People Share The Time Their Minuscule Revenge Paid Off

Has someone ever given you a hard time, and as a result, have you wanted to do something in response to irritate or upset them? Often, we think of how we’ll get revenge on someone, but we end up not actually doing anything. It’s one of those situations where you have a devil sitting on your shoulder telling you to just do it, but you have an angel on the other side explaining why you shouldn’t follow through with it. It’s rough.

But let me tell you: I know plenty of people who have and will follow through with getting back at someone for hurting them. These people are, in my opinion, pretty brave souls. And although the following stories don’t contain severe, hardcore revenge, they are, however, enough to leave you biting your fingernails.

23. Be Unreasonable Housemates? We’ll Move Out And Leave You Nothing

“This happened last month.

By some universe coincidences, my girlfriend and I ended up living with another couple in a rented house to split costs. It was a big house, so each couple would have their own bathroom, bedroom, and we shared the common places like the kitchen and the living room.

The house was originally rented by a co-worker who, by the time of this story, was no longer in the house anymore, but all the furniture was his, and he gifted it all to me when he left.

This other couple was really annoying. They would leave their dirty dishes in the sink with rotten food and only washed them until the weekend or would leave their dog to poop all over the house. One time, the guy was cooking in a torn out shorts, and his underwear was very visible.

This was really uncomfortable to my girl. Any time I talked to them about all the issues that bothered us, they used to change their habits for a few days, and then it was all the same. But the house was rented, and they arrived first, so I wasn’t able to kick them out. And if I tried, I was afraid of the guy since he was a bad-tempered a**hole.

The last straw was this summer. It was really hot, and these b*stards liked the A/C at full blast day and night, even when they weren’t home.

And if I turned it off, they would get mad and immediately turn it on after telling me how they could not sleep without the A/C at max.

Ok, I did my best to wear a hoodie and sleep with my winter clothes in the middle of the f*cking summer inside the house, just so they would be comfortable and for the sake of saving a few bucks in rent money.

And of course, the inevitable happened. The electric bill came, and it was 4 times higher than usual, and it was a lot.

So I talked to them about how their use of the electricity was out of control and why we should split the bill 25/75 since my girl and I are almost never home. It turned into a huge fight and his only argument was that we all used the electricity, so we all should pay the same. He wouldn’t listen to my arguments, and there was nothing I could do. I ended up paying the same amount.

After this b*stard and his girlfriend made me pay for their comfort, they started doing a lot of passive-aggressive stuff like throwing out my unspoiled food while they would leave their rotten food on my fridge or using their TV at the highest volume while I tried to sleep (I get up really early to exercise before work, so I go to sleep really early). And a lot of things like that in a very childish manner.

In addition to still leaving on every kind of electrical device in the house while they were out.

Then I knew I had to get out of that house. There was no money-saving anymore due to the high costs of the bills, so my girlfriend and I started to look for a place for only the two of us and our 2 rescued dogs. We found an affordable and comfortable house with plenty of room for our dogs, so we pulled the trigger.

We talked to the owner of the previous house about us leaving and he had no problem at all, so it was all set. We waited until the other couple was out of town for the weekend and took every last thing we owned out of that house and moved out. I left them without any furniture, I mean no stove, no microwave, not even a table to eat. I left my keys at the entrance of their bedroom door and a note that said, “We couldn’t bear your attitudes anymore, so we left with our belongings.

Have a nice life wasting your own money, -OP”

The owner of the house which became a very good friend of mine later told me that they told him how I took out all of their belongings. He knew that they were mine and told them. I wish I was there to look at their faces.

Have fun eating fast food on the floor, a**holes.” ElectroBonuzz

22. Want Me To Think About What You Said? I’ll Look For A Better Job

The perfect response to an employer who doesn’t appreciate you!

“This is the story of my former employer.

I work in the northeast US, and my employer at the time was a very small company (boss and 5 employees) in a very specific industry where 90% of our work was on construction sites and finding a well-qualified person in this very specific industry is a very, very hard thing to do.

My boss was the kind of boss that every employee hates. Corners were cut every possible way in order to keep overhead costs down.

On top of that, he would constantly overbook on jobs (like signing contracts for 6 projects during the same week knowing full well that he only has 5 employees) which would result in the employees often working 14 hour days or more, which really sucks when you’re on salary (no overtime).

His worst attribute by far was approving time off and then during your time off, calling or texting you asking if you would be willing to work a day or cut your vacation short.

Sometimes he’d even ask you to move your time off to the next week or next month ‘when the workload lightens up’ (hint: it never lightened up due to his constant overbooking).

After working at this company for 6 years, I got used to all the aforementioned annoyances. But then things changed: My son was born. In the months leading up to his birth, I made it very clear that I would be taking a 5-week unpaid leave of absence once he arrives.

The state we’re in allows new parents to take up to 8 weeks of unpaid leave. I told my boss that I know 8 weeks would be a huge strain on such a small company, so I was willing to take 5 weeks, but those 5 weeks would be completely ‘off the grid,’ meaning don’t call me, don’t text me, if you’re going to ask me to do anything work-related, the answer will be no so don’t bother; I’m going to be spending time with my family.

He 100% agreed.

Fast-forward to my son’s birth. He was born on a Friday, and after a short stay in the NICU (don’t worry, he’s fine), he was released on Monday, and we took him home. Tuesday morning (yeah…the next day), I wake up to a missed call, an email, and 3 texts all from my boss asking me to call him back ASAP. For reasons still unknown to me to this day, I call him back, and he tells me there’s a slight emergency (code speak for he screwed up the scheduling and has a job with no employee at it) and asks if I could maybe come into work that day and maybe work a couple more days that week until he finds someone to cover it.

I lost it. I literally felt something in my neck snap and unleashed a verbal assault on him that I still feel bad about now, a year later. I ended my rant with an apology…as much of a d*ck move it was for him to be calling me in that situation, it was still completely unprofessional of me to say what I said to him. Obviously, he wasn’t a big fan of what I said and after a small rant of his own ended with the sentences that made this whole story possible.

He said, ‘You’ve got a pretty good gig at this company that most people your age would be thankful for. I’d be impressed if you could find a better job in this field because I’ve been doing this for 30 years, and I know how small this industry is, and trust me, good jobs like yours don’t come along very often. Think about that.’

So we ended the call, and I did what he said. I thought about it.

After thinking about it for about 30 seconds, I got out of bed, sat down in front of my computer, and started looking at job postings.

5 weeks later, my time off came to an end, and my first day back I came into work, I walked into my boss’s office and handed him a piece of paper.

Boss: ‘What’s this?’ Me: ‘I thought about what you said about how you be really impressed if I could find a better job than the one I have here.

…so I did.’

My boss reads over what I handed him…a job offer from a competitor for the exact same job I was performing but at a 25% higher salary, an extra week of paid vacation compared to what I had, AND a stipulation that company policy was that work hours are capped at 8 per day, meaning that once I hit 8 hours on a job, I pack up and leave it until tomorrow. No exceptions.

Boss: ‘Well then…ummm…can I have the day to crunch some numbers to come up with a counter-offer?’ Me: ‘No, don’t bother. I just wanted you to see it because I know you wouldn’t have believed me otherwise.’

I gave my two-week notice and left for whatever job site I was on that day. That was a year ago, and I could not be happier with my new job. I get to spend lots of time with my boy, and that’s the best job perk there is.

For all you bosses and managers out there, don’t mess with your employees…especially the good ones. Treat them how you’d want to be treated.” Tautochrone1

21. Make Me Wait Forever For My Refund? I’ll Make You Wait Too

“About 8 years ago, I moved out of my folks’ place and into my first home. As a newbie, I was thrown into the lovely world of utility companies and their arcane, byzantine processes for creating new accounts.

One service that was vital for my new place was phone and broadband.

For this, I looked around, and despite a lot of “difficulties” with them at work, I went for a package from the largest provider in the country (If I say this company was British, and I was buying Telecoms from them, you should guess who I mean) mainly due to the free gifts they were offering if you signed up (gift cards for a large supermarket,  great if you’re moving in somewhere).

Fast forward a couple of years and my initial contract came to an end, and I decided to move over to another supplier.

I knew that I was out of contract at this point and wouldn’t be charged anything for leaving, so I happily signed up for the new service. This is where things went a bit awry…

The changeover happened as expected mid-month in July. A quick re-config of my router setting and I was done and saving a bit of money every month. Being the reasonably tidy administrator I am, I canceled BigTelco’s direct debit from my bank account after this point as I should no longer be charged, and I didn’t want them to remain with authority for taking payment from my account.

Unfortunately, BigTelco’s billing system didn’t seem to get the memo that my services had transferred, and not only did they send me a bill for $67.23 for phone and broadband they didn’t supply, but as I’d canceled their direct debit, they charged me a $9.69 late payment fee on top of that. I, of course, immediately complained about this, and my complaints got escalated up the chain until I was assigned a “complaint handler” at BigTelco.

Eventually, after much prodding and complaining, BigTelco worked out that instead of me owing *them* $67.23, it turns out they owed *me* $22.35. Buoyed by this news, I planned on spending my $22.35 on beer, fries, chips, and whatever else a single man needs to survive in this workaday world.

After a few days, I get a check in the post from BigTelco. The problem being that this cheque was for $12.67, and not my outstanding $22.35.

It seems that the billing dept hadn’t cleared the late payment charge from my account, so the check was $9.69 light, which meant yet another call to the handler at BigTelco. She eventually managed to send out a second check for the missing $9.69.

At this point, I decided a bit of petty revenge was in order. The complaint handler at BigTelco had asked, after the checks had been dispatched if they could now “close” the complaint.

Not being in a particularly charitable mood, I said I’d let them close the complaint only after both checks had cleared and the funds were in my account. Now I wasn’t petty enough to pay them in separately, but it still took 3-5 days for the funds to clear, and as it was the end of the month, that would be one less “successful” completion on their books for that month…” WelshRareDit

20. Keep Us Up With Your Loud Music? Allow Us To Wake You Up

Fair trade.

“Since we were but small babes, our neighbors, their kids, and their friends have had the lovely habit of either driving into or straight tearing into the neighborhood with no regard for the safety and well-being of themselves or the rest of us and blasting pop and rap music from their cars as they sit there, idling, and waiting for whomever they were picking up or dropping off.

No surprise, they took their sweet time, and sometimes no one was picked up or maybe even dropped off. So you can imagine the pure, overwhelming joy we experienced when we found out some of the drivers only came into the culdesac to lean out the window to briefly talk to someone, all while that their music practically rattled the foundation of our houses.

Our dad at the time (and still) can work late into the night and early into the morning, sometimes coming home in the middle of the night and at other times not returning until later the next morning.

So you can imagine what he had to deal with; poor dad.

However, then ‘the day’ arrived. Our mom had to leave relatively early and Dad was not home yet.

Sick and tired after so many nights and mornings having been woken up by or kept awake…it was quiet now, and we were alone.

It was time.

Now, we were still exhausted, but we rarely had opportunities where we were alone (and less likely to get grounded by our parents) as they were not home.

And so, as the sun began to peek over the trees like a Midwestern version of the opening to The Lion King, we carried a radio out of the house and stood at the end of the guilty neighbor’s driveway.

Cranking up the volume as high as it would go, put in our chosen weapon (a cassette tape of bagpipe music), and flicked the music on and gently waking the whole house…and probably every other neighborhood for several blocks with the song of our people.

(It was not our intention to involve innocent people, but we were pretty young and hadn’t completely thought the whole plan through.) Our lack of a complete plan was made very apparent as the front door flew open, and out ran the parents. Our terror-filled little screams followed us back home as we thought we would literally die.

As soon as we were able to get inside and lock the door, we turned off the music, stuffed the radio away, and promptly pretended to be sleeping.

Eventually, we did fall asleep but were woken up by our own parents.

No surprise but the neighbors were all not too happy with us, though only the one family snitched. We got in so much trouble for that…grounded for weeks. But it was worth it.

While the cars kept coming into the culdesac at all hours, they no longer played music.

We had won.” wolfmutt

19. Steal My Stuff? Hope You Like Glitter

“I lived in an apartment building. As a member of the local free gifting community, we put gifts out on a regular basis for people to pick up.

We had a massive front porch to the building that had plenty of space to put an entire living room set by the front corner and still move furniture in/out comfortably, nothing resembling a tight squeeze. We made appointments with people to pick up their gifts, usually within an hour of us setting them out, so there was no issue with “trash” sitting out. The property manager lived in the building and assured us there were zero issues with the gifts sitting on the porch for pickup.

The gifts were almost always labeled or in paper bags with a name on them to differentiate from the free piles that people would put out with FREE signs.

At some point, I started getting complaints that gifts were not there to pick up when I had set them out. I made sure to tighten appointment pickup times, clearly label who gifts were for, and hide things in clearly labeled bags. But they kept going missing.

We had had some issues with “porch pirates” stealing gifts from others, so I didn’t consider right away that it was someone in our building until I noticed a pattern of what time gifts were being stolen—often within minutes of being set out if they went out at 5 pm.

The rest of the gifts in the area were being stolen in the evening.

I got very upset when a gift for a newborn was stolen at lunchtime (when I thought it would be safe to leave out for an hour) and decided to do something about it. I posted in the group (in case it was a member, they’d get a warning to stop) that I needed glitter to stop the porch pirates and was gifted some in bright indigo.

I wrote a note that said, “Stop stealing gifts for other people” and put it in a paper bag. I folded the bag down double, with the edge sticking out for easy pulling open, and stapled one end. Then I used a straw to funnel glitter into the fold, so it would fly out everywhere when opened and stapled the other end. Labeled the bag with a highly distinctive name and set it on the porch at 4:45 pm with instructions to my partner that if it was still there at 10 pm when he got home, to bring it inside.

Then just… waited.

I don’t know what I expected, maybe some screams or something. Anyway, five days later, I finally broke down and asked the property manager if anything strange had happened recently. She said, as a matter of fact, someone had called to hire the carpet cleaner for an off-schedule cleaning because they “spilled blue glitter” on their carpet. As they’d caused the damage and used the machine and labor, they’d already paid the carpet cleaning fee.

I gave her details about the gift I had put out full of glitter but it disappeared immediately—before my intended recipient (my partner) could get it. Because the glitter had been a consequence of them stealing from their neighbors, and there’s no way to get all the glitter out of the carpet, they were charged for the damages of a full carpet replacement when they left. And best yet, because theft is a violation of community agreements, their lease was terminated, so they were forced to move with 20 days’ notice.

All the thefts in the area stopped. We’re still not sure if it was someone in the group that saw gifts and wanted them or if they were just driving around picking up random things off people’s porches.” brigettefires

18. Complain About Having To Train Dogs? Have Fun With All The Trainings

“My friend Eve works for this big company in our area, and it happens to be state and federally funded, meaning all employees must follow and abide by both state and federal rules and regulations.

So, Eve is on a team of 4 members, herself being one of them, and they all report to their boss, Mary. This team goes and host/do trainings of their own to help guide and teach others in the surrounding areas. Mary ultimately decides who goes to which trainings, when, where, but she is nice and usually let’s the 4 of them talk and discuss amongst themselves who will do which trainings.

All of this has been fine; however, Eve doesn’t really like to host/do trainings because she is a shy person and doesn’t feel 100% comfortable speaking in front of a large group of people.

Mary knows this.

Rachel, another of Eve’s team members, starts to complain about having to do so many trainings on Saturdays in particular. Everyone knows this.

Mary decides to start drawing names at random, so it’s a bit more fair at who does which trainings. However, Rachel still complains.

Here’s where it starts to get interesting. Remember how I said they all need to follow the state AND federal rules? Although Eve, Rachel, and the other 2 members know all the information and material needed to host/do their own trainings, only poor Eve has not been ‘certified’ through the state, making her ineligible to host/do anymore trainings, regardless of what day they are on.

Mary kind of doesn’t care, because again, every member knows the information and material, and Mary has even hosted a few trainings with Eve and has seen that Eve is 100% fine hosting trainings, even though she’s shy about it.

Rachel is STILL complaining about herself having to do so many trainings, especially on Saturdays.

So, here is Rachel, hosting a training, and the people who are attending are people she’s seen before, trained before, worked with before, so she feels a bit comfortable to, well, ‘vent’ out her frustrations about having to do so many trainings all the time, how she is always stuck doing ones on Saturday (which isn’t 100% true), and how her boss has people who aren’t ‘certified’ doing the trainings as well.

Well, little did Rachel know that some of the people she was training happen to also personally know her boss, and one of them was Mary’s boss, Abigail. So, Abigail and a few others, decide to text/email Mary directly, during Rachel’s training, to let Mary know, “Hey, Rachel informs us that you have uncertified personal hosting trainings? Yea, that needs to be rectified immediately.”

So, Eve gets a phone call from Mary:

Mary – Knowing Eve doesn’t like to do trainings… “Hey, you are not in trouble, but I just wanted to let you know of a situation.

Since you are not ‘certified’ through the state, you are not able to host/do anymore trainings.”

Eve – Trying not to jump for joy… “Oh no. Well, ok then. Just wondering, may I ask what happened for this to change?”

Mary – “Oh, so, you know how Rachel has been complaining about doing trainings? Well, she decided to run her mouth off at the last one she was hosting and informed my boss and countless others that I’m allowing ‘uncertified’ personnel to host trainings.”

Eve – “Oh, ok.

I see.”

Mary – “So, because she did that, I’m just letting you know again, you are not in trouble, but you can’t host/do them anymore. And also, because she did that, I’m going to be calling her next to let her know that what she did, made our team one member smaller from hosting future meetings, and because she did that, she will now be hosting every training that is scheduled for a Saturday.”

Eve – Trying not to laugh… “Ok, thank you for letting me know.

Take care.”” relykslady

17. Don’t Let My Grandson Use The Restroom? I’ll Bring Up Your Imperfections

“I had taken my absolute favorite human being on this planet, my seven-year-old nonverbal, severely autistic grandson, to McDonald’s to get the autistic community’s universally approved dinner: chicken nuggets and french fries. It was actually the second trip in three hours. My grandson asked for more “frenfee.” He has been in speech therapy several times a week since he was two years old.

I wanted to reward him for using his voice. So I drove back a second time for fresh french fries. The young man at the window and I had a laugh when he saw me the second time.

After I receive the order, I drove straight into the parking space in front of the store. I got out, walked around to the opposite side of the car, opened the door, and started divvying out the french fries to my grandson, who was in his car seat in the backseat on the passenger side.

An elderly gentleman gunned his car in reverse slamming into the driver’s side of my car. He hit my car with enough force that my car bumped sideways into me and sent me flying backward. One second I’m standing there, talking to my grandson, then all of a sudden, I’m splayed out on the concrete a few feet from my car. I was very disoriented and momentarily shaken. I called my son-in-law who called my daughter to come to get their boy, then we called the police to make a report.

Honestly, my grandson was completely oblivious that anything happened. He’s was just contently sitting in his car seat eating his french fries, listening to the radio, and watching the world go by. My daughter was taking a class a few cities over, so it took her about 45 minutes to get there. Not once during this whole time did any the employee come out to check on the situation that was going on in their parking lot, the situation being someone was literally hit by a car.

My daughter eventually showed up. I think she was more shaken up than any of us were. But once she saw that me and her baby were perfectly fine, she decided to wait with me. My husband, her daddy, died unexpectedly from a heart attack last year, so she is being extra protective over me right now. By this time, the whole ordeal had been going on for well over an hour, minor inconvenience not that big of a deal.

But then my sweet little grandson starts indicating that he needs to use the restroom. Oh no!

This particular McDonald’s drive-through is open but not the lobby. My daughter goes to the door holding the hand of the world’s most adorable seven-year-old. A sweet cherub-faced, blond-haired, little boy with big blue eyes and a tiny sprinkle of little freckles across his perfect little button nose, who is clearly doing the “I gotta pee dance.” She knocked on the door, and the manager came to the door.

He watches the baby clearly squirming in “I gotta pee” destress. He announces that he’s “THE” manager, and no, the baby cannot use the restroom that is 4 feet away. He seemed overly proud of his position as “the” manager. I’m guessing he’s newly promoted and on a small d*cked power trip. My daughter explains that her son is autistic and newly potty trained and all but begged him to make an exception. The manager said no.

She thanked him, and then having no other choice, she left me to take my grandson to the potty.

The car is not drivable, so the insurance company scheduled a tow truck to come to get my car. Since FL is a no-fault state and we both have Geico the insurance, the process was fairly easy. Still no officers. I’m exhausted and starting to get a bit stiff and sore from literally being hit by my own car.

Having already worked out all the details with my insurance company, I knocked on the store door again and explained to the young lady that answered that I was leaving but that a tow was coming to get the car.

This is where the petty revenge comes in. First and foremost, I admit I meant to be a b*tch. I was slightly irritated and a bit baffled at the manager for not coming to check on the car accident (where a person was literally hit by the car) in his parking lot.

But mostly I was p*ssed off at him for not letting the baby use the restroom. F*ck protocol! Any halfway decent human with even half a heart, who could look at a kid doing the universal “pee-dance,” and ignore them, simply has to be a d*uche bag. I get the rules, but I think the rules of simple human decency and kindness should always prevail. As a business model, it just makes better sense.

Anyway, an hour later I called the store.

Initially, I honestly thought a woman answered the phone, so I said yes ma’am and no ma’am. Then in my very best Karen impersonation, I asked for THE manager. I needed his name. He said, “This is THE manager.”

Cue petty revenge. Although I heard him perfectly fine, I pretended that I hadn’t heard. So I then went on to describe the manager that I was looking for as a short, chubby, squishy little guy with horrendous acne, then I said you know the guy with the face, all while knowing full well that I was talking to him.

Needless to say, he became a little huffy and reiterated that he was THE manager. I asked him for his name. He asked me two or three why I would need his name, and thinking quick on my feet, I said that I had been hit by a car in HIS parking lot not more than an hour and a half ago and that I’m fine, but should anything arise, I would maybe need the surveillance footage.

FYI, his name is Stephen. Stephen is a d*uche bag. Stephen is a d*uche bag on a small d*cked power trip. But now I just feel bad. It’s never alright to make somebody feel insecure due to their appearance. I am well old enough to know better.

Stephen is a d*uche bag. I could’ve just called him a d*uche-bag and been done with it and not feel bad. I would kind of like to apologize to him that we’re making fun of his face, but on the other hand, I would also still like to I kicked him in the nuts for being such a colossal d*uche bag.” MrsJoJack

16.Refuse To Care For Your Future Bird? I’ll Tell You It’s Sick

Who in their right mind would want to buy a bird, only to not give it what it needs to survive?

“So I’m working in the live animal section of that popular pet big box store and a lady walks up to me.

Me: ‘Hello ma’am, is there something I can help you with?’

Her: ‘Do them birds have to have a cage?’

Me: ‘The parakeets? Yes, they have to have a cage.’

Her: ‘Why?’

Me: ‘Well ma’am, besides being extremely messy, they are also basically babies.

They aren’t trained to be friendly yet and will try to and inevitably escape. After they escape they will either fall prey to other animals or starve as they don’t know how to find food.’

Her: ‘What you mean they can’t find food?’

Me: ‘I mean, they don’t know what to look for in the wild. They will look for a bowl to eat from and die if they don’t find one. It’s just like people. If you were dropped in the middle of the woods how long would you survive?’

Her: ‘You sayin’ I’m stupid?’

Me: ‘No ma’am, I’m sure you’d last longer than me; I’m a city boy (untrue but I was trying to mollify her still).’

Her: ‘Well, what if I don’t want no cage?’

Me: ‘Then we can’t sell you a bird.’

Her: ‘What if I get a cage at Walmart?’

Me: ‘That would be fine; you don’t have to buy the cage from us.’

Her: ‘Then I’ll buy the bird now and get the cage later!’

Me: ‘I’m sorry ma’am, you’ll have to bring in the cage so we can be sure it meets the needs of the bird.’

Her: ‘What cage?’

Me: ‘The one you are going to buy at Wal Mart.’

Her: ‘I ain’t buying no cage, and what business is it of yours, anyway?’

Me: ‘We guarantee these birds.

If they die and we have to issue a refund because we didn’t make sure the customer will take proper care of them, we get in trouble.’ (And they are my babies and I’m not giving them to someone who doesn’t want to take care of them properly, is what I wanted to say).

Her: ‘I want to talk to the person in charge.’

*I go look for a manager, only to find I was the most senior employee on the floor at the time*

Me: ‘I’m sorry.

The manager is on lunch and I am in charge.’

Her: ‘Then you,’ she said poking me in the chest, ‘need to sell me my bird!’

Me: *Thinking quickly, I cough, then looking around as if I’m going to get into trouble, I motion her in close and whisper* ‘Don’t tell anyone I told you this…’

Her: *leaning in, suddenly confused rather than upset, she mimics my whisper* ‘What?’

Me: *still whispering and looking around periodically* ‘I’m not supposed to sell any of the birds…’

Her: ‘What? Why not?’

Me: *I cough again* ‘’They don’t want a panic, so I’m just supposed to put everyone off buying them…’

Her: ‘Why would anyone panic?’

Me: ‘Our birds are all sick!’

Her: ‘What?’

Me: *cough* ‘Yeah,’ *cough* ‘with bird flu!’

Her: *her face drops in fright and she starts backing away from the cages* ‘What?’

Me: *coughing throughout* ‘We don’t have anywhere else to put them, and corporate doesn’t want to waste money by destroying them so we just have to hope they get better.’

Her: *covering her mouth and nose with her hands* ‘Why didn’t you just say?’

Me: *wheezing now* ‘I could get fired if word gets out, and I need the money for the doctor.

Please don’t say I said!’

Her: *starting to leave* ‘I won’t!’

Me: ‘Please!’ *I plead pitifully as she is walking hurriedly away.*” Lawrence Raybon

15. Fire Me For Having PTSD? Time For You To Pay

“I was working at a mental health facility for the elderly as a nurse, worked there for over a year with a perfect work record.

I worked for the same company at another elderly facility also for the same amount of time with a perfect work record.

My coworker found out I have PTSD and decided to tell my boss at the psych facility that I have PTSD and together, they both plotted to have me committed.

One day, they launched their attack. I was working a 7am-3pm shift and doing very well for 2 hours when my boss called me into her office to congratulate me on one year of service. When we were in her office alone she started grilling me about my mental health and how it plays out at home.

Next thing I know she’s forcing me to call my coworker who is off duty and making me go with her to the psych emergency because I have PTSD.

The entire meeting was designed to stress me out and cause me to be triggered enough to behave poorly or crazy somehow to rationalize the next step which was to cart me off to emergency and when they see me they will instantly know I belong locked away in a padded room.

They didn’t though. The hospital said I was fine, just stressed out about being forced to go to the hospital like a crazy person for no reason other than admitting I had PTSD.

After the hospital let me go, my boss put me on extended medical leave without telling me, ignored all my calls for two weeks and wrote letters lying about me to her bosses and the HR dept.

I filed a union grievance, and a complaint with a third party whistleblower company for my company’s head office to hear about.

My boss lied about me to everyone. She said I told her I had a murderer in my head, that I was standing in front of mirrors with knives wanting to cut flesh. They believed her so they shut down my complaints.
I took it to the human rights tribunal, self-represented against the largest long term care provider in North America – and I f*cking won.

It took three long years from incidents to the end of the court.

It was the hardest thing I have ever done.

My employer’s health declined considerably by the time the trial happened. She lost her job, she had to move to the mainland, and there is a forever public record about what she did. The coworker who helped my boss has a permanent record and the employees of the job site were ordered to learn what she and our boss had done to me, as well as the outcome.

She will never be comfortable at that job site again and who/what she is is known to all.

I got the highest amount awarded for damages to dignity and self. I created a precedent for other PTSD persons with clean work history who do a good job on the clock but have very real struggles with PTSD symptoms at home. No karma could possibly taste better than 40k and a clear reputation.” sowhatnoweh

14. Overwork Me? I’ll Quit Unexpectedly And Ruin Your Vacation Plans

“My first job out of high school was working for a rather famous and nation-wide guitar store chain.

At first, I thought it would fun, getting to be around guitars all day, and talking music with fellow musicians. Turns out I was wrong, and that 10-hour shifts 5-6 days a week while listening to slightly-too-loud overhead music and 14-year-olds play the first 5 bars of ‘Crazy Train’ over and over and over again wasn’t actually all that great.

But I stuck it out, I needed the money and I have one of those ‘don’t quit ever’ attitudes.

When I got hired, the store was in serious trouble. They had recently fired a huge chunk of the staff for skimming profits and selling drugs out of the warehouse. Their numbers were really low and corporate was breathing down their necks. But, as it turns out, I have a penchant or selling stuff that I know about. I was the accessories guy and got really, really good at it. I was routinely rolling $30k or better a month out the door, and the most expensive thing I had in my department was only $500.

I also had one of the lowest return rates on the west coast, and a file with several letters from happy customers saying how much help I had been. Eventually, the store’s numbers improved, especially my department. Eventually, we were #1 for our district, and #3 on the west coast, behind Hollywood and San Francisco.
However, NONE of that mattered to the GM or anyone from corporate. All they wanted was more from me. My numbers had to be better every month, or I’d get yelled at.

I was written up for having a low sales month one January because I went on vacation.

I would get daily emails and phone calls from the district and regional managers, demanding to know why I hadn’t hit $xxxx in sales yet. My hours got bumped up to the point where my days consisted of sleeping, showering, eating, and working. I had zero social life. My gf at the time would go weeks without seeing me. Eventually, because of the stress, I developed an ulcer.

So I decided to quit.

I threw myself into my last month, which just happened to be December, the month all retail workers hate. I worked extra hours, sold as much as I could, contacted old customers, you name it.

Blew everyone out of the water, rolling just shy of $80,000 in gear. My boss called me into his office, and said I was doing a good (not great, good) job, and to keep it up. I pointed to the sales numbers screen, pointed out how well I had been doing and how well-liked I was by the customers, and asked for a raise.

He laughed and said no. So I handed him my resignation letter. 2 weeks later I was done and starting classes in college, something I’d had to put off since work wouldn’t allow me to cut hours for school.

I came back to the store a couple of months later, as someone who had worked with me called and said they’d found a jacket of mine in the warehouse. When I showed up, the GM wasn’t there.

I asked, and what I was told was that apparently, corporate HAD noticed me, and when my GM had failed to retain me, they’d fired him. Also, that department went from #1 to #9 in the district, out of 11 stores. The district managers were scrambling to recover, a few got demoted because of how things panned out, and the extreme higher-ups were not happy that the district was in such a state.

I laughed the laugh of the vindicated.” barrygibb

13. Be A Horrible Bar Customer? I’ll Get You Really Messed Up

“I work as a bartender in a small cocktail bar and I’m usually chill.

But bullies can still push my buttons the wrong way. Before starting, I may be in the wrong for doing this, but it is what it is.
A week ago, a bunch of guys came for a few drinks. They seemed like OK dudes, early 20s-ish, but the group dynamic was kinda off. Introducing the main antagonist. Obnoxious guy, too loud, snapping his fingers at me when ordering (don’t snap fingers at bartenders kids, we’re not dogs), punching his friends in the shoulders all the time – he was a sportier, really aggressive version of a David Spade character, he was.

Next to David Spade, sat the victim of most of his ‘playful’ teasings.

Silently enduring his trash-talking, I really felt sorry for this fellow. He wasn’t a drinker, but he looked like he would rather be drinking distilled devil’s p*ss than continue sitting next to this macho maniac. He was really uncomfortable. David continued to bug him to take a shot at least, ‘come on, one with me, don’t be a wimp, a little b*tch…’ until, after a whole night of persuasion, finally my dude waved the white flag, ‘ok, let’s do one shot together, then leave me be.’
‘Two of your most f*cked up shots,’ Spade shouted snapping his fingers, while I imagined snapping his scrawny neck.

Oh, you’ll get a f*cked up shot, buddy. I made two two-layered shots, but while looking almost the same, they were different. David got stuff like Red Jacques Senaux Absinthe (75% alcohol), Stroh (80% alcohol), Tabasco (110% flaming diarrhea), really nasty business altogether, and other guy got mostly syrups, juices, harmless stuff. They looked almost identical, Red Absinth can pass visually as a cranberry juice, Stroh as syrup from brown sugar, Sambuca as anything colorless, etc…

They took their shots and all hell broke loose.

Other guy chugged his shot like a champion, not even flinching (why would he, he drank juice).

But David Spade… Boy, oh boy. He looked like he was having a brain aneurysm. Tears pouring from his eyes, coughing like his lungs want to come out, he had a face and a posture of a man who just got waterboarded with some sort of chilly sauce. Other guy looked surprised until he caught a wink from me, but David Spade and the rest of the crew, now roaring with laughter about his misery, suspected nothing.

They got their shots on the house, poor dude was left alone, and David was a good boy for the rest of the night, deflatedly enduring small mockings from his fellows.

Now, I may have used my powers in the wrong way, but this is the first and only time I messed with the customer’s drinks. And I regret nothing. He was rude, aggressive even, to everyone around him. EFFFFF you, sporty David Spade.” Strahozor

12. Keep Eating My Desserts? I’ll Embarrass You At Graduation

Never eat a person’s sweets.

“I come from a family of 6: my parents, my older sister, my older brother, my little brother, and me.

Often, in order to bribe us into good behavior, our parents would buy us our favorite candy to munch on in the car. Now, I’ve never exactly been a giving person, not huge on sharing just for the sake of sharing. My parents, however, were trying to raise respectful and generous kids and often forced me to share things even when I didn’t want to.

That’s all fine and good, except that my sister abused this system. See, she would say she didn’t want a bag of candy, then once we were on the road she’d start taking candy from all three of the brothers.

That really p*ssed me off. I didn’t get candy often, as my mom didn’t like feeding us sugary food, so when I got my own bag of Sour Patch Watermelon, I wanted to eat every last one myself.

Besides, my parents would always offer to buy her a bag of candy for herself, but she would just refuse because she knew she could leech off the rest of us. So after a point, I started refusing her requests for candy. But that sh*t didn’t fly with my mom, because that was being selfish, so she would force me to hand over the candy.

One time, I even said when I purchased my bag at CVS, ‘sister, I’m not going to give you any of my candy.

If you want Sour Patch, buy your own right now.’ ‘I’m fine,’ she responded, ‘I don’t want a whole bag of candy.’ Fast forward 20 minutes into the car ride, my father was requisitioning a candy to give to my sister, as I sat fuming.

This went on for years. My whole life, really. And I hated it. I would hide my candy when I got it, I would try and keep it out of her reach, but always, a parent would intervene.

Fast forward to my sister’s college graduation. She is now 22, I am a senior in high school at this point, and we’re up at her school at a fancy a** restaurant celebrating after she had graduated that morning. In attendance are all immediate and some extended family, some close friends of my sister’s, and her long term boyfriend who I was meeting for the first time.
So, enough people for the following to be embarrassing for my family.

Our meal ends and my mother offers to buy a nice dessert for anyone who wants it. My brothers, my dad, and I all take her up on it.

I ordered a vanilla bean cheesecake with a burnt sugar bird’s nest on top. My mother repeatedly offers to buy my sister anything she wants, but my sister says she couldn’t possibly eat a full dessert right now and turns it down every time.
The food arrives, and everyone is staring at mine.

I’m sitting right at the head of the table in full view of everyone, so it’s hard not to look, and aside from the cake slice being large and delicious looking, the burnt sugar bird’s nest is huge and ornate, hollow on the inside like a f*cking old-timey brass globe.

Honestly, it was pretty impressive.
And right as the food gets placed in front of us, my sister says, ‘I’ll just have a bite of everyone’s.’

At this point, I’m seeing red, having flashbacks to all the times my food has been stolen.

Logically, the right thing to do would’ve been to just hand over one bite. I mean, it was her graduation, it was a huge cake, it would’ve been no loss. But it had become a matter of principle.
So, the moment she says this, in one fell swoop, in full view of everyone at the table, I sweep up my slice of cheesecake and stuff the entire thing into my mouth at once, shattering the sugar nest, crumbs falling everywhere, in front of my whole family and some college students close to my sister who, again, I’ve never met in my life.

My sister stares, appalled, and says, ‘Did you do that just so I wouldn’t get any?!?’

And I look at her, cheeks ballooning out like a chipmunk, face covered in cheesecake and graham cracker, dead in the eyes and nod.

There was a fair bit of shocked silence, at that moment and in the very tense car ride home. But to this day she never asks for anything from me anymore.” BranMoffTarkin

Another User Comments:

“I broke my sister of this when I sucked the salt off my French fries before being forced to share (mom and sis didn’t know).

I waited until she ate every last one before letting her know (she’s a germaphobe).

To this day she won’t ask me for anything unless she knows I have extra and she double-checks with me first.” BranMoffTarkin

11. Steal Other People’s Work? Get Your Website Taken Down

“For a while, I worked as a web designer in a small ad agency serving a very niche industry. Previously, the design team had no creative lead and were all sort of operating independently across varying clients.

We decided to hire a creative director to fill that gap, and I was given the task of sorting through and giving first-round interviews to find the person who would later become my supervisor.

Two candidates in particular stood out from the rest for very different reasons. One was exceptionally talented, an all-around nice guy, and somebody who generally would have been great for the role. The other, let’s call him John, had mediocre talent, came across as an insufferable, arrogant pr*ck, but had previous experience working within the niche industry that we serviced.

He also had contacts within that industry that could lead to new business. Despite my strong recommendation to not hire John, his relationships in the industry were too compelling to our agency’s leadership to pass up, and they hired him.
It didn’t take long before the entire company started to realize John was a huge burden.

He had virtually zero experience in anything related to digital design. Design for apps, websites, mobile, etc., were all completely and utterly beyond his grasp, but he used his position of relative power to make decisions on those projects that the entire design team refused to support, most of which came back to bite the company in the a** later.

The design team hated him because fixing and working around his screw-ups became part of our daily routine. The sales team hated him because he’d claim it took him unbelievably exaggerated amounts of time to complete even the most trivial of tasks (ex: 4 days to design a business card template), so they wouldn’t even assign him projects anymore.

Work that was clearly his responsibility started to rapidly trickle down to the rest of the design team.

We’d be working late nights 4 out of 5 days a week because all of his projects that were in danger of missing deadlines would be re-assigned to us.

Meanwhile, he’d be the first to walk out the door every day, right at 5 PM, without fail. On top of all that, the guy was absolutely, without a doubt, the biggest tool I’ve ever met. Always right about everything, completely unbending on his idiotic opinions, and completely clueless that literally, every person in the building wished he would get hit by a truck.

I genuinely tried to work with him for about a year, until I decided that the job had become intolerable because of him, and wasn’t going to change any time soon, so I turned in my two-week notice.

About a month after I left, I heard that he had been let go from the job. Shortly after that, I noticed that he had changed his LinkedIn status to show that he was working for a new agency I had never heard of, also servicing that same niche industry.

I looked them up, and quickly figured out that he had started his own agency… a primarily digital agency… when he had NO experience in digital or interactive design and had literally effed up every digital/interactive project he’d ever been on (I know because most of them were reassigned to me when he proved incapable of doing them himself).
I looked at the portfolio on his website and found literally project after project of my work.

He was using my work from the ad agency as examples of the work his agency could produce.

I briefly considered contacting him and requesting he remove my work from his portfolio for ethical reasons. But I could already hear his reply in my head. ‘As a creative lead, all work done by my team is an extension of my creative direction.’ He’d used similar lines in the past to insert himself into receiving credit on successful projects he’d had zero involvement on.

So instead I sent an email to one of the partners of the agency we had both worked for, saying something along the lines of, ‘Hey, not sure if you’ve noticed this, but it looks like John is using your company’s intellectual property to directly compete against you.

If I had to guess, I’d assume his next step would be to make a move at your client list.’

The reply was short and sweet: ‘Thanks for bringing this to my attention. He’ll be hearing from our attorney in the morning.’ John’s website was brought down less than 24 hours later.” dr_tantis_moboggan

10. Refuse To Be A Kind Roommate? We’ll Sabotage Your Little Game

“I used to know this guy named Adam.
To make a long story short, Adam was not a good human.

I say ‘was’ because he died from drug use on Memorial Day 2018. I know it sounds mean to say, but the guy had it coming.

I feel bad for his family. Not him.

Anyway, he was living with his brother Jess, his other half brother, Jess’ mother, and my now husband who was living with them at the time. He acted entitled over everything and enjoyed treating people like they were beneath him. He was also abusive towards his love interests and neglectful of his kids.

One particular time, Adam took some leftover pizza that my husband was saving for dinner and threw it away because ‘If I can’t have pizza then why should anyone else in this f*cking house have it?’ My husband was going to kick his a*s and I was going to curse him out but we both didn’t want to bring drama towards him and didn’t want to disrespect Jess’ mother.

So we let our anger bottle up. We decided that it was a great idea to wait until Adam went to the movies with his girlfriend to act out our need for revenge.

You see… they had this nice set up in the basement. It was an entertainment area with several computers lined up next to a TV and game console set up. My husband’s computer was on the left. Adam’s in the middle and Jess’ on the right.

Adam LOVED World Of Warcraft. He was the type of WOW player that put the game first before his responsibilities. Shortly after he left for the theater, we put our plan into motion.

We stripped all of Adam’s characters of their items. Emptied the auction house, sold some items, deleted other items, gave items and thousands of gold to random players, and split the rest of the loot amongst ourselves.
The best part is when he came back home. I was on the couch watching a movie. My husband and Jess were on their computers playing a game. We all got quiet when Adam came downstairs. We heard the WOW log in music play in the background and tried not to look at his screen.

He was quiet at first then started muttering ‘What the f*ck?’ repeatedly.

Then he shouted, ‘What the F*CK?’

My husband was the first to speak and asked him what was wrong. Adam showed us all his characters stripped of their items and yelled ‘SOMEONE HACKED MY ACCOUNT!’
We all looked at his screen and acted shocked. My husband finally spoke up after this moment and said, ‘D*mn, my boy…….. that’s messed up.’

Adam then grabbed a phone and ran upstairs to call Blizzard customer support.

When he slammed the door we all burst out laughing.

So good. So good we did it several months later when he p*ssed us off. Then one more time when he tried to steal Jess’ mother’s credit card.

After that Adam got one of those authenticators to prevent himself from getting hacked AGAIN. Fun ruined. Thanks Blizzard.” KarmaticFox

9. Be Homophobic? He’ll Bolt Your Door In Place

One word: priceless.

“About 10 years ago, my parents and I went on holiday to India.

The hotel we were staying at had an odd choice of doors for their hotel rooms. They were rustic looking wooden doors with bolt locks on both the inside and the outside of the door. There was also a regular lock underneath the bolt for locking your room when you were out. Basically, you could bolt your door locked when you were on the inside, but anybody could bolt your door locked from the outside. Stupid idea, right?

In the room, next door to us was a lesbian couple, and in the room across from them were the homophobes.

For the entire duration of our stay, the homophobes would verbally abuse the lesbian couple at any chance they got by calling them all sorts of derogatory names, and it really started to p*ss me and my family off.

Things came to head when every morning we would be awoken by one of the ladies next door shouting over to us on the balcony that they couldn’t get out of their room because the homophobic man had bolted their door shut.

So our new morning routine would be to let them out of their hotel room, and of course, they were obviously really upset. Imagine someone purposefully and spitefully setting out to relentlessly ruin your holiday just because of your sexual orientation? Honestly, it makes me sick.

I remember one time my dad telling the ladies that the couple will ‘get what’s coming to them.’ And by God, they did.

On the last day of our holiday, my dad took me out shopping early in the morning for one thing in particular.. a lock.

He went into every shop he could find disregarding all the small suitcase locks he was offered, until, finally, he found and bought a huge, heavy-duty lock.

We went back to the hotel room and my dad bolted the homophobes’ door shut and put the lock in place. Dad’s logic was if you’re going to f*ck with those ladies, I’m going to f*ck with you back a lot worse. A taste of their own medicine, so to speak.

Later that morning when our taxi came to take us to the airport, my dad told my mom what he had done and she was lukewarm to the idea. The one thing she asked was ‘did you at least leave the key under the mat?’ .. That was when my dad, without saying a word, removed the key from his pocket, opened the window of the taxi, and tossed it onto the motorway.

I know it wasn’t the most morally correct thing to do to bolt and lock someone in their room for God knows how long (at least until the staff could find some bolt cutters), but if there’s one thing I hate, it’s a homophobe, so if you ask me, they had it coming.” mountainhippo77

8. Be An Entitled Kid? I’ll Let You Cheat On My Test And Get In Trouble

“Cast: Me – OP, Entitled Kid – Sam, Teacher – T

This story occurred during my primary school, about 12 years ago when I was in the 4th grade, but do I remember this one so clearly.

You’re thinking that Sam is probably not entitled and just took a peek just once. You are definitely, absolutely WRONG as this kid would copy in every single one of his tests and get good grades. Our complaints about Sam were heard on deaf ears as we were just kids. Thus, T no idea that he was cheating and he was one of T’s and other teacher’s favorites. One thing about my class is that we had alternating seating every week, so we would change where we would sit randomly.

This particular week, Sam was sitting directly on my right and I thought I was just unlucky, but I shrugged it off and wanted that week to be over with. I also had a test that week for the subject that T taught: math. The ones next to Sam were annoyed as he would just copy and get good grades so we just dealt with it.

Enter the test:

Fast forward to the test and Sam was looking at my paper (I was just an average joe with grades around the B range in math), so I did what everyone else was doing: blocking Sam’s view with my body, arm, etc., then Sam had the nerve to say I tried to cheat off him and I was given a warning (since I only tried).

Okay bud, time for the counter-attack.

The Revenge:

The thing is I am like a crow: cold, calculating, always on thinking, looking for an opportunity, and after watching the best anime and cartoons about ‘out of the world’ comebacks, I weighed my options and did what any hero would do: give leeway and let him cheat off me as much as he wanted as that was what he wanted.

During the end of the test, T reminded everyone that since we were starting to use pens this week, we would have to write our answers in pen if we wanted marks (This just happened to be the week where we started to use pens instead of pencils to teach us to make less mistakes).

At this point, I blurt out, “Thank you for reminding me. I would have received a zero even if I was good in math.” T, Sam, and a couple of my classmates looked confused. I erased and wrote my answers in pen and submitted the paper. This meant that I was one of the last people to give my test. A few of my classmates later came up to ask if I was feeling alright as I never cheat and I would’ve known that we needed to write with a pen.

All I said was, “Never been better.” At this point, everyone was confused.

If you are wondering where was the revenge, it’s coming.

The day we get our results:

My strange antics was long forgotten a few days later when we got our results. Since I had submitted my paper closer to the end, I got mine before Sam. Now the conversation…

Sam: What did you get?

OP: Just a B.

Sam: Well, I’m sure I would get as much as you.

At this point, he goes to get his paper.

T: I’m sorry Sam, you should have told me if you were not feeling well.

Sam just looks at T and comes back next to me, turns the page, and sees he got a big fat 0. Everything he copied from me was incorrect. He then gets up and starts screaming.

Sam: How did I get a 0…

T (cutting Sam off): You should’ve just said you were not feeling well.

Sam: No, I COPIED everything from OP, so he should also get a 0.

Everyone is shocked as he just admitted that he cheated.

T: Could you repeat that?

Sam: I COPIED everything from OP, so he should have a zero as well. How did he get a B?

T: You do realize what you just said, right?

Sam, just realizing what he said: I know, I don’t care. No one was nice enough to let me copy so I copied from OP.

Now give him a 0 too as he was the one who copied too.

OP: If I can copy someone from a mile away doing weird mumbo jumbo maths (4th grader talk for calculus) from the window, then yeah.

Sam: How did I get a 0 in the first place?

T, confused: Yeah… Explain how someone so quiet and shy managed to give one of the top students a 0? (realizing that Sam may not be a bright scholar).

OP: Simple, he copied the wrong answers.

At this point everyone is confused.

T: How exactly?

OP: I did my calculations, purposefully wrote down wrong answers in pencil and he copied it in pen. In the end, I just erased and wrote the correct answers when Sam went to give his paper.

The class is on the floor laughing. T and Sam have their mouths open. They didn’t say anything after that.

The next day, I got called to the principal’s office.

I wondered why. Apparently, Sam was suspended and T was given a warning along with all the teachers who taught my class. So when T and Sam were screaming at me, a few teachers were outside to see what was going on and heard everything. They later reported what Sam did. The principal thanked me as he didn’t trust Sam and he didn’t have proof and offered me a lollipop for my cunning plan. I bargained and got 3.

Saved the last one when Sam was back and ate it in front of him, slowly.” eonj1412

7. Try To Flunk Me While I’m Dealing With A Family Death? No More Job For You

“Long Story:

It was 2012 and I was at the height of my college enjoyment. I was living with my grandparents after a bad car accident which knocked some sense into my crazy life, and I was working hard to make my family proud and gain some traction under my feet.

Having always gravitated toward art, I chose this as my major and pursued it with flying colors. I was consecutively making the deans list, staying home instead of going out and soaking up every bit of knowledge I could to protect and ensure the success of my future. Heck, I was even taking summer classes to graduate early, knowing the sooner I could get out of school, the faster I could start my budding career. It was all peachy keen until a new teacher was hired in the art department.

We will call him Mr. Thin, as he was a tall, thin, sort of gangly type with thick-rimmed glasses. All good right? Excited to meet someone new who could teach me new things.

Except Mr. Thin was not exactly the friendly type. In fact, I couldn’t understand why he had gotten into teaching as I had tried to warm up to him a couple of times and got nothing but frozen shoulders. No one could get close to him.

He made awful jokes in the classroom, and it was clear he had some serious insecurities about possibly being gay (which we all assumed due to his mannerisms- but us being art students, no one cared, and were just there to learn). His inability to cope with his own issues came out in weird ways, lashing out at students not doing what they were supposed to, him making fun of and examples out of students not properly following instructions he had given with poor verbal direction, and ultimately making everyone feel sort of uncomfortable in his presence.

We all did the best that we could to try and cope with it when going to class with him and stayed focused on the ultimate goal: learning new techniques and getting a passing grade.

I had already had a printmaking class with this teacher and knew what he was like.

By this time, my grandmother’s illness was getting progressively worse, fast. (It didn’t help that she was misdiagnosed and given the wrong treatment. And she was the pinnacle that kept our large family together- Thanksgiving always at her house, every year, traditionally being the binding factor that kept us all connected and grounded.) She, unfortunately, was in and out of the hospital, received chemo, and nothing seemed to be going right.

I remember the silence coming over her slightly as she accepted her fate.

As such, I missed a few days of school here and there to help my grandfather take care of her and make sure she was okay during his time working at the office (he hasn’t retired, and I’m not sure he will). I did my best, and most of my teachers were lenient knowing full well the scope of my situation. I had even written a letter to Mr.

Thin expressing our family’s woes and my commitment to continue my learning track, though I was not physically present.

Unfortunately, as I was scheduled to take a graphic design class as part of my required classes, I was grouped with Mr. Thin again as the teacher, something I wasn’t exactly looking forward to as I got no response from my letter, but I would do my best trying to focus on my education why my grandmother was slowly dying.

Again, he made extremely uncomfortable jokes and made kids feel unable to do as he had commanded. He would never directly say it, but he always implying that everyone was an idiot and that he held all the knowledge- that we should all be praising him for this great opportunity bestowed upon us to learn from him. It was grueling. Reminding him of my family situation yet again, he pressed me about my absences in class and threatened to flunk me, giving no leeway or helpful solutions whatsoever.

Eventually, I had moved out and down the street from my grandparents’ place, and one Tuesday, I went to go visit them and check in on my grandpa. As I pulled up to the house, I remember walking up the front curb seeing gurney tracks in the snow, and the house was empty. I knew this was bad- eventually, I found my grandpa at the hospital and immediately joined him as he gave me the rundown.

We made way to her room, and family slowly joined us, day by day. I called the school to let them know what was happening, and advisors stated they understood and told me to make sure to inform my teachers, so they were prepared to help.

Everyone was cool with the circumstances except- you guessed it, Mr. Thin. Unbelievably, I wrote him again to let him know the scoop, and he flat out told me I was lying and that he expected to see me in class the next day.

Mind you, I had just got done sitting with the doctor and a priest, being informed these were the last moments.

I lost it. I called the school back, p*ssed that I was spending this time defending myself and my family during this sensitive time, that I even had to go through this, and having these minutes taken from me as I said my final goodbyes with my grandma. I was trying to keep a collected head and be reasonable with outside personnel.

They took note of this and let me know they would follow up, allowing me to focus on my family.

She passed away. I grieved, and I went back to school in silence. My grades took a slight dip. I stopped making the deans list but made sure to pass my classes as it was still important to me even though it was all so untimely. I stopped speaking with Mr. Thin until I finally confronted him about his attitude and my situation.

He defended himself by saying that (sadly) college kids apparently “use the dying grandma excuse all the time to get out of class.” Saying this, mind you, without even getting to me or my situation- without asking a single question about my living situation, what hospital she was in, nothing. Just assumed I was another lying college kid trying to get out of class.

I filed a complaint and presented the death certificate and my previous USPS confirmed address (at my grandparents) with the school, stating the teacher had no right to treat me like this.

I knew my case was weak; I was missing school, but I wasn’t a f*ck up. I felt I had to do my part and say something, even if it meant knowing I would have to go back the next year knowing he still had an office in the art building, where I spent most of my time.

The Juicy Revenge:

Fast forward to the summer before my Junior/ Senior year (remember I was doing summer classes, so was only in school for 3 years), I was out to dinner with my then-boyfriend and two of his good looking guy friends.

We had a nice time cracking jokes while the sunset over the river canyon. I lamented that this was my last summer before my schooling started for the last year, but after some time had passed, I was ready to make a better effort in order to make my grandma proud from the heavens above.

We get up to leave and start walking out after paying the bill. And as we start walking through the restaurant, low and behold, I see Mr.

Thin mopping the floor straight ahead in my walking path. He watches the three gentlemen in front of me head toward the exit, then locks eyes with me as I followed. I kid you not, it was like a slow-motion caption, and without even realizing it, by pure habit, I just happened to slow-motion wave as I walked by, watching as he froze with the mop in his hand.

Turns out, his contract was not renewed for another year, and I retook my graphic design class with another teacher and passed with flying colors, graduating with a bachelor’s in arts, and going on to work for a major tech company in Data Analytics likely making more than him.

Mind=blown.

Thanks for reading- thanks for listening.” Art_Armada

6. Treat Me Like Garbage At Work? I’m Gone

Shouldn’t have treated your amazing employee like a nobody.

“I once found myself in a situation where I was forced to take a job at Blockbuster video. I had previously come from working in an independent store with lots of freedom, working with my closest friends, that eventually went out of business (go figure).

Anywho, my need for money outstripped my pride so I succumbed to the corporate machine that was Blockbuster video.

Every day I put on that uniform it stripped away from a new layer of my soul. Regardless, I’m an amicable fella whotends to get along with everybody so the new folks I worked with became fast friends – save for management. The managers there were the stereotypical management archetypes we all love to hate from every film we’ve ever seen. So, while being amicable, I just couldn’t really get along with these two people – the Assistant Manager in particular.

That being said, I always did my job and did it well – I just didn’t let those two push me around. In hindsight, I was likely out of line sometimes but there’s no fixing that today.

It’s probably worth noting at this point that before taking the job at Blockbuster I had also sent out my resume to an agency in the video game industry that I was woefully under-qualified for. I somehow got an interview there but nothing ever came of it.

Fast forward a few months. I’m working the mid-day shift at work on a Tuesday afternoon. This was at the height of the time where, if a new release wasn’t in, you could get a rain cheque to get it for free the next time around.

A couple had come in to rent a film that I thought was completely rented out when in actuality it wasn’t out yet (it was the “coming soon” boxes that were out on the shelves).

I apologized to the couple and scanned the appropriate barcode to credit them for the film on their next visit. The whole while the Assistant Manager is watching this unfold.

When the couple leaves she explains the error that I had made and tells me that she is going to have to write me up for theft against the company. I’ve obviously a bit upset by this as I’ve never stolen anything in my life.

I explained that I didn’t see it as theft but she won’t hear any of it and proceeds to write me up on a pink slip.

Once she’s done she says I’ll have to sign the slip as an admission that I was aware that what I had done was wrong.

Needless to say, I refused to do it. There was no way I was going to label myself as a thief when I had made a simple mistake in which my manager could have intervened and stopped.

As we’re arguing over the slip the phone in the store rings. The Assistant Manager picks up the phone and tells me it’s for me.

The voice on the other end is unfamiliar to me but rings some bells in the back of my mind. It turns out it’s the man I had interviewed with months before for the job I was woefully underqualified for.

He explains that he had called my house (I was still living at home at the time) and my parents told him I was working. When he heard I was working at Blockbuster he decided I shouldn’t have to endure that for one more second (he was the best boss ever) so he asked for the local number there (he lived in Philly – I was in Canada) and called the store immediately to tell me I had the job if I wanted it.

Obviously, I said yes. I hang up the phone with a grin on my face. The Assistant Manager says that if I don’t sign the slip right away she’ll be forced to send me home without pay pending likely being fired. I say that I have a better idea and take my stupid Blockbuster shirt off there on the spot and tell her that she can kindly go f*ck herself, leaving her there to work the rest of the shift by herself with her stupid pink slip dangling in her hand.

I went in a couple of years later to rent a movie.

She was serving me at the counter. The only thing I said to her was, “So, still working at Blockbuster eh?” XombieNinja

5. Be A Classic One-Upper? Lose Your Own Game

“So… I have two older brothers that I will be talking about in this story. For simplicity sakes, let’s call them Brother 1 and Brother 2.

Brother 1 is the one-upper. He has a CLASSIC case of green mushroom syndrome.

No matter what the situation is, the context, WHATEVER, he has to be the one on top.

It makes having a normal conversation with him virtually impossible. I’ll give you a few examples of the types of responses he gives to normal everyday situations/conversations:

Me: Wow this burrito from Chipotle is incredible. I need to eat here more often.

Brother 1: UGH eww holy sh*t dude those suck, there is this burrito place like a mile from here that is ABSOLUTELY the best.

Nothing is better than it, hands down.

or

Me: I’ve been listening to this podcast recently, it’s called the H3 Podcast and it’s so funny. You should check it out man, I think you’d like it!

Brother 1: Oh god no, f*ck that.

I hate H3H3, totally not my humor and not something I want to listen to. I’d rather listen to Rhett and Link’s Ear Biscuits, SO much better.

You get the point. This is something that’s been an issue as long as I can remember.

He CRAVES this sort of interaction so he can somehow feel like he “wins” the conversation or something. Well… That’s where Brother 2 comes in…

Brother 2 is incredibly intelligent. He’s quick-witted and can give a 200 IQ response at the right moment. He’s typically a quiet observer and generally doesn’t interact with Brother 1 often because of how these interactions usually play out.

Brother 2 and I tend to talk about the “one-up” mentality of Brother 1 relatively often, since its something that’s such a defining quality of his personality.

Brother 2 and I have nearly lost our minds having to deal with these sorts of interactions…

So the petty revenge story starts here.

Brother 1 is sitting at the kitchen table, eating some fast food and drinking a blue Monster energy drink.

Brother 2 walks in, sees the energy drink, and seizes the moment.

Brother 2: Hey man, what do you think about Rockstar energy drink? That stuff is so good.

Brother 1: UGH *makes gag noises* (this gag noise is legit the most forced, fake gag ever and he does it a lot) that sh*t is NASTY.

No way, nope. That stuff sucks. Do you know what’s better? Venom energy drink. ABSOLUTELY the best.

Brother 2: Oh really? Okay yeah, I’ll have to try it. What about Red Bull? That stuff is to die for! I always used to drink it back in college.

Brother 1: OH NOO NOO, that tastes like p*ss! No way I could drink that crap. Venom is my energy drink choice, NOTHING is better than it.

Brother 2: Yeah yeah, I’ll try it eventually.

It must be really good if you speak so highly of it…

(A brief silent moment passes)

Brother 2: But honestly, my FAVORITE is blue Monster, there is NOTHING better than that.

Brother 1, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s been guzzling this blue Monster down, instinctively responds: EWW *gag noise* no no no, that sh*t is nasty. *gag noise* Dude stop bugging me about energy drinks man, Venom is number 1, end of story.

At this point, Brother 2 soaked the moment in.

He waited until Brother 1 OBVIOUSLY noticed that he was drinking that exact energy drink, then said…

Brother 2: Oh dude, then why are you drinking a blue Monster right now? I thought you said that sh*t is nasty?

The look on Brother 1’s face was priceless. He had no words, choked down his food silently, and fled the kitchen.

The revenge was so petty, and that moment has lived on between Brother 2 and me ever since.” Topsy_Turve

4. Want To Put No Work In? We Have A Plan

“Years ago one of my employer’s clients decided to set up a new office in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and I got chosen to spend three weeks there getting the new space set up.

Also chosen for the job was a guy from another division’s Chicago office, Dave.

I’d never worked with Dave before, but from the start, I didn’t like him much. He was never less than fifteen minutes late, he lumbered like a zombie, and I caught him dozing off more than a few times during the first week on site.

Still, he was the closest thing I had to a friend in Fort Wayne, so I invited him out to the bar on Friday for all the company-funded booze we could drink.

‘I wish!’ he says. ‘I’m going home and passing out until Monday, the commute has been killing me.’
Wait, what?

It seems Dave’s boss had been a d*ck, and, instead of paying for a plane ticket, hotel and rental car like my boss had, he’d instructed Dave to drive.

From Chicago, almost three hours away.

Me: ‘Dude. That is like, totally no bueno. Six hours a day just driving?!?’

Dave: ‘Yeah, it sucks.’

Me: ‘Still, it’ll be killer money. That puts you at what, like 70 hours this week? Jeez.

Make sure you put in for your gas and tolls quick though, the last time I had to get reimbursed for expenses it took ’em over a month.’

I could see what little light Dave’s eyes held fade.
Dave: ‘They’re not paying for any of that.’

Hearing that I put in a call to my boss, who was as puzzled as I was. If he’d worked for our division, he’d be paid for his drive time and expenses at least, and we were both pretty sure it was corporate edict and not something individual divisions could choose not to obey.

Unfortunately, neither I nor my boss had any say in the matter and neither of us was familiar with Illinois or Indiana labor law, so all we could do was advise Dave to save his receipts for the IRS and complain to HR.
On Monday Dave was late again. After an hour I was worried and called his cell phone.

Dave: ‘I just passed Portage, making pretty good time all things considered. I should be there in about two hours.’

Dave sounded perfectly happy about it, so I figured he’d been required to stop into his office before heading out for some reason.

Me: ‘Okay, Dave.

I’ll see you then.’

When Dave arrived a little after eleven, the first thing he did was take a 15-minute break. Long drive, I understood. There was still most of the day ahead of us, and after the break, Dave finally got down to business booting up his computer.
He had barely logged in when he stood up and announced he was taking his lunch.

Oooookay. Something was going on, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea what.

After lunch Dave finally got around to some work, putting in a good twenty minutes reading an email before stopping by to see me.

Dave: ‘I’m gonna take my second 15 now, then I’m heading home.’

Me: ‘Uh, what?’

Dave, grinning like a nut: ‘Don’t worry, I spoke to HR over the weekend.’

I didn’t see Dave on Tuesday, his cellphone was going unanswered, and neither my boss nor I had any luck finding out why.

We didn’t try hard; Not our zoo and not our monkey, after all.

Ditto for Wednesday but whatever, he’s probably just sick.
And then on Thursday, I see Dave. Before work. At the hotel breakfast buffet.

Me: ‘Dave! I was getting worried when you were no-show the last two days.’

Dave laughed a little and after we’d piled our plates with bad scrambled eggs and burned sausage, told me a story.

On Monday the client had noticed him coming in late, doing no work, and leaving early and called our company to complain.

Dave, in turn, was called into a disciplinary meeting with his boss and local HR who were prepared to terminate him over putting in for 32 hours of un-earned overtime the previous week and not working at all the day before.

Dave said they were serious, too. One of the guys from building security interrupted the meeting to deliver a box containing the personal effects from his desk.

Dave had an ace though. Well, three aces.

An email from his boss instructing him to drive to Fort Wayne every day at his own expense as a ‘change in work location’ (1), an email from Corporate HR telling him he that while he wasn’t required to work overtime, he was required to report any overtime worked, including driving to or from a client (2), and a page from his division’s employee manual(3) which covered paid breaks off-site.

He then informed them that he was not working any more overtime and, after 3 hours of driving in, 1.5 hours of breaks, and 3 hours home it left him with just a half an hour a day to do actual work. Less, actually, if the traffic was bad.

Oh, and that Corporate HR was willing to stand behind him on it. He’d just spoken to them before the meeting.

Dave: It took them about three seconds to realize they were screwed, and well, here I am, back in action.

And, since everything was booked last minute, I’m in a suite with a Jacuzzi and my rental is a d*mn Cadillac!” technos

3. Think Having A Disability Is Funny? You Won’t Be Getting Apple Pie

“This happened several years ago, when I was chaperoning a young man with Autistic Spectrum Disorder (let’s call him S) to and from speech therapy. S was using a PECS book for communication (for those unfamiliar, PECS stands for Picture Exchange Communication System, and the PECS book is a binder full of pictorial representations of objects, persons, actions, etc., attached by self-adhesive hook-and-loop fasteners, which are used to build a sentence on a detachable sentence strip.

The user builds a simple sentence – a request or a statement – and hands it to a communication partner. These days, PECS books have been replaced by digital devices. this story takes place a while back.).
It became a custom of ours to stop at McDonald’s for a meal after therapy. The place was quite busy, and as we waited in line, we used the time for S to prepare a sentence strip with his order.

Enter a mother of 5, with her brood in tow. Woman with a ‘can-I-speak-to-the-manager’ haircut began making loud remarks about how slow the service was (it was not, by the way, there was just a lot of customers in the store and the drive-through line was wrapped around the building).

Her eldest kid, a girl of about 10-11, whined in turns about the wait, and about wanting an apple pie. When it was our turn to order, S gave his sentence strip to the cashier who read it back and entered it into the register.

And as all of this was taking place, I heard the ‘R’ word from the whiny girl. Something to the likes of, ‘Ugh! That r*tarded kid is taking soooooo long to order!’ I saw red. I looked at the mother, and she did nothing, did not say anything to her kid, did not look ashamed in the slightest.

Nothing! I kept staring, but she was just avoiding looking at me. I guess in her mind, there’s nothing wrong with her kid calling someone with a disability a retard.

So, I did, what any reasonable person would do, I purchased 23 apple pies. Why 23, you ask? Because that’s all they had available. If the spawn of hers wanted an apple pie, she’d have to wait for a fresh batch.

S and I got seated in a booth with a good view of the registers, and oh joy, it turned out the restaurant did not have any more apple pies. Mother was fuming, and I felt bad for the staff, but the manager handled it quickly with a coupon offer, and her kids were hungry and whiny, so she gave up the fight, and they all went to sit down.

They were shooting me angry looks from across the restaurant, to which I responded with a wide smile because Phase 2 of my petty revenge had just occurred to me.
After our meal, I had S build a sentence on his sentence strip that asked, ‘Do you want apple pie?’ (Not the most polite way to ask, but PECS book had their limitations) and we made our way from table to table asking it to diners and handing out pies as I explained about S’ condition and this being a good exercise in communication and social interaction for him.

Everyone was responding kindly, smiling, and high-fiving.

Overall, it was a very nice experience for S. When we were down to the last pie, I decided to keep one for myself because there was only our favorite family of 6 left, and they were not getting a crumb. As we walked past, the mother went, ‘Excuse me, my daughter would like a pie.’
The audacity! So I got the box out the bag, looked the woman square in the eyes, and said, ‘I know.’ Then I opened it, took a big bite, went, ‘Mmmmm,’ and we walked out of the place.

Very petty, but very, very satisfying.” Kooky_Bunny

2. Try To Make Me Give You The Last Non-Burnt Cookie? It’ll Be In My Mouth In No Time

“One day, I was walking through City Market with my mom. The quiet buzzing of the lights only slightly annoying. All seemed well, and I decided to get one of the sample cookies from the back. Seems perfectly normal, right? So, I grab my cookie, which happened to be the last non-burnt one, as another family is coming into the back aisle.

I’m not a particularly social person, so I started to walk away. This family consisted of a mother and a son, the son being maybe five or six years old by my estimates, wearing a vibrant and disgusting shade of yellow. The mom had a typical Karen haircut and a bland red-colored sweater on over a bright white shirt and brand new looking skinny jeans.

That didn’t sound like a good time to me.

They realize that there aren’t any more nonburnt cookies, which, in my opinion, shouldn’t be a problem.

Cookies are cookies, especially free ones. The child wails horrifically and notices that my cookie, that I haven’t yet taken a bite out of, wasn’t burnt! Wonderful observation skills, little Timmy. The mom approaches me and asks in a sickly sweet tone, one you can tell is obviously faked, if I would mind giving my cookie to her kid. I wasn’t sure if the tone was from her having a headache from dealing with her kid or if she wasn’t a nice person, but seeing as the kid was young, I chose to be nice and broke my cookie in half, offering one of the halves to the kid, because I wasn’t about to miss out on eating my cookie, nor was I about to go grab another one, as I felt it would just be rude to the next people.

The kid looked confused at this, which immediately felt off. The mom’s face contorted from ‘nice’ to confused to offended very quickly, as if not offering the entire cookie had somehow forsaken her entire family, and she stared at me like I was going to sacrifice a goat in order to curse them. I, naturally, was confused, and realizing what was happening a bit too late, backed away and tried walking away.

The lady placed her hand on my shoulder, preventing me from walking away.

(I was maybe 12 at the time). She held out her other hand as if expecting me to just hand my cookie away. Let me once again state that I had tried to share, but Karen and her little hellspawn don’t seem to understand the concept of sharing, evident by the atrocious wailing the child was released from the depths of the underworld itself. (I hate the sounds of children crying.) I managed to pull away from the iron grasp from this lady and sped walked away.

The guttural “rrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeEeEeEeEeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” released from both her and her entitled child gave me the chills, and she marched up to me and tried to take the cookie from me. Before she could, a lightbulb flickered on, before bursting in my head from the excitement to see the next levels of rage and profanities my plan was about to induce.

I stuffed the entire cookie in my mouth. Now, these cookies were fairly big, bigger than the basic sugar cookies they usually give, so my mouth was stuffed.

For a moment, Karen and her child are silent, stunned at what they had just witnessed.

Ten seconds later, the gates of hell are ripped from their hinges.

Karen exploded at me, screeching profanities at me, many of which I surprisingly hadn’t heard before. I stood there, the smuggest grin on my little face, as I slowly chewed on the cookie, continuing to rub salt in the wound, until the profanities turned into indiscernible noises. Was it wrong of me to do so? Probably.

Do I regret doing so? Absolutely not.

After maybe three minutes of random sounds ejecting from the deep, dark chasm this woman produced, she stopped to take a breath. I had swallowed the cookie by now and was getting tired of listening to the white noise this lady was projecting, so I began to walk away.

“I’m not done with you!” She yelled after me. Obviously, I chose to ignore her at this point, as I was just done with her.

As soon as I was out of the aisle, I booked it back to my mom and continued on as though nothing had happened.” MaxTitanium

Another User Comments:

“Imagine the entitlement that this child is going to have as an adult because of his dumb mother! Part of being a parent is teaching your child that you can’t always get what you want. I am so proud of 12-year-old you for offering to share when you didn’t have to and then eating that cookie when she was belligerent.

That cookie probably tasted so sweet with that revenge added. :)” HuneyBee35

1. Say I Have “Poor People’s” Insurance? I’ll Stand You Up During My Saturday Appointment

“Back in 2016, I was looking for a therapist. At the time, I had state insurance. State insurance doesn’t really give you many options for therapists. After checking out the websites for the 10 or so therapists in my county, I found someone who said she specialized in depression and childhood abuse.

Great! That was exactly what I needed!

So I phoned her. And boy, was that a mistake. As soon as I told her that I had state insurance, her demeanor towards me completely changed. She said to me, “Oh, you have poor people’s insurance? Well, you’d better impress me with your issues when we meet at your consultation because I really hate working with patients like you.”

I was shocked. I’d literally just finished explaining that the reason I needed therapy was that I was suicidal, and she calls me a poor person?? And then has the audacity to tell me that I needed to “impress” her with my issues??? Seriously? I don’t remember how I responded, but she continued by saying, “Yeah, I really hate working with people with your insurance since richer patients pay more.

I’m only listed as a provider because they pay me to be on there; it doesn’t mean I have to work with you people. It’s just a huge waste of my time… If you can’t entertain me at your consultation, I won’t take you on as a patient. Do you still want to make an appointment? I’m telling you now I don’t want to meet with you, but if you think you can keep me entertained, then I’ll schedule you in.”

So now not only am I a waste of time because I’m poor, but my history of trauma and suicidal thoughts is supposed to be entertainment???

I made an appointment to meet with her.

I purposely chose to meet on Saturday at 10 am because she told me that she had no other appointments for that day. And then I f*cking stood her up.

I laughed when the appointed time passed, and I saw that I had two voicemails on my phone. The first one was a simple, “It’s 15 minutes past the scheduled time. Where are you?” and the second was, “HOW DARE YOU WASTE MY SATURDAY MORNING?! IF YOU WEREN’T GOING TO SHOW UP, THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU CANCEL! THIS IS WHY I HATE YOU, POOR PEOPLE! I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN YOUR INFORMATION, SO I COULD BILL YOU FOR THIS!!”

Haha.

B*tch.” YourLilNymph

Another User Comments:

“I saw a psychologist for a few “1 hour” sessions where she would only see me for half an hour but bill me/Medicare for a full hour because clients like me weren’t good for her business.

I’ve since seen better psychologists, but there are totally sh*tty ones out there.” EducationalTangelo6

Do you have the courage or the heart to take revenge, even small revenge, on somebody? Even if you don’t, you can still enjoy more revenge stories like these!