People Share Their Most Luscious Story Of Revenge
18. I Was Forced To Go To Camp With Troubled Kids, So I Got Camp Shutdown Permanently
What a miserable time…
“So it was the summer of 95’ when my parents signed me up to go to an all-boys summer camp. It was done out of necessity because my parents did not have the money for a babysitter and day camp was a good way to keep me supervised. The venue: camp Tamarack. It was a Boys Scout of America camp, but the program was not run by them. I cannot remember who had paid for the summer camp to be sublet.
A bus would pick us up around 7 AM, and we would make a trek through a series of towns, picking kids and young teenagers up on the way.
The kids…some of them would not be the type you would want around you. Switchblades and butterfly knives were openly shown on the bus and evaluated by the other kids. Even at that age, I asked myself, “What kind of kid owns and carries around a weapon like that?” I sat in the back of the bus and kept my head down.
Anyway, let’s cut to the camp itself. Every day, we would be served breakfast. We would receive a box of milk and a turkey or bologna sandwich. I began avoiding eating anything because there was always some sort of mold growing on the bread. After that, we had arts and crafts. Making necklaces out of beads and string or those bracelets made out of that plastic twine(?) that you looped in and out. I called it the sweat house activity because the teenage counselors who were watching over us would demand they be made faster and faster.
The next activity was either archery or the gun range. I loved archery, but instead of using a natural material like feathers, they used a sharp, thin plastic that would cut the space in between the index and middle finger. To this day, I still have a visual scar from the number of times it would slice my skin. I’m not the biggest fan of archery anymore, though I still would love to properly learn how to use a longbow.
After that, we would have lunch. Either you got an undercooked, cold, piece of pizza (remember the ones you could purchase that you could separate into rectangles? Those are the ones I’m talking about), a box of milk or orange juice, or another sandwich. I would opt for the pizza until I complained enough for my parents to give me bagged lunches.
In the afternoon, we would always go swimming in the lake. If you were new to swimming, they had portioned a section on the left side of the dock, so the water would go up to your ankles.
I went in there once and the sharp rocks lining the bottom cut my feet. If you had taken a beginner’s course before, then you would be allowed to be in the portioned off section on the right side of the dock. The water would go up to your waist. If you had already passed both or could prove that you had taken both beginner and intermediate training (which I had), then you were allowed in the rest of the lake.
There were no lifeguards and we would be watched over by ONE counselor. The last activity would either be a trek around the lake or the recreation building.
Depending on what group you were in, you would do one of those activities on a one-week alternative rotation. So for one week, archery would be exchanged for using a BB gun rifle and the recreation center would be replaced by the trek around the large lake.
Now let me explain why no one was ever safe on any given day.
I’ll start with the walks. One time I was on one and I stepped on a mound of dirt. I immediately began to sink in and panicked. The group continued to walk as I sunk lower. A friend of mine had swung around when they didn’t see me and got the counselors attention. They pulled me out just as my knees were submerged. I was frightened and I came home without shoes that day. The BB gun range had roughly ten lanes, but instead of shooting the targets, the psychopathic kids would shoot the other kids.
No one ever stopped them and I got pelted a number of times. The rec. room was a small gym. We were given half-inflated basketballs and footballs. The only balls we had that were usable for dodgeball were baseballs. Let that sink in. We were throwing baseballs at each other. Even going to the bathroom was a hazard since the brick ceiling had caved in on the right-hand side and any time we needed to use the facilities, it was more typical to hold it in or go in the woods.
I don’t ever remember going into that bathroom during the entirety of my stay. It was common to see other children who had soiled their pants as a result.
I saved the best for last; the swim time. No one necessarily had to swim and you could hang out at a makeshift dock. One day a kid in my group, around 8, was playing on his Gameboy. This kid was very passive and did everything to avoid confrontation.
He only ever spoke openly with a few of us. Fifteen minutes or so and a twelve-year-old kid approaches him and demands the kids’ Gameboy. The kid said nothing and craned his neck and head towards the ground.
Not a good idea at that camp.
The older boy found a large rock and threw it, point-blank range, into his head. I vividly remember the crack I heard and the blood that stained the rock. The young kid blacked out, blood oozing from his skull while the older kid grabbed the Gameboy and walked away.
I knew enough to grab a towel, press it tightly on the wound, and yelled to the other kids to get the counselor immediately. An ambulance was called and he was brought to the hospital. Oddly enough, the kid came back the next week. He showed off where they had shaved a portion of his head and the eighteen stitches he needed.
Every day, I begged my parents to not make me go back. I told them what I’m telling you and my mom brushed it off as overreacting and wanting attention.
That was until they visited it themselves. The camp held an event so the parents could see the campgrounds and were provided a late afternoon tour. The next day, my dad told me that I wasn’t going back and that my older cousin would be babysitting me for the rest of the summer. I was so elated that I was out of that psychotic hellhole they called a camp.
The Revenge:
I’ve always enjoyed writing. I was a bookworm in my younger days and so I would use my dad’s old Macintosh computer to write my own.
My dad asked me if I wanted to write a letter about what I saw while I was there. I said “Sure” and wrote a two-page letter outlining everything that I’ve told you. My dad printed it and I didn’t think anything more about it. One day during the last two weeks of summer, my dad urged me to write a second letter and to be very careful with my words. I didn’t fully understand, but I wrote it using much more mature words (I used a dictionary and a thesaurus to write it out).
I enjoyed writing the letters as it allowed me an outlet to explain my anger and disgust.
What I was not made aware of was that my father had me write the first letter to The Boy Scouts of America. They sent a response saying that there was no proof and they were not liable for anything that happened on the grounds. The second letter, as well as the response letter, was sent to
1. The state governor and
2.
The county newspaper.
A few weeks passed and my dad handed me a portion of the paper. They had printed my letter as well as sending someone to write an expose on the camp itself! At first, I thought it was frightening and asked if I was in trouble but my dad told me that I did a good job. This then led to the state investigation that resulted in the EPA learning that the camp was allowing companies to dump toxic waste in the water and on various parts of the grounds. The camp was immediately closed and never reopened.
To this day, if anyone tries to get to the camp, there is a gate blocking the road leading down into the facilities. Instead, one would have to go to a different camp on the opposite side of the lake and then walk about two or three miles to see the remains of what used to be Camp Tamarack.”
17. Wanna Act Entitled On A Video Game? Lose Your Entire Server
“So if anyone is not familiar with Roblox, or hasn’t played it for awhile, there was a new popular game that released a few months ago called Shinobi Life 2, a Naruto based game that required heavy grinding and required tons of your time to even have your kit be viable (this is somewhat important). Ice (my friend) was dedicated to this game since the last 2 weeks and spent almost every single free time optimizing his kit whenever he can, while I played only here.
So he met 2 other people who, how he described it, was at most 12-years-old and kept berating Ice and were clearly spoiled rotten and demanded that Ice helps the entitled kids to get items that literally had around a 1/40 chance to acquire every chance they get with no help or pay. So Ice and I decided to plan revenge. We knew that they had a grinding discord for this game and decided to check it out.
The entitled kids were apparently dumb enough to make Ice the co-owner of the discord, which allowed Ice to do literally anything that the owner could do to anyone except the owner. Ice went to itch a plan to burn the discord to the ground. The discord was well-maintained and quite large for only a week of being open. There were exactly 87 members in the discord, including 6 bots, and focused an a truly dedicated community, I did feel bad for planning revenge including casualties, but Ice showed the moderator-only chat where the admins and co-owners were bullying those into utilizing the discord’s private servers to help farm the items that were nearly impossible to acquire, and if they didn’t comply, they were either harassed into helping them, to hacking their Roblox account and saying “discard” in a public chat, saying discard in a Roblox chat would trigger the bot moderators and ban your account permanently, Roblox does this either to prevent spreading a bad reputation of Roblox if there was a reason that person would want to quit Roblox, along with other banned keywords.
Ice invited me to see the discord and set up a role that was hidden from view and allowed the same administrator powers as the co-owners and got ready.
IT IS TIME TO POACH SOME MOTHERF*CKERS
Ice targeted the members in the discord and the channels while I dealt with the discord itself. Ice permanently banned everyone one by one and deleted administrator powers, along with deleting the channels, also one by one. I quickly removed the bots to prevent a possible lockdown, took all of the discord’s codes to the private servers, and removed the discord from the community page, so no one could rejoin unless if they got an invite from the discord owner after being unbanned from that owner, and no one could join through codes as Ice went ahead and invalidated all of them on a 10 minute expire.
Sadly we couldn’t change the audit logs, so to counteract getting hacked, we downloaded and used Opera GX web browser since Opera GX had free use of VPNs if you used incognito. Our incognito windows went black, but they turned off the VPN which killed the link between the entitled kids and Ice and my computers and couldn’t reconnect after we turned off the internet to prevent exposing our real IP addresses, so the VPNs redirected the entitled kids to IP addresses towards countries.
We never touched the discord accounts since the incident, since we had no foolproof plan of getting them back since we can’t do the exact same trick twice. (They’re stupid, but not that stupid.) But they got what they deserved.
If I can find a way to get them back, I’ll update on the fallout.”
16. Our Teacher Hated Us, So We Got Her Fired
The worst has enough bad educators as it is.
“Ok, so this all started when I entered middle school and started 5th grade; this is important because me and my classmates were still in that stage where you think all grown-ups are right.
Now I won’t tell you her real name, so we will call the teacher Miss D. Miss D was our math teacher for the year and this was her first year at the school. It was very obvious she wasn’t a huge fan of kids and wished she could do anything else for a job.
There were many little incidents though-out the year that made us dislike her more and more. Like one time when I went to the bathroom, now in our school we had to fill out a sheet before going to the bathroom that consisted of your name, the date, the time you left for the bathroom, and the time you got back. Now I filled out everything but the date because I had no idea what it was and when I asked Miss D what the date is, she DIDN’T TELL ME.
(this is important for later). When I got back from the bathroom, I went back to my seat and forgot about it. Then at the end of class, she called me up in front of everyone and started yelling about how “YOU DIDN’T PUT THE DATE ON THE BATHROOM SHEET, I CANT BELIEVE THIS, IF YOU EVER DARE NOT PUT THE DATE DOWN AGAIN, I WILL NEVER LET YOU GO TO THE BATHROOM IN MY CLASS EVER AGAIN!!!!” and this was after I asked her for the date!! Believe it or not, I felt terrible for not putting the date down and thought it was my fault.
The other kids in my class told their parents, who told my mom, and she was not happy at all but decided to let it go for now and just reminded me it was not my fault. At another point in the year, we were taking a test in her class and a marker in another kid’s desk rolled out and onto the floor. He went over to get it, but before he could pick it up, the screaming started again.
“HOW DARE YOU GET UP IN THE MIDDLE OF A TEST!! YOU ARE DISRUPTING THE WHOLE CLASS (as she screams drawing ten times more attention than the kid ever had). IF YOU DARE GET UP AGAIN, I WILL FAIL YOUR TEST!!!!!. I mean really!! I’m not even sure it was the kid’s marker! This lady hated the fact we existed and actually really destroyed my self-esteem. I had thoughts of killing myself at some point; I was 10!!!!!.
I had to get a math tutor to make it through the year and almost failed her class. She was ok at times, but she would always overreact to the dumbest things like kids interacting in class or something like that.
Now here is where the revenge comes in. Now my mom heard of all of this and since we were 10 and thought she was right to punish us for these things, we didn’t know that this was a big no-no.
My mom set up a private meeting with the principal where we talked about her behavior and tested me on how well she had taught me. I’m pretty sure other kids also had chats with the principal, so I probably wasn’t the only one to bring her downfall.
One day, we walked into our homeroom at the end of the day, and there were papers on each of our desks with one kid reading a note mouth wide open.
This is what the note read from what I remember.”
“Dear student, your teacher, Miss D, will be taking a leave of absence and won’t be coming back ever again. She will be replaced with (NT) (nice teacher). We hope that you are not disappointed with this news and we hope you have a wonderful day.”
Now I know that the letter said she would be on a leave of absence and never coming back, but we all know that that was just code for “we fired her.” We also got proof later when my mom checked her Facebook and saw and angry letter about how she was fired unfairly for being “too good” What? lol.
There is also a slightly annoying part of this story.
Basically, since we were 5th graders and were immature, we kind of celebrated a little by screaming in joy and over all being happy when we found out. I kind of regret this because it was a little harsh, but hey, it’s not like she’s gonna find out or anything. Wrong! So for some sick reason, the other teachers saw us celebrating and decided to TELL HER! So obviously she wasn’t happy when she found out and wrote petty notes to all the teachers about how she felt disrespected and sad that anyone would treat her that way.
The other teachers then lectured us in the cafeteria for being rude and mean to her and now that I’m not 10, I can’t stop thinking “YOU GUYS TOLD HER!!!” like come on, they didn’t have to tell her we were happy she was gone. I know that we probably should not have gotten excited when we found out she was leaving, but the other teachers didn’t have to go and tell her afterward.
Tell me if I’m right here; I don’t really know, but anyways, that is the story of how my 5th-grade class got our mean math teacher fired. sorry, this was kind of a rant and really long, but you don’t do this to 5th graders who don’t understand that some adults can be wrong sometimes!”
15. Pretend To Have Cancer? We'll Waste Your Entire Day
Cancer pranks are absolutely not okay.
“It happened about 2 years or so ago. So Friend and I knew Mutual Friend for about a few months now (I believe that Friend knew him a little longer) and we had heard from him that he was suffering from cancer. He said that he had had a few operations months back and that he was to have another one somewhere around that time. He said that the doctors didn’t give him much chance to live.
So about a month or so later, we get some information that he was in the hospital and that the operation turned out to be successful. So we were happy for him that he managed to pull through and was feeling ok (Friend, a few other Discord friends, and I).
As another few weeks went by, he would tell us that there was something else going on with him, etc. Basically, making up things about this whole thing.
(Looking back at it, we should’ve noticed that his story just wasn’t making sense and that a few small details were just completely absurd, but we just didn’t for whatever reason and believed what he was saying, feeling bad for him and being as supportive as we could.)
At one point, he just completely went quiet; he’d be offline on Discord and Steam and all those platforms. Then his “relatives” sent out messages that due to complications with his state after the operation he had sadly passed away and that his computer and other things were being cleaned and given away to other family members or something along those lines.
Maybe a week or so after that, Friend was contacted by Mutual Friend’s account on Discord, and told him that Mutual Friend is all fine and good, and the whole cancer thing was just a prank and it was so hilarious that we all thought it was real. It’s not surprising that Friend didn’t really find it funny. Well, as soon as the other group of friends and I got to know more about it from Friend about it, we weren’t really laughing either.
We were all p*ssed for obvious reasons. You don’t just make a prank like that. It was honestly disgusting of him.
The revenge: So at first, Friend brushed off the message and pretended to laugh at it, obviously furious, but not showing it to Mutual Friend. He had planned that later that year (2018) during the summer holiday, he and Mutual Friend were supposed to meet up in Sweden. So Friend being as petty as he is decided to change his plans.
He had decided to switch up the way he would travel. Instead of getting to Sweden, he went over to a different friend of his in Hungary. And on the date he would be supposedly arriving in Sweden with a ferry, he was messaging Mutual Friend and “updating” him on how the trip was going. Mutual Friend arrived at the place where Friend was supposed to get off the ferry. Then as Mutual Friend waited, Friend would make up some more excuses as to why is his ferry was not arriving yet.
Things like “Delays due to XYZ” and messages like “Almost there” he would send every once in a while. In total MF waited over 4 or 5 hours waiting for basically nothing, wasting his time. And soon enough when he realized that Friend will most likely not be arriving, he got quite triggered, and with a simple “F*ck you” message to Friend, went back home. Friend had a great time pranking Mutual Friend back, and I had a good laugh when he told me the story. He is a mad lad.”
14. Tell Me To Call The Cops? I Will And The Landlord Too
“I live in a completely unsoundproofed flat with my wife and kid. We sadly discovered it after moving in because the neighbors weren’t there when we visited. Sh*t happens.
As every occupant was aware of it and we all had small kids, we agreed upon having 3 rules. Noise kept to a minimum between 1 pm and 4 pm on weekends. Same goes starting from 8 pm to 7 am all days. Warn at least the day prior if you plan a party.
Doesn’t mean total silence at all. Just not using power tools or blasting music or talking way above-normal volume, etc.
It went quite OK for 2.5 years. But then the above-us neighbors moved. They got replaced by a father in his mid+ 40 and his son about 25-years-old. After welcoming them, we warned about the sound issue and the rules to help everyone have quiet time. They said ok and thanks for the warning.
Few days go, and the dad brings over his girlfriend (he’s divorced); they banged all night.
Was making me laugh. But around 1 am, that lady started singing… So I went upstairs for a very awkward conversation… I just told the out of breath, sir, that again, the building had no soundproofing and that singing at 1 am was a bit too much after that long evening and we would really like to sleep now. He went red as possible and we exchanged few words just saying nobody’s mad but that the sound issue is very real.
After that it was OK.
But as he realized how much that issue was real, he started going to his girlfriend’s place on weekends. And his son(s) started bringing friends over more frequently. We learned he has not one but three sons. So two of them aren’t supposed to live with him regularly. Anyway, as they invited friends over it was always in party mode. No respect at all for the rules. I went upstairs approx 10 times in a few months because we were fed up being obliged to sleep with earplugs and having our kids’ naps ruined.
I finally decided to talk about this to their father. He was not happy about his sons and told me he’ll talk to them but also was a bit discouraged and tried to tell me, if necessary, call the cops. I wasn’t willing to do so because I’m more about peaceful solutions and told him that it won’t help keep cool relations in the building.
First lockdown came to my country. All neighbors decided to flee elsewhere.
We had the building for ourselves. That was a great help for our nerves and sleep. We rediscovered what it was to live without noise.
End of lockdown, few incidents but enough to make my wife and I so mad at those kids that we weren’t talking anymore but screaming at them. Then one of them told me, “You know what, call the cops.” I didn’t do it that time as they shut their noise afterward.
Second lockdown started about 2 weeks ago.
No neighbors moved that time. Except for their dad. As soon as he left, we heard more noise than average above us. But not enough to trigger us at first. The second day, we realized they were at least 5 young adults in that flat… And they started partying. Not loud music but music anyway. Talking loud to each other from both ends of the flat. Clanging chairs. Slamming doors. Until 1 or 2 am. Each night…
We hoped they’d leave soon or at least calm down but not at all and no sign of the dad.
10 days in. Our cup was more than full. We went upstairs to again tell them to stop making so much noise and that it was the last warning. The day after that, same story. I was furious. I screamed at them to shut their music right now (11 pm) and that their friends had to leave by tomorrow or I’ll make sure to call the cops.
“Oh, just call the cops. Nobody’s moving; we live together as co-renters.”
Oh really? I called the cops. Lockdown is in effect. You can be with family, sure, but not with friends like that, and knowing the building’s landlord, I was sure their situation wasn’t official at all. Cops came. Told them the brothers could stay but the friends had to go back to their place. They gave no fine for this time, but they had to make sure I would not have to call them again.
They told me to not go see the neighbors if it happens again but directly call them back.
The next morning, we also decided to call the landlord to explain the situation. No father in sight for 10+ days. At least 3 unknown persons living there with 2 family members. A lot of noise every day and nights. Refusing to make any effort and claiming to be co-renters. The landlord wasn’t happy. Told me I was right to call the cops and to warn him about the rent situation.
He told me he’ll call their father right away.
The same day late afternoon I started to hear some movements above. People running left and right. Just before dark, I was pleased to see those 5 young adults with their luggage exiting the building and going toward the train station.
The cherry on the cake, I saw one of them giving the finger behind him in the building’s direction. I laughed so hard.
A calm night with a smile on our faces.”
13. Tell Me To Back Off? I'll Take All My Work And Let Your Group Project Fail
“I’m studying for a computer science degree at University. We had a group work project which is set out in two stages. Part A involved making an application and writing a report about it (50/50 split). Part B, we got feedback from part A and had to improve upon it. In total, it was 100% of a module.
It is also important to note that there is a group contribution report (GCR) where each student puts in how much they think each student has done.
I was in a randomly selected group with 4 others. We each picked a part of the work that we wanted to do.
I was apparently the group’s most confident coder, so I assigned myself about half of the code. And finish up my work in about the first 3 weeks and work on other projects I have for other modules.
Then soon after I finished my work, the others ask me if I can do their parts of the code too.
I initially protest as I have my other coursework due, but eventually, I say fine but so long as it is noted in the GCR, they all agree. I sweat it out over the next 3 weeks or so alongside my other coursework.
I contacted my module organizer explaining that I had done half the work and they suggested if people weren’t pulling their weight to leave the group (taking my code with me) and do the report.
That would mean I would need to work flat out to produce the report and probably would mess it up. I didn’t want that. The deadline was in about a week. And I honestly I CBA.
Then I got asked to do some report too because they didn’t understand how the code worked. By this point, I felt pretty used by them. Didn’t really mind so long as I got the marks.
All in all, I worked out that I had done the workload of 3 people.
There was talk amongst the others of all writing that we each contributed 20% of the workload to “make us look better as a team.” I flatly refused. They exploded calling me with every name under the sun, swearing at me, telling me to “f*ck off.”
I sent off my GCR with 60 for me and 10 each for the rest. And thought that was that.
My module organizer then emailed me asking if I had any proof of this as they all put me at 0% and themselves at 25%.
I’d worked my a** off on this project putting in 150+ hours on the code and another 50+ on the diagrams and report. All while attending lectures 20 hours a week. Over 7 weeks which if you do that maths averages at an extra 4 hours a day. Ontop of all my other assignments and commitments etc. There was no way I was letting it slide.
I emailed him back linking him to the GitHub I used to share the code with the team (Github is a source control that shows who made changes to the code) and showed him that all the commits (a version of the code) were done by me proving that I did all of it.
And thankfully we did the whole report on Google Drive, so I could also see the history on that document and send him screenshots of all the alterations made by me proving that I wrote ~20% of the report also.
He added it all up and made a special exception for my group, saying he would give me most credit for the work.
I think I ended up with a 65 and they all get 11 for the whole coursework part A.
They would need 69% to even pass the module.
So turned out I f*cked up a bit on the code only getting about 50% of the marks with like a massive issue in it (dumb me — for anyone interested, I didn’t make an MVC structure correctly), but my report sections were near perfect. Spelling mistakes (a common thing I do) and formatting, etc. There were a few glaring mistakes from the report that they had written, but other than that, not bad.
When they found out their marks, they started calling me up and emailing me and messaging me almost for about 3 hours. I was happily out at the time and didn’t have my phone with me so didn’t respond. My module organizer sent an email explaining that they had lied and he had proof about it so corrected the marks accordingly.
When I got back to my phone I screenshot all the messages they had send and recorded all the voicemails including the ones they had sent previously.
Including multiple occasions where everyone in the group told me to “f*ck off.”
And f off I did. I sent all these voicemails and screenshots to my module organizer requesting that I leave my group and understand that it is more work for me, but I’d rather not deal with that. He agreed and also escalated the messages to someone higher up.
At this point, I quit the group and decided to work on part B by myself.
TAKING ALL OF MY CODE WITH ME. Removing their access to all of it. I, of course, asked my module organizer first and they said it was fine as it was my work and if I was no longer in their group, the others couldn’t submit it.
I fixed the error in the code in about 2 weeks. Then did the whole report from scratch almost and added a load about the fix taking me about 7 weeks.
I then get messages from the group to “please come back; we really need you” kinda stuff on the end few days of the assignment. They even offered to pay me. I screenshot it and send it to the module organizer, just to let him know what is happening and then just ignore them.
I ended up submitting 2 weeks early for the deadline and got 100% on the whole section 2, which is basically unheard at University, especially by your self for group work.
Later that day, I get an email from a plagiarism and collusion officer. Not someone you ever want to get an email from. Basically says I’m summoned to a hearing as an external body looked at both my group (me, myself and I) and my old group’s coursework and thought it was very similar. I get the whole project that my group handed in and my own back as evidence, so I can look and prepare my answer to their questions.
I email my module organizer to ask if he supports me in this because, basically, they can punish all of you or 1 group (never nobody). He says yes; he supports me in this. Perfect.
I prepare for this meeting by going through the hundreds of commits I have made while they had access to find the one that is most similar to it. I find a PERFECT match, 0 differences, not even a single character. Through the thousands of lines of code.
So I turn up to this meeting there is the VP of computing there (the guy who could basically do whatever the hell he wants to us). My old group when asked to present their answer as to why this has happened to go on about how they did all of it by themselves, blah blah blah. You get the point; this goes on for about 10 minutes.
Then I am asked to present my argument. I ask if I can share my screen.
VP: “Yeah… Okay…” puzzled. So I share it. Show all the screenshots I took as some of the people in the meeting weren’t aware that we knew each other, including them basically begging for me to come back offering money to. And as if this wasn’t enough to convince them, I then showed me downloading a fresh version of what they submitted, and a fresh version of one of my commits on the GitHub, and running it through a trusted comparison software.
I narrated this to explain what I was doing just to be clear. Took a while but came up as I knew it would 0 differences. Everyone was stunned. One of the group members uttered, “but…”. I just laughed. And was quickly asked to hang up as I was no longer involved.
Turned out, they had cloned one of my comments and still had a copy on their laptop when I blocked their access, not being able to fix it at all, so just submitted it and hoped for the best.
One of my friends who is friends with one from my old group asked what grade they got and they said that they failed the whole module as they got a 0 for the second section giving them just 5.5% overall for the module (you need 40 to pass) and would have to retake it over the summer costing them and everyone in my old group their placement year jobs. After all, who wants someone who failed a module so badly and who was intellectually dishonest working for them? This meant that they all lost out on being paid ~$20k each for the year’s work, which goes a long way for a uni student while I happily get mine.”
Another User Comments:
“I’ve only ever had one group work that went smoothly, and it was because by some major stroke of luck I got placed in a group with 4 other girls who were equally motivated to get the job done. We finished our project and essay 2 weeks ahead of submission and got the highest marks of the module. When it’s a good group, it’s really fun, but Lord, when you get even one lazy idiot (which, let’s face it, is more likely), it sucks to high hell.” saturdaybloom
12. Don't Give Us Enough Time To Complete The Class? You Won't Like My Essay
Sometimes the best thing you can do as a teacher simply admit that you were in the wrong.
“I was reminded of this story while reading another post from earlier.
I was a senior in high school and my history teacher assigned a 30-hour online course that was worth 30% of our final grade (as our final assignment in the class), on top of that, if you didn’t finish the assignment in its entirety, she would give us a zero on the entire assignment.
For those of you doing the math, that means that if you missed part of it and didn’t already have a 100 in that class, you fail the class.
Not only did she give us a total of 3 class hours to work on this assignment, but she “forgot” to mention the 3 paragraph essay that was required. It was on the assignment sheet (which no one in the class actually read), but it was a single sentence at the bottom of the second page.
The assignment was hard enough. I was working 30 – 40 hours a week and barely had enough time to do my regular homework, much less some bullsh*t 30-hour assignment with non-skippable videos and quizzes. I actually had my brother do about half of it, and I lost out on sleep to finish the rest.
I finally finished the sh*t the day before we had to “turn in” the assignment. LUCKILY, I would get to school really early because as soon as I walked into the school, my friend runs up and says, “Did you do the essay?” and then explained that we were supposed to write an essay on our “thoughts” of the assignment.
Now, at first, I was f*cking p*ssed; she never mentioned this essay and made it seem like the entire assignment was online. But then I realized what the essay was supposed to be about.
Malicious compliance, engaged.
In the 30 minutes, I had left before turning in the assignment, I turned into a writing machine, the essay only had to be 3 paragraphs, I wrote almost 3 pages. I explained how the assignment was a complete waste of time, I explained my irritation with not getting class time to finish such a large and tedious assignment, I explained how I didn’t learn literally anything, I explained how much sleep I lost to complete this assignment and how several of the people in the class worked near full-time jobs outside of school, and I explained how incredibly inept the overall execution of the assignment was.
I got a zero on the essay part, but I got a 90% on the assignment, which brought my grade up to a B. Several people in my class failed the class because they didn’t know about the essay until class started.”
11. Abusive Mother Gets 9 Years Of Torment
“This happened in 2004 when I was 14. A bit of backstory before I begin; my mother is not a good person. She was abusive verbally for most of my life until I was 14 when her abuse turned physical. Because of her abuse, I came up with creative ways to punish her in my own petty ways (like tampering with her food and dunking her toothbrush in the toilet every day). This story is one of my better petty revenges towards her and the one that annoyed her the most.
I talked to my friends about the things she did to me, and although I appreciated the advice to go to the police, I knew that wouldn’t work (my mother is very convincing when she wants to be and every other time I went to the police, they never believed me). One of my friends, who we’ll call Tom, gave me a brilliant idea that would annoy her to no end but wouldn’t get me in trouble (his dad is a mechanic, so Tom knows his way around a car).
After school that day, I went with him to his house. He showed me a place underneath the car between the top of the front wheel and the side of the engine and told me what to do.
Bring on the pettiness.
I had to wait a few days to enact my revenge, but the day finally arrived. My mother and my sister left the house to ride their horses, which gave me plenty of time to do what needed to be done.
The next day, I went with my mom and sister to do grocery shopping, and I was elated to hear the product of my labor as the car started to drive down the driveway.
CLINK
CLINK
CLINK
Yes, dear readers. I attached a rock to the end of string inside the car that made a loud CLINK sound every few seconds when the car was moving.
MOM: “What the heck is that?”
ME: “No idea. Maybe you should get the mechanic to have a look at it.”
Remember how I said that Tom’s dad is a mechanic? Well, he’s the ONLY mechanic in the town we lived at, and Tom made sure to tell his dad about the things my mother did to me.
Needless to say, he was on my side.
So after we’d done our shopping, we stopped at the mechanic, so they could look at it and fix whatever needed fixing.
MOM: (as we arrived at the mechanic) “Hi there. Um, well my car is making a weird noise when I’m driving. Can you look at it for me?”
MECHANIC: “Sure thing. How about you take a seat inside, and I’ll give it a drive and see what the problem is.”
He got in the car and drove it around the block.
When he returned, the noise had “miraculously” stopped. He charged my mom for the check and we were on our way, but not before Tom’s dad subtly handed me the rock back and gave me a wink and a smile as I left.
That night, I put the rock back in place and left it to do its thing for the next day, and oh boy, was this satisfying! The next day, the noise was back, so mom went back to the mechanic, but THIS TIME, the mechanic couldn’t find ANYTHING wrong with it and “couldn’t hear any noise.”
I never bothered taking the rock out after that and neither did the mechanic.
He’d experienced her entitlement first hand and had heard many stories from other people around town about her. The rock wasn’t damaging the car or affecting its performance, so there was nothing that needed fixing.
I moved away to live with my dad when I was 16, but before I moved, the CLINK was still there, tormenting my mother every time she drove the car. I lost count of the number of times she took it back to the mechanic and the amount of money she spent on getting rid of the CLINK.
Here’s where my petty revenge turned pro, out of sheer good luck.
The last time I saw my mother I was 23 (2013), and she still has the same car. I’d expected the rock to have fallen out by then, but the car still has a CLINK.
Thanks Tom.”
10. Rob My Family When You're Supposed To Be My Friend? You're Still Going To Prison
“This happened somewhere in the middle east. Somewhat lengthy.
I (22) met a guy named ‘Ali’ through my best friend ‘Ahmed’. Ali seemed cool enough that we ended up hanging out a lot. When Ahmed (studying abroad) noticed me and Ali become closer [through social media] he warned me not to let my guards down because Ali isn’t how he seemed and that he’ll use me. I wish iI had listened, but I did not because I really thought me and all have become really good friends.
He was very respectful and seemed thoughtful.
Ali is a citizen of the country we live in (I’m not) and he made me feel really bad for him because of the stories he fed me over hookah and captagon. He told me stories about how his father abused him, his brother, and mother. How they’re about to be homeless because his father (who lives alone) would not pay rent. He was driving a really messed up car.
Once, i was telling him about the dark web and everything that goes through it, and he cried and begged me to find someone on the dark web who’d buy his kidney, so he can provide for his family. I was sad. It’s very bad luck for a citizen of this country to live almost below the poverty lines. So I felt bad for him, and toppled with captagon, I was very generous to him, too.
Since we met, I was paying for everything: food, drugs, a booze, hookah, and we were spending almost all day together. When ever he mentioned a financial problem, I never hesitated to help. I am a distance student with no job, but my father is a very successful businessman and gives me (his only son) a hefty sum every month. My father is really cool and we’re like friends, we smoke hash, and he manly dips with beer, a habit he picked up during his college years in the American south (which is illegal in this country).
My father gets his smokeables and liquor from his friend who lives near a border town and is heavily involved in smuggling. Every six months, my father receives the goodies and he pays cash upfront. Smokeables and liquor are actually very expensive, so six months worth is a lot of money. The reason my father gets six months worth at once is that a lot of western, African, and Asian businessmen visit him. And booze is something they all want.
Now, Ali already knows all that.
Unbeknownst to me, Ali had a greedy plan devised all along. He knew all the procedures involved during that transaction between my father and the smugglers. And he waited 6 months so he and his other friends can rob them. He sure was using me and he was really good at it. I had mentioned to him that I was thinking about throwing a humble party when the goodies arrive, and he asked me the exact day and I told him without thinking.
And that faithful day arrived and he and his friends stalked our house until the refrigerated trailer arrived. Before they unloaded it, however, my friend and his crew of 6, masked, armed, and impersonating the police, raided our house. Cuffed two of my uncles, four of the smugglers, and locked them in a room with 5 other clueless people who were in the house and the robbers made off with the cash and the trailer.
The locked up people genuinely believed the police were searching the entire house so they sited quietly.
They didn’t know “the police” had already left. 2 hours later, my sister got to a dead empty house and frantically called me. I was at a cafe blowing hookah alone thinking my friend Ali was sleeping. When she called, I drove home and started looking in every room and I found my terrified family and smugglers. I asked what has happened and one of the smugglers instantly laughed and asked me if there was police outside to which I replied “no” and then he cursed and said “the corrupt police stall the booze and hash.” Since that was a common occurrence, usually with smaller amounts, we all thought that was just that.
Crooked cops.
The tech savage person he is, my father has most of the house outfitted with a high tech surveillance. Me and my uncle started watching and that’s when I realized how good the sound system was. You can hear everything so clearly. I also noticed a very familiar body posture and gestures from one of the “officers.” I thought “could that be who I think he is?” When I heard his voice (multiple times), I was dumbfounded and furious.
I drove to his home and his car was not in the parking lot. I called him and he answered acting as though he just woke up. I told him that “the police just robed us.” He acted all concerned and I told him I’ll be at the cafe. Meanwhile, I called Ahmed and told him everything. He was not surprised at all, in fact, he told he knew Ali and his friends impersonated a police officer to rob foreigners.
He told me Ali had actually spent 6 months in prison a couple of years back for theft. I had no clue.
Always, Ali came to the cafe, eager to hear what happened and congratulating me because it could have gone bad. I played along, I didn’t tell him sh*t. I never gave away the fact I knew everything. I was just thinking about how to possibly screw him over. If I called cops on him and his friends, they’ll most definitely rat us out.
They’re thieves. The stuff had to come from somewhere.
I decided to play the long game and think about what I could do to him, thoroughly. I also told my dad and he told me to never tell him that I knew it was him and to try and break contacts with him. Since he was a citizen and my father didn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to himself because he got a business to protect, also my father never got involved directly with smokeables and booze ; his bros would take the fall if anything was to happen.
My uncle, however, was concerned if they somehow f*cked up and get caught they’d still snitch so he asked me to find out where exactly they stashed the stuff. After weighing my options, I decided to buy a GPS tracking device and attached to three of Ali’s friend and his cars. I found out the place where all three cars frequented at the same time and told my uncle. It turns out the house belongs to one of Ali’s friend’s cousin (Wasim) who happened to be a huge dealer of pills.
My uncle then approached Wasim’s friend about pills, booze and smokeables and the friend took him right to Wasim’s home. That way, my uncle confirmed probably all of the booze was inside. My uncle (26) then turned the table on them by him and his friends also impersonating “secret police” raided Wasim’s home and took every drug and substance available. They also injected Wasim with a mixture of drugs, filled his car with all the pills he was selling, and they deliberately crashed his car on a highway, and placed a passed-out Wasim in the driver’s sit.
I don’t think he knew when exactly the real police caught up with him.
Well, my uncle’s great plan got me thinking about how I could finally get all! I was still angry at him.
Ali didn’t know that I was bi; that’s because you don’t talk about that kind of stuff around here. Anyways, I met a guy (Angel) from North America (neither US nor Canada) in his final year studying as an international student. We hit it off and I started spending more time with him as I continued to distance myself from all.
Ali still had the money he stole from us so he didn’t care much; his life basically is: pop pills, smoke hookah, eat, sleep; repeat. He got that covered for a while.
Fast forward a year, my entire family, along with the family business moved to the neighboring country. I left behind with angel as I and angel were discussing moving to his country and I was seriously considering that as well. Finally, when he graduated we decided to live.
Angel would first go and arrange everything before I join him after a month. Out of the blue, I remembered about all. I barely saw him in the past 6 months by making up excuses like “I’m not in the country.” “I’m just gonna live without doing anything to him?” “No way!” I thought to myself.
A plan came to my mind. Just like how my uncle screwed Wasim by framing him, I wanted to do the same.
I told angel all about my plans. He thought the outcome could be too cruel. He is a very gentle person. But I assured him that they’d have killed my family had my uncles resisted the day of the robbery. Angel knew a little bit of the story but he never met all.
My plan was for Angel to rent a car a week before his departure. And a day before his departure, he parked it in front of a supermarket while the engine is running to get “something quickly,” I then “stole” the car.
The camera show a well-disguised man speeding away. He called the police, they reviewed the footage and alerted the rental company. The rental company then gave him another car. Which he returned to the rental company’s airport branch the next day before departing home.
I hid the car I stole at a location cops would not go to look. I also hid a fairly large amount of drugs and some cash under the trunk lid. I put the keys on the front tire.
Then I traveled the breadth and length of the Atlantic ocean to go be with my angel, Angel.
After overcoming jet lag and the confusion of time differences… I called ALI on Snapchat. And asked him” to please pick me and mom from the airport within an hour as my uncle couldn’t pick us up as something urgent came up at the last hour, but he has left a car at [location] and the key is on the front-left tire.” Since Ali’s car is a mess, he didn’t offer to use his own.
He assured me “I had nothing to worry about.”
He picked up the nice BMW rental in less than 30 minutes and he let me know. “I’ll see you at the airport,” was his last words.
I put the drugs under the trunk lid because airport security would always, without exception, lift the lid up to check. I letter learned that he got 5 years for being in the position of a stolen vehicle and position of drugs with intent to distribute.”
9. Rude Student Gets His Degree Program Delayed By A Year
“When I was in grad school a couple of years ago, I used to TA/grade to make some extra money and get a tuition waiver from my university (big state school). The class I graded for was a senior-level engineering course and typically one of the last requirements necessary for most students in the program to get their bachelor’s degree. The course was meaningless and ultimately useless information that never gets used and really only exists to make the college a little extra money.
Regardless, you need to pass this course to graduate (this is a very important part of this story).
Between going to grad school and working 30 hours a week, I didn’t have much time to grade and would usually just “give” my students good grades. The course was pointlessly difficult anyways, so if it looked like you got it mostly right and put in some effort you would never get below an 85. I was stricter on exams, but not by much, and I would always find a way to give a student at least a 65 on an exam.
After the final exam, we hold one more office hour session for students to come in and basically debate their grade on the final, in case we made errors grading it. None of my students came because they could all tell I gave them all good grades save for one, John.
John is a complete pr*ck and overall rude a** piece of sh*t. Throughout the entire semester, I watched as he belittled and harassed the students and professors / TA’s.
ANY lecture I attended, he always made snide comments and tried to tear down other students, to the point where he was forced to leave one lecture for how bad he heckled a student answering a question. He always blamed his “autism” after his many misbehaviors and outbursts, but would then immediately continue his sh*tty behavior. Maybe John was a little on the spectrum, but he also was just a giant piece of sh*t who got off on making others feel small, and that had nothing to do with his “autism.”
So, John comes into office hours, guns blazing about how I “f*cked up his grade and don’t know what the hell I am doing.” He was complaining about the grade on his final exam (a 78).
He insisted that it was graded incorrectly and that I was “retarded” along various other insults directed at me. He was so aggressive, I genuinely thought it was going to turn physical, but at the end of it, the professor promised him I would regrade his exam. With a sh*t-eating smirk on his face he said “good!” and walked out victoriously. He wouldn’t feel victorious for long.
I graded John’s exam again but this time I applied the ACTUAL rubric.
I took off points for every little thing I could and graded his exam as harshly as possible following the guidelines. In the end, he ended up losing an additional 23 points, bringing his final down all the way to a 55. Per the grading policy, a failing grade (<60) on the final exam auto fails you for the entire course. The best part? This course is only offered in the spring semester, meaning John would have to wait A WHOLE YEAR to even take this course again.
There is no alternative within the state and he was basically f*cked unless he wanted to commute to an out of state school.
John then proceeds to spam my inbox with nasty email after nasty email, accusing me of all sorts of things in the worst ways possible. When that doesn’t get a response, he spam calls my phone and leaves threats of violence on my voicemail, eventually threatening to shoot me to death (mistake). This got him put on probation from the school (they showed sympathy because of “autism”), and I filed a police report for the threats of violence. Pro tip kids, never leave a message you are going to kill someone because that is very illegal and can get you arrested, a fact John found out the hard way.”
8. Neighbor Has A Problem With Me, So I Give Her Heck Before I Move Out
“This happened about 6 years ago.
Entitled neighbor lady (EB) owned her apartment and was a part of the housing board there as an owner, but I was just renting right next door. I have a cat who was a registered service animal for anxiety and had the landlord’s permission to have her there. I worked multiple split shifts in disability care and would work until 12 am and leave about 6 am sometimes and would be out all day just doing different shifts.
I was very quiet when I would come home and I lived there alone and wasn’t seeing anyone so it was just me there.
My cousin had just been found murdered after being missing for 30 days and I was quite upset about this obviously and had taken up smoking again. I would smoke just outside my backdoor and it started with her just slamming her backdoor and I realized that the smell was going to her door, so I went further out so it would stop annoying her.
Then one day, I was putting out my washing, and EB started having a go about me having a cat and how she was on the board and either I get rid of the cat or she will get me kicked out. So I told her that the landlady knows and she can do whatever she wants, but she won’t succeed and that she has two little yappy dogs, so she won’t get very far. Then the false complaints started.
The landlady called me. Apparently, I was having very loud relations at all hours of the day and night (I was never home as I worked mostly 7 days a week at that point from about 6 am to 12 am split shifts and was sleeping the rest of the hours). I was smoking in my home, I was banging on her walls, etc. On the times that I was home, I could hear her yelling and screaming at me from her house or she would bang on my walls in the middle of the night randomly waking me up and causing me to have nightmares..She called the police on me numerous times.
I ended up recording her to prove to the landlady that it was her and not me. I’d actually had one of the other elderly owners on my side and defend me to the board as she had seen and heard what EB had been doing to me and knew that I wasn’t nasty as I would do her shopping for her on really hot days.
Eventually, it all became too much for me because I was trying to grieve for my cousin and I informed the landlady that I wanted out and asked if I could break my lease without copping a fine and she said absolutely because I was a model tenant in the other homes I had rented from her.
Here comes the revenge part. I had a week off to move out and clean, etc. So I played nothing but metal music or p*rnos really really loudly, banged on her walls at night, and filled her letterbox with baked beans.”
7. I Had Enough Of My Roommate, So I Killed His Plant
“After my freshman year of college, I was looking to move off-campus since dorms are very expensive. A “friend” from the dorms called Aiden was very wealthy, and his family bought a townhouse in our college town. He asked for me to move in, and I agreed, especially because it would be significantly cheaper than most off-campus housing.
I ended up moving into the basement, and Aiden and another guy were upstairs. I soon found out how neurotic Aiden was.
He was a neat freak and prone to anger issues. I don’t consider myself very messy, but he was on a whole other level. No kitchen electronics could be on the counters and had to be put away at all times, including toasters, coffee machines, and water heater. No big deal; some people don’t like clutter. He also insisted on having the entire sink cleaned and empty after every meal before you ate. He would throw my pots on the table while I was in the same room eating, telling me to “f*cking clean up after yourself” continuously.
He would also get frustrated if he came home to cook and I was already making a meal and tell me to hurry up, can I not cook faster, etc. Until I was done.
Eventually, I had enough of this bullsh*t. Aiden had a girlfriend at the time named Melissa, and she was from a middle-class family from California. She eventually moved in due to issues with her own roommates and would harass me as well when her boyfriend was not there, lecturing me about how I need to sweep and mop after every meal I make since I make a mess.
Even a cold cut sandwich.
They eventually decided to get flowers for the townhouse. These were not your average supermarket flowers but from florists in the area who charged a pretty penny. Aiden’s family would cover the costs, and they got several plants, their favorite being this giant white orchid that is longer than my arm. It sat in the middle of the kitchen table. Aiden and Melissa took care of this thing every day, buying it plant food, measuring out water for it, everything you can think of.
One day, I was eating dinner with a cup of hot chocolate, and I accidentally spilled my hot chocolate near the plant. Aiden was watching TV, came in because of the noise, and LOST HIS MIND. He was screaming about how I am going to replace this expensive orchid if it dies, how I can’t take care of anything and don’t care about his belongings, and tried threatening eviction. (The property was managed by a third party company who I signed the lease with, so I knew he couldn’t evict me without due cause, as I was a model tenant who paid every month on time through the portal, kept my space clean, didn’t smoke inside, no pets, etc).
That was the last straw.
The following week, I set up an alarm at 3 am, and I would go upstairs from my basement abode, and pour salt on his plants. A little bit at a time to make sure they wouldn’t die immediately.
His orchid began to wither, slowly at first, and he and his girlfriend spent countless money and energy trying to keep it alive. Alas, I salted that f*cker to death over two weeks, along with every other plant in the house.
They bought another orchid, and I gave it a week before I started my process again. Killing yet another beautiful and expensive orchid. They repeated this process four more times until Aiden’s family refused to get anymore because they couldn’t take care of their plants.
The best part was, with their last orchid, I came home from classes one day to find Melissa and Aiden pouring their expensive plant food holding up the wilted, dying plant, as Melissa screamed through her sobs, “WHY can’t I keep this F*CKING PLANT ALIVE???” As Aiden glared at me, interrupting their grieving process. I RAN my a** down to my room and burst into laughter and never saw another plant in that house for the rest of my lease.”
6. Say My Boots Are Within Dress Code But Don't Like Them? I'll Stop Dressing To Impress
“So it’s not really that I have a problem with dress codes. I have a problem with conforming. So if you say socks have to be black or blue, 99.999999% of people will assume that you mean navy blue. I’m the person who would show up with sky blue. Just to silently stand out for a day. Just to give a smirk to the 5 other people who’ll think “well, they did just say blue!” Just to highlight to the bureaucrat who wrote the rules that they’re not as airtight as they thought they were.
In short, I am (as my hubby would say) a brat. It’s just fun (to me) to show people that “either/or” doesn’t always have to be your only choices.
We’ll just say I was an “adventurous dresser.” I liked unusual combinations and had I been encouraged instead of discouraged (and taught how to sew). I very probably would have ended up as a low-level fashion designer. Clothes were like paint to me after an entire childhood in the same plaid.
I wanted to mix colors and textures and brushes. Boarding school is not really a colorful, choose your own adventure, kind of place.
Well, though I was a precocious child, I was never a rule breaker (save for very calculated rule-breaking in my previous story). My mother always said, “VooDooDaughter’s obedient and well behaved. She will bend a rule into a pretzel. But she’ll never intentionally break one.” She was the kind of parent who had to carefully word rules and restrictions when leaving me to my own devices….
but also be careful not to put ideas into my head, at the same time. Basically, if you give me the impression that you believe something is ironclad, I’ll pick it apart just because I enjoy the mental exercise of seeing if it really is ironclad. But if you’re a jerk, I’m going to find the worst way to show you it’s not iron clad.
I went to a boarding school with two types of dress codes.
We had “Classroom Dress” which was exactly what it sounds like. We were basically expected to look like young professionals. All the normal rules you would expect. Skirts below the fingertips for girls; shirts and ties for the boys. The handbook was pretty specific, as most are. The alternative was what we could wear in our free time “Town Dress” and it was the standard we were expected to dress to when seen in public off-campus or just spending time in the students’ lounge.
This was more relaxed but still rules to keep the girls from wearing anything too sexy or the boys from looking too ragged in torn/cut off/worn-out clothes. That sort of stuff.
I had a pair of knee-high suede moccasin boots with fringe at the top, just below the knee. Actually, I had two pairs. One in black. One in brown. They were the most comfortable, warm boots I ever owned (long before the days of uggs). My mother and I fought constantly over these boots and it was a great triumph to me that she’d allowed me to spirit them away to school with me.
Then one day I was approached by a teacher who told me that the teachers had had a discussion and my boots “Weren’t in the spirit of Classroom Dress.”
“But I’ve read the dress code. There’s nothing in there against them.” I protested.
“I know. It’s just been decided they don’t meet the spirit of the dress code.” She elaborated.
“But they’re the right color.”
“I know.”
“They’re the right fabric. Suede is allowed.”
“I know.”
“There’s no restriction on boot length. You allow riding boots for the equestrian club!”
“I know….”
“Then WHY?!” I don’t really know if I was angry or sad or an even split of both.
But I was emotional.
“I wish I had better answers for you.” She was a teacher I liked and I knew liked me. I realized it’s why they’d sent her. I wasn’t the sort to make a scene or cause a fuss…… I was the sort to get even.
“Ok,” I said and walked off. That night, I studied the dress code front to back. I read every sentence forwards and backward. I said them out loud. I held up every article of clothing mentioned and studied it as if I were an alien who had nothing but the handbook and that piece of clothing to figure out how it was used by humans.
It was a pretty strict handbook, I had to give them that. But they had made 2 mistakes.
The handbook was oddly UNspecific about which items of clothing were to be worn where.
Nowhere did the handbook say we had to make an effort to actually look good. They discussed what articles of clothing needed to be what colors and how far they needed to extend in certain directions (skirts below the finger tips, socks above the ankles, sleeves past the elbows, etc).
Shoes had to be in reasonable colors like black or brown (like my boots were!) or other earth tones. But it never said they couldn’t be elf shoes, for example. Granted, elf shoes wouldn’t be “in the spirit of classroom dress.” But I digress.
I went to bed furious and with vicious ideas circling in my mind. Debating whether or not I wanted to pull this particular trigger. Eventually, I decided I’d wait until morning and if I still felt that way, I would begin phase 1.
The next morning, I woke up still p*ssed and began a mental list of the worst boys in my grade as I walked to breakfast. When I got there, I found a few of them and pointed out that the handbook specified that ties were to be tied in a single or double Windsor knot at all times unless it was a bowtie and then it was to be tied in the traditional manner (don’t know what that’s called).
What it DIDN’T specify is what part of the body it was to be affixed to. Nowhere did it specify that ties had to be tied around the neck. Just how they needed to be tied. I told them they didn’t have to believe me. Just read their handbooks that night and do what they will with the information.
The next day, there were ties on wrists, around eyeglasses, foreheads, ankles, knees, thighs, tied then wrapped around hands as if to stop bleeding knuckles….
anywhere you could attach a Windsor knot to the human body, there was a boy in my school with a tie there.
I was feeling pretty darn proud of myself. Phase one was a total success. The teachers were annoyed but most found it amusing…. Until we got to math class. There was a kid in class without his tie on. The one who always wore a bowtie. The teacher walked up to his desk and looked down her nose at him.
“I understand you boys are having some fun with your ties today. And I think we’ve been pretty good sports. But if you know the handbook this well, then you know you at least have to be wearing a tie.”
He raised his head, smirked, and said, “Oh I’m wearing one. You just can’t see it.” The class erupted. Now maybe he just had it under his pants on his ankle. Or tied around his elbow under his blazer.
I’ll never know. But he went down as the kid who came to class with his tie around his p*nis. By the end of the day, I was a legend for finding the loophole and he was a legend for what he had put the loophole around. By morning announcements, the dress code had been updated (we were all handed a printed page, so we couldn’t claim we didn’t know) to include specifications about ties around necks and the fun was over for the boys.
Phase 2 was a little more in-depth – read on if you’re not already bored. I studied the handbook and I took mental notes.
I had been eyeing the most ridiculous pair of boots I’d ever seen at the mall. They were silver with holographic rainbow interlocking circles on them. They sported a 2-inch platform with a chunky 4-inch heel and laced up just above the ankles. They looked like something Romy and Michelle would have worn in their final prom scene or Fran Drescher in the Nanny.
Ungodly. I knew I couldn’t wear them to class but I wanted them for town days soooooooo bad. Like I said, after 9 years in uniform, I was having fun with fashion. I saved for months and “visited” them at the mall every chance I got. I had been slowly talking myself out of such a frivolous pair of boots (they were SO expensive!), but the loss of my favorite classroom boots had reinvigorated my lust for them.
And right after my moccasins were revoked, I had managed to save up just enough to afford them. Lucky me!
I practically skipped to the store to get my holographic rainbow platform boots that weekend. They were out of my size! I nearly cried. Until I noticed right next to them was the black patent leather version. Until now, they had seemed so tame by comparison. But the dress code had a special section about patent leather footwear.
It was specifically permitted but only when wearing pants (there’s an old, idiotic, belief that you can see the reflection of a girl’s panties in patent leather shoes if she’s wearing a skirt). So I could not wear the rainbow boots to class. But their sister boots in black patent leather with silver details were totally permitted (silver also being specifically permitted on shoes as some might have grommets for laces, bwahahahaha!). Still sporting the 2-inch platform and 4-inch heel, mind you.
The school didn’t have any limits on heel size, assuming high schoolers wouldn’t want to be in heels all day, I guess? Something about losing the whimsy of the silver holographic rainbows also had the bonus effect of taking them from a “club kid” mood to a darker “hooker boots” realm. And to think, I would never have even considered the black pair if it weren’t for my recent fascination with our dress code.
The black boots also happened to be on discount whereas my silver ones would have been full price.
So I walked away with enough money to buy a pair of pants to wear with my new boots. A plan began to formulate in my devious brain. I invited my friends to join me at one of the local thrift stores and we spent the afternoon hunting for the ugliest pants we could find that was still within the guidelines of the school dress code. And we did. They were bright orange polyester pants with little grey-green amorphous dots on them.
Something akin to an incredibly tiny giraffe print. You almost couldn’t make out the green, just that there was a pattern to the orange. Something about the two colors clashed enough that they almost vibrated in front of your eyes, making you half dizzy/half nauseated if you stared too long. And, as luck would have it, I scored a deal on an orange, shag sweater that was the exact same shade! I looked like a half-finished sesame street character on top and a lost disco reject on the bottom….
oh, did mention they were slightly belled straight-legged orange polyester pants?
I strolled into class on Monday looking like a rejected extra from Saturday Night Fever. My new platform boots had heavy wooden heels that clunked loudly everywhere I walked. I now stood four inches taller making me stand out even more in the halls, and rivaling some of my teachers for presence in the classroom. I watched some of them glare at my new boots and began to figure out which ones had taken issue with my knee-high moccasins.
I could tell the teachers who were getting a laugh out of it, too. But I didn’t’ stop there. It became my life’s mission to seek out the most horrendous clothing and outfits I could concoct. I didn’t care how I looked anymore. I had been so careful when I packed to make sure my clothes had all been suitable. And by their own admission, my boots were within the code. They just hadn’t liked them.
I had done my utmost to dress within their rules and they had arbitrarily decided something wasn’t good enough because they didn’t like it. So now I wore something hideous every single day so they had to see me in something nobody liked. Every. Single. Day. After all, what could they do? Just tell me EVERY SINGLE DAY that I wasn’t dressed appropriately but never in violation? At some point, I would cry it was personal, maybe even racial.
By their own admission, it didn’t violate the rules. And I was certain to never violate the rules. That just wasn’t my style. Plus, at this point in a battle of wills, you can’t afford to get sloppy and give the other side any advantage. (Mom always said I was stubborn)
The nice thing about boarding school is the girls are happy to share clothes around with anyone who will share back. So instead of just one closet, I had like 30 to pick from just in my dorm.
Sure most of my clothes matched each other by intent and planning. But they looked absurd with clothes picked by/for other people. Someone might have a loud shirt they only wear with a black skirt. But I’d pair it with a printed skirt from 3 rooms down in clashing colors just because I could. Still within code.
I wore those hooker boots any time I didn’t have on a skirt. I invested in more polyester than a school should legally be allowed to have on campus for fire safety reasons.
I sought out every consignment, vintage, second-hand shop in town (and there were a lot! it was a largely hippie town so the pickings were fantastic). I put together 3 piece suits (with ties) that made me look so butch they actually asked my mother if I was gay at her parent-teacher conference (apparently dressing badly makes you a lesbian?). I braided my bangs into a single braid and would put heavy earrings at the end to weigh it down then swing it around like a pendulum over my desk or book during class by swirling my head (only if I was bored in a class with a teacher I suspected of costing me my boots).
Anything and everything I could do to be visually assaulting to the senses, I did.
At the above-mentioned parent-teacher meeting, they asked my mom if she could speak to me about my clothing and she asked, surprised, if I was breaking any rules. They explained about the boots. Mom told me she laughed and said there was nothing she could do. “If there’s one thing my daughter hates, it’s being punished for a rule she didn’t know existed or a rule that never existed in the first place.
If you want to make a rule today to stop her, she won’t do it tomorrow….I bet you never saw those boots again. But you took away something she loved for seemingly no good reason. She sees that as a punishment even if you only saw it as a request. And now she’s punishing you back. Simple as that. I suggest you just let it go and fix your handbook over the summer. Otherwise, you’ll run out of paper, trying to print daily changes to keep up with the loopholes she’ll find.
My daughter loves finding loopholes. I should never have given her so many riddles as a child.” Upon hearing this, they admitted that the only reason my new boots had been “ignored” thus far is that; this having been my reaction to the banning of the first pair, some were fearful what I might find to wear in retaliation if a second pair was banned. And, an obedient student that I was, I never did wear my knee-high suede moccasins again.
Random Conclusion stuff:
They never did come after me for a single other dress code issue…except once when my skirt was too short (honestly not intentional, each teacher measured slightly differently). And I didn’t return the next year for entirely unrelated reasons so I don’t know what changes they may have made.
So remember to take your problems, turn them on their side, flip them inside out, look at life from a funny angle and you never know what cracks you might find.
And it’s another great story of my awesome mom totally having my back…. Though looking back as an adult, I’ll bet she was a little p*ssed they banned her boots, too. I mean, after all, if they had been more specific in the handbook, she could have kept them at home the entire time instead of in my closet at school, gathering dust!
Miss you, Mom!”
5. Complain About Slow Service? I'll Make You Wait Hours
Funny how they quickly changed their tune.
“It’s a beautiful day, and the restaurant is on the water. Every nice day is absolutely packed. My restaurant does not take reservations of any kind ever, so people have to go in person, request a table, leave, then come back later to eat. Normally locals understand and expect this; there is no problem, but we are a tourist town. When newcomers try to get tables, there is always trouble (this is important in a second).
Now I am SWAMPED. I have had my section full for the entire day and hadn’t had time to go on a single 5-minute break since the start of my double shift at 10 am; it’s now around 6 pm. A couple lands at one of my tables in the corner and they are already upset because they had to wait to get a table after a new girl had tried to take a reservation for them over the phone and they had to be called back and told that they had to come in to reserve a spot.
I nod to them, acknowledging that I see them after I notice them GLARING DAGGERS at me as if to say get your butt over here now. (I was dealing with a particularly sh*tty table at the time. Any server reading this will know the type.) Every freaking time you come back, they need something else. They ask for ketchup, you bring ketchup, then once you’re back, they ask for refills on drinks, you run and do that, and then they need salt and they want to order more food, blah blah blah.
Now at this point, there are two things you need to understand: one, they had sat around waiting for a table for over an hour before being sat, and two, our restaurant has food runners… for those of you who are not familiar with this, it is a group of high school kids that (for around 6% of all tips the restaurant receives) will take care of running your food to your table for you.
Now I was also the only person that treated the food runners like human beings instead of pack mules.
Because of this, my food runners were very well organized and would happily help me out when I was swamped. A food runner had gone to my table, offered them water, brought them silverware, and told them I would be over shortly.
5 minutes later, I roll up and start my speech. “Hello, my name is Gray, and welcome to the restaurant! Sorry for that wait as you can tell I’m really busy and…” the man cuts me off “What’s your name?” he asks condescendingly.
“Gray,” I reply. “Gray,” he starts up again, “why is this the first time you are coming to the table?” “We have been here waiting for over 45 minutes.” They had literally gotten there no more than 8 minutes ago and thought I hadn’t noticed them walk in. “You are by far the worst waiter I have ever seen; you should have greeted us and walked us to our table” — another lie, as I saw the hostess do this like she does for every other person that eats here.
Now I was already having a bad day, and I was on my second part of a double shift that I knew would go well past midnight, so I was having none of it. This guy goes on to insult my posture, my accent, my clothing (I’m wearing a f*cking uniform), and a myriad of other things. At this point, I’m staring straight through him, not listening to a single word.
Finally, he says, “We want another server NOW.
You should be fired for your incompetence,” I smile; he would not have asked for that. He basically just gave me the green light to f*ck up the rest of his evening.
I’m friends with everyone in the restaurant. When I have a request, it can usually be handled almost instantly. But this time was going to be different. I walk to the hostess’ table and see one of my best friends (let’s call her Emma) crying under the counter.
Emma is a 4’6″ adorable Hispanic girl who was 20 years old. She was just a tiny little thing, and she needed a step stool to address people at the front desk. She had a cabinet that she could literally sit in and take naps, and she was in there crying. I gave her a big hug and asked her what was wrong. She said a couple had chewed her out for 10 minutes straight about how terrible she was, and guess who it was? My freaking table!
I asked her if she wanted some revenge, and she said hell yes.
I told her they wanted a new table because I’m not good enough but take your time finding a new server – they can wait. She smiled; she knew what was going to happen. I told my water buddy John that Emma was going to send him a table in an hour or so and went back to work. That couple watched 3 tables sit down, order their food, eat, pay, and leave before they even got to order.
They sat and wanted the entire time just to try and stick it to me.
The look on their faces as I happily and efficiently took care of all my tables right in front of them was priceless. Since they were not my table anymore, I didn’t visit them once. After they were moved, ate, and left, I asked the waiter that took their table how they were. He said they were very polite and patient with him. I think that will be the last time they treat wait staff so horribly.”
4. An Ungrateful Charity Got Thousands Of Dollars Taken Away From Them
You really can’t complain about free money…
“Years ago, I was on the charitable funds committee at my workplace. We collected money from employees via monthly payroll deduction, and at the end of the year, we would split what we collected amongst 5 popular charities with half the money going to a particular international charity that supports other charities. I will call this charity Unworthy Wankers for this story. Unworthy Wankers were known to have pretty high admin fees, which never sat right with me.
They also demanded we cut them a check early each year (pro-rated) to coincide with their fundraiser, rather than wait till the end of the year when we cut the checks for the other charities.
One year, a representative from Unworthy Wankers came to see our committee during their yearly fundraising blitz. We thought they would share inspirational stories about their organization’s successes and perhaps thank us for the tens of thousands of dollars we collected for them each year.
But oh no – that was not the purpose of this visit. They raked us over the coals, telling us we were not doing our part for a company of our size, and insisted we revisit how we distribute our funds. They were rude and demanding and I left that meeting absolutely p*ssed off.
So I decided to suggest to our committee that we take their advice and revisit our process on fund distribution. We subsequently changed our process, and instead of distributing the collected money to 5 charities, we started allowing each employee to donate to any registered charity of their choice.
It was a lot more work for our committee to administer, but it was worth it. Turns out, very few employees chose Unworthy Wankers for their charity – the majority chose other charities, resulting in Unworthy Wankers losing tens of thousands of dollars, which they never received from us again.
Let’s just say, the next year when their rep came to see us, I was delighted to tell them that we took their advice and revisited our process, and now, we were letting our employees chose exactly where their donations went. Sadly just a small number chose Unworthy Wankers. It was hard not to smile when I told them this year’s donation would be a few hundred dollars, not the $30,000 they were so disappointed with last year.”
3. Be Abusive Towards Me? Time To Flood Your Work E-Mail
“So early this year [in the spring], I (15M) was sent away from my parents to live with my biological father and his wife, who we will call Chris.
Now at first, everything was fine despite my hesitations, but later on, in my stay with them, Chris and her husband showed their true colors as being relatively abusive and VERY close-minded which made me feel very unsafe and led to my mental health tanking so much, I didn’t want/couldn’t do things like eat or walk.
Some examples of the things that they did to me include and are not limited to:
*Chris threatened to throw me and my possessions out of her house and force me to sleep in a tent outside of her house if I ever broke her microwave.
*Chris and my bio-dad took huge issue in me being gay and tried to force me to “see the light” about why being gay was wrong by using a Bible to force me to realize that being was wrong and to confess that I really was gay to them because they felt that being gay was akin to being a pedophile.
*Tried to coerce me into saying that my real parents were abusive in order to force me into staying with them permanently.
*Both (mostly bio-dad) badmouthed my mother from time to time and tried to get me to dislike her while also simultaneously berating/belittling me and insulting my intelligence on a regular basis.
*Prevented me from going to school because my school at the time was online and Chris HATED online school because she didn’t want me to have the internet and she felt like online school was “bullsh*t,” etc.
But nothing, NOTHING compares to the time where my bio-dad assaulted me and threatened me with knives which forced me to call the police on him and Chris, after which they kept me prisoner inside of their house for around a week.
So naturally, when I got back to my REAL home, I was much more than a little bit p*ssed. For a good solid month afterward, I was stewing in my hatred and anger that I had towards both Chris and my biological father.
Eventually, though, I ended up snapping when I remembered how smug Chris looked and the things she stated before I was due to leave her home and I decided that on some level, that evil b*tch had to pay. Even if I could only cause her a minor inconvenience, it would be very worth it to me.
I remembered my stepmother’s work email and home address so over the course of several days I inputted that info into various websites and shop accounts.
Newsletters that will be delivered to you virtually at least once a day? Click! Wonder about Scientology and all of the wonderful things that it teaches?? Click! Want to see some hot lesbians or gay men have oral or anal s*x? Click!
After I had done this, I burst out giggling because I knew that Chris and her husband probably wouldn’t catch onto who had done it and how to stop it from happening. You see, they were both verrryy tech-illiterate and had to receive help to even do the most basic things like put in a password for their phone.
So, naturally, who’s to say that they would figure it out that I was the one who signed my stepmother up for all of those things?
Months passed afterward, and I decided that I wanted to know what had happened after I had signed up Chris to all of those newsletters and gay p*rn subscriptions. I googled her name on the school directory that contained her email that I had used to sign her up for all of the gay stuff and I couldn’t find her name or work email listed ANYWHERE.
It was like she had never even existed at that school because everything that was on that site about her was scrubbed clean.
After I saw that, I burst out laughing SO hard I almost p*ssed myself. It’s been a while since I left the abuse, and I am much better mentally and physically with my mother and stepdad than I was living with Chris and her husband. Hell, I’m even thinking about taking dual enrollment classes at my local community college after I graduate my sophomore year, which was something that NEVER would’ve happened had I stayed to live with Chris.
So yeah. Hi, family, if you’re reading this. And to Chris, if you ever end up reading or hearing about this Reddit post, you are a vile b*tch and you deserved that junk mail.”
Another User Comments:
“Additional tip: use her work email to register an interest in learning more with an LDS Church and the Jehovah’s witnesses. I’ve heard they send out a lot as well. Also, I’m not sure where you’re from, but here, even looking up CP is illegal, so she could possibly get in serious trouble for that. Also, don’t forget to do something like sign her up to various vaguely insulting catalogs, e.g. catalogs for especially large-bodied people, catalogs for massive shoes, and if you’re feeling especially daring, you could get someone old enough to sign her up to newsletters from several online adults stores.” mr-ajax-helios
2. Whip Out A Weapon? She'll Prove How Much A Whimp You Really Are
“Whenever I was in between jobs, I would drive a taxi. I was living in Tampa at the time when I was laid off suddenly, so I went to the local taxi stand to ask about the local licensing laws when I witnessed this.
At the dispatcher’s desk was this tiny woman, maybe 4′10″ if that and really, really skinny. She spoke with a very soft voice, and while giving me the directions, I needed to get my hack in Tampa.
Then this really big guy comes storming into the office screaming really loud. From what I could understand, his cab broke down, and it took a while for the tow truck and he was losing money waiting for repairs.
He started demanding the dispatch staff assign him another cab or ‘Sh*t was gonna get real ugly.’ The tiny woman, who I now find out is the senior dispatcher in charge, calmly excuses herself from our conversation and walks over to him, and very quietly and calmly tells him to just have a seat and wait for his car to be repaired.
She said she will credit his lease for the day (which means he doesn’t have to pay a stand fee, and everything he makes is his).
Big dude isn’t having it, he starts to lean in on the little chick, and she doesn’t flinch. He screams in her face even more loudly and starts to threaten her with bodily harm, and still, nothing. She repeats herself again a few times, still speaking very calmly and quietly, which just appears to p*ss this guy off even more.
Big dude whips a gun out and sticks it in her face.
I have never seen anyone do this before or since, but she barely moved and took the gun right out of his hand, whoosh! Dude is just standing there in shock.
I am also standing there in shock, and this little chick, still very calm and now a little louder tells him, ‘Sit down, shut the f*ck up, and give me a minute to decide whether to let you keep working here!’ She then turns around and comes back to talk to me, smiling and still holding his gun by the barrel and asks if I have any questions in that very calm voice.
All I could ask was how she did that, take the gun away from him. She told me to come back with my hack license, and she would show me.
I ended up finding another gig before my license went through, but I wish I would have gone back to find out how she did that.”
1. Refuse To Listen To Our Warnings That You'll Spend Too Much Money? Nevermind
“So this story was from about 8 years ago, so my memory may be a little hazy, so I was 18(M) and working a bar in the town center somewhere in the UK.
We’re based between two of the grimiest pubs and the clubs in there, so we got a lot of dodgy, rude, and drunk patrons on a regular occurrence.
One night at around 12 am, this group of guys comes in wearing suits and I immediately can tell they’re pretty drunk and obnoxious; they come to the bar which was about 2-3 deep (around 20-30 people waiting ahead of them), and they start loudly asking for service even though there are people patiently waiting in front of them.
My team and I just roll our eyes and get back to serving people.
I get round to serving them and they all shout, “Finally! Some f’ing service, what took you so long?” I just ignored that comment and asked what they wanted, and they then started talking amongst themselves, like they didn’t have enough time to work this out while waiting.
The ring leader proclaimed that they’re going big tonight, so they want a bottle of Grey Goose spirits.
I said, “I can only see you a maximum of a double in any one drink. If you want make it stronger, go for it.” He ignores most of what I said and just says, “Didn’t you hear me: ONE BOTTLE OF GREY GOOSE.” (We can’t sell the bottles of spirits under any circumstances.) I call the manager up in the back and explain the situation he says exactly what I’ve already told the customer, so we agreed that if explained one more time about how I had to give them the drink and he just said one bottle again, I’d do it.
What Ring Leader didn’t realize is that I have to put the whole bottle through as doubles which were about (8.50 per double without any mixers), so this bottle ended up costing him $225 quid before any mixers when its only $47 quid in the local supermarket.
He throws his hands up in the air saying I’ve ripped him off and he’s not going to pay that, and why didn’t I say anything sooner, etc., etc. I said that I did and he just fobs me off and goes to walk out, but little does he know, I’ve already asked the bouncers to keep him in the building till he’s paid up.
His mates laugh at him as he goes white as a sheet realizing he’s just spent a lot of money. His friends give him a little bit of money to pay help up. Ring Leader then spends the night sulking with his $225 bottle of $47 vodka.”
Another User Comments:
“That’s not even a bad price for “bottle service.”
In the US, a 1L bottle of grey goose is something like $33 and booze sales in a bar would look for something close to 20% cost of goods sold. Realistically it should be closer to 15 for a spirit, but we’ll give it the benefit. So around $175 is absolutely what I’d expect to price it at.
I’ve never heard of bottle service being a discount compared to typical pricing. If anything, it’s more often a premium.
Switch those numbers from USD to sterling, and it sure seems like they got a bargain!” admiralteal
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