by 2 police officers. As we were pulling out to leave, I stuck my head out the window and flipped her off.
She went off and started screaming and charging at us. The police officers tackled her and had her in handcuffs as we pulled away and it was glorious. We celebrated that night and my dad and I bonded for the first time in my life.
Life was good after that. The community had done a complete 180 and Satan was a pariah. Nobody outside of her equally awful daughter and mother had anything to do with her.
I was still an outcast and viewed as a freak, but I was OK with that, as long as my dad and brother weren’t being shunned and shamed anymore, I was totally cool with it.
But my dad wasn’t done yet. After making our lives a nightmare for so long, my dad decided to return the favor. We lived just up the hill from Satan and whenever she left, my dad followed.
When she got to wherever she was going, he’d pull up and give her a smug look. She would get red in the face from pure rage and promptly go back in her car to leave.
She couldn’t go shopping or go to any appointments. She either had to get someone to get her groceries and stay overnight at her daughter’s to go into her appointments or else she’d have to cancel and go hungry.
This went on for a couple of months before my dad started seeing someone. A few months later, my dad, unfortunately, passed away from an accidental OD due to medical negligence. He had been taking antidepressants after the divorce and going to therapy, which none of us knew about. His therapist recommended switching medications and put him on new ones. However, they didn’t allow the old medication to get out of his system.
So, when dad started taking the new medication, the combination caused him to be extremely forgetful. And the longer he was on it and the more he took, the worse his memory got. He ended up accidentally OD’ing because of it.
Dad has been gone for 15 years now and I’ve since forgiven him for not believing us about Satan. I also appreciate that we were at least able to bond before he passed away. It was a terrible thing to experience, but at least it was the best time of my life with my dad before he went. I hope that he rests in peace and knows that I always have and will always look up to him.”
14. Basically Call Us Powerless Since We Don't Have A Union? Watch Us Unionize
“So I worked in a retirement home quite a few years ago.
This home hired a lot of immigrants from the Philippines or other countries (no issue there, loved them all).
I was born and raised in my country and had had a lot of issues with previous jobs trying to rip me off or not follow labor laws which drove me insane so I always educated myself on current laws and my rights as an employee.
Now I started to see management not take things seriously when it came to our hours, pay, respect in general, and our safety by lack of PPE. I would go to my supervisors, managers of mine, and other departments to get things right. Not many of them liked me but I always got what I wanted because it was legally how it should have been.
So I wasn’t asking for outrageous things or pointing out minor infractions…always bigger stuff that mattered.
I watched them fire people (mostly the immigrant workers) for petty things without the proper procedures. None of them did anything because they were too timid and scared of repercussions. This stuff enraged me, injustice is one of my biggest pet peeves. But in the end, if the individual didn’t want to take my advice and fight back, their prerogative and not my battle.
Now it came where my husband and I wanted to buy a house and I needed to increase my hours from part-time to full-time officially as I always worked ft but had pt status.
There was an ft position that was open but as temporary ft as the person who had the position was off work as they had cancer.
However, word got around that this person was better after treatment and had started school and another job, so she wasn’t coming back.
Now there was a policy I found that said a person on leave like that had to provide consistent paperwork to hold their position.
I knew through making friends with certain management, it wasn’t being provided but the director would not deal with it and put the proper position up.
I inquired to multiple people in management and kept getting pushed off. No one was mad at me or annoyed for asking… just couldn’t be bothered. Then I went straight to the director and talked to her about it. I was polite and explained why I was inquiring about the position.
She got very rude and huffy. Got in my face and told me nothing was going to happen and I had no course to take since we weren’t unionized …that was the moment….instantly in my head, I said…for now jerk.
Now if you’ve never been involved in starting a union….I had a lot of work to do…I had to talk to all my co-workers off-premises…most were on board ..some I had to talk into as they were scared of being fired if they signed the paperwork…contact a union and get all the necessary paperwork and info I needed…then I went around in 1 day all over 3 cities on a day I had off and got the minimum 40 signatures from ft and pt employees.
I submitted them and the next day my work was served with its notice… the director was not very happy. She had no idea it was me as it showed how far up her head was to her own butt.
I was a steward and helped with negotiations and got my employee’s rights and better wages and time off. I was very bitter about the whole thing and quit 2 weeks after signing the agreement with no notice. Screw them.
Wanna tell me we have no rights because of a lack of union keeping management accountable??? Cool. 3 days later we have a union to represent us and you can’t fire anyone!”
13. Park Wherever You Want... At A Cost
“My parents had this problem with a guy parking a tractor-trailer on their land.
He lives right across from one of their pecan groves. The grove has well-spaced trees all in neat rows, the grass is mowed super short, the ground is really flat. It looks like an ideal place to pull your rig if you don’t know better.
The ground is so flat because they use mechanical harvesting.
Bumps and grooves can cause the machines to leave pecans laying on the ground. A 2-inch deep groove from a big truck like that can hold thousands of dollars of pecans and will stay that way until it is fixed. Oh, and you have to get them up by hand. It’s a big deal when someone screws with your livelihood like that.
So the guy parks there one time.
My parents get it, he probably doesn’t understand he is causing so much trouble. Dad goes down, explains the damage he has done, tells him the grove is private property, and not to do it again. Dude, we’ll call him Dude, agrees, apologizes. Dad goes home, fixes the damage midweek.
Next Friday there is the truck again, same spot. Dad, not about to put up with this, calls the sheriff dept.
A cop comes, the truck moves. Dad fixes damage midweek. Next week, no truck. One week later, the truck is back. Repeat the complaint about trespassing to the sheriff. Dude claims he forgot. He drives over the road and his home depot where his car is parked is 30 miles away. It is convenient for Dude to forget because he saves his gas and time by driving his employer’s rig and parking it on my parent’s land.
(Also, he doesn’t get nailed if his cab isn’t clean, no other driver gets assigned ‘his’ truck. There are plain motivations.). Dude clearly does not forget every time he is home but this is what he claims to the deputies sent out on the complaints.
After 7 times the sheriff’s department is called, he FINALLY gets a trespassing citation. No fine is levied. He drives his car two weeks in a row.
Following week, the truck is back. At this point, my dad has fixed this damage so often he is keeping a tractor and blade on the property so it gets done faster and easier.
He calls the sheriff yet again. The sheriff himself comes out this time. Truck leaves, the sheriff comes to see my dad.
Says the enforcement problem is that it is hard to explain to a court the harm when pictures hardly show any damage and Dude always apologizes and moves the truck when deputies come.
Says getting Dude for trespassing, under those circumstances, is going to be tough but he is on this and will see it through for my parents but his office is 30 miles away, not that many deputies to be out patrolling, etc.
And then the sheriff, bless his little elected heart, says, “But if there were something different like theft of services going on…”
Cue Malicious Compliance.
The next day, signs go up on 80 trees in a row (8,000 feet, they are 100 feet apart).
“Semi parking. $500/hour. Prepay. Violators will be towed.”
Dude doesn’t pay the signs any mind.
Dude does, however, pay the tow truck and deputy quite a bit of mind. He comes running and screaming, waving his arms as they are hooking up.
Well, before my dad called to have him towed, everything was documented, including having the sheriff himself drive by and take several pictures of the truck parked with the clearly visible signs.
Everything is put on hold while Dude’s employer, who owns the truck drives out.
After 3 hours, Dude’s boss gives up and writes a check for $7,800 to cover parking and tow truck fees. That actually covered the tow truck, all the repairs, printing the signs, and drinks for about a year for my dad’s Tuesday poker gathering. Salut.
Dude, who still lives there, does not park in the pecan grove.
His boss payroll deducted his checks for 2 years.”
12. The Longer We Wash Our Hands, The Less Time We're Actually Working
“I work as a Quality Manager at a vegetable growing and packing farm.
We are considered an essential business as we grow and pack food so we have been working consistently, just with much more strict hygiene protocols as you could imagine.
Part of my job is to make sure that food handling and hygiene practices are followed. Pretty recently, I made it my mission to ensure everyone was following the handwashing & sanitizing procedures correctly.
I posted several signs around the sheds giving instructions about what is required and also some tips to help ‘stop the spread.’ One of these was a generic sign that gave instructions on how to wash your hands. It advised people to wash their hands for 20 secs or so – or as long as it took you to sing the full alphabet in your head.
This is standard practice in the food industry.
There were several other rules put in place as well; the wearing of gloves, keeping 1.5 m apart, sanitizing hands after touching your face, door handles, pallet jacks, forklift steering wheels, etc. I did my best to be accommodating by placing boxes of gloves and hand sanitizer units everywhere so people didn’t have to get behind in their work to do what I need them to.
Everyone was really good at following the extra rules and was really understanding, except for one of the shed supervisors. He would never wear gloves, was constantly in and out of a forklift without sanitizing and I’m positive that he wouldn’t wash his hands after using the toilet – impossible to tell for sure, but he never left there with a paper towel in his hands drying his hands off like everyone else.
This is disgusting at the best of times, let alone at a food packing facility!
Whenever I pressed him about it, he would say he didn’t have time to sanitize, (there’s a bottle of it right there on each forklift) couldn’t find his gloves (there were dozens of boxes of them) and even tried to tell me that he doesn’t use the toilet during the day! When I asked him what he was doing in there, he would just deny being in there and say that he only uses the toilet twice a day, both times at home.
He bragged about it as if it was some great achievement.
I ended up going over his head and emailed the boss and the owner about it all and asked if they could please sit with him and talk to him about it.
He was a supervisor, these were easy rules to follow, everyone else was doing it so he has to as well. Both of them agreed and told me they would sort it out.
The following day I could see him from a distance following all the rules properly, so I was happy. The system worked. But being the childish man he is, he was giving me the cold shoulder and silent treatment. He was obviously not happy that I went to the bosses about him and got him in trouble. But I didn’t care, that’s my literal job and I’d do it again.
Fast forward a week and I come into work this morning to see all these new signs posted all over the place.
All generic ‘stop the spread’ signs from government websites telling people to be hygienic, keep their distance, stay home if sick, etc. All that stuff we’ve been hearing for a while now. There was also a new sign at the hand-washing station that gave a really long and detailed instruction for people to wash their hands, stating that the process should take 60 secs.
I asked around and found out it was my mate the supervisor who put them up. “They should’ve been put up ages ago,” he says. “If the government comes here and sees we don’t have them up we’ll all be in trouble.”
I pointed out that there are already signs up all over the place and have been for months.
He says that they’re not good enough and that his are better.
I didn’t say a word, but then he said what I was hoping he’d say.
“If you’re going to pick on me for this nonsense then you need to make sure everyone follows all the rules properly.”
Now, this guy is not my superior, but he has a massive ego and probably thinks he’s second in charge of the whole place or something. I certainly didn’t want to argue about it, so I just assured him that I’d do exactly that.
You may have guessed where this is going, but it’s also worth pointing out that other than the sinks in the toilets, we only have one hand-washing sink. We are out on a farm site in a rural area so clean potable water is scarce.
We only have so much pressure available and most of it goes to the vegetable washing sprays, so that’s all we have for the time being.
Next lunch break, I stood by the sink as the workers were about to head back in again. The first person hopped up to wash their hands and did a good job knowing that I was watching, but they only washed for 20 secs or so. So I told them that they have to wash for the full 60 secs as per the new sign. They were a bit dumbfounded to start with, so I pointed to the sign and the part where it said 60 secs.
Then I told them that their supervisor wants them to do it this way and he wanted me to make sure they all do it right.
So he stood there at the sink and washed his hands for a full minute, rinsed, and dried off before the next person came to do theirs. It wasn’t long before everyone started chatting about how they’re going to be late going back to work.
I assured them that they’re entitled to their full meal break, so take your time, wash your hands for 60 secs and if you’re late then you’re late. There were 14 people in total that had to wash their hands, everyone took their sweet time and the whole ordeal lasted around 20 mins. It was incredibly boring to watch, but oh so satisfying. The cool part is that the shed cannot restart if they’re a person short – everyone has to be back and in position, before the machines can start back up again otherwise things jam up and it creates massive problems.
The supervisor didn’t even notice – I have no idea where he even was during all of this. But the shed didn’t restart until about 20 mins after it should’ve. So for their next meal break, I did it all again. People were well clued-on for round two and most people just sat in their chairs on their phones rather than queuing up for the sink.
This time around the supervisor noticed. We were about 5 mins late when he came out, saw half of his workers sitting on their phones when they were meant to be back at work already, and asked what the heck everyone is doing.
I calmly explained that they are washing their hands for a full 60 secs just like in the sign you put up.
He shook his head and went on about how this is ridiculous and they should’ve been back to work already.
I told him I agree, but I was just doing as he told me. He then tried to say that if they’re going to do this then they need to wash their hands in their time, not company time. So I announced to those remaining, ‘Hear that, guys? He reckons you don’t deserve your full break and that you should give half of it up to wash your hands.’
As soon as I said this, he just stormed off muttering under his breath.
I stayed there and made sure the last half of the workers did the full minute of hand-washing and the shed went back to work late.
They lost a full 40 or so minutes of production today and that will be very noticeable on the costing report. I just hope he tries to blame it all on me, I look forward to telling the boss that not only was this all his own doing, but he somehow didn’t even notice that everyone was 20 mins late after their first meal break. Good luck explaining that one!”
Another User Comments:
“I hope you took pictures of the signs he put up because petty jerks like that will tear them down and try to claim you weren’t reading it right.
Good for you though. Keeping people safe isn’t always popular, but it sure is necessary.” BridgetteBane
11. Say Bad Things About My Best Friend? Here's A Nice Punch
“After reading other tales of petty revenge, I thought I’d throw my hat in the ring.
It’s long and contains a bit of background.
This happened about 10 years ago when I was in my third year of high school, (about 13/14 here in Scotland). I was a new student at this school, having just started at the beginning of the new school year. I made really good friends with a small group of girls and two guys.
This story mainly focuses on this one girl, my best friend; let’s call her Sandra.
Sandra often got bullied because she was a goth and a little overweight. She wasn’t the thinnest girl in the year, but she wasn’t the biggest either; it was just an excuse for people to say things to her.
I am/was a very quiet and shy person, something Sandra and I often laugh about when we talk about our school days, as on paper, we shouldn’t be friends, but we got on really well.
We had only started hanging out because her friend, Mary, was the one who was showing me around and taking me to classes and invited me to join her group of friends at lunch, and we simply clicked almost right away.
One more thing to add before I get on with the revenge… I took a class called Craft and Design, basically a class done in a workshop, where I was the only girl in the class (small school and other more “girly” choices available).
I enjoyed it that way as I had no one distracting me and was able to take my time working away in my own little corner of the room as none of the 20 guys wanted to be stuck working with a girl.
One lesson for PE, we were being split up to play basketball. Sandra and I ended up getting split up into two different teams.
This one guy, let’s say his name is Ed, goes to collect bibs for his team while I’m collecting for my team. I overhear him saying to his friend, “I’m stuck with that fat freak Sandra.” Being shy, I was too shy to say anything. But I waited.
When my team finally faced his, I made sure to stick close to Ed, waiting for one of us to finally get the ball.
He got the ball and heads towards me, I clenched my fist and blocked his way, and I went to smack the ball out of his hands, but I may have purposely misjudged where his arm was and brought my fist down hard on his arm.
He shouted, swore, and dropped the ball allowing my teammate to take the ball and score.
Ed and I had Craft and Design later in the day, acting like the hard man he pretended to be, he blocked me heading towards my desk in front of all the guys and asked why I was dishonest and punched him.
I shrugged and replied, “I don’t know why I went for your arm when your face was much closer,” and all the guys started laughing at him. I waited for everyone to calm down before I added, “The next time I hear you badmouthing my best friend, I will go for the face.”
It’s not something you hear from the shy quiet girl in class. I had told Sandra about what he had said and what I had done after that PE lesson, and she laughed and said I should have gone for his privates.”
10. Fake A Mental Illness? Get Hit With Huge Medical Bills
“When I was a freshly turned 18-year-old girl, I was charmed and manipulated into a relationship with a horrible 30-year-old man.
In the first months, he basically guilt-tripped me into allowing him to move in with me and to start supporting him (including making me think he was dead for a week, red flag much?)
Of course, things only got worse with time, and we were together for a little over a year before I made the terrifying decision to get myself out.
The last straw was confirming that everything he had ever told me about himself was a blatant lie, including the European accent he had been FAKING for his entire adult life.
Once I told him we were done, I left “our” apartment (that was half paid for by my parents and half paid for by me) on foot.
Not long after I left, he started texting me saying that he was about to take his own life.
At this point, I knew with certainty that he was full of bull and that it was a desperate ploy to manipulate me to come back. But, I also knew that this dude was all kinds of unstable and there was no way in heck I was risking being wrong.
So, I called his bluff and called 911. My friend picked me up and got me back to the apartment around the time the police did, who instructed me to go in first to coax him out of any dangerous situation.
I walked in the door and found him sitting on the ground with unwrapped Nyquil and Tylenol spread around him, along with a bottle of wine and this costume dagger he thought was so cool.
I could see the satisfaction in his face when I stepped inside, and I will always remember the look on his face when I stepped aside to reveal 3 cops coming toward him.
It was a big dramatic scene in which he pleaded that it was all fake and he never intended to do anything, that ended with him leaving handcuffed in an ambulance, and I started putting my young life back together.
Fast forward a few months, to sitting in the same living room enjoying some underage drinking with one of my best friends. At one point, she decided to randomly dump her purse upside down and spread the chaotic contents on the floor.
I look over at her saying “what’s this!?” and holding a key up to her face.
Turns out, it was my mailbox key that I had been missing for over a month! (I was too scared of my landlord to ask for a replacement and really had no mail coming to me so I just shrugged it off.)
We went down to my mailbox to collect the weeks of junk mail and found three letters addressed to my ex from some health company I didn’t recognize.
Yes, I know it was not legal to do, but of course, we opened them. Turns out, it was the bill for the ambulance ride, and for some reason, the dumbbutt gave them MY address! (Or, did he honestly think he’d still be getting me back at that point!?) So, we opened the next two and saw that the bill was now overdue and exponential late fees were being tacked on.
Naturally, we laughed our butts off and decided to just… ignore it for a while longer. I got several letters to him over the next few weeks that I opened, and when I was satisfied with the amount the fees had reached, I kept the next letter sealed.
My same friend and I drove by his work (a downright laughable retail job) and I dropped her off around the block. She carried the letter in, walked up to him smiling, and said “here ya go!” while handing him the letter, and turned and walked away. As she was just stepping out the door, she heard him yell “DAMN!” And that was that.”
9. Start Selling The Same Stuff As Her? She'll Make You Lose Profit
“So my mom started cultivating pumpkins last year and selling them in front of our house. She has this little table made to put them all on with price tags and a small box so that people who walk by can just buy them without my mom having to stay by the table all day.
These pumpkins were surprisingly well-received, and she sold all of them before Halloween even started! So naturally, this year, she planted even more pumpkins (and holy moly, do they grow fast!)
The little stall has been out front this year again, and people are buying them well ahead of fall and all is good.
Until a neighbor lady suddenly puts out the exact same stall with exactly the same pumpkins 60 yards away from my mom’s stall.
Some background on this lady: she is a little older and has a greenhouse where she grows a very specific plant that she sells. When you pass by, you can see into this greenhouse, and she definitely does not have any pumpkins nor does she have the space to grow them anywhere else on the small property.
So now she’s selling the exact same pumpkins as my mom as well as her usual plants. My mom went to take a look, and to her disappointment, the neighbor’s pumpkins look absolutely perfect. Obviously bought at the local auction, since like I said, she doesn’t have any pumpkin plants.
So my mom tried to ask where they came from, and she made some very vague remarks on how ‘her son wanted to sell pumpkins here’ but wasn’t willing to say how they got the pumpkins.
This is where the petty revenge comes in:
My mom has friends that grow all kinds of produce, from fruits to vegetables to, you might have guessed it, the exact same plants as this lady.
These aren’t very common ones, and my mom’s friend who lives nearby doesn’t sell them to individuals, only to stores around the country, so there isn’t much competition around here for the neighbor lady.
So my mom calls up this friend to get a bunch of these plants and puts them next to her pumpkins for a lower price so that neighbor lady won’t be able to make the same profits as she would have.
It’s not the most thrilling revenge, but it certainly is petty, and I can’t wait to see the neighbor’s reaction.”
8. Gym Jerk Gets A Basketball To The Face
“So, back in my senior year of high school, I was one of the few seniors who decided to take a fourth year of gym class.
Our school had this thing that student-athletes just needed three seasons for it to count as a year’s credit for the class. Anyway, I decided to take team sports because I was tired of lifting weights and just wanted to play around.
But the class is very sophomore heavy with fewer juniors.
Luckily, there were maybe 4 other seniors, and we all knew each other decently enough due to having other classes with each other at some point. One of the seniors was friends with the only 2 girls in the class, Ashley and Kate, who were sophomores (Ashley was seeing someone from our grade who we all knew and were cool with.
This is important for later), so they would regularly join our merry, little band.
There started the problem. This one kid, let’s just call Kyle, apparently just loved being a jerk. Like, each sport we played in class, he managed to make a whole new level of butt-holery. Anyway, back to P.E. where we started, our second to last unit: basketball. The teacher ends up making us seniors team captains, so we don’t stack older players on one team.
I put together my team, which had the only two girls and a couple of sophomores with who I hung out from time to time.
Before we play games the teacher has us work in our teams learning the basics. That’s when Kyle decides to come on over and bother Ashley. He ends up trash-talking her or whatever and tries to say that she hangs out with us seniors because she’s sleeping with us.
I see this and immediately get defensive cause the one thing I hate is bullies (so much that my friends nicknamed me Honey Badger ’cause my 5’6 butt would literally not back down even if they were double my size). I get between them and said, “Yea, you better walk that nonsense back over to where your team’s at, Kyle.”
Kate ends up telling me that Kyle for the last week had been spreading nasty rumors that Ashley was being unfaithful to her partner amongst other things.
The next time I saw him, I told him to watch his mouth and that his jealous butt needs to leave the poor girl alone. He ends up pulling the whole TV bully cliche, “What are you going to do about it?” Oh, I don’t know, maybe shove a basketball in your face.
Unfortunately, my team ends up playing his team first, and his team is pulling out all the stops on being buttholes.
Trash talk, hard fouls, etc… But things got worse when after every score, he would kick the ball across the gym, so we’d “fetch” it. Next play, I told one of my teammates that the next fast break we have, run behind him, and I’ll do a no-look pass. He gives me this odd look cause while I am an athlete, basketball is not my sport, and that’s not a move I’d normally pull.
Luckily, the next play, we get the fast break, and just as we get to the hoop, guess who’s trying to guard me? You guessed it, Kyle.
I end up doing the no-look pass and smash that thing into his face. The lightbulb clicks for my team, and they’re like, “You motherfreaking genius.”
Dude’s practically in tears. “Whoops, sorry; basketball’s not my sport” (as I try to stop smirking).
He ends up gunning for me the rest of the game tryna sweep my legs when I go for layups, but he doesn’t get the revenge he wants. The game ends, and he storms off the court. So, I yelled after, “Hey what’s wrong? Smile, your team won.” My team starts breaking out laughing unable to hold it back anymore, and I get some attaboy.
I end up seeing him in the locker room later still complaining to his buddies about what just happened.
He gives me the evil while I just smile. I ended up telling him, “You probably shouldn’t play me in pool cause I call my shots in that too.” Man, the look he gave me when he remembered what I said last class would have been a Kodak moment. (And if you’re wondering why I got back at him in what might be an underhanded way, our school was pretty strict on seniors that if we got in serious enough trouble, they wouldn’t let us walk for graduation, and I wasn’t gonna risk that for this butthat.)”
7. Say Goodbye To Your Expensive Perfume, Food Thief
Down the toilet it goes.
“My second year of college, I lived in an apartment complex owned by the university. Getting into this place was HIGHLY competitive because the rent was super cheap (compared to the surrounding area) and you paid a one-time transaction at the beginning of the semester that covered the room, utilities, and amenities (so you didn’t have to worry about monthly bills), and since each tenant had their own individual contracts, you weren’t screwed over if one of your roommates couldn’t/wouldn’t pay the fees.
The university allowed students to assign themselves to any available room, so once I got into the application portal, I literally threw myself into the very first room I saw. Five minutes after the application opened, all the rooms had been filled up. I know about seven other people who also tried applying but didn’t get in, so I counted myself very lucky.
That is until I met my roommate, but we’ll get to her in a sec.
My family is rather stable middle-class, so the agreement my parents and I came to is that they would cover the cost of tuition and housing, but anything “extra” (textbooks, any extra school-related fees, stationery, food, household supplies like toilet paper, transportation, etc.) was my responsibility.
So I got a part-time job on campus that only paid minimum wage. I wasn’t struggling to feed myself, but I was certainly living on a poor college student diet (lots of ramen and chicken nuggets).
Now enter my roommate.
This girl’s family was LOADED. My roommate dressed to the nines every single day (makeup all did, regular Brazilian Blowouts, frequent mani-pedis). She wore designer clothes and she wore heels EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I kid you not, this jerk used a freaking Louis Vuitton tote bag as her everyday school backpack.
Meanwhile, I’m over here wearing baggy jeans and ripped shirts every day because my job is labor-intensive and I’m also responsible for taking out all the trash at my workplace.
This is relevant to the rest of the story.
There wasn’t anything necessarily BAD about this girl, but we just didn’t vibe. After it became pretty obvious that we weren’t going to become friends, we basically just ignored each other and lived our own lives.
Now, I know I can be pretty uptight about things, but I made it VERY clear to her from the get-go that I wasn’t comfortable sharing things.
My stuff is my stuff. My half of the room is my half of the room. My sink is my sink. You do your thing, I’ll do my thing, and we’ll get along just fine.
Things went okay for the first few weeks, but then I noticed some things were off. They were really small things, like my calculator being misplaced, or a couple of missing pens, nothing too major.
I confronted my roommate about it and told her “Hey, I’m okay if you need to borrow something like a pen, but just let me know before you touch it. I made it clear before that I’m not comfortable with other people fiddling with my stuff, even if it is something as small as a pen.”
She apologized and said she would do better in the future, so I thought things would be okay.
Things started to disappear. A scantron I bought for an upcoming test. My box of tissues. Some cans of soup. My cough medicine.
I started running out of food WAY quicker than I was used to. I used to go two weeks with half a gallon of milk, and now it was barely lasting five days.
One time, I treated myself and bought a frozen dinner of pasta and Swedish meatballs and it disappeared two days later.
The food is what really got me, since that’s where most of my paycheck went to, and the few times I splurged on something nicer, it seemed to disappear before I got the chance to enjoy it. I confronted my roommate again and told her if she didn’t stop eating my food, I would tell her parents (since daddy seemed to keep a pretty tight rein on things).
That seemed to spook her, so she backed off for a while.
I caught her red-handed about a week later. I was planning on cooking a homemade meal for my man and his roommates the next night since they invited me to their homemade dinner, so after returning home from the store, I put everything away in the fridge and then left for about an hour to eat dinner at my man’s place.
When I came back, I found her dumping about half the bag of cheese I bought onto some frozen enchilada or something. She seemed sheepish that she had been caught, but not too apologetic, so I had to threaten her again into buying me a new bag of cheese before the next night.
Now finally comes the petty revenge.
I was so fed up with her at this point that I had to retaliate.
There was this perfume that she really loved that she wore every day. She would always leave for school before I did, so every morning after she left, I would take her perfume and dump some of it down the toilet. I didn’t want to be too obvious about it, so it was only a little bit every day, but this perfume bottle was only 3.5 oz and a quick Google search revealed that it cost $80 per bottle.
In one week this bottle went from nearly full to barely half. Another week goes by and there’s barely a quarter left.
One day she finally asks me “OP, have you been using my perfume?”
I looked her dead in the eyes, wearing my gross work jeans and stinking of trash to high heaven, and asked her in the most incredulous voice I could muster: “Do I look like I’ve been using your perfume?”
She didn’t ask again after that. She didn’t stop taking my food either, but after she went through another bottle of perfume in two weeks, her daddy refused to buy her anymore, so I like to think that I came out on top.”
6. Bully Gets Paintballed
“One of my favorite petty decisions.
Growing up I was always easily bullied as I didn’t care enough to fight back and didn’t see a point in trying to speak up because your typical bully isn’t usually the brightest. This happened at school, around the neighborhood, and in sports teams all my life growing up. Still to this day I don’t really care about any of it because it hardly bothered me then, more annoyed by how constant it felt.
However, there was one bully that got under my skin at the wrong time.
I played in a local baseball little league and had been in the league for years so a lot of the people in the league knew me, including coaches. One year I ended up on an old coaches team that I wasn’t fond of, and was forced to play with his son, with which I shared a position.
I’m not going to say I’m a freak athlete at that age, but my speed and knowledge of baseball at this point was far above others my age in the league. However, as all coaches do, mine put his son in as starter all season long, only subbing me into that position when he felt his son needed a break (his son constantly made errors after errors costing us lots of games), or into other positions as needed, mostly center field.
That being said, the son had formed opinions of me based on his own position on the team.
All season he tried to belittle me, physically taunt me by pushing, shoving, tripping, etc, but none of it was ever noticed because he was the coach’s son, and “boys will be boys.” I never fought back because I was told to take the high road, and boy did I ever do the exact opposite.
At the end of the season, we had a team party, and it was decided to be had at a local party spot that offered water slides, go-kart racing… And paintball. Naturally, the kid has thrown some verbal jabs at me at the party. We get down to business, teams are picked, and somehow I ended up on the coach’s son’s team, and then it hit me, screw this kid.
We get into the first game and I, being much faster than everyone, took off as fast as I could and hid immediately in the back of my team’s side. I hid there for a while, only ever peeking over to check out what’s happening. Then finally, as if fate decided “screw this kid” he was taking cover peeking around a tree in front of me.
Me being the little jerk I was, popped up shot him 3 times in the back of the knee (he wasn’t necessarily properly dressed for the occasion, so it hurt a little more) and then proceeded to duck behind cover again to which the kid throws his arms up bawling his eyes out hobbling off to the side of the area and calling for his dad.
After that match the whole team was asked who did it, to which no one replied, as I made triple sure no one else could see me. No one ever found out it was me, and I got some sweet sweet revenge on the coach’s bully son.
I still to this day remember that moment fondly, and still have no remorse. It was a satisfying moment for my younger self.”
5. Refuse To Leave After We Close? Get Locked In
“I used to work at a drive-up storage facility. We had pretty cheap prices and a few deals so we got 3 types of people renting:
-Homeless/jobless people who try to live out of the storage units and stay in the facility most of the day “rearranging” their storage unit so they had an excuse to stay
Now our story begins with the normal people.
Most normal people are normal, as you would think.
They are moving, need a place to store stuff. Most of the time they aren’t happy with moving and that makes sense. I try to be patient and kind. One facility rule the owners had me enforce was that we need to kick everyone out of the facility at 8 sharp. No exceptions. The office closes before then and my job was to drive back at 8 every night and check the whole facility.
(By the way, I’m not on the clock for time. I’m supposed to just do a security check).
Enter a family with an older lady and her daughter renting a unit. They were easy to work with. I respect elders a lot so I usually try to be extra friendly to older people.
They had a big ole truck full of stuff. It looked like a lot of stuff was gonna be stacked in the unit.
Of course, when I come back later that night they are still there unloading stuff. They had a bunch of guys helping them. I drive up and remind them of the rules. They must be out by 8.
“But we are almost done we can get more in just need a few minutes.”
Hmm. With previous experience, I knew how this was gonna go. I repeated the rules and told them they also signed a contract that they’d obey these rules, but I said I’d check the rest of the facility first so they could wrap up, they said thank you.
I finish and drive to the front and of course, they aren’t there. I get out of my car and walk over to them. And they are still going strong unloading… So I decided to pressure a little and walk over and let them know once again the facility is closed. I stand next to them for 30 min. They finally decide they aren’t gonna finish tonight and pack up.
50 minutes after the facility closed I let them out of the locked gate and went home at 9.
Now my boss caught wind of this. My boss was a real stickler for rules and stuff. He kinda had a notion that people would follow contract rules if they were enforced.
But I knew people would just push our limits. My boss told me that we needed to keep the gate locked after closing time and we can’t have people staying late.
I didn’t want to stay that late either.
The next day they came back. Late. They got there as the office was closing in the evening to continue unloading. I really hoped they got the message the first time but lo and behold when I came for the security check they were there unloading what seemed to be a new load.
I wasn’t as patient with them this time.
I wasn’t rude, but I was definitely being blunter with how I talked to them. I let them know again that they needed to leave immediately.
“Okay, we are just finishing up.” I had heard that one before.
This time I circled the unit block they were at and every time I passed I let them know I was done with the rest of the facility. They seemed to get the picture but the clock still was ticking and by the time they closed the unit and I tailgated their truck out of there it had already been another 40 minutes past.
I was tired of getting lectured by my boss on how we needed to enforce these rules. For some reason, he had a mindset that I was letting them stay and being nice. No. The first time I was nice. But I wasn’t letting them stay and I can’t physically force these people out.
MC time baby!
The third day they were finishing the unloading. While onsite I saw them and went up to them and just gave them a pass by a reminder that they need to wrap up before 8…
Later that night I check and yep they are still there.
I’m getting a bit peeved at this point so I check the facility quickly then I decide to drive out. The front gate has a code lock that denies codes after 8:10 (yeah there was even a grace period!!!) Since they had me let them out every time they didn’t know their code wouldn’t work. At least since they didn’t seem to know the rules they definitely didn’t read that in bold highlighted in our contract.
So as per my boss’s order, I left the gate locked and left. I lived close so I went home. Got a snack. Watched a couple of shows and then about 9:40 went back to the facility to find them stuck at the gate.
They were not happy but as I let them out I said to them “the facility closes at 8 sharp and this gate locks, we aren’t always around to let you out that’s why we post the closed times everywhere” (a lie since I checked it every day but I didn’t want them to think they could get away with it anymore).
They just angrily left but I didn’t have a problem with them again. I do feel bad for that older lady, but I don’t know, they just weren’t listening.”
4. Don't Be Surprised When I Quit; You Asked For It
Probably didn’t think they’d really quit, though.
“I’m a pasty white Caucasian guy. I pretty much look like a ginger only I’m not a redhead. This is relevant to the story. For almost eight years, I worked at a popular U.S. chain restaurant that specializes in breakfast food that may or may not heavily feature various flavors of pancakes.
Over time, several managers came and went but the one who stuck around was the ladder-climbing, brown-nosing GM, whom we’ll call Hope: a narcissistic, verbally abusive, control-freak Mommie Dearest knock-off.
Hope had the most grandiose opinion of herself. She had a way of making “please and thank you” sound like “Screw you.” I did my best to get along with her. Although when dealing with someone who thrives on conflict, the best often isn’t enough. She made it clear, it was her way or the highway. Her oft-spouted catchphrase was: “If you don’t like the way I run my store, quit.”
Among Hope’s countless trademark annoying traits included: breathing, coming in to work wasted, and talking smack about everyone to guests and staff alike.
She often delivered instructions orders, without allowing any responses, then concluded those interactions with “Mmmkay? Mmmkay.” As if that couldn’t get any more obnoxious, her faux sincerity was almost always accompanied by an annoying Crypt Keeper cackle. Then she’d roll her poop-brown eyes, toss her mouse-brown hair over her shoulder, and walk away.
Funny story. One Christmas, I was unlucky enough to draw Hope’s name for The Secret Santa gift exchange.
I seriously considered buying her a batch of wire hangers with a card simply saying “no wire hangers ever.” I decided against it for the simple reason that it was no secret that I did not like her. It would have been totally obvious who bought her the gag gift.
I was one of those “highly valued” employees, but the way I was treated completely belied the compliments and accolades I received i.e.
my schedule being flipped without my consent, day off requests being denied while other employees (mostly older married women and single mothers of small children), as well as Hope’s drinking buddies, got preferential treatment, always taking the side of the guest when they were angling for a free meal, etc.
Perhaps the worst was the bullying and pettiness among certain employees. It was like high school. It got to the point that I flat out refused to exchange numbers with or add any coworkers on social media.
It was a rule that I stood by for a very long time. Don’t mix business with personal. I’ve somewhat relaxed that regulation, but for the most part it’s still in place.
Once, while in the dining room, another employee poked me in the face with a tampon right in front of guests as well as Hope and Sunny, the wasted assistant manager. I filed an official complaint and nothing came of it.
This is one such occasion where they couldn’t claim ignorance. My complaint made it real and they had to address it.
Address it, they did. They saw me as a whistleblower. Neither Hope nor Sunny could’ve cared less about staff morale. It was typical of both of those embittered hags to accept hearsay as fact. They rarely did their diligence in getting both sides before plotting a course of action.
Oh, and plot they did. Unfortunately, the following shows they responded to my complaint of workplace bullying with malicious intent. It was at this point, I began receiving “customer complaints.” Most of the time Hope and Sunny would take the word of the so-called “customer” or the server passing on the “complaint” without offering up any proof a discrepancy had even occurred. I later came to learn the complaints were completely fabricated.
It was really a coworker just trying to stir the pot.
This whole horror story came to its climax when an addict, now-former employee, circulated a rumor that I refused to wait on an elderly African American military veteran because I was a “racist.” Being a vet myself, I respect all veterans. I found it alarmingly laughable, at best, because: 1) I am a very gay man and 2) most of my partners haven’t been white.
Heck, everyone including Hope and Sunny met my Brazilian ex-man when he had previously popped in for Sunday brunch. So, you can understand why this accusation was out of character and completely out of the blue. It reeked of sabotage. It was too outlandish to be anything else.
So, the write-up came. I was absolutely furious as my suspicions that I’d been set up were confirmed. Both Hope and Sunny would not let me get a word in.
I finally got their attention by stating, in a raised voice, that I had a right to have my say. Surprised at my assertiveness, both went slit-eyed and rather smugly said, “Go on.”
I pointed out to them that all of my guests love me. Several of my regulars are Hispanic or African American and, in nearly eight years of employment, never once had I been accused of being prejudiced or bigoted.
I also pointed out that one of my regulars, a married female African American doctor, if my hands were free, would run up to me give me a big hug, kiss me on the cheek and hold me so tight I felt like I was being suffocated.
Hope and Sunny were having none of it.
I also pointed out that the drama-starting liar who filed the complaint against me had been fired because she was caught by Hope snorting substances in the ladies’ room.
Given her predisposition to lie, the validity of her accusation should be questioned and the write-up destroyed. Based on their surprised expressions, it was clear I had exposed their complicit-ness in creating a hostile work environment, but they refused to take the bait.
Completely done with it all, I flat out bellowed: “I am not nor have I ever been a racist!” I’m pretty sure the entire store heard me.
Then I went for the zinger that lingers:
“You have no idea how many black men have been in my bed.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
Diamanda, the Creole prep cook, was walking by the open office door when I let out that line and she nearly doubled over with laughter. There were two training managers facing away from us while they were on the computer doing online courses.
They almost collapsed onto the keyboard then turned around looking at me with shocked expressions on their faces. Sunny’s face went beet red. Hope’s face turned white and her eyes widened.
“You know what, Hope? Remember how you said if I didn’t like the way you ran things, I should quit? Goodbye.” I didn’t give them a chance to respond. My shift was about to start in less than seven minutes.
I took off my key fob, laid it on the safe, emptied my apron, put everything in a takeout bag, did an about-face, and walked out echoing: “Have fun trying to cover my shifts.“ It was exhilarating and liberating all at the same time.
It was like the end of Private Benjamin, when Goldie Hawn walked out of her wedding and threw away her veil, except I’ve never worn a dress.
Just kidding. Yes, I have.
Aside from returning two weeks later to get my final paycheck, I haven’t set foot in there. I have no reason to go back.
I have a new job at a wonderful company with great bosses that value me as an employee and as a person. I actually look forward to going to work now. I never thought that was possible. Double-plus: they don’t expect me to be an emotionless robot.
UPDATE: I later found out from a former coworker’s man that Hope was talking all this smack after I quit about how I wouldn’t sign a write-up.
That was between myself and management. No other subordinates should have had any knowledge of that. I wasn’t surprised at all as she talked bad about everyone to anyone who would listen. She was also stewing because I had quit right when the then-current biweekly schedule had been posted.
My absence left them in a pickle mostly because trying to get my former coworkers to pick up extra shifts they didn’t want was like pulling teeth.
When I returned with my uniforms to get my final paycheck, Hope had already ducked out to avoid having to see me. Funny how people, who thrive on conflict, run from it when they’re not the one in the orchestra pit.
Sunny (who I thought was all right before all of this went down) did a swap for the grocery bag containing my shirts for my check.
She wouldn’t hand it to me herself and simply passed it to one of the training managers who were present.
It’s a very cramped establishment with the server line in full view from the dining room. I’m not that tall and neither is Sunny.
She could barely see me over the top of the server station. Upon spotting me with her brown, beady, vulture eyes, I got a completely out of character, overly exaggerated, sickeningly sweet greeting from her: “Hi, OP!”
Well past the point of giving any dangs, I said: “Why are you talking to me? You’re one of the reasons why I quit.” Dead silence. Lu, my 60-something former coworker, who gets along with everyone, was sitting down less than two feet away from me.
I had a hot/cold relationship with her. Lu looked up from rolling silverware and kind of rolled her eyes which was accompanied by one of her trademark sneers because even she didn’t like Sunny.
I snatched my check from the training manager. Several of my regulars were asking why I was dressed normally that day (I usually worked mid-shift on payday). I told them I had quit two weeks earlier.
Many of them made general comments that management had made a foolish decision in losing me. They said they were sorry to see me go and probably wouldn’t return without me being there to serve them. I told them I wasn’t sorry to be gone and stormed out.”
Another User Comments:
“Once I got double sat twice in a row when I was already struggling to keep my head above water. It’s the only time I’ve ever walked off a job, and I probably wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t going through a depressive episode, but it worked out well; the next job I got was way better.” Taintcorruption
3. Yell At My Mom About Parking In Disabled Parking? Might Want To Get Your Facts Straight
There’s more than what meets the eye.
“My mom and I are both carers for my gran, me full time, and my mom part-time. As a result, my mom has a laminated disabled parking permit in her car. It’s only used when we really need it for Gran; the rest of the time it’s in the glove box.
The way we usually do it is Mom and I will take gran to the doctor, Mom will pull into the disabled spot, I get Gran and her walking frame out of the car and start walking slowly with her to the waiting room while mum goes to park in a normal spot and meets us in the waiting room.
Same basic plan when we’re leaving. We usually don’t even pull out the parking permit because we aren’t in the spot long enough to need it.
So today we’ve gone to see the doc, and he gives gran her weekly shot and all is well. Mom goes on ahead to get the car and it’s just me and Gran walking out of the doctor’s office together. A kid starts screaming while in with another doctor and scares the heck out of my gran, causing her to fall over.
She’s flailing and panicking, so trying to calm her down is pretty hard, and it takes me, a nurse, and her doctor to get her up again. That took maybe 10-15 minutes.
In the meantime, Mom has pulled into the disabled spot. She texted me asking if everything was ok, and I replied saying yep and that we’ll be out soon. She’s gotten out of her car and is standing next to it waiting.
Gran and I come out and I see some guy head over to Mom’s car with mall security (the clinic is in a big shopping center).
I see the guy standing next to the front passenger door and talking, getting really angry and gesturing wildly while she’s just standing next to the front passenger side tire, smirking. He points at me and Gran and yells, “Spots like this are for people like her! You’re stealing this spot from them!” and it clicks what’s happened.
Gran and I get up to the car while he’s still ranting, demanding the security guy do something and I interrupt him saying, “Sir, could you please move, so I can get my gran in the car?” He stops dead and goes pale. He’s screwed up, and he knows it. He moves, and Mum then opens the passenger side door and pulls out the parking permit.
She holds it up to him then quietly says, “If you’d stopped being a self-righteous jerk for 2 seconds, I would have shown you this and not let you make a complete fool out of yourself” then she turns to the security guy and says, “Sorry he wasted your time, Paul.”
Turns out, Paul used to help Mom with Gran. He would walk her to the office while Mom parked before I moved back home to help mum, but let this guy just go on because he knew mum could handle herself. The self-righteous jerk scurried away very quickly after that without so much as an apology.”
2. Not A Fan Of The T-Shirt I Designed? Too Bad, You'll Be Forced To Wear It
It’ll drive you crazy for years.
“When I was in secondary school, I had a classmate, let’s call her Julia. Julia decided at the start of the year that she was good at art. It didn’t matter that she was actually bad. If she thinks she’s good, everyone must have the same opinion as her and think that she’s good.
Towards the end of the year, our class decided to create unofficial class shirts.
Take note of this: my school requires us to wear our school uniforms every day, except for certain events where we would wear official school-designed cotton shirts under our pinafores.
Even then, it’s still our uniform. If you don’t want to wear the official shirt on that day, you can wear the full school uniform instead, which is a collared short sleeve shirt under the pinafore. Looks neat, but not as comfortable as the shirts.
Class shirts can’t be worn in school. At most, they are cringy shirts destined to be worn at home as sleeping clothes.
At first, my class picked me to design the class shirt. I was the artsy kid in class that always doodled during lessons. While I always scored A+ for Art and drew in my free time, I’ve never designed a shirt. In a class that focused mostly on science subjects, it still made sense to get me to design the shirt.
For some reason, Julia had beef with almost everyone in the class for different reasons, including me. She had this nature deep inside her to outcompete everyone and win every argument. And she focused 100% of that energy into ‘winning’ the role to design the class shirt. She threw up a fuss so large in class that we just gave in and let her design it (and choose the t-shirt printing supplier).
When I offered to help her in the process she turned around and said: “I will never wear something you’ve drawn.” Ok.
The shirt came out bad. The shirt quality was flimsy and translucent, not good for a class full of 14-year-old girls. The printing came out after a few washes in the washing machine.
The design, oh God the design. The front was a picture of a cartoon carton of milk that she ripped off the internet.
The back had a Japanese word that no one could read, where the meaning was apparently “Ohana means family” which I’m quite sure is a Hawaiian word. Julia was smug that she made me get a shirt with her design.
One month later, we were separated into different art classes based on our choices. When I heard that the teachers were picking the best design from a certain class for the next official camp shirt, I immediately signed myself up.
Julia decided to skip those classes and sleep in our form classroom. After a few weeks, I submitted my final design and it was chosen to be printed on the next official camp shirt.
As much as I wanted to tell other people, I kept it a secret to surprise Julia.
On the last day of our 3D2N camp, the teachers gave us our shirts. People were glad that the design had improved from previous teacher-designed shirts.
Julia said it was the prettiest official shirt so far. We wore it for the rest of the day to do physical activities. At the end of the day, the teachers revealed that it was actually a student-designed shirt, and told the whole cohort to clap for me. Among the cheers, I saw Julia’s shocked face.
That’s not the end of the story. For the next two years, we would be asked to wear the camp shirt for class outings and casual days.
Julia had the option to refuse my shirt and wear our full uniform instead. But no one wanted to wear a stuffy uniform to the zoo, or in a crowded public area, so she turns up in the camp shirt every time. I’ve never been so glad to receive stink eyes in my life.
Furthermore, my successful design gave my teachers the confidence to let me design another camp shirt and FINALLY, a year later, my class shirt. They also started to trust other students to design future official school shirts, but not Julia.
Note: if you think that no one would be that stupidly ambitious at 14 years old, this happened in an all-girls school that treats school leadership positions like the Netflix 2019 show The Politician.”
1. Nobody's Going To Stop You From Bullying Me? Then I Will
“When I was a kid, I grew faster than the other kids and went through puberty earlier (female). By the time I was 11, I was as tall as I am now (5’5”) and chubby with boobs. I was also very socially awkward. This fun combination led to me getting picked on a lot by a lot of kids.
In 6th grade, my main bully was a boy in my homeroom class.
We’ll call him Sam. Sam was never nice to me before, but once we were in the same homeroom, he was just downright mean, and because the other kids liked him, they all joined in because it was so funny to pick on the awkward kid. The teacher didn’t see a problem with the behavior, and while she didn’t encourage it, she didn’t do much to stop it.
My wonderful mother wasn’t about to let me keep coming home from school crying every day and kept going to the school asking for something to be done, but they kept claiming there was nothing they could do. After about a month of putting up with my persistent mother, they finally moved me to a new homeroom.
The problem was, this only partially solved the problem, as I still had one class with my old homeroom a day because of the way the courses were set up.
Also, Sam and I were both in the orchestra, so that was still two classes I had to deal with him in.
Now Sam was a troublemaker in general, which I think is part of why the school didn’t do anything about him because they knew he wasn’t going to listen. One day Sam is joking around with one of the other bullies, talking about bringing guns and bombs to school and killing everyone.
Being 11 years old, the idea of him bringing bombs to school was obviously a bit of a stretch. But I saw in those words the opportunity to be rid of my bully at long last. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was the snitch, so I wrote a little note for the principal. In the office, there was a little sort of comments box like something you’d leave feedback in at a store, and I popped the note in there.
I only ever used the box that one time, so I wasn’t sure how long it would be before the principal got my note. In retrospect, the whole comments box seems like a bad idea on the part of the school.
If I was a jerk kid like Sam, I’d probably fill it with stupid notes that insult Mr. Mackey.
Anyway, it turns out that the principal must have checked the box shortly after I put my note in it because at lunch that day, the assistant principal came out to the lunchroom and brought Sam to the office.
I didn’t see him for the rest of the day. Success!
Temporarily anyway. They suspended him for a week, which was better than nothing. For a while afterward, I listened to him complain to his friends about the suspension and how his mom took away his video games and grounded him. He didn’t stop picking on me, of course. But every time he was mean again, I just remembered the week of misery I’d caused him.
Then when I sprained my ankle in gym class, and he went around telling everyone I was faking it for attention, more than once, I “accidentally” hit him with crutches.
My school continued its fantastic tradition of not doing anything about bullies. When I was a junior, someone carved a derogatory term on my locker and another choice word on my friend’s. The only thing the school did was repaint the lockers.
Then when a boy a few grades below me was bullied into oblivion and made a ‘kill list’ they expelled him and did freaking nothing to his bullies. (Don’t get me wrong, he deserved to be expelled.)
I haven’t seen Sam in about 10 years since he ended up moving to a different school. As far as I can tell from his social media, his hobbies include smoking and skateboarding, so he’s got that going for him, which is nice.”