People Tell How They Outsmarted Others In Their Pro Revenge Stories
18. Landlord Tries To Scam Me, Ends Up Losing His SUV
“About 10 years ago my landlord passed away. Or at least the person who owned the place we were renting. The property managers had been delightful, but whoever inherited wanted to sell, so the house was up for sale.
Enter a jerk–we’ll call him Jack–who decides to buy the place. Now ours was the top floor (ie: attic converted into a suite) of a house, less than 35sq meters (375sq feet). The bathroom was literally where the stairs up to the top floor used to be.
The place was tiny.
Jack came to check out the place, as you should before buying a place. He had one of those Bluetooth earpieces in and I can’t even remember if he even acknowledged us. He spent about 30-45 seconds in our suite.
Next time we hear from him is about a month later, apparently he’d bought the place.
He stops by to give us a notice of rent increase, effective in 6 months (legal minimum). From $485 to $795. The place is not worth that much.
We say nuts to that and decide to buy a house, since it’s not much more per month (surprise to anyone who’s never bought a house: it _was_ more than just mortgage payments).
We give him all the required notice to move out. We move, and clean the place up really well. Mind you, when my partner moved in it was not especially clean (and we happen to have the move-in inspection which mentions this).
Jack decides to try to scam us for $80 of our damage deposit for ‘cleaning.’ He doesn’t provide the required forms, just says, “I’m going to hold $80 from your damage deposit for cleaning.”
We respond with: Um, no. You’re not.
Jack (assuming we need the funds for our next damage deposit or bills and will settle for anything): Take this or I’m going to keep your whole deposit.
Cue Revenge:
So he decides to just keep the whole deposit ($485).
I file paperwork with the rentalsman: who unsurprisingly, after their investigation, ruled in my favour. He’s ordered to refund the whole deposit. But Jack decides, not to pay. And the rentalsman doesn’t have any enforcement powers.
So I have to go to the local sheriff’s office.
They can send a legal demand letter for the deposit + costs. But it will cost me $100-150 (I forget) upfront. Sure go ahead.
Jack decides to ignore the sheriff’s letter.
Sheriffs say that they can start proceedings to recover the debt + costs, but I again have to pay up-front: about $250, and it might take quite a while.
I guess most people quit at this point. Being out of pocket ~$700, throwing more funds at the problem and maybe having to wait months didn’t appeal to them. And there’s also a chance you never collect.
I chose to pay the sheriffs. They sent another, less friendly letter to Jack.
But here’s the best part: now that they’re recovering a debt, they’re going to recover on ALL of the outstanding judgements against him. And apparently he has tried this stuff before.
They send him another couple of letters: pay up or else.
Jack chose else.
Then they seize title to Jack’s giant white SUV (I can’t remember what it was, but not a cheap one). They didn’t physically take it away or anything, but they gave him 30 days to pay all the judgements against him or they would take it and sell it at auction.
Somehow he all of a sudden found the funds. My share: $485+$150+$250=$885. The other people who’d registered judgements, but not paid to start the collections processes were about $5,000 more. I can’t remember how long the whole process took, at least 6 months though.”
17. Patented Locker Design Puts Former Employers Out Of Business
“This is not my story. I was present for it, sure, but I did not see all of it personally.
Rather, this is my father’s story.
So, some context. My father had a degree in mechanical engineering. Either a master’s or doctorate. It had taken him years to get, and he was very proud of that. Thanks to his training, he had found his way working for many well-known companies; working primarily with the procedures used to make various things.
Over time, he’d privately begun working on an idea that would revolutionize how school and gym lockers worked. See, my father realized that there was a problem with those types of metal lockers. Namely, it was very easy for a person to break into them.
What’s more, as the lockers were designed, there were multiple exposed moving parts, which meant that if a student put too many books in one, or really anything got against the door, the locker could be jammed shut, making it nearly impossible to open.
So, for several years, Dad toyed with a number of ideas, before hitting on a new design that would solve all those problems. The inner workings of the locker’s locking mechanism would be contained within the door in such a way that one, it was impossible for someone to “shim” or break into, two, the entire mechanism would be enclosed, and three, it was relatively maintenance-free.
Now, at this point, my father was the Vice President of manufacturing, and apparently there wasn’t a clause in his contract that said that if he designed anything while working for the company; then he had to turn that over to them for profit. Dad still approached the company, offering them the design, but they weren’t interested. Dad sat on the design for a while before eventually just taking out several patents on them, and then forgetting about them.
About six months after his first attempt at getting the company interested, the parent company’s owner/chairman of the board passed away, and the board opted to sell off some of the holdings. The company my dad worked for was part of that. The new owners were young guys who seemed to think they knew everything (as young business owners always seem to think), and they set about changing 99% of the way things were being done.
At some point, they stumbled across the plans my father had designed. Now that’s where things turned curious. They really wanted to start producing this new design, but as they didn’t have all the plans and processes laid out for them, they had to turn to my father for answers.
Rather than asking him how to do it, or licensing the patents (as any reputable company would have done) they ordered him to turn over all his work, or else they would fire him. Dad stood his ground and refused. The new owners and my father went back and forth, arguing over details for several weeks, before finally the new owners fired my father for insubordination.
So, on to the revenge. After cleaning out his office, and packing things in the trunk of his car; my father headed home and made a few phone calls. He must have gone through eight or nine different calls before he got in touch with someone who was interested in what he had to say.
See, my dad was under no illusions that the company that had fired him wasn’t going to just make those patented lockers on their own. He also knew that though the company itself was relatively small, the owners had money and there was no way he could fight them.
However, a larger company could. So he contacted the major competitors and made them an offer. He eventually set up a meeting with some people, wheeled out the prototype he’d made, explained how everything worked, and noted that with this system the company could revolutionize the way lockers were designed, and improve both safety and security.
What’s more, as he was the only patent holder, for the next seven years or so, that company could be the only company to produce them.
The competitor jumped at the chance and bought all patents both for the design, and the process. They even paid my dad a substantial consultancy fee to go out to their manufacturing site and teach their crews how to make the needed tool and die sets to produce them.
Less than six months after the first company had fired him, their number one competitor was completely destroying them in the market with this new design… and there wasn’t a thing the first company could do about it. They did try suing my father, claiming he had stolen their intellectual property, but that case quickly evaporated when they had to admit under oath that they’d never actually signed a contract with him; and there was no requirement that he turn over anything he created to the company.
In the seven years from when the second company bought the locker design and process patents, they pretty handily moved into markets that previously they’d been unable to. The first company soldiered on, but by the time the patent had finally expired, they were a shadow of their former selves.
The “new” owners had sold the company at a loss, with the competitor buying it, only to shut that production facility down due to redundancy. Put maybe 200 people out of work, though given how they’d lost so much business, I wager that it was far less than that.
So yeah, the new guys don’t want to play ball, threaten the guy that holds the patents on something they want to do, and then fire him, only to have him take everything to their competitor and effectively put them out of business.”
16. Parents' Case Looks Hopeless Until Attorney Has An Ace Up His Sleeve
“In 1973, my parents had enough funds to build a little ranch house in the country. The small bank in town approved the mortgage and the bank signed a contract to give “Bob” the funds to build the house.
Bob, as it turns out, was overbooking himself all over town, leaving his clueless minions to do the actual work.
The build took longer and longer, with more and more work having to be ripped out and redone.
We’re not talking about using the wrong color paint or nailing up some wonky trim, here. The architect forgot to fully erase a line on the blueprints and the framers built a wall through the bathtub.
My mother was told “Don’t put anything heavy in the kitchen cabinets” because they were attached to the drywall – not the studs – using a few roofing nails through the back of each cabinet. The garage door opening was framed into the living room instead of towards the driveway.
And so on.
When the bank’s representative showed up for the final inspection, my parents met him in the front yard and refused to sign off on Bob’s work. The representative became angry, as the bank had paid Bob a lot of funds.
He strode to the front door and pulled on the doorknob, whereupon the entire door – casing included – fell on him. It had simply been wedged (not nailed) into place.
The bank called Bob, who finally showed up to supervise the work himself. The only problem was that Bob wasn’t any better at building a house than his minions were.
My parents still refused to sign off on the house.
My mother was a SAHM in a nasty rental with two tiny children while my dad was working two jobs while this was going on. Throughout the entire process, the bank and Bob treated them very poorly, bullying my mom and lying to my dad.
What should have been an exciting time for my parents was ruined. My mom cried a lot. My dad got depressed.
Finally, the bank threatened my parents with foreclosure and Bob threatened to sue my parents for breach of contract because the bank refused to pay him any more funds.
So my exhausted parents went to an attorney and gave him the rundown. Plumbing, electrical, tiling issues – the whole sorry mess. My parents were scared. All they had was their small downpayment savings, so if this became a lengthy court battle the bank and Bob would win.
The attorney, “Tom”, was kind, but my dad said he could tell that he and Mom were doomed from Tom’s facial expressions as he sorted through the paperwork. Then, abruptly, Tom smiled. “Let’s get everyone together for a meeting,” he told my parents.
“Tomorrow.”
So my parents, Tom, the bank’s representative, the bank’s attorney, Bob, and Bob’s attorney met at the bank.
Tom didn’t give anyone else time to begin. He said, “Well, my clients have decided that they no longer want this house.
Please remove it.”
Everyone else starts to laugh. “Remove it? Have you lost your mind?”
Tom, in a sweeping, theatrical gesture, placed a deed on the table.
“My clients own the land the house is sitting on outright. They no longer want the house. Get the house off my clients’ land.”
Bob’s attorney stared at the deed, and then turned and stared at Bob. “You built a house on land YOU DON’T OWN?” Bob nodded.
The bank’s attorney started yelling at the bank’s representative. “YOU DIDN’T FINANCE THE LAND THE HOUSE IS ON?” The representative stammered, “Uh…no…?”
Tom said firmly, “As I said, gentlemen, you’re trespassing on my clients’ land. I expect the house to be removed and the land returned to its original state, AT ONCE.”
My Dad said he’ll remember the blank looks everyone on the other side of the table passed to one another for his whole life.
Sure, the bank could foreclose…on a house that wouldn’t exist by the end of the week, with no way to recoup the funds. They didn’t even own the land it was on. Bob was out the 50% he’d paid out of pocket, plus he was on the hook for tearing down the house and removing it.
On top of that, the bank would undoubtedly want him to repay the initial 50% they’d given him.
Could they have gone after my parents? Sure. A foreclosure would have meant bad credit for my parents moving forward. They might lose their downpayment. But to sign off on the house in its condition at that time would have meant thousands and thousands of dollars to replace/repair everything from the roof to the basement before the house could be safely lived in.
The bank knew my parents didn’t have that kind of funds; they’re the ones who approved the mortgage!
Suddenly, my parents were good people, it was all SUCH a misunderstanding, and the bank and Bob couldn’t do enough for them! The house was brought in line with the original blueprints and specifications immediately, at no extra cost to my parents (but at considerable cost to Bob).
My parents signed the mortgage. Bob got the rest of his funds (and just about broke even on the build). The bank’s representative was fired.
And Tom, attorney extraordinaire, got a stinging tale of triumph to recall to fellow attorneys for the rest of his life!
Before you question this tale, please remember that 1973 was 50 years ago. Banks did things differently back then. Smaller rural banks, in particular, were not run the same way the bigger, city banks were. There were far fewer Federal regulations, and in a smaller community people didn’t always follow them, anyway.
(I’m pretty sure they don’t always follow them now.)
Yes, they built a wall through the bathtub. No, I’m not making that up. I even left out how a plumber left his lunch bag on a partially built kitchen cabinet, but the cabinetmaker didn’t feel it was his job to move the bag so he left it there and built the rest of the cabinet around it.
I don’t know where Bob found these people, but they were gems, every one of them!”
15. Boss Tries To Steal My Work, Gets Caught In His Own Trap
““This opinion is trash,” my boss told me. He’d been a lawyer for three years, and the firm assigned me to him for training, to show me, junior counsel, how to be a litigator.
I disliked my boss for a number of reasons. He knew no law, and he expressed himself badly in writing. For a litigator, that’s like strike one and two right there, and strike three was this: he had no courage. He was actually scared of going to court.
I noticed this when he took me to assignment court one day, and when it was his turn to speak his hands were shaking. He was scared, in freaking assignment court, where all you do is set a trial date.
“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” I said.
“Not what I asked for,” he said, turning away. But when I checked the memo he’d emailed me two weeks earlier, I saw that the opinion I wrote was exactly what he asked for.
I knew what was up. He was going to delete my dockets for writing the memo and then claim he did it himself, thus leaving quite a bit short of my docketing quota for the month.
I knew that he would do this to me, because he’d done this before. I knew that my memo would wind up on a partner’s desk without my name on it. I knew that for a fact, because the firm I worked at was one of the first in the city to have a really good internal network.
We were using email for internal communications before the internet became a thing. So the firm was way ahead in terms of technology, but not in terms of security, and not long after I joined the firm I learned how to surf away on the firm’s hard drive and find interesting things, like evidence that my boss was plagiarizing my work.
My boss was the very model of the young downtown lawyer. His perfect shoes always gleamed. He wore bespoke suits because he came from money. Everyone just took it for granted that he was on the partner track. I, on the other hand, was well on my way to nowhere special, so maybe he thought it was ok to mess with me.
If so, that was a big mistake on his part.
I didn’t like having my billable hours messed with. I seriously resented it, because I was already being targeted as one of the juniors who doesn’t docket as much as he should and I was getting pushback from the partner who headed our team.
I told the partner what was going on, but he didn’t care. It was like being back in middle school and showing up in the office with bruises on my face and the principal saying ‘boys will be boys’ and sending me on my way.
“You’ll just have to work harder, or smarter,” the partner said when I reported the latest nonsense thing my boss did to me.
I couldn’t work harder (I was doing the usual six days a week lawyers downtown are forced to do) but I could work smarter, and that night I thought up a plan.
Christmas was coming, and I thought I’d give my boss a little present. It landed on his desk on December 24th, in the form of a memo purporting to be from the partner that my boss reported to. The partner was an old guy, and not really on board with emails and computers, so he did everything old school, on paper.
So when my boss came in on December 24th and saw a memo on his desk from the partner with a legal research assignment, that wasn’t unusual. The memo was drafted in the usual form that the partner used, because of course I had taken great pains to make sure that it looked authentic.
My boss walked over to the little cubicles where the juniors worked, and gave me the same memo. Except his secretary had re-typed it, so now the assignment was from him to me, instead of from the partner to my boss. The assignment was difficult, requiring me to do a deep dive into admiralty law, its relationship to the common law, combined with a constitutional division of powers question.
“But this is a huge assignment,” I whined, “and I’m going to be away. Can’t you get someone else to do it? Is it really urgent?” The memo I’d forged to my boss stressed how totally urgent the situation was, but there was no way my boss could double-check with the partner, because the partner left the day before on vacation.
That’s why I’d waited until December 24th. “No can do,” my boss said, “this is a big deal. Just let HR know. Maybe they’ll give you time and half or something.” He turned his back and walked away, thinking he had ruined my holidays.
But he was mistaken. You see, I’d written a paper for a third-year course that was basically the same thing as the research assignment in the memo. So the only ‘work’ I had to do, was to find the old floppy disk with the draft on it, fiddle with it a bit, and voila: a very detailed and very long memo on an obscure point of Admiralty law.
So I put the memo together and took my holidays as planned. I wasn’t traveling anywhere (because I had no money) but I saw my family and stayed in town and I made a point of dropping by the office during the holidays, sending an email or two, establishing that I was around, and docketing all my time for the huge amount of research I was allegedly doing.
So the holidays end, and I’m sitting in my crappy little cubicle with a huge stack of work to do and my boss comes up to me, in one of his bespoke suits with a gold tie pin and cufflinks to match. He was wearing a gold watch, too.
He was dressed up, even for him, trying to make an impression of some kind.
“Where’s that memo? You were supposed to have it on my desk when I got back. I’m going into a meeting at noon.”
“Just finished it this morning,” I said, handing him the lengthy memo that was still warm from the printer.
My boss took the memo in his hands and felt its heft and he smiled. Then he turned and walked away without a word.
Just before lunch I heard a commotion down the hall. It was a pretty loud commotion, as such things go, a loud “darn!”, and then a door was flung open.
It was the partner, and he was screaming for my boss to get his behind into his office, now, right now, as in immediately. I had the pleasure of watching my boss scramble down the hall. “Just what the freaking heck is this?” the partner said, standing in the doorway to his office, and holding my handiwork at arm’s length with his thumb and index finger, as if he were afraid that handling it would soil him.
My boss mumbled something, and then the partner ushered him inside. I heard more shouting, then the sound of muffled excuses, and then more shouting from the partner. Then the door flung open again.
“OP. Get your behind in here, too,” the partner said, and I got my behind in there pronto.
“Did you write this freaking memo?” the partner said. I took it from him and looked it over.
“I wrote it. The cover page has been changed to remove my name, but other than that, it’s mine. I spent all Christmas on it. Is there something wrong with it?”
The partner exploded. “Is there something wrong with it? Something wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. It’s freaking useless! Totally useless!”
I explained that I’d followed my boss’s instructions to the letter, and that I’d docketed more than a hundred hours on it.
At this the partner really went nuts, and told me to go back to my desk and fetch him the memo from my boss. I brought it to him, and when he read it, his face went red. He told me I could leave and I ran out of there.
From my little cubicle, I wasn’t close enough to hear the full chewing out my boss got, but I heard the details through the grapevine over the next few days, about how the partners were seriously annoyed that my boss had wasted over a hundred hours of a junior’s time on a useless task that was obviously a prank, and how had my boss not realized that he was being pranked, was he an idiot?
I wasn’t blamed at all, of course; I had been working under my boss’s close supervision.
My boss didn’t get fired, but there were some good outcomes for me. For one thing, the partner told me to send him a copy of any memos I wrote for my boss, and that ended him taking credit for my work.
My boss also stopped deleting my dockets for my research. Plus I got a belated Christmas bonus for having to give up on my alleged vacation to write the stupid memo.
I really hated working in that place, but whenever times were tough, I’d think back to the Case of the Forged Memo, and that always brought a smile to my face.”
14. Annoyed That I'm Not Driving Fast Enough? Get Busted By The Cops
“I was driving home from a get-together and was going 65-67km/h (41mph) in a 60 (37mph) zone. Where I’m from the police almost never pull you over if you’re going 10 or less over, but will definitely pull you over for anything over that.
All was well until I got closer to my area.
It’s less city-like and more rural with the roads alternating between single and double lanes. I’m on a single lane speeding 10 (6mph) over when a pickup truck in my rearview caught my attention.
They were going a tad bit faster when they caught up to me and promptly braked a meter behind me.
I was like okay I’ll speed up to 70 (43mph), no big deal but they continued to tailgate me.
Upon closer inspection, I could see the face of a very angry woman who had no understanding of personal space. What ensued was a full 5 minutes of them completely obscuring my rearview mirror with how close they were.
I was tired and kind of hungover, so I really was not in the mood to be worrying about a potential car accident thanks to her driving. I was going to pull over to let her go around when Waze gave me a heads-up that a police officer was reported up ahead.
This was when I decided I’m gonna dole out some karma. I slowly dropped my speed from 70 (43mph) to 60 (37mph), now at the speed limit. This woman was furious. Why she just didn’t pass me, I’ll never know – but she was literally going slightly over the mid-line, yelling to herself in my rearview, flashing her full brights in a weird show-offish way to get me to go faster.
I did this for another minute before Waze showed the cop was less than a km (0.6 miles) away. I put on my turn signal, very slowly pulled over, and watched this woman flip me the bird as she whipped past me disappearing over the hill now going way faster than 10km/h over.
I continued on my way, getting up to 70km/h (43mph) when I cleared the hill to see flashing lights ahead. Jackpot. I drove with anticipation until I got close enough to confirm it was my friend from earlier.
Not wanting to miss out on hitting her with our new secret greeting, I dropped down to 60km/h (37mph), peered over, and flashed the bird back at her.
I hope you enjoy the ticket, Karen.”
13. Recruited For A Job That Vanishes Mid-Interview? Enjoy The Expenses
“During the dot-com boom in the late 90s, I became somewhat well known for my expertise with a now somewhat obsolete networking technology.
I ended up getting heavily recruited by a big telecom firm in Denver to run the technical side of a huge networking project they had underway. After multiple phone interviews, I was invited out for the big in-person sit-down, a two-day affair where I met with the big dogs, other techies, HR, etc. It was a pretty killer opportunity.
Took the trip. First day of meetings went great, I felt it was a great match, etc. I did sense there was some tension between two groups over network architecture; turned out that was one of the reasons they were bringing in someone more senior who could finalize the approach and get the project moving.
That was fine, all part of the job, whatever. Got wined and dined after the first day, was definitely feeling like the job was a match and that I’d be moving to Denver. Went in the second day and after another round of interviews the division head takes me to lunch.
That’s when it all blew up. While we were at lunch the firm’s senior management canned the entire project and fired every person associated with it. Apparently there was a huge internal political war going on, this project was ground zero for the big battle and this division just lost.
We get back from lunch and the manager escorts me to HR where we’re going to sit down and go over their offer. Instead, he’s told what’s going on and that he’s out of a job along with everyone else on the project. At this point I was told to leave.
No apologies, it was just bad luck for me. What the heck? OK then, I’m gone.
I get back to the hotel and there’s a voicemail for me asking me to call the HR people. I’m upset but I call. They tell me they’ve had to cancel my return ticket and that I’d need to pay for the hotel myself for now, but that if I would submit an expense report they might be able to get me a check.
There’s a second voicemail from the front desk asking me to provide a credit card for the stay. And then I get a call on my cell phone from the car rental company which I didn’t answer. Turns out they also wanted my credit card.
Screw. That.
I called the airline and they said my reservation had indeed been canceled. But they also acknowledged that the reservation was paid for using a “fully refundable” ticket – which I was holding and which back in the 90s was essentially as good as cash.
Said they wouldn’t know for certain if I could board until I showed up at the counter with the physical ticket.
Great. Just darn great. I’m on the hook for several thousand in airfare, a nice hotel, and a rental car after taking several days of vacation from my job for this interview?
I don’t think so.
Here’s the revenge:
I packed my bags and loaded up the rental car. Left the keys in the hotel room door. Drove the rental car back to Dallas (stayed overnight in Amarillo). Dropped the rental at the Hertz lot at DFW airport, took their shuttle to the terminal I’d left my car at and drove home.
Over the next few months I got several nasty phone calls from their HR and accounting departments demanding I pay them back for the trip including paying for the $700 drop-off fee for the car. Never answered them of course, just let them go to voicemail.
Eventually got a demand letter from their legal department, paid an attorney a nominal fee to send them a demand for compensation/threaten a lawsuit letter. Never heard from the firm again.
Side note: the ticket itself was still valid. I ended up selling it to a friend at a big discount and he was able to use it.”
12. Woman Exposes Unfaithful Husband In Hotel Sting Operation
“I’d been working as a front desk agent for about a week. It’s my first time working at a hotel, so I’m still learning the ropes even though I’d previously worked as a check-in agent for a cruise line. I’m working the afternoon shift and things have been pretty slow, couple of check-ins here and there and that’s about it.
It’s about 7 pm when this lady (We’ll call her… Libbie) comes in and, after talking things out at the valet, makes her way over to me. We exchange greetings, and she tells me she would like to reserve a room but “only for a couple of hours”.
Obviously, we’re not a motel, so I let her know the minimum time she could reserve a room for would be a full night. After asking what the price would be ($240 which is waaaaay too much for the kind of hotel I work at, btw) she agrees and hands me her credit card.
This is where things get… weird. As soon as I ask her for I.D. to make the reservation, Libbie backtracks and says that she doesn’t want her name anywhere on the reservation and would like to make it under the name of the guy who would be joining her later, instead.
I pause for a moment, and after asking her again if she was planning on using the room as well, I tell her that I at least need to put her name into the accompanying list for the room. I reassure her that only the employees would be able to see said list and that no, the guy she was planning to meet wouldn’t see it.
I would like to make it very clear that throughout this whole interaction, Libbie has been super composed, kind, and understanding. At this point, however, I’m just thinking she’s here for a one-night stand and doesn’t want the dude to know anything about her because she’s probably married or something.
Which, I can work with sure, but why not just actually get a motel lady??
This theory of mine is further solidified when Libbie asks me to make a note in the reservation so that, if at any point we need to address her by name around the dude, we wouldn’t call her by her real name and instead, she gives me a fake name (or so I thought) to address her by.
At this point, I’m obviously bewildered but still trying to be accommodating and trying really hard not to let it show how much I’m trying to figure out what the heck is going on lol. We go through the rest of the check-in process and she even goes as far as showing me a pic of the dude so I’ll know who he is when he comes in.
I hand her the key and she heads to her room.
About an hour later, mystery dude walks in (let’s call him Jake). My coworker (who has no clue about anything) ends up checking him in, so I don’t really get to see much of Jake.
To be honest at this point I still wasn’t giving the whole thing much thought other than “that’s a bit weird lol”.
Not even thirty minutes have passed since Jake went up when Libbie comes back down and hands me BOTH keys (They’d both received one each) says “Thank you” in the most serious yet cordial way and then walks off.
Multiple thoughts went through my mind as this lady was making her way to the valet:
- “That was way too fast even for a quickie”
- “Why the heck did she give me two keys? Where’s Jake?”
- “Libbie, please tell me you didn’t murder Jake.”
Security is standing behind me staring Libbie down probably having the same thought process as I am.
My coworker and I are whispering with each other still trying to figure out what the heck happened because that did not look like a lady who had just had a pleasant romp in the sheets.
Cue Jake coming down the stairs and “okay we can breathe, he’s not dead”.
Now what happened next we couldn’t see because we suddenly had an onslaught of distressed passengers, (flight passengers from an airline who had to cancel or delay a flight for whatever reason and have been redirected to a hotel to stay at while they wait for the next flight, however long that might be.) like 30………..
I wanted to die, so I thought I wouldn’t find out what the heck had actually happened between Libbie and Jake.
BUT THEN…….. the worker from the valet came over and boooooy did he have some tea to spill.
Turns out that Libbie had gone as far as asking valet guy to park her car in a way that the license plate wouldn’t be visible.
Why? Because turns out that Jake is Libbie’s husband.
And you might be asking yourself by this point “Why has this lady gone through so much trouble to hide anything that might give her identity away from her husband?” Well, dear reader, because the alias that Libbie gave me just so happened to be the name of the girl Jake was being unfaithful with.
This woman. Somehow. Got her unfaithful husband to believe that his “friend” had booked them a sweet sweet night at the hotel only for him to show up and find his wife sitting on the bed instead.
This woman came back downstairs after probably giving a piece of her mind to this idiotic boy with not a hair out of place and calmly had the valet bring both of their cars back and then patiently waited for Jake-Smchake to get his sorry self back to the lobby so that she could extend her hand and demand their house keys from him.
She then got into her car, and just drove away.
The only thing that would’ve made this even better was if Jake-Smchake’s “friend” had also been there to tear into him as well. I like to think she had a part to play in this whole thing, since how else would Libbie have managed to trick him into getting to the hotel?
Point is, this woman is all I aspire to be.”
11. Roommate Steals My ID For Free Meals, Ends Up Suspended And Alone
“So, this happened during my second semester dorming at my college campus. I had met my roommate at orientation and could kind of already tell she was going to be a pain in my rear.
And I was right about that. I had planned on moving rooms to be closer to some friends the next semester.
But, let me get to the story that led to my revenge. On our campus, you had to pay for meals using your student ID which had a certain amount of funds on it each semester.
You could also use an app that you put your name and ID info into and it makes it easier to pay. But, the name and ID must match for it to work (which will be important later).
Any funds from the fall semester would roll over into the spring.
But, then at the end of spring it would just expire. Because of this, and because I only ate once or twice a day, I had a ton saved up on my card. My roommate on the other hand, did not. So, I offered to pay for some of her meals from time to time in trade for her picking up the food for us.
Which involved her using my card twice in person and then she’d return it. Then, one day, I noticed on my app that my card was being charged even when I was not ordering food. And not just a meal, like a meal for several people.
This meant that whoever was ordering (I wonder who) either had to have stolen my ID card (which I had in my pocket when I got the charge) or was impersonating my info in the app, which are both big nonos on my campus. I was quick to put two and two together and was pretty annoyed. I was initially going to confront her about it.
But decided to formulate a plan instead.
That day I went and ordered a second ID card for $25 to use for later. As it took a couple of weeks to get the new one, I let her charge several things to my card over a good two weeks.
For her and her friends. And she wasn’t very good at hiding it either. As they would come to our dorm and eat. While I just screenshot and sent emails to the support team of the app about the charges (knowing nothing would get done until I contacted someone in person).
And one day it got even better, as you can buy groceries with the card off campus as well. She decided to pay for booze with my card. Which doesn’t get pinged as an issue on my card due to me being over 21 but, she was only 19.
Not sure how she got it, but it was just the thing to finally act on my plan.
I put my best sad face on and contacted the head of campus living and head of my dorm about the charges on my account. I dropped some hints that it could be my roommate and mentioned I got a new ID and asked what I should do.
I was told to order a new card and once I got it, to deactivate my current ID and use the new one for purchases now. Making my old ID have a balance of $0 and also to ping if someone uses it to buy anything.
They also told me they would be visiting my dorm to discuss the issue with my roommate. I accepted that and waited.
They sent the confirmation email that they would be visiting and I just decided to add more fuel to the fire. My roommate was groaning about not having the funds for food in front of me in our dorm.
I told her I really couldn’t help her as I was running low on funds and she kind of just laughed it off and left the room to probably go use my old ID. I deactivated my first card right after she left and surprise surprise she used my info to pay.
Except when she tried to pay for her and her friends this time, it was declined and it pinged that my ID was used. Campus security was called and she was escorted back to our dorm. Pretty much perfect timing for our meeting with campus living.
She was scared senseless when they came to the dorm to talk and look through her stuff.
On her phone, still logged into the app was my ID information and name. And in her dorm closet was a half-full bottle of cheap booze. And on my phone was a screenshot of said unauthorized booze purchase.
In the end she was forced to pay me back all the funds she used (in cash), reported for underage drinking which automatically suspends you from campus living for at least a year, and would have on her record that she performed identity theft. Which I also could have charged her for out of school.
In the end, I got to have my own dorm for the remainder of that semester and even part of the semester after. Because it wasn’t put as an available room for new dormers. I did get all my funds back (from her parents) who were so embarrassed and apologized profusely.
And when she did eventually come back to campus no one wanted to dorm with her because they knew she had stolen her roommate’s ID. I think in the end she rented off campus.”
10. City Builder Tries To Disrupt The Peace And Gets Outsmarted
“This one comes from my boss, who lives in the small town where it occurred.
To set the stage, many decades ago, Barney and Betty immigrated from Europe and bought a farm. A few years later they had kids, and sponsored Wilma from the old country as a nanny. She met Fred, a local boy, fell in love, and got married. Wilma stayed on as the nanny, and Fred worked as a farmhand.
Their kids and Barney and Betty’s kids grew up together, and it was pretty much a big, blended family.
Years go by, and Barney and Betty decide to sell the farm fields to Farmer Frank, but kept the land the house was on. They made enough off the sale to build a nice, new house, and rezoned the property lines.
They broke the lot up into 2 parcels, one for the new house, and one for the existing house, which they gifted to Fred & Wilma as a recognition of their years of dedicated and loving service.
Both houses shared a well and a septic field.
More time went by. Barney and Betty passed away, and their house was inherited by their son, Bam-Bam. Fred also passed away, and Wilma stayed in the house. She was an angel. Everyone in the town knew and loved her, she was like the town’s Grandmother.
She was active in the church and liked nothing more than crocheting booties for anyone in town who had a baby.
Sadly, Wilma passed away too, and her house was inherited by her daughter, Pebbles. She was well-established in a nearby metropolitan city and made the decision to sell the house.
….and so it begins….
It was purchased by a builder from the city, which we’ll call D. He wanted it as a country getaway, as he already had a place in the city. He got approval to improve the place, and his plans were to convert the barn into a multi-car garage with a man cave and an apartment in what was the loft. He started by tearing down the house, with plans to replace it with a bigger, more modern house.
The house was torn down, and the new build was started.
There was a very narrow driveway, and between that driveway and Farmer Frank’s field was a drainage culvert. So the contractors started parking their vehicles on Bam-Bam’s lot.
Bam-Bam asked the contractors not to do it, but they didn’t stop, so he approached D, and the conversation didn’t go well.
D was an entitled big-shot, dealing with what he thought was a country bumpkin. To give you an idea, D once went to the local diner and asked for the wine list. He was aggressive and disrespectful, and this pretty much set the tone for all future interactions.
Bam-Bam had enough, these contractor trucks were tearing up his ground, so one weekend, he built a fence along the border between his house and D’s. It wasn’t a complicated fence, he just got a buddy with a post-hole digger on his Bobcat, sunk posts, and strung planks between them.
This caused no end of trouble with the build. There was no room to park for the contractors without getting in each other’s way, and they couldn’t park in the driveway which was only wide enough for one vehicle at a time. Contractors were upset…they had a long walk from the road to the build site, and had to carry tools and equipment back and forth, either that, or take turns dropping materials….waiting hours for the carpenters to finish unloading the lumber so that the plumbers could unload the pipes.
D was furious, and came stomping over to Bam-Bam demanding that he dismantle the fence. Bam-Bam told him to go away…then a day later, Bam-Bam saw that “someone” had removed some of the fence and the contractor trucks were back on his land.
Okay, thought Bam-Bam.
Let’s play.
The following weekend Bam-Bam irrigated the area where the contractors were parking. Irrigated it long and continuously. He probably had to get a water delivery to make it happen, as the well had a limited capacity. On Monday, the first contractor to arrive turned off D’s driveway to go through the fence, and immediately sank up to his axles in mud.
Did I mention that Bam-Bam owned the local service station, and knew every tow truck company within 100 miles? As it turned out, everyone they called was too busy to pull the truck out, and they had to call a tow truck from the city, almost 2 hours away.
You can see how the relationship between Bam-Bam and D became somewhat less than neighborly.
Time went by, and D’s house was completed. It was a low-maintenance setup, with interlocking brick over the compound, tall hedges separating D from Bam-Bam. They kept out of each other’s way, but they certainly weren’t pals.
D’s kids would come up on the weekend and have a party now and then, but Bam-Bam put up with it.
One issue that arose was when D decided to fill the small swimming pool that he had installed. This drew the well dry, and caused some sand to be pulled into the water treatment equipment.
When Bam-Bam approached D about the cost of the repair (via email), D basically replied that it was Bam-Bam’s problem. The same when the septic holding tank needed to be pumped. Bam-Bam offered to split the cost of the pumping, and D refused to part with a dime.
Years passed, and D decided to list the house for sale. That’s when Bam-Bam made his move. He cut the water and capped the septic line leading from D’s house. Then he informed the real estate agent of what he had done.
Well, that induced a thunderstorm, for sure.
There’s no way D could sell a house that had no water, or any way to dispose of waste. He couldn’t build a septic field on his property, it was too small. He approached Farmer Frank to buy some of his land, but was rebuffed. His only option would have been to install a septic holding tank, but the only place to put it would have been right in the middle of his compound, and septic tanks can be….aromatic.
It would also have meant removing the in-ground pool.
D tried to argue in court that he was entitled to access to the well water and the septic field, but Bam-Bam won, arguing that Wilma and Fred were given water and septic as a courtesy and that there was no contractual obligation to provide D either well water or septic access.
There was nothing in the deed to Wilma and Fred that could be grandfathered in, and D’s emails refusing to pay for maintenance to either system were the nail in the coffin.
The property sat vacant and unusable for months. The price dropped through the floor, and the few people who expressed an interest in the property approached Bam-Bam with varying offers of cash to restore service.
Bam-Bam declined. No offers were made to D for the house.
Finally, D did receive an offer from a numbered corporation, an offer that was about a quarter of the asking price. As is, with a statement that the buyer was aware that there was no water or septic service to the property.
Without much choice, D accepted the offer.
And that’s how Bam-Bam bought himself a beautiful, modern country home, at a steal of a price. He reattached the water and septic in an afternoon and moved his furniture down the driveway. He rented his old house out, for extra income, and had the numbered company negotiate with…himself…for an arrangement for perpetual use of the well and septic, thereby jacking the value of the house by a factor of 4.
Later, if he decides to sell it, he’ll be making a massive profit. Bam-Bam now enjoys a country paradise and is the social king of the hill in his town. All because D decided to be a jerk.”
9. Fast Food Tyrant Manager Gets A Taste Of His Own Medicine
“Entirely too many years ago, I started to work at a fast food company.
Let’s call it Southern State Not Baked Poultry. Southern State Not Baked Poultry wasn’t a bad first job (I was 16) and the assistant manager at that location was my best friend’s step-dad, so we took what was tedious and menial and tried to make it fun.
He was actually a really good manager and genuinely cared about the people who worked for him. We would do silly stuff before the store opened while we were doing prep, he would have music playing loudly from his office, as long as everything got done and done well, he really didn’t care if we had fun doing it.
We’ll call him Larry.
This story is not about him though.
This story is about our store manager. We’ll call him Tim. Tim was the exact opposite of our assistant manager. Everything had to be taken seriously. Fun was outlawed. I genuinely hated working with Tim.
Tim was an egocentric, power-hungry, petty little man with delusions of grandeur because he was a manager for Southern State Not Baked Poultry.
Tim’s approach to “managing” was to work the employee until they burned out, when they did, fire them and hire someone else.
Needless to say, morale when Tim worked was in the garbage. Tim hated that crews would prefer working with Larry instead of him. He hated that crews had fun when Larry was working. He hated that our store’s numbers were always better when Larry worked. Mostly, he just hated everyone.
But one thing that he absolutely despised was a silly little thing Larry did. If it was before the restaurant opened, he would stick his tongue between his teeth and lower lip, and shout out a “HI, (NAME)” to whichever employee had just walked in.
It sounded absolutely ridiculous. I would always do the same thing back, which ended up sounding something like, “HI, WAWWY!”
Here is where the revenge starts. We were scheduled to have the regional and national bigwigs for Southern State Not Baked Poultry come through our area for an annual inspection.
Tim had his eyes set on being one of those bigwigs, at least for the region. Why wouldn’t he be, he did everything by the book! That automatically made him a good manager (at least in his eyes). Everything had a checklist, a procedure, and a set of written instructions in The Book and if you couldn’t meet the expectations set forth in the book, well Tim would yell at you and berate you.
Because that’s how a manager manages you see.
Well before the bigwigs got to our store (we knew what day they would be coming) several of us had agreed that on the day they came through, we would all screw up just enough to get Tim to blow his cool.
Because our regional manager and the national bigwigs all believed that Southern State Not Baked Poultry was a family company and that employees were valuable team members.
The day in question arrived, and the bigwigs were there for their big tour. Whoops, one of the fryers hadn’t had the oil replaced last night.
Oh look, the shaker table hadn’t been cleaned. Darn it, we’ve got way too much coleslaw made up and we won’t get through it before we have to toss it. Crap, we don’t have enough poultry in the cooker to fulfill the lunch rush. Man, someone forgot to preheat the second cooker!
You get the picture.
After the second time I took a minute too long to get a basket of poultry into the cooker, Tim absolutely LOST. HIS. TEMPER.
Yelling. Cursing. Throwing things. He actually physically pushed me away from the breading station. In the middle of the lunch rush.
While the regional manager and several bigwigs from national stood there. While we had a line several people deep at both cash registers. And a lobby full of people eating.
Tim stood there, gulping like a fish. His mouth was moving like he was trying to say something, but no sounds were coming out.
The room was absolutely quiet other than the beeping of a fryer that was done. I looked at Tim. This was the moment we had all been gearing up for. I looked down at where he had pushed me, a set of handprints in flour on my chest. And I cut loose into him.
Yelled at him that I quit, took off my apron, and threw it at him. Told him I was tired of his abuse, of his poor management, of how he single-handedly drove morale through the floor every time he walked through the doors. How he was a crappy excuse for a manager, and that if he didn’t have Larry and a couple of good shift leads, he’d have driven the location out of business a long time ago.
All the color drained from his face, and he bolted to the office cube. The national and regional folks ended up comping everyone’s meals that were in the restaurant.
Interestingly enough, Tim was not fired. But he was demoted. To assistant manager. Larry was promoted to manager.
About 10 years later, I was working at my current job as an EMT. We had just dropped a patient off at the hospital that was across the street from the same restaurant, and my partner was hungry, so we drove across the street and pulled in.
Now, I hadn’t set foot in that restaurant since the day I had quit. But lo and behold, who is working the counter, but Tim himself. And his nametag still shows “Assistant Manager”.
The restaurant was empty since it was between lunch and dinner time, and I just couldn’t help myself.
I stuck my tongue between my teeth and lower lip, and as loud as I could, shouted out “HI, TWIM!”
Haven’t been back there since, but that was around 12 years ago. I’m willing to bet he’s still just the assistant manager there.”
8. Don't Say Anything? My Lips Are Sealed But Actions Are Louder Than Words
“I have a friend called Kerry who just broke a story to me.
Kerry works for a small IT company as a programmer and Web designer along with about 8 others, including her manager and her newest colleague, Sharon the secretary.
Roger, the IT manager, is a womanizing rogue who makes frequent moderately offensive comments about women – customers and staff – like he has no brain-mouth filter.
Sharon, as Kerry puts it, likes to get around and will hook up with the boss if he buys her new shoes.
The first Kerry knew about Sharon’s behavior was late one Saturday afternoon, when everyone had left for the weekend, except Kerry as she had a project.
She was beavering away at her desk in a nearly silent office when she heard a squeal. She immediately got up to investigate and found her boss’ door ajar. She heard another squeal and walked in….
…Finding Sharon and her boss in a compromising position.
Roger’s expression indicated fury and embarrassment. Sharon had an expression like the cat that had the cream, with no pun intended. She certainly didn’t seem bothered about being caught.
Roger recovered his composure, put his trousers back on, and called Kerry back into the room – she hadn’t stopped to watch – and threatened to fire her if she let slip what she’d seen.
The instruction was “Tell nobody. Act like it never happened.”
It’s important at this point to mention that they were looking at the possibility of reducing staff numbers, something which fortunately never happened, but at the time of this story, nobody was sure.
Kerry kept quiet.
Roger would occasionally remember that she knew what he was up to, and would give her dirty looks, but little more was said. Sharon and Roger were still having regular interactions at work, and Sharon was getting the bonuses that the team should have received.
One Saturday, about 6 months after the initial ‘shock discovery’, an opportunity for revenge (and technically malicious compliance) presented itself. Olivia, Roger’s wife, popped in. The staff were still there, and the office was busy and a bit noisy. Roger had excused himself to his office with Sharon early as he knew his wife would be in later to meet him and wanted to get his end away before she arrived. She was early.
Olivia was standing at Sharon’s desk – Sharon was the secretary, after all – and Kerry saw an opportunity. She offered to help, in the absence of the secretary, and Olivia asked to see Roger. Kerry obliged. (The next bit is a little vague, as Kerry skipped some details) But, apparently, she knows how to get past the lock on his office door, like the door frame is a little too big, and that’s the vague bit.
Kerry was able to open the door as if it wasn’t locked and hold it open for Olivia, who walked in to see her husband with the secretary from behind. Olivia’s eruption was one of incandescent fury, which caused Roger’s excuses to melt away. He was trying to explain that it wasn’t what it looked like while pulling his trousers up.
Sharon, meanwhile, had tried to discreetly leave, but Olivia had turned her full wrath on Sharon’s direction, so Sharon excused herself by asking Roger why he’d never told her he was married. (he had actually told her, but the ruse worked)
Roger stared daggers at Kerry, but she told him that she’d done as he asked. She had never told anyone and had acted as if it had never happened. Just as he’d demanded. Olivia asked what she meant, and she explained in painful detail what had been going on.
With Olivia screaming blue murder at Roger, nobody heard the big boss, Ivan, arrive. He must have heard the ruckus and come to investigate. At this point, he’d heard enough from outside the office, and Kerry was asked to leave.
Roger doesn’t work there anymore, and neither does Sharon.
Sharon was dismissed for gross misconduct, and Roger is awaiting a court date – something about fraud or embezzlement or something. Details are sketchy here. No information about his marriage. Sorry.
Kerry is still at the company, but now works as an assistant manager to a newly appointed female manager.”
7. Steal My Gas? Enjoy The Consequences For Your Car
“So several years ago, my friend, we’ll call him Boris, and I would always help each other do the spring cleanup for our properties. This included taking out damaged trees, preparing garden plots, and taking care of our weed-infested yards.
I was going to be first on the cleanup detail so I prepared tools and implements the Friday before the big cleanup was to happen.
Sharpening tools and chainsaw chains, lawn mower blades, and just getting everything in order. Among those tasks was mixing gas with 2-cycle oil. Finished up kind of late and generally put things away for the next day.
The next morning Boris shows up with coffee and biscuits around 8 AM.
As we were sitting on his tailgate enjoying breakfast, my neighbors ride by in their beat-up Chevy Cavalier smoking like a freight train. We will call them Rocky and Bullwinkle. Boris and I made the usual jokes about the amount of smoke pouring from the exhaust. Darn, bet they go to the gas station and fill up with oil and check the gas.
We soon finished breakfast and thought no more about it.
As we begin to get the tools laid out and hash out a plan of attack, I cannot find my gas cans. No mixed gas, regular gas, or a gas can in general. That’s when it dawned on us why the car Rocky and Bullwinkle were driving was smoking so bad.
I’m annoyed to say the least.
Well, all Boris and I could do was go shopping for gas cans, gas, and more 2-cycle oil. After we returned, we saw Rocky and Bullwinkle pass by several times, but all in all, we got a lot done.
The next weekend we dedicated to clean up at Boris’s.
A weekend or two go by and we have a family dinner at my wife’s, Rocky and Bullwinkle’s grandparents’. Toward the latter part of the evening we were having a few drinks. Most people had left and myself and wife’s grandfather were shooting the breeze when I had to take a leak.
As I was doing so, I saw a gas can with very distinct paint on it. I inquired from the old man about how it came into his possession and he stated Rocky and Bullwinkle left it there. I simply explained it was mine as was another and loaded them in my truck.
It ate at me every time that beat-up car with my awful neighbors went by. So I hatched a plan from a rotten egg. I went and bought a few gallons of gas, a few gallons of diesel fuel, and some other various oils. I made a concoction of these different chemicals and filled my new 6-gallon gas can I had to purchase.
With some clean gas, I filled the lawn mower and cut some grass that evening making sure Rocky and Bullwinkle saw me. Then I put everything away but forgot and left that rotten egg gas can out.
I got up and went to work the next morning and didn’t even think to check on the can.
But when I got home, I checked and it was gone. My wife informed me that my plan must have worked as she watched Rocky and Bullwinkle go in and out with the car not only smoking but spitting and sputtering as well. The last time they rode out, they didn’t ride back in.
Hmm.
They gave me about an hour of peace before they came over and wanted to know if I could look at the car and see what was wrong. If it could not be fixed on the side of the road, maybe tow it home.
My response? I’ve had a long day and have a migraine. Maybe tomorrow. I saw the panic set in when I told them that. That’s when they told me they had no insurance and it was on a main road. Tough luck.
So the highway patrol did run across it and had it towed. It was going to cost them around $500 to get it out of impound plus they had to have current registration and insurance.
Car wasn’t worth it.
Well, they’re those types of people whose good luck just falls on them, and the pastor of a local church gave them an old Ford Taurus. Took me a few cans of rotten egg gas but I got the motor to lock up after about a month.
This time it quit in their grandparents’ yard. So, they scrapped it and as luck would have it, they got their income tax returns. They bought a nice-looking Ford F150 but it began having problems too. Smoked really bad. They did take it to a mechanic who eventually found the problem.
He got the truck running right again for about $1,500 and I have never had any more gas come up missing.”
6. Mistreat Me And My Mother? Sorry Dad, But This One's Going To Hurt
“My father is the Canadian Satan. Growing up with him was less than fun and I can assure you, based on witnessing it he was a less than fun husband.
I’d go on about what a piece of trash my father is but instead, I’ll quote a judge “you’re the most despicable human I’ve ever had in my courtroom” and that’s coming from a family court judge. I read this winning endorsement of my Dad’s personality in the court documents I acquired related to his divorce from my Mum.
The same place I discovered the nonsense he had engaged in to steal from my Mum. It’s also where I found the information I needed to get one over on him so severely he’s going to disinherit me.
A frame of reference about my father is that he’s a pathological narcissist and behaves exactly how those people are compelled to act.
They aren’t generous people and punching them in the wallet is like a slapshot to the guts from Gretzky.
Chapter 1 – Hosea 3:8
Those that sow the wind shall reap a whirlwind. Our actions always have consequences and my Padre has plenty to answer for. My attempts to hold him to account didn’t jump to immediate Jihad, they started with diplomacy and a therapist.
About 10 months ago when our tale begins I was going through some stuff. Stuff being a whole lot of PTSD related to both my Dad’s abuse and my job as a paramedic. He did a ton that affected me deeply, things that I needed to move past, along with all that other razzmatazz from 15 years of EMS. In trying to move past and work through everything I quit drinking, started turning my untreated PTSD into treated PTSD, and thought having my Dad involved might help me and our relationship.
Well, I seriously misjudged that one so you’ll probably be unsurprised to hear that conversation went swimmingly. I’ll spare you the lurid detail but when I broached the subject with him our back and forth degenerated into visceral hate with him screaming at me that I’m a failed paramedic, liar, and piece of trash heavy drinker.
While I have a certain pride about my job, I have more pride in my 14 months of sobriety, so hearing this from my old man might have caused me to behave a bit psychotic. I got right annoyed at him and decided to dig up every bit of dirt I could, see what kind of man he actually is and has been.
When it was convenient I hopped in the mystery machine before taking a trip to the courthouse to unleash my inner gumshoe. Everything is public record, so I bulk-bought copies before retiring to my easy chair to read, plot, and pet my white long-haired cat.
For good measure, I obtained a file of divorce documents from my mother. Soon enough I hit upon a line of inquiry worth following up on, it seems that during the final settlement of my parents’ divorce (2002), my mother was awarded 1/3 of my father’s employment pension.
She was a stay-at-home mother and could not earn one herself so it was given to her by a judge. Mighty strange because my father as he brags took a nearly full pension and retired a bit early. No way that jerk was living the last 10 years after retiring early on a 2/3 pension, he isn’t constantly complaining about it.
So I asked my mother if she was collecting a pension from his job or had cashed out the value (100k plus at the time) 20 years ago, no to both questions. Well that’s interesting, I wonder if that’s collectible and what 20 years of compound interest from a pension fund makes it worth.
Well, I did eventually find out along with the fact that my dear old Dad had been collecting my mother’s portion for 10 years, in hilariously open violation of a legal order from a judge. Why didn’t my mother pursue this sooner? A combination of being unable to afford a lawyer, being his victim for 20 years, and pessimism after so much of his continued dodging obligation to the order, she just quit.
There is effectively no statute of limitations he could hide behind because of the wording of the settlement. Insofar as I could tell I had him dead to rights and my mother would be collecting, it would be a slam dunk. I just needed to hire a lawyer to help me, so I set out to find the most unbalanced, bloodthirsty psychotic who passed the BAR exam.
Chapter 2 – Et tu pension lady?
As it says in the good book screw unto others as they would screw unto you, so that’s what I set out to do. The misanthropic sociopath I hired for legal counsel suggested we send a demand letter to the pension office to try and remedy it before filing what would undoubtedly be an easy win for him.
I agreed in spirit and instead phoned up the pension office and got put through to the woman managing my father’s file. Well, she was a delight and it was a trivial matter for me to get her to loathe my dad. We talked for 45 minutes and I swear if you’d given me another hour I could have convinced her to bomb his house.
In all our conversations about life, families, and relationships we got down to some things of note. Since I could show her correspondence her office had sent to my father (cc’d my mum on) some years ago and ongoing for 5 consecutive years, trying to resolve this matter, which he had ignored, she was more than willing to start the process on remedy immediately.
Full cooperation from this lady and her office was a matter of merely providing documentation and with my lawyer on retainer, this office was beyond asking my father to comply, they complied for him. About 2 months since I last spoke to my father and he now had no idea his pension was about to take a serious hit.
Below I’m going to break down how big a turd I put into his bowl of ice cream.
My mother’s portion was made whole and adjusted to reflect that her portion was brought to maturity and beyond so his early retirement doesn’t affect her fund.
So he loses 10 years of valuation to her, he also retired 3 years early which knocks him down now to 17 years of pension valuation, not 27. If you’d forgotten my Dad had been collecting my mum’s money and was overpaid by 30k per year for the last 10 years.
Like I said Mom was made whole, so the pension company is going to claw back that overpayment from the base valuation of his current pension fund. I’m not exactly sure what that does to the number but it effectively nerfs my old man’s private retirement fund.
He’s got a government old age pension, that he took early too, whoops.
My dad did some awful stuff to me but I only had to suffer 17 years of him, my mum still has the high score of 20. As much as I did this for spite and malicious glee, I did do it to give my mum a chance at a proper retirement.
Chapter 3 – Glitter bombs of justice
My mother started collecting her pension about 3 months after I contacted the pension office and to celebrate she bought tickets to New Zealand for the family for Christmas, so we can see our relatives. I was able to get most of my retainer from the lawyer back and to celebrate I went online to order a glitterbomb.
I was able to ship it to my old man anonymously from another country (God bless the USA). I heard through my sister he opened it up in his stupid red miata, ha ha ha, he’ll never get rid of it.”
5. Homophobic Neighbor Ignites Battle With Government Employee And Loses
“This one is a double government employee event and what you should know is if you get the attention of a government employee and make them angry they will make your life unbearable.
The setup is that I was working for a local county government in the permitting department that handled drainage and floodplain enforcement. I received a complaint from a homeowner (Nice Guy) who lived next door to a house that was part of an incorporated village (Not Nice Guy).
Nice Guy lived in an unincorporated portion of the county and hence the call to me as an agent of the county. I drove out to the site to investigate and discovered some interesting facts. The permitting agent for the village allowed the incorporated homeowner to fill his lot affecting the drainage which caused the unincorporated lot to flood every time there was anything more than light rain.
Nice Guy indicated that there was some tension between him and Not Nice Guy and part of the issue was that Nice Guy and his partner were a gay couple. This ran up a red flag for me but in trying to be impartial I took the information and some photos for the file and indicated that I would contact the village to find a resolution.
I wrote a letter and then called the village inspector (Jackwagon) to discuss. I was told by Jackwagon that the village could do as it pleased and that I could do nothing to stop Not Nice Guy from doing as they pleased as it was approved by the village.
There was then a comment about those types of people (the gay couple) making complaints just to cause trouble. I was now on the case and it was time to make sure everything done on the incorporated lot was 100% legal. At this point the game certainly was now on because if there is one thing that grinds my gears it is bullying.
I went back out and spoke to Nice Guy to let them know what I was up to and also that I was not going to let this slide. I then started investigating the elevations on the two lots and what fill had been placed on the incorporated lot.
The Not Nice Guy came out and started getting belligerent about my presence and ongoing investigation. He incorrectly stated that I did not have jurisdiction over his lot and that he would be calling the police. I patiently listened and then pulled out my two-way radio and requested that the home base dispatch both a village and a county police unit to the location.
I then indicated that since there was a regulatory floodplain on his lot I did in fact have jurisdiction and that I would be exercising my right to determine the impact of his fill activities upon that floodplain.
Both of the police units showed up and I let them know what was going on.
They were both appropriately agitated to have to waste their time and let Not Nice Guy know that I was within my authority to proceed with the investigation. A little while later, while I was measuring things, Jackwagon showed up. He started berating me about harassing the village resident and threatening to call my boss and filing a complaint and so forth.
I invited him to do so quoting which parts of the code he should indicate I was violating. I was using marking paint to show the limits of the floodplain for the photos for the file and what do you know Jackwagon’s shoe got painted when he tried to stop me.
Obviously, he was even more angry as was the homeowner due to very bright orange paint in the grass in his yard. I pointed out I had done the same on the neighboring lots but they just kept complaining. It was actually marking chalk that comes off pretty easily.
Interestingly, I found two really wrong things on Not Nice Guy’s lot: (1) there was fill placed in the floodplain and (2) a garden shed was built on the fill and partially within the floodplain. Both are a big no-no and are actually against federal law. So, the course of action had two parts: (1) make the incorporated homeowner remove the fill and shed from the floodplain and (2) let Nice Guy place fill in their lot outside of the floodplain to counteract the fill remaining in Not Nice Guy’s lot outside of the floodplain.
I also told Nice Guy it would be a good idea to run a field tile on their side to drain the water that would inevitably pool up between the two lots when it rained.
Predictably, Not Nice Guy and Jackwagon got super angry when I sent the letter out that there were violations that either had to be corrected (remove fill and shed) or apply for a revision of the floodplain with the Army Corps of Engineers (good luck with that).
This then led to a meeting at the county office with Not Nice Guy, Jackwagon, my supervisor, and myself. Quickly things went to 11 and there was yelling by Jackwagon about abuse of power, etc. The department head came into the conference room and told them both they were wrong and that they should leave peacefully and comply or face the consequences (fines).
The best part was that Not Nice Guy had to apply for a permit and guess who was the one to review and approve it … that’s right yours truly. Now, I was following the letter of the law but you have to know that poor government workers are underpaid and overworked. Strangely the permit for Nice Guy was almost immediately approved while Not Nice Guy had to have a very thorough review to ensure it was correct.
You could make a case I was abusing my power but I can assure you that the timing for their review was well within acceptable limits. Also, how could I be held to account that they misfiled three times before they finally got it right?
Generally, if you behaved like a civil human and came to the office we would help you get things done properly so the permit would go through the first time but Not Nice Guy decided he could do it all on his own so it took him three tries.
Had he come to the office I would have given him the same service as others but he decided to take the hard route and therefore I didn’t give a single inch when it came to the submission being perfectly correct.
Ultimately, the situation was resolved but it took a lot more effort than it should have.
Moral of the story: don’t be an entitled homophobic jerk.”
4. Talk A Big Game At The Assembly Line, Prepare To Play It Solo
“My brother works on the assembly line of a well-known company. He soon learns that a lot of employees were either transferred or quit this position over the year: he would soon learn it was because of a fellow worker stationed with him. Let’s call him Richard.
Richard has been working in this position for over 20 years. He was (apparently) a high school dropout and this was the only work he managed to find. As the years went on people who worked with Richard seemed to get promoted to more difficult tasks that required further education in the field, and it seemed Richard was not liking that at all.
Richard began making life difficult for those who had to work at the same station as him: even going so far as to take credit for their work and shifting the blame for his faulty products to them since he had been there for so many years and “knows what (he) is doing”.
Then along comes my brother. He had a basic grasp of what the job entailed having done the basic stuff in high school. It took him a little while but eventually, he worked his way to be in the same position as Richard and was soon producing the same output and quality as Richard.
Naturally, Richard began to take credit for more and more of my brother’s work. HR eventually got involved after a complication between the two when the numbers presented indicated that my brother had faults in almost all of his work and that Richard had somehow managed to produce much more than the employee average.
Going on stating “I can do the work of two of us, and produce a quality product. (my brother) should not be here and save you all a lot of money”.
Naturally, my brother was frustrated. Cameras could not prove that either were at fault for producing faulty products.
Brother got a verbal warning and both left. My brother went and spoke to the site manager about this issue. Big surprise to those who were not in the know: but they were good friends through school. They both talked and the revenge was soon planned. After the manager went to HR and checked the statements made by Richard, they enacted the revenge.
Being near the Christmas break, orders were low so if faulty products were made they could easily be remade and not affect the schedule: the perfect time to act.
My brother had time off built up with the company, so he used it. The site manager then went up to Richard, informing him that my brother would no longer be working with him.
Richard’s slight smile apparently turned to a look of disgust when the manager informed him that he would be working at the station by himself and that he could not let their required numbers drop. That did not sit well with Richard, and they both went to HR.
Richard was yelling that it was unfair and unprofessional that he had to work alone and yet had to do so much work. Then the manager brought out a file: containing various statements about how he was good at his job and how effective he was.
Apparently, the manager’s response was “you said you could do it, and if it does save us money then would you not think you would get some financial benefit out of it too?” Richard took that bait of extra income and left in a huff.
Needless to say, over the next 2 days the numbers were not met, even with the majority of products were deemed faulty and could not be used. This time the manager called a meeting with higher-ups, HR and Richard. Richard tried to defend his actions, but with all his statements and the recent evidence of his skill level he was let go.
Brother came back to work: new guy replacing Richard, and eventually the quantity and quality of products were back to the required levels. Like the manager had said: Richard would not have to work with him anymore.
If you’re going to talk a big game Richard, be sure you can play it.”
3. Refuse To Pay Me For My Work? Enjoy Your Broken Machine
“I worked for a company that provides specialized equipment used in manufacturing.
(To protect my anonymity I’ll have to be vague about what exactly this machine does.) During my time working in this field, I got to know many clients who would need these machines installed and serviced.
One of these customers we’ll call Jake. I later left the company for a different job, but Jake apparently kept my number.
One afternoon I got a call from Jake that they wanted a new unit installed and another unit needed maintenance and wanted to know if I was available. I let him know that I left the company but that I could pass him on to someone who could help.
He tells me he’ll pay 2x my current rate to install the unit over the weekend. He lets me know that the company has increased the rates for installation and the company just can’t afford it. The instructions they sent over just aren’t clear enough and their engineers are scratching their heads trying to figure it out.
He begs me to consider it and I agree.
For more context, installing this unit can take a good few hours, or up to a day on your own. The company gives you two options. You can either pay for an engineer to come and install it, or you can save money and they will send instructions so the customer’s own engineers can install it.
The instructions aren’t easy to follow and it’s company policy that if someone has started to install the equipment, the supplier wouldn’t get involved since they couldn’t verify that any of the pieces were broken. This will be important later.
I drive down on the weekend and they show me the boxes of equipment.
I set to work and I make good progress installing the unit. Around 6 hours in and I’m stopped by Jake who greets me. I let him know I’m nearly finished and he tells me “Sorry but they just don’t have the budget to pay you.” He understands my frustration but his engineers can take it from here.
To say I was frustrated was an understatement. I wanted revenge.
There’s a small button inside the unit that changes the unit into test mode. This is done to perform maintenance on the unit but it’s impossible to configure the unit with this button pressed. It’s only possible to reach this button using a pin so it’s not easily pressed during installation.
Because of this, the installation instructions don’t mention it. There’s no real way of telling the equipment is in test mode, it just won’t work normally.
I think you can guess where this is going.
I click the button, collect my things, and leave. Monday morning I get a call from Jake.
I declined. I knew my old company wouldn’t get involved since I already started installing the unit. I knew his engineers would never figure it out. I just had to let him stew.
A few days later with many missed calls, I finally pick up.
Jake is furious. He asks me where I’ve been and why I haven’t been picking up the phone. He tells me they can’t figure out how to configure the machine and they need my help. I tell him, “why is this my problem? You won’t pay me.” He told me he was sorry and they would work something out if I could get there as soon as possible.
I told him “oh no, you’re going to pay me £7000 upfront before I do anything.” I’d never felt this powerful before.
He screamed at me for a bit and hung up. He called back a day later after saying he’s sorry for how he acted and said that if I could come fix it he would pay me, in a totally defeated tone.
He tried to fight it saying he’ll pay when I was done but I was having none of it. After a bit of back and forth, he agrees to pay me. The money hit my account and I came in the next day.
The look of confusion on his face when I took out a pin and changed the unit from test mode was priceless.
It was even more priceless seeing his reaction to me packing up my tools and leaving after only 20 minutes of configuring. Easiest £7000 I’d ever made.
Don’t try to mess with a professional problem solver.”
2. Ungrateful Rookie Firefighter Gets Exposed For Taking Advantage Of Kind Lieutenant
“I got revenge on a jerk I used to volunteer firefight with. This was in the early/mid-2000s. I decided to join the local Fire Department as a volunteer firefighter. I did it for about 5 years and it was great.
Training consisted of 3 months of Fire Training (2 nights a week and all day Saturday) and then you would go to EMT training (another 3 months of training). It was about a year when I was asked to help train some new recruits. One of the Lieutenants, Amy, was a short, middle-aged woman who was so full of fire she could make a grown man cry.
One of those people who commands both fear and respect wherever she goes. Honestly a great Lieutenant and a great person. When she wasn’t being a drill sergeant, she was extremely kind and generous. She would often bake people cakes and treats and deliver them to the various stations in our Department.
However, in this new Academy class that I was asked to help with, there was a cocky kid that we will call Aaron. Aaron talked big during the training and acted like he was the all-American hero. Like he was going to be the lead tough guy in Back Draft 2.
He performed moderately well in training but was far from the top of the class. He gets assigned to Amy’s station, which is a pretty quiet station in the Department.
A few months after he starts, Amy swings by my station one night to say hi.
She brings us the “Motherlode” cake from Claim Jumper (massive 6-layer cake). She explained that she had treated her crew to a night out at Claim Jumper, which must have cost a lot of money. I think she took out about 8 people and bought a whole cake to top it all off.
They had eaten the first 2 layers so she gave us the remaining 4. We thanked her profusely and she left.
Back then, the big social media platform was MySpace and I decided to look up some of the people in the department to make friends. I came across Aaron’s page and I noticed some photos of him and the rest of his crew at Claim Jumper with Amy.
However, when I read the comments, he bragged about how he had purposefully ordered the most expensive dinner, appetizers, and drinks since Amy was buying. He bragged about how he was going to take advantage of her “stupidity”. This alone annoyed me because she was doing this super nice and generous thing.
What an ungrateful, selfish jerk.
Then I read the rest of his profile. He had videos and memes on his page glorifying himself as a tough guy firefighter, bragging about running into a burning building and how he was such a hero. He was flirting with girls, blatantly trying to impress them with how brave he is.
Bear in mind, he just graduated from the Academy 3 months prior and hadn’t even gone to EMT school. He had never been to a house fire and all he basically did was carry gear for the other fully qualified firefighters. It was too much for me to tolerate.
So here is the revenge. I printed off copies of his MySpace page, including his comments about Amy and toxic bragging. I made multiple copies and took them to every station in the Department. We all had pagers (God I’m old) and a small keyboard at each station to send out text messages.
I made an anonymous, all-staff page to everyone in the department. I had to keep it brief since I couldn’t fit a ton of characters, but I sent out his MySpace info and told everyone about how he treated Amy. Within an hour, Aaron had cleared out his MySpace page of all posts, photos, etc. A couple of days later, he deleted his account.
It’s a good thing I made so many copies.
Immediately after this happened, he stopped coming to volunteer and a few weeks later, I heard that he had quit. I later talked to Amy and admitted I was the one who sent the page. I told her I hated how he treated her and she thanked me.
She seemed really sad and hurt by what he had done. But being the tough short lady that she was, she quickly got back into being an actual awesome firefighter. She later started seeing someone and married a Fire Chief who also helped at the Academy.
I’ve lost touch with her but I hope she did well. She seemed pretty happy last time I saw her.”
1. Be An Awful Manager? Your Last Day Is Fast Approaching
“Years back I worked in the Back of House for a chain of fast-casual restaurants; let’s call it Emerald Wednesday. I had been there for quite some time and had seen many managers, both good and bad, come and go.
They typically lasted just a couple of years.
We had been gifted a general manager who was sent to our store as his last chance to salvage his career and when he failed, we were without a general manager for a couple of months. The assistant managers ran the restaurant and things were ok.
But no one was getting promoted within the company.
Then the district manager went with an outside hire that was coming in from the other side of the country. This guy was a complete idiot. We’ll call him Johnny. He had zero experience as a general manager and wasn’t even applying for the position, but the district manager talked him into taking the job.
Big mistake.
Under Johnny’s tutelage, our Emerald Wednesday started to slowly fail, mostly due to his mismanagement. He was belligerent to the staff, making a couple of the girls cry by belittling them in front of everyone else. He was so lazy he’d hide in the office on busy weekends while we struggled without a manager.
He refused to do even the basics of his job, like the nightly pull-thaw.
For those who don’t know, many things are kept frozen in the walk-in freezer and are pulled forward to the cooler at night so that they thaw before morning. This was rarely done on Johnny’s evening shifts.
We would routinely have to force-thaw steaks, shrimp, and chicken under running cold water, which is not something that we’re supposed to even do.
I saw on a few occasions that Johnny was cross-contaminating foods under the running water, a pan of frozen shrimp sitting on top of or even in a pan of frozen steaks.
At one point, (I didn’t see this one), Johnny ran some frozen steaks under hot water to thaw them quickly because they needed to be cooked RIGHT THEN. This was a HUGE problem and had I seen it, I’d have wanted to punch the fool in his face.
We sometimes ran checks of multiple hours and had frequent guest complaints. One guest even threw his silverware at the host. Johnny was called up front and actually took the guest’s side, leaving the host in tears. I believe he even compted the guy’s meal.
Johnny was a real class act. I made it my mission to do something about him. At the very least he was going to get someone very ill from his shenanigans.
So I sat down with the district manager (who had brought Johnny in), and spoke with him at length and great detail about how bad Johnny was, how terrible the morale was, how he could get people ill, all of it.
He asked me point blank what I thought of Johnny and I told him “Johnny is an idiot.”
Nothing came of it.
Christmas was coming and I knew I was quitting in a couple of months. Johnny insisted on having a Christmas party at a bar a town away, but fraternizing between management and hourly employees was against company policy, so I didn’t go.
Johnny got quite intoxicated and drove himself home. I heard from co-workers that Johnny had been pulled over for a DUI. Oops.
A week or so later, I wrote a lengthy email detailing everything Johnny has screwed up on, wrote about the Christmas party, and included screenshots of court records I was able to look up on the town’s website.
I set up a burner email account and messaged everyone I could find in the Emerald Wednesday hierarchy.
When I went back to work a couple of days later, we had a shiny new general manager, and no one knew what I had done. I am not proud of this, but he was making lives miserable, the restaurant was failing, and I was certain he was a public health risk.
Screw you, Johnny.”
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