People Chatter About Their Pompous Revenge Stories
21. Jerk Pastors Didn't Get Invited To My Grandma's Funeral
“My grandmother was a member of a large conservative ‘Bible Believing’ church for her entire adult life. This church, which I’ll call BigWhiteChurch, was a member of a large Evangelical denomination.
BigWhiteChurch was located in a prosperous suburb of a large city in the Bible Belt of the Deep South of the USA. Grandma was very active in BigWhiteChurch.
She worked in the nursery every Sunday morning, helped cook hundreds of church fellowship breakfasts and dinners, accompanied her children and grandchildren on dozens of church retreats and choir tours, taught Youth Bible Study on Sunday nights, and was very active in supporting Home Missions, as well as helping with other youth programs.
She always tithed, and often gave extra for missions and special offerings. Grandma’s greatest talent was making other people feel important. I’ve seen this firsthand many times. Although I belonged to a different church, I often visited with Grandma, and when I did, I usually went to BigWhiteChurch functions with her.
I’ve seen her single-handedly cook breakfast for dozens of BigWhiteChurch Youth, a task that took over two hours, even in the church’s large kitchen.
Then, after the meal, she asked the group for a round of applause for the high school student leader for, ‘Doing such a great job of organizing the Prayer Breakfast.’ I remember that, on a BigWhiteChurch youth retreat at a rural Church Camp, she drove most of the night to go back to the city and retrieve a big box of evangelistic materials that one of the Assistant Pastors (whom I’ll call JerkPastor) had forgotten and asked her to get, in time for our morning program the next day.
His boss, the Senior Pastor (I’ll call him PompousPastor), never found out that JerkPastor had screwed up or that Grandma had fixed it for him. JerkPastor never even thanked Grandma. Even though I was a child, this bothered me so much that I asked her about it.
Her reply broke my heart. She said that she didn’t mind at all; she told me her reward would be that those materials ‘Would help children find Jesus’.
Grandma’s service to her church ended abruptly at the age of 73 when she broke her back in a car accident.
Afterward, for the last 10 years of her life, she was homebound and could not go to church because of this injury and declining health due to old age. Her mind was just as sharp as ever, and her faith remained sincere, but her body wore out a little more every day.
During those 10 years, she made many efforts to reach out to her church, its leadership, and her church friends, inviting them to visit her at her home, etc., without success. Every one of these invitations was declined or simply ignored. Near the end, when she was in-home hospice care, she decided to plan her own funeral. She and my Grandpa called her church and asked for the Senior Pastor, PompousPastor, whom she had known for over 30 years, to visit her so that they could plan her memorial service, which she and Grandpa wanted to be held at the church.
PompousPastor was too busy, but JerkPastor stopped by a few days later. According to my Grandpa, here’s what happened at that meeting, with my Grandma literally on her deathbed: Grandma, Grandpa, and JerkPastor discussed her funeral for a couple of minutes. Then JerkPastor started pressuring her to, ‘Lay up your treasure in Heaven’ by ‘Remembering your church in your will’.
Grandpa told him firmly, ‘This is neither the time nor the place to discuss her will.’ They went back to discussing the funeral for a few minutes. Then JerkPastor steered the conversation back to Grandma’s will, with liberal injections of how badly ‘her’ church needed ‘her support.’ Grandpa told him several times that it was inappropriate to talk to Grandma about her will or the church’s financial needs because she was terminally ill and in an enormous amount of physical pain.
JerkPastor would agree and briefly talk about the funeral, but would then go back to talking about the church’s financial needs, heavenly rewards, ‘Where your treasure is your heart will be also’ (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34), etc. My Grandma started crying. To put this into context, Grandma was more than a ‘Steel Magnolia.’ She was ‘Titanium Coated With Diamond Wrapped In Kevlar.’
She rarely ever cried, and never EVER cried about herself. Not one tear when the doctor told her that her back was broken so badly that she would never walk again, nor during the following six months in futile rehab. She would shed sincere but well-managed tears at funerals and while visiting family members in the hospital when they received bad news.
She would cry to console others, ‘Weep with those who weep.’ But nobody—not Grandpa, not her daughter (my mom), nor any of my uncles or Grandma’s siblings—ever remembered her crying for herself. My Grandma was sobbing uncontrollably. Grandpa, a retired steelworker, former Marine Sergeant, and Korean combat veteran, physically grabbed JerkPastor and ‘escorted’ him out of their house, not too gently.
Contrary to everyone’s expectations, Grandma lived another six months, mostly because of sheer force of will. Eventually, though, Grandma passed and we held her memorial service at the funeral home, not BigWhiteChurch. PompousPastor and JerkPastor were conspicuously absent. In fact, there were no “Professional Christians” from BigWhiteChurch at the service at all, not even in the audience.
To start the service, Grandpa stood up at the podium in front of the crowd and said, ‘Some of you may have heard that I dis-invited PompousPastor and JerkPastor from this funeral service. This service is not an appropriate place for me to give you my reasons for doing this, although you all know me and so you know that my reasons are good ones.
Also, my wife asked me to exclude them.’
‘This funeral service may be different from other funerals that you have attended. It is going to be an ‘open microphone’ funeral. Everyone who wants to say something is invited to come up here and describe your friendship with my wife, tell a story about her that is worth remembering, or anything else that you want to say that will honor her memory and bring comfort to everyone here today.
I have asked several family members to prepare statements, but you don’t have to have anything prepared. Please, if you want to say something, come up here and do so.’
There were about a hundred people at the funeral service; at least a third of them eventually stepped up to the microphone.
The service, which we had planned to last about 30 minutes, lasted for over two hours and, as best I can tell, not one person left early. There was laughing, crying, and hugging, three of her grandchildren played some of her favorite songs on the piano and guitar, and we all joined hands and sang her favorite hymns.
Afterward, dozens of people told my Grandpa that it was one of the most comforting and uplifting funerals they had ever attended. More than a few remarked that ‘Funerals are better without preachers anyway’ or something similar. But the thing is, my grandma also had great revenge from beyond the grave.
A couple of weeks later, it was time to start distributing the bequests in Grandma’s will.
Although Grandma and Grandpa dearly loved each other, they had separate wills because, she told my Mom, ‘That makes it easier for us to respect each other’s turf’ and because their lawyer had recommended it.
Nobody thought that my grandparents were wealthy. They had lived in the same small but charming house in a prosperous, well-maintained suburban neighborhood for the past 50+ years, and had worked hard and lived modestly.
But it was rumored that they had a very nice nest egg.
Of course, there is no requirement for anyone to attend ‘The Reading Of The Will’ or to even have a ‘Reading.’ Modern telecommunications and near-universal literacy have made this quaint custom practically extinct. But ‘The Reading Of The Will’ was a tradition in our family because it was one of those events that gave our close-knit, extended family an excuse to get together.
We never had ‘Family Reunions.’ They were too difficult to schedule for our large family. But we got together at birthdays, holidays, funerals, baptisms, etc., so that if you attended several of these, you would see just about every one of your cousins, aunts, uncles, and even great aunts and uncles who were Grandma’s and Grandpa’s siblings and in-laws.
With this family tradition in mind, many of our family members’ wills often contained very personal bequests of items that had little cash value but were the departed family member’s way of telling their loved ones that they wanted to share a cherished memory with them one last time.
As an added incentive to attend, the family rumor mill had been buzzing with speculation, encouraged by Grandpa, that Grandma’s will contained some ‘surprises.’ And oh, there were surprises aplenty.
The ‘Reading’ was held in a conference room at a lawyer’s office.
The attendees included my mom, as well as aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles, and many of the grandchildren. We were all surprised, however, to see PompousPastor and JerkPastor from BigWhiteChurch. They informed us that Grandma’s lawyer had told them that Grandma’s will had bequests not only for BigWhiteChurch but also for them personally.
Maybe it was just our imagination, but my siblings, cousins, and I couldn’t help noticing that these preachers appeared to be actively salivating over their good fortune at Grandma’s generosity. Grandma had a large family, so a sizeable number of beneficiaries were named in her will.
The lawyer’s conference room was a bit smaller than an average middle-class living room.
Extra chairs had been brought in, every seat was filled and people were standing in every remaining space. There was barely space for all of us. Grandma’s lawyer suggested that PompousPastor and JerkPastor sit in chairs that were in the front of the room, next to himself.
Since there was a large table in the room, this meant that the lawyer and these two preachers were the only ones who were directly facing everyone else.
Although the preachers were gratified to be physically next to the center of attention, they did not notice, as all of the rest of us quickly noticed, that these seats made it easy for everyone else in the room to watch them closely, and practically impossible for them to leave the packed-to-more-than-overflowing room before the entire meeting was over, because they were farthest from the room’s single door, and almost two dozen people were standing or sitting between them and their only path to escape.
The bequests were quite generous, but pretty much what we had expected. Grandpa kept their house, its contents, their retirement accounts and everything that remained after all of the bequests had been satisfied. Children, grandchildren, and several local charities received a nice, but not extravagant, amount.
Several sentimental items were named and given to various friends and relatives.
Grandpa was the first beneficiary listed in the will. But, after him, all of the other bequests were arranged in order of increasing worth. They started with sentimental items, which had very small cash value.
Then each grandchild received several thousand dollars, then each son, daughter, brother, sister, niece, and nephew received a little more, then several local non-profits received very nice amounts, etc.
Bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor, and JerkPastor were (almost) the last ones listed in the will. They listened politely to the other bequests, but with steadily growing anticipation, as they noticed the exponential upward trend in Grandma’s largess.
When Grandma’s lawyer got to the BigWhiteChurch and preachers’ part of the will, he said, ‘This is a bit unusual, but before I announce these bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and JerkPastor, Ms (Grandma’s name) requested that I read the following statement to everyone present.’
He opened a letter that was written in Grandma’s own handwriting. It shocked the room into silence. ‘For the past 10 years, NOT ONE person from BigWhiteChurch has ever called me, come to visit me, or sent me a note to tell me that they cared about me.
Not one minister, not one deacon, not one of the church women, not one of the church members who I worked with for all of those years, loved dearly, and thought were my friends. I worked very hard for you when you needed me, for many, many years.
But when I needed you and your church, you all pretended that I didn’t exist.’
‘I only got one visit. When I was dying and I invited PompousPastor to come to my house and help me plan my funeral. This was my last attempt, after many attempts that I had made over the past 10 years, to reach out to my church and pastor, whom I still loved dearly even though they had made it clear that they did not love me.
If only I could have my funeral at my church, maybe some of my church friends, whom I had not seen in a decade, would come to the service to see me one last time.
And I know they loved to hear PompousPastor preach, so if he preached at my funeral, maybe they would come to my funeral to hear him, even if they would not have come to see me.
But PompousPastor couldn’t find the time to visit me, or even call me to tell me whether or not he was willing to preach at my funeral. JerkPastor came by my house, but he didn’t want to talk about my funeral. He just wanted me to, ‘Remember his church in my will.’
That’s all. Just, ‘Remember his church in my will.’ It was then that I realized that I had allowed my church to break my heart for one last time. But that was the last time. The VERY last time. JerkPastor did not know it when he visited me, but Grandpa and I had already prepared my will, long before his visit, which did include a double tithe.
TWENTY PERCENT of my ENTIRE ESTATE, for what was now my former… FORMER… church… BigWhiteChurch.
This amount was (named the amount—an enormous load of money generating muffled ‘wows’ from many of her heirs, including me). But I got to feeling bad that we had not personally remembered such nice people as PompousPastor and JerkPastor.
So I changed my will to include them by name. While I was at it, I changed the amount that I left to BigWhiteChurch to match all of the love that they have shown to me during the last 10 years of my life, when I was suffering and lonely, and no longer able to work for them, for free, as I had done for almost half a century.’
‘That is her entire written statement,’ the lawyer said. ‘Now let’s get back to the bequests in the will.’ ‘Bequest to JerkPastor: One Cent.’ ‘Bequest to PompousPastor: One Cent.’ ‘Bequest to BigWhiteChurch: One Cent.’ The PompousPastor and JerkPastor sat there looking like someone had just injected a gallon of novocaine into their jaws.
Every one of Grandma’s family and friends felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. But we kept quiet because we knew Grandma. We knew she wasn’t finished yet. Grandma was simply setting them up for a one-two punch. The best was yet to come, and we didn’t want to miss it.
‘There is one last bequest,’ the lawyer continued, ‘For a charity called…’ which he named and I’ll call ‘BlackCharity,’ then he paused before naming the amount.
Most of us had no idea what BlackCharity was. But, by the looks on their faces, we could tell that PompousPastor and JerkPastor knew BlackCharity very well.
Their faces displayed the same expressions of shock, dread, and horror that they would have if the lawyer had said, ‘This bequest goes to The Demonic Baby Eaters to buy extra large rotisserie barbecue grills and tons of charcoal.’
Every eye in the room was now fixated on PompousPastor and JerkPastor.
The lawyer, who happened to be my uncle, one of Grandma’s and Grandpa’s sons, let the silence continue a few seconds more… If we had been able to read PompousPastor’s and JerkPastor’s minds, we would have known the history behind the looks on their faces.
BlackCharity was sponsored by a large Black church just a few miles from BigWhiteChurch. They ran a free food/clothing bank, assistance programs for foster children, home delivery of pre-cooked meals for homebound seniors, and other social services. A long time ago, BigWhiteChurch, which was (and still is) 100% Caucasian, had provided a few years of financial and other support to BlackCharity.
Then there was a very bitter, acrimonious breakup, allegedly because BlackCharity was practicing ‘The Social Gospel’ while BigWhiteChurch was preaching ‘The True Gospel.’ BigWhiteChurch even sued to try to get some of their funds back, although the suit was eventually settled and very little money actually changed hands.
But, this being The Deep South, everyone knew the real reason why BigWhiteChurch, or any white church, would stop supporting a Black charity:
‘They were getting uppity and not staying in their place.’ Grandma and Grandpa had seriously considered leaving BigWhiteChurch at that time.
But they had reasoned that it was better to stay there and teach tolerance by their words and example. They knew they would never persuade everyone, but maybe they could reach some of the youth at their white church and break the generational cycle.
Grandma used to tell us, ‘My church is my Mission Field.’ We did not learn the true depth of her statement until after she passed. Since then, Grandma and Grandpa had secretly sent a portion of their ‘Tithe’ to BlackCharity every month.
Most of Grandma’s family, including me, didn’t find out about any of this until after the meeting had ended.
But PompousPastor and JerkPastor obviously understood what Grandma, by her actions which are more powerful than words, was saying to them. If you had grown up as a white person in the Deep South, as Grandma, Grandpa, PompousPastor, and JerkPastor had, you would understand.
To many white Southerners, this was one of the most personally insulting things you could do to them.
It simultaneously labeled them as racists, condemned them, and crushed their delusions of white superiority by saying, ‘These Black human beings, whom you hate, disrespect and have mistreated, are better people than you are.
So they deserve my money more than you do’. Having allowed time for everyone to observe PompousPastor and JerkPastor while they thought about how their white church had treated this Black charity, and how they AND their church had treated our Grandma…
The lawyer said, ‘The amount is…’ Then he named the EXACT SAME AMOUNT that Grandma had named in her handwritten letter, the huge amount that would have gone to BigWhiteChurch if she had not changed her will.”
20. Noisy Passenger Chases After His Baggage
“I was waiting for my flight to board at a major east coast airport. In walks this young, slick, LOUD business kid on a conference call, shouting into his Apple earbuds. Drops his bag on the one free seat and starts pacing the floor, up and down the aisle, oblivious to dozens of folks eating lunches, working quietly, and babies sleeping.
He continues pacing and shouting, ‘Yup, yup, we’ll upload that into the system… blah blah jargon jargon acronyms and business,’ annoying everybody around and making everyone else get out of his way. Folks start giving him the stink eye, but his shouting and pacing continue, his circuit widening until he’s walking out of sight, then circling back, still shouting into the air.
After 20 minutes of this, I’m over it. The kid stalks off at a hurried pace, abandoning his backpack for the three or so minutes it takes him to pace the terminal. So I walk up to a TSA guard and point to the bag, ‘Sir, there’s an unclaimed backpack on that seat!’ Then I walk away.
TSA starts making announcements, trying to find the owner of the bag, but the business kid is too oblivious pacing and shouting.
TSA is already removing the bag when he realizes and chases after them. Too late, he’s a suspect and he has to follow them out of the terminal for a bag check.
And now it’s quiet again.”
19. Stop Treating You Like A Kid? If You Say So
“My youngest brother was lazy when he was in his early teens.
This occurred during summer break from school. Our parents required us to be in bed at 10 PM on weekdays even during breaks from school, since our dad had to leave for work at 5:30 AM. This had been a rule for years. My mom was a stay-at-home mom who busted her butt doing household stuff for all of us that she didn’t have to do, but she enjoyed seeing her family happy.
My little brother had recently had his 14th birthday a couple of days before and was lucky enough to have been gifted an Xbox and two games he very much wanted. In our family, this was a big deal because our parents, while not poor, weren’t exactly flush with money and had saved up for it by cutting coupons and cutting back on luxuries they enjoyed.
One day during this break, my 14-year-old brother was up playing his newly-acquired Xbox still, hadn’t gotten ready for bed yet, and it was coming up on 10 PM. I had already gotten ready and was reading a book (being in post-secondary at the time, I thought it common courtesy to be quiet since I’m living there for free).
My mom tells my brother he has to go to bed and to please turn off the game. Suddenly, the Xbox seems to be the reason he didn’t like the rules anymore. Mom, looking very annoyed at my ungrateful brother, tells him it’s not an option and that he’s going to bed NOW.
Little bro: ‘But why does HE get to stay up? That’s not fair!’ (He, as in me, his college-age brother)
Mom: ‘Because he’s an adult, that’s why. And you’re going to bed this instant!’
Little bro: ‘No! Stop treating me like a kid!
I’m not a little kid anymore!’
I see my mom get a funny look on her face. She smiles. I have no idea what’s going on at this point and I’m pretty surprised because usually by this point she’d bring down the sanctions hammer and possibly take away the Xbox.
But she doesn’t. She simply says ‘Okay!’ and goes to the kitchen where I see her whisper something to our dad, but I’m too far away to hear. Dad goes into the garage where he keeps his woodworking stuff, and returns with earplugs in his hand, and our parents go to bed. I head to sleep almost an hour later.
My little bro is still gaming away.
The next morning my little brother doesn’t get up until just before noon and has some cereal. Then dinner time comes. Mom had made an eggplant casserole. My brother hated eggplant. Normally she’d make something else for him, not this time!
Little brother: ‘Where’s my food?’
Mom: ‘Oh there are some ingredients in the pantry for you to make dinner with.’ My brother ends up eating cereal again cause he can’t figure out what he’s supposed to do.
A few days later, he’s got no clean clothes left.
Little bro: ‘Mommmmm!! I have nothing to wear!’
Mom, smiling like the Cheshire Cat: ‘I usually do my laundry on Fridays. Which day would you like to use the laundry machines?’
Little bro: ‘But…’
Mom: ‘How about Saturdays? They’re free that day.
Oh look, today is Saturday! Feel free to use them.’ And she walks out of the room to go lay on the patio and read. As she goes through the kitchen, she passes my dad, and they both laugh. My bro continues to wear his clothes saturated with teenage stank instead.
Gross.
At dinner, my parents announce they’re taking us to a matinee showing on Sunday morning of Terminator (I think it was the third one). My brother REALLY wanted to go. My mom said we’d like to go at 10 AM for the 10:30 showing (to the best of my memory, it was some time in the late morning).
Well, my little bro stayed up super late again playing Xbox. It was almost time to leave and my brother still wasn’t awake. Normally our mom would have asked him to go to bed at midnight on a weekend, but dear mom decided she didn’t feel like stressing herself out arguing with him.
As we’re putting our shoes on, I go ‘Hey, is it just us?’
Mom: ‘Well, we all knew the time in advance. Don’t worry, your brother will be fine.’
Dad: ‘He’s gonna be so mad!’ and smiles at my mom.
The rest of us go enjoy the movie, including our other brother. Then our parents take us out to lunch. We get back home around 2 pm or something like that and little bro comes practically running down the stairs, still in his stank clothes that haven’t been washed, with tears in his eyes.
Little bro: ‘How come you went without me!! I wanted to see Terminator too!’
Mom: ‘That really sucks. The other adults went to bed on time. You asked me not to treat you like a kid anymore. Sorry that you missed it, maybe if you ask the neighbors if they need their lawn mowed, you can make enough to buy a movie ticket and bus ticket to get there.’ He just looked at her and cried harder.
My little bro and my parents went to talk. Apparently, my bro had cereal for lunch while we went to a sit-down restaurant and he was salty about that too. That night, my brother went to bed at 10 PM sharp! As a bonus, mom taught him how to do his own laundry and basic cooking skills over the next month.
He seemed happier, started thanking my mom for the times she did stuff for him, and my mom eventually told him she was really proud he decided to be respectful of the rest of the family. My parents were so happy about his change in attitude that my mom took him and a friend of his to see the movie (it was still playing in the cheap theatres).”
18. Sorry, First Come, First Serve
“So in my city, there is a pub that’s attached to a donut shop that serves the best donuts in the city, which always causes a long line.
Because it’s attached to a pub, it doesn’t close shop until 9 pm, as there is a solid flow of business rolling in. Anyway, my partner and I get a serious hankering for some snacks one night so we decide to head to the donut shop, and arrive out around 8:30 pm by car.
Now, there are only three parallel parking spots a little up the street from the place, and they are all 15-minute spots, which are usually full. We see up the street that, count our lucky stars, a spot is free! My partner pulls a little ahead of the car in front of the spot, turns on her indicator, and begins backing into the parking spot… when this little white Vespa driving behind us whips into the spot.
I roll down our window and call out to the driver, ‘Scuse me, we were just backing in.’ The driver, who seems to be a pretty university student, shrugs her shoulders and calls out to me, ‘Sorry, first come first serve!’ while she and her friend share a good laugh.
My partner suggests we just get donuts another time, and I tell her she can drop me off here, I’ll buy the donuts since I know what she likes, and she can loop around.
She agrees, and I pop out of the car, pass the little white Vespa where the girls are still gathering their things, and head to the shop.
As always, the line is super long for donuts and since this is the last batch, the donuts are slim pickings. Wouldn’t you know it, those same girls are behind me now, looking at the five or so different flavors that are left.
They’re talking about which ones are best and which ones they haven’t had yet.
I hear one of them jokingly mention, ‘Thank god we got a parking spot,’ and they burst out laughing. Here’s where I got my sweet, sweet revenge. I get to the front of the line, and when they asked for my order, I request two dozen donuts, which is every last one remaining.
The girls behind me didn’t listen to what I ordered, but eyebrows of confusion started to form on their faces as they slowly saw each donut loaded into the boxes and their options dwindle. One of them (the driver) in desperation asked the baker who was loading them in, ‘What, you’re not even gonna save a few for us, though?’ My response was perfect.
I turned around and said, ‘Sorry, first come first serve.’ She honestly looked like she just simultaneously solved a movie mystery and pooped her pants. It’s difficult to put into words but truly an expression I can never forget. Best donuts I ever tasted, and they were also enjoyed by the rest of my office the next morning.”
17. Use My Soap? Ruin Your Clothes
“I used to live on the third floor of an apartment that had its laundry in the basement. This means four flights of stairs for me, no elevator, and I have a newborn so I’m washing quite a bit.
So we have cubbies in the laundry room for our soap and stuff. I’ve lived there a year and never had an issue leaving my soap down there.
Apparently, some new people had moved in that were using my soap. When I realized it, I left a note asking that they stop.
Nothing. They kept using. Okay. Now I’m angry. So I got two bottles of soap. A blue-colored one, and a clear-colored one. I marked the bottles CLEARLY that they belonged to me (so they couldn’t accidentally say they thought they were theirs), and filled the blue soap with blue Rit dye.
I then filled the clear soap with unscented bleach. And waited… Didn’t take long. The next morning, I hear screaming coming from the laundry room. Four floors up I heard it. I waited a while and ventured downstairs. In the laundry room, I found a bunch of wet clothes in the garbage that were bleach-stained. Four days later, I saw a young man get into a car with a blue stained t-shirt.”
16. Real Estate Agent Just Lost A Client
“In the late 90s, my wife and I were just married, just getting started, and we decided to DINK (‘double income, no kids’) it for a few years to save up for a down payment on a house.
The dot-com bubble was still rising and I was a newly minted software developer. I had an entry-level job for a while and then got recruited to a new city and a new job that paid three times what I was making before.
It was an offer too good to pass up.
I ran the numbers and it was a no-brainer: By living frugally and saving my entire salary, living off just her income, we would easily have enough in a year to put a 20% down payment on a new house. We rented an apartment in the new city that was listed for $950/month.
The landlord was a real estate agent who owned a two-bedroom condo as an investment property.
Let’s call him ‘Hank Wazowski.’ Hank was a thin, gray, no-nonsense guy. He was pleasant enough, but perfunctory, dry, and had no sense of humor. He made a point of explaining that under no circumstances was he responsible for maintaining the garbage disposal and that it was NOT included in the rental agreement and he would not be responsible for fixing it if it were to break.
Um, ok.
He seemed slightly amused by us, a clueless, young, newlywed couple, but I could tell he wanted to rent to us because we were very obviously a safe choice as renters. We filled out the rental agreement and the credit check, and this is where my troubles began.
Hank looked hard at the credit application where I listed my job title, ‘Software Developer,’ and my income, $75k.
For a 23-year-old in his second year out of college, in the late 1990s, this is a small fortune. Throw in my wife’s salary and we were over six figures in income, renting an apartment far beneath our means.
As I said, DINK is the way to go when starting out. ‘I can’t believe how much you make,’ Hank must have said half a dozen times, muttering under his breath.
I explained we were saving to buy a house and that we were only going to stay in the apartment a year.
‘We might stay a few months after the term is over, would month-to-month be ok after a year?’ Hank assured us that would be fine. We saw Hank only once during the year and he again mentioned my salary and how he couldn’t believe that’s what software developers were making.
It was awkward and I gave a vague reply. Anyway, a year later we had found a house to buy, signed all the papers, and were making plans to move. The new house wasn’t going to be ready until two months after our rental lease was up, so I called Hank to ask if we could, as discussed, simply extend the lease by two months before moving out.
Hank assured me on the phone it would be no problem and he would send over an extension for us to sign. The extension arrived in the mail. When I read it, my heart stopped. It included a month-to-month clause and a $500 increase in the rent.
I flipped out and called him. ‘Hank, why are you increasing the rent by over 50%? That’s too much! That’s more than my new mortgage is going to be!’
He was super condescending to me, ‘It’s what the apartment goes for now.
I would be losing money by renting it for less.’ I tried to reason with him, but it was very clear he knew we could afford the $500, had no choice in the matter, and he was going to screw us over as best he could.
He got angry with me for arguing my point, and I’ll never forget his parting words: ‘You don’t have to like it, you just have to pay it.’
My wife and I tried to figure out a way to move out early by putting our furniture in storage for a couple of months and crashing with friends, but it just wasn’t going to work out.
I swallowed my pride and wrote out the check for $1,450 for the extra month. A month later, I wrote a similar check, and then we moved out. I made sure the apartment was spotless before moving, but still, Hank withheld $300 from our security deposit for stupid things that were just a way for him to squeeze a few more dollars from the kids who made too much money.
$100 for cleaning, sure? But $300 was obscene. In my mind, he had screwed me over for $1200 and there was nothing I could do about it. What made it even more infuriating is that I saw the ad Hank put in the paper after we moved out and he listed the apartment for rent at only $150 more than we had been paying originally, not the grossly-inflated $500 increase.
And it didn’t rent. A month later, I saw the same ad and he had lowered the price to $75 more than we had been paying, and I assume it got rented since the ads stopped appearing. Fast-forward about five years. Life is good, the house is good, we have a baby, and even though the dot-com bubble has burst, I’m still employed. One day, out of the blue, I overhear one of my co-workers, Phil, a senior developer, talking to the guy working the reception desk.
‘Hey, Mike, I’m expecting someone to drop off some paperwork for me. If a Hank Wazowski asks for me, tell him I’ll be right out.’ I freeze and get a taste of bile in my mouth. I’m remembering how I had to write out that name on those checks all those years ago.
There’s no way it’s the same guy, right? I walk over to Phil, who is still by the reception desk.
‘Phil,’ I say, ‘How do you know that name, Hank Wazowski?’ Phil explains that Hank is his real estate agent. ‘I bought my condo through him several years ago.
I’m selling my condo now so I can buy a house. So I’m going to ask him to be my agent again. Do you know him?’ I tell Phil that I used to rent an apartment from Hank and described what he looks like.
Phil confirms the description: It’s the same guy, wow small world, right? And on cue, right then the front door to the office opens, and in walks Hank Wazowski. I stare in disbelief. He’s carrying a folder of papers and doesn’t recognize me.
Phil and Hank shake hands and they talk for a few moments. I stand there silently, wondering what to do.
Phil finally says, ‘Hank, this is my friend. I think you may have already met?’ ‘Yes, hello Hank. Good to see you again. My wife and I were your tenants a few years ago.
Remember, the software developer who rented for a year saving to buy a house? Well, this is where I work. Here. With Phil.’ Hank’s eyes indicate he now remembers me, and he’s starting to put it all together.
We shake hands and he says yes, of course, he remembers and asks how we are doing.
‘Oh, we’re just fine, thanks for asking. Phil says that you’re his real estate agent. Small world, isn’t it?’ Hank nods pleasantly. He still doesn’t remember the details of our last conversation. I do some quick math in my head.
This is the early/mid-2000s, the real estate market is very strong and easy income for an agent.
The crash of 2008 is still a few years in the future. I start to think out loud. ‘Selling the condo for around $150 to 200 thousand, and you’re looking at houses in the $500 thousand range, so that’s $650 to 700 thousand in total transactions.
An agent getting 3% on the sale AND the purchase is getting around $20k for his trouble. That’s a good commission for the agent, isn’t it?’
Hank’s eyes flash and I can tell he remembers everything about me now. Phil is surprised at my passive-aggressive tone.
I am enjoying the uncomfortable silence. Hank deflects my question, saying it’s complicated, and tells Phil to send back the papers as soon as possible. He shakes hands with Phil, looks at me, nods, and goes to leave. ‘It was really good to see you again, Hank,’ I call behind him.
He exits the building. As the door is still shutting, I say a bit too loudly, so that Hank can hear, ‘Phil, don’t sign anything just yet, I have a story to tell you.’ Phil looks at me and says, ‘What the heck was that all about?!’ He looks angry and confused at my behavior.
I tell Phil the whole story, the rent, the $500 increase, the security deposit, ‘you don’t have to like it, you just have to pay it,’ everything.
‘Phil, you can’t use this guy to sell your condo and buy a house. I hate him.
He’s evil. I’ll help you find another real estate agent, just use ANYONE BUT HANK!’ So the great thing about Phil is that, well, he’s a great guy. He says he’s a little surprised at my story and has always known Hank as a straightforward guy.
‘But I totally see him doing that to you,’ he admits.
‘There’s no way I could use him now. What a jerk!’ Then Phil’s eyes lit up a bit. ‘What do you want me to say when I fire him?’ (I have special feelings for Phil now.) We came up with a plan and I made sure there were some key phrases in Phil’s repertoire.
We planned it all out together in advance. My only regret is that I didn’t get to see Hank’s reaction in person a day later when Phil made the following phone call while I stood behind him listening:
‘Hi, Hank? It’s Phil calling.
Yeah, about that. I’ve decided to get some other quotes from other agents. I’m not going to sign up with you… (pause) ‘No no, you shouldn’t give a discount. You’d be losing money if you did that… (pause) ‘No, this is just a decision I’ve made… no, it has nothing to do with anyone else… (pause)’
‘Well, you don’t have to like it, Hank. You just have to accept it. Goodbye.’ CLICK And it was the greatest revenge I could have ever imagined. Through a chance meeting years later, Hank got screwed out of 20 thousand dollars in easy commissions.
And the best part is Hank absolutely KNEW it had EVERYTHING to do with me!”
15. Sandwich Thief Got What He Deserved
“Study hall in 8th grade. I always brought two small sandwiches to school so I could have one at lunch and one in study hall since our teacher let us eat in that class. One day, I was about to eat my sandwich, I get up to use the bathroom.
As I walk back into the classroom, I see the kid in front of me eating my sandwich. I confront him politely and he denies it completely. I left my sandwich on my desk the next day just to make sure it was him, and what do you know, it is.
On the third day, I put habanero cheese on my sandwich and doused it in ghost pepper sauce. It luckily didn’t smell spicy. I get to study hall and my plan works flawlessly. I leave my trap sandwich on my desk and get up to use the restroom.
This time I take as long as I can. My study hall teacher was strict about the hall pass, only one guy was allowed to leave the class at a time, even for water. After about ten minutes I come back to be greeted by the sandwich thief crying hysterically waiting for the hall pass.
He was in the bathroom for the rest of the day.”
14. Dad Gave His Mistress A Stinky Car
“When I was 15, I began working, and by the time I was 17 I had enough to buy my first car. Me being young, when my egg donor (my bio mother, who doesn’t deserve a different title) and stepdad said they were titling it in their name, for insurance and registration purposes, I didn’t question it.
Six months later, they’re divorcing.
When the divorce is finalized, my egg donor informs me that MY car, which I paid for, was going to my ex-stepdad in the divorce, since it showed as joint property between them. I was furious. The car looked nice on the exterior, but burned through a quart of oil every two days, and drove horribly, but it was still my car.
So the week before my ex-stepdad was due to pick it up, I quit putting oil in it. I drove around town extra that week, and I was that smoke cloud in the town of burning oil. Then I topped off my revenge. See, my friend had a goldfish die.
It was a pretty big fish, 3-4 inches long. I asked for it. The morning of the car being taken, July mind you, I cut the yellow foam beneath the passenger seat.
The foam was sticky, abrasive, and resealed easily due to the stickiness. I cut the foam, stuffed the fish corpse into the padding, pushed it as far over as I could, then the foam stuck back together nicely.
My ex-stepdad showed up with his girl (the girl was the mistress, thus causing the divorce) and he made a big show of giving her MY car as a gift to her. I just smiled.
I wish I knew how well the car went over, hours later, in the hot July weather, but I can imagine.”
13. I'll Fly My Flag When I Want To
“So a while back I was given a UGA Bulldogs flag and a flag pole to mount it on my porch.
Our Homeowners Association (HOA) restrictions say that sports team flags can only be flown on a day in which the team is playing… So I put the flag up on a Saturday the Dawgs were playing but forgot to take it down until Monday.
On Friday I get a letter from the HOA stating that I am in violation of the restriction and could be fined. Okay, fair enough, they are correct on this one.
I then noticed that the date of observation was on Wednesday. I called and said that couldn’t be true because I took it down on Monday. Instead of admitting her mistake, she lied and said that she had seen it up on Wednesday. Now I was mad.
I printed off a schedule of every sporting event the Bulldogs had in every sport, even club sports, and then proceeded to fly the flag every single day there was any kind of game, match, regatta, etc., which was almost every single day.
I then started getting letters stating I was in violation again.
I would call on each one and explain that the water polo team had a match, or the rowing team had a regatta on those days. After about a month or two of this back and forth, they finally gave up.”
Another User Comments:
“Screw HOA.
My brother used to live in a subdivision with one, he keeps his place IMMACULATE, the lawn looks like a baseball field, etc., etc., He’s got a 2014 Pathfinder parked in his driveway, and the inspection sticker (the little sticker on the license plate, this is in North Carolina) was expired. He had the new one sitting in his glove box, he just didn’t get around to sticking it on yet.
But basically, this thing is a brand new car (this was a year and a half ago), and the only way you’d even be able to SEE the sticker is if you walked up to his driveway with a magnifying glass.
They send him a letter.
They highlight the section about not keeping ‘junk, inoperable vehicles’! He lost it, wrote them back basically telling them to go screw themselves, and if he gets another letter for something as insane as this he’s going to let his lawyer deal with it. That was the last letter they sent him.” fosiacat
12. Park In A Tow-Away Zone? Lose Your License
“So this happened earlier today, and it was too perfect. I work in construction as the foreman for a new house build. The location is kind of strange. The house is 250 feet up a hill via a footpath only. All of our materials have to come up this footpath by hand.
It’s a pain in the butt to manually carry, quite literally, an ENTIRE HOUSE up this hill.
One of our saving graces is having the two parking spots on the street at the bottom of this hill marked with official ‘No Parking’ signs. Unfortunately, there is an elementary school about half a block away and the parents of children seem to regularly (at least twice a day) think it’s ok to park in our spots.
Now, I consider myself a reasonable person, so if someone is parked in the spots and we don’t have a delivery or a need to park a truck, I will let it go.
If we need the spots and there’s someone parked there, however, I will ask them to move nicely and most of the time they do so immediately.
Until today. I get a phone call from the lumber delivery truck that is en route to our location. He says he’ll be there in about two or three minutes. I let him know I will meet him on the street and make sure he has space to park.
He’s carrying all of the material to frame the roof of our house, which is a lot of really big lumber and will take easily an hour to bring up the hill, so naturally, I didn’t want him parked in the middle of the street with his hazards on for an hour, especially when we have a perfectly good parking spot for him.
As I begin my trip down the hill, I notice there is a school parent sitting in her car idling.
Assuming she’s just waiting to pick up her child, I walk up to her car and politely let her know that she is parked in a no-parking zone and we really need her to clear it to park a delivery truck.
She scoffs at me and rudely states back, ‘I’ll just be a few minutes, and your truck isn’t here, take a chill pill dude.’ Before I can respond, a giant lumber truck comes around the corner.
I wave to him and then gesture towards him to the woman in the car who has now put her window back up to ignore me.
I put on my best customer service smile and wave at her through the window. She put it down halfway and angrily shouts, ‘WHAT!’ By now the truck has pulled up alongside her car and I politely ask her again, with a stronger tone of voice to move her vehicle.
I remind her that she is parked in a tow-away zone. Then she gives me this wonderful idea. She says, ‘Can’t you guys just unload around me? Jesus, it’s not that hard.’ I give her another smile and walk away, a brilliant plan forming in my head.
I instruct the delivery driver to park as close to her as possible and block her in with the porta potty that is at one end of our reserved spots and the parked car that is parked just adjacent to our spots on the other end.
He smiles because he immediately gets what I’m trying to do, and proceeds to expertly block this lady and her car into a little two parking spot cell. We unstrap the lumber and my guys begin humping material up the hill, meanwhile, I call the parking enforcement to let them know the situation.
At this point in time, I wasn’t trying to get her in trouble, I just wanted a record of why we were blocking part of the street so we don’t get in trouble with the city.
The very friendly traffic officer lets me know that she can be there in about 30 minutes and deal with the situation for me, wonderful!
As we continue to unload lumber, the child of the parent shows up, and wouldn’t you know it, mom is just now realizing that the lumber truck is parked so close she can’t get out of her driver’s door to meet her kid.
She awkwardly clambers across the inside of her car and stumbles out the passenger door, shooting glaring looks at me and the truck driver in the process. She loads her kid into the back and then begins to realize that she has no way of leaving.
She comes storming up to me and the driver and states, ‘I’m in a big hurry, you need to move your truck right now so I can go.’
Before I can respond, the driver gets a grin on his face. He says, ‘Ma’am, in order to unload the lumber on the truck we had to unstrap it, and per our company policy I’m not allowed to move the truck with an unsecured load on it.
Sorry.’ This sends her into near aneurysm levels of blood pressure, meanwhile, I can barely contain my laughter.
‘Screw your policy, I have somewhere to be!’ She barks back at him. At this point, with impeccably convenient timing, the parking enforcement officer shows up and parks behind the truck.
The woman doesn’t see the officer arrive, and while the officer is still getting out of her vehicle I just casually say, ‘Can’t you just pull out around it? It’s not that hard.’
I say this with the biggest grin I’ve ever had.
I watch as she realizes that I just used her line on her. ‘Screw you!’ She yells, storms back to her car, and angrily clambers back in through the passenger door and into the driver’s seat. Now the officer is walking up to me and the driver, and before she can even introduce herself the mom in the car slams it into reverse and stomps on the gas.
She crashes into our porta potty and knocks it over, and then throws the car into drive and tries to mount the curb and drive onto the sidewalk. The officer, driver, and I are staring in disbelief as she gets halfway over the curb and gets stuck.
I can hear her screaming over the idling truck from inside her car. The officer promptly walks up to the door of the car and orders her out.
My favorite part of the entire thing is watching her face go to shock as she realized she just did all of that in front of an officer.
She gets slapped in cuffs as the parking officer calls for a second unit and she is promptly sat on the very curb she tried to drive over. She sits on the curb yelling to the now two officers about how we told her she could stay there and that we never asked her to move.
The traffic officer responds that she was the one who was originally called when she first refused to move and that she already knows what’s going on. While myself and the driver are giving a report to the second officer, my guys finish moving the remainder of the lumber and the driver finishes his statement and takes off to go back to the yard.
By the end of the ordeal, she was charged with Child Endangerment, (her kid was in the back of the car the whole time) Reckless Driving, Destruction of Property, (the porta-potty), and Driving on a Suspended License. On top of all that, she also got her car towed; the kid went home with his grandma and she went to spend some quality time in a cell.
I never expected her to actually heed my advice to ‘Just pull out around it.’ But I think next time she’ll probably think twice about parking in a tow-away zone if she ever gets a license again.”
11. Keep Your Feet Off My Friend's Chair
“I was out to a movie with my friends last night. We come and sit down, and I realize pretty soon that this girl in the row behind us has her feet up on my friend David’s seat… So David turns around and he says something like, ‘uh do you think you could put your feet down?’ And I think they say something in response but I didn’t hear it.
The feet didn’t go down… So I tell David that he should go find an employee and get them to talk to this girl. She is obviously pretty peeved but begrudgingly agrees to put her feet down. After the employee leaves, she puts her feet right back up.
So I get out of my seat, walk up two rows, sit down in the seat directly behind this girl, and stick my foot on the back of her chair and push it forward. They both turn around and try to say something to me, but I can’t really hear them since the movie had started by this point, so I just say ‘just watch the movie.’ I kept my feet up there the entire movie.”
Another User Comments:
“Someone once did that to me. A woman and her brats sat behind me and my partner. One of the kids took their shoes off and had their feet on top of my seat next to my head. I told the mother to sort her kid out and she just laughed. We ended up moving seats because the smell was horrendous!” fallen_angel_81
Another User Comments:
“I used to work at the theaters when Two Towers came out. I really loved the movie, so I’d stay and watch it if I got out and it was near the helms deep battle. This was within the first week so most nights still had a decent amount of people.
Well, there was a kid that would constantly be yelling at Frodo. He was being a kid and it was kind of cute at first, but eventually, it was annoying. I turned to the dad and asked him if he could ask his kid to be quiet, we were all trying to watch the movie.
He leaned forward and said, ‘why don’t you just turn around and watch the movie.’ So I did. I was like 17. So after like 5 minutes, the kid hasn’t stopped, so I turn around and look at him and tell him ‘I’ve read the books, Frodo and Sam both die in the next movie’ and got up and left before the dad could react, since the kid immediately started looking like he was about to burst into tears.
Not sure if he did since I pretty much got out of there as fast as I could but I like to think he did.” UltravioIence
Another User Comments:
“Years ago I was at the movies with a girl I was seeing at the time.
There was a dude behind us who had his feet up on her seat, either side of her head. We asked him to move them and he just ignored us, so the crazy chick takes a big mouthful of her soda and spits it out all over his shoe.
Then he kicks her, right in the back of the head. I jump back there and lay the smackdown and we all get ejected from the theatre. Still to this day have never seen the second matrix film.” User
10. Salad Dressing Thief Got A Weird Mix Of Condiments
“In seventh grade, I used to take homemade lunch to school. We prepared our own salad dressing (lemon juice, salt, oil, etc), and one kid decided it would be good to steal it and drink it before lunchtime.
I asked him not to, but he continued to drink it but started doing so in one gulp so I couldn’t stop him. So instead of making a huge deal, I prepared two salad dressings. One that I would actually use on my salad, and another that had all the liquid condiments I could find in my mom’s kitchen.
It was really fun to see his face as he drank it.
He never stole my salad dressing again.”
9. Demanding Grown Man Got Shamed By An 18-Year-Old
“Working at Blockbuster, circa 2003. When checking people out, there were two things you’re supposed to do. 1: read the titles of the movies and give the due dates.
2: tell people to have a nice day/night after handing them their movies on the other side of the security gate.
So a guy comes in with his two kids on a busy Friday night. He has a few children’s titles and (an adult) flick.
I ring up the videos and tell him the due dates of the kid movies and say ‘the other one is due _____’ trying to save him a little embarrassment. I walk over to the security gate to hand him the videos where I’m planning on telling him to have a good night, but he’s still at the register.
Confused, I look at him and he says, ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ I think through the Blockbuster process and can’t come up with anything.
He has an indignant look on his face and says, ‘You’re supposed to tell me to have a good night!’
I’m pretty stunned that a grown man is so reliant on the well wishes of an eighteen-year-old, especially since I would’ve given him what he so desperately needed if he’d walked over to the security gate. So I say, ‘Sir, I’m so sorry. Have a great night.
I hope you enjoy your copy of…’ I look down at his VHS tape then look at everyone behind him in line and raise my voice so everybody could hear the title of the embarrassing film.
He turns bright red, and the lady behind him covers her face.
Sorta feel bad for his kids getting caught in the crossfire, but there are always casualties in war.”
Another User Comments:
“Had a similar incident whilst working at the BBV. Had a guy who was constantly late and always argued that his overdue rentals had been dropped off.
So, one day this fella comes in and is trying to get a ton of movies but I notice his account still has a title out. I remind him that he still has a movie out. He begins to argue that he has turned it in.
I show him in our system that the movie is still out. I know for sure it’s out because we had done a store audit and every darn thing had been scanned. So he continues to argue with me, lines steadily increasing. My shift leader is so fed up watching this guy pull this trick that he tells me to jump on the other register.
I had tried to spare the guy some dignity by not saying the title really loud but not my shift leader. In his loudest, deepest voice he says, ‘LOOK, SIR, (an embarrassing movie title) IS STILL OUT ON YOUR ACCOUNT. IT NEEDS TO BE RETURNED BEFORE YOU ARE CHARGED FOR IT!’ I don’t think embarrassed quite describes the look this gentleman had.
It silenced the store. Dude proceeded to book it out the door.” OriginalBrittany
8. I Gave Back What I Stole
“When I was about 13, I was snooping around my older brother’s room and found a stack of 20 dollar bills stashed away. He was saving up from his high school job to buy a car. Hundreds of dollars. To 13-year old me it was a fortune, and I figured he wouldn’t notice if I stole just one 20 — still a lot to me.
So I did.
For years I would remember it every once and a while and feel guilty. The worst part was, when I took the 20, he was also a teenage kid and probably knew exactly how much was there. He probably knew I took one but let me get away with it because he figured I needed it.
That made me feel much worse.
15 years later, I’m hanging around with him on the holidays. I see that he left his wallet on the counter, and he’s upstairs. I sneak into his wallet, see there’s a few 20s, and I slide an extra one in there.
Got him!”
7. I Got Fired So I Sabotaged Their Jukebox
“I had two jobs, one was at this country ice house…(in the middle of) nowhere outside of my city. This place was pretty small but was one of the few bars in a certain area so it would get busy. A lot off good ol’ boys and oil field guys.
I worked the door, checked IDs and such, and usually broke up fights or kicked people out. One night some trouble happens between some regulars and one guy tries to hit another guy with a pool stick. I happened to get hit in the arm but got behind the guy and put him to sleep.
The next day the manager calls me to tell me I’m being let go. Apparently, the pool stick guy spends a lot and me putting him to sleep left him bitter so he called the owner. That’s fine.
Anyways the bar has a nice fancy jukebox.
If you have the app you can just pick songs on your credit card and they’ll play. If you hit play next on a song, even if they turn the jukebox off, it’ll play when it starts back up. It’s also unskippable. With the master remote, you could skip a song but they lost that remote so they really can’t do much if someone plays a certain song they don’t like, and even if they unplug it, it’ll play no matter when they turn it on.
Here’s my petty revenge:
The owner does inventory every Tuesday night. It also happens to be a busy night because they do pool tournaments and it usually gets packed. So here I thought, I could probably just play the same song over and over and there’s nothing they can really do.
I got twenty bucks in credits and that usually gives you about 18 unskippable songs. Plus more depending on if the app gifts you credits.
I picked a remix of Cotton Eye Joe, that comes in at around 7 minutes a pop. Usually when the pool tournament started. Two hours of hearing the same song has killed their business on Tuesdays.
Even if they unplug it, it’ll still play when they plug it back up.
I’ve been doing it for two months so far, last I heard they had to buy a new jukebox at a cost of $5,000. I’ll probably stop for a month then start again.
”
Another User Comments:
“I once almost got thrown out of a bar in Virginia because of this. I got annoyed that the waitress(es) were too busy flirting with the bartenders and hanging out in the service well and letting our drinks melt and beers get flat.
And it’s worth noting I am incredibly forgiving in the service business, but when it’s unreasonable I respond unreasonably. I can’t remember everything I put in (and somehow they never saw me at the Jukebox for the five minutes it took me to find everything) but I put in every Pink Floyd song that was over eight minutes, so ‘Atom Heart Mother’, ‘Echoes’, ‘Dogs’, ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’, just to name a few.
However, I think I overreached and the third song I put in was ‘Several Species Of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together In A Cave And Grooving With A Pict’. It was about a minute into that they just killed the Jukebox. It cost me probably $20+ to get the songs and have them put to the top of the playlist, but it was worth it.
On another note, I once put on ‘Echoes’ in a bar innocently enough, I was just excited they had Meddle on the CD jukebox. They cut it about 16 minutes in, just before the Crescendo/coda, unfortunately.” jigga19
Another User Comments:
“We did this once in a bar with the ‘Play Next’ and it was for an extra 25 cents.
Your song would come up next, no matter what.
A bunch of idiots kept playing terrible music, were loud and rowdy in the somewhat laid-back bar. So, before we left, my buddy queued up 10 songs and added the ‘Play Next’ option to them all.
The song?
IN A GADDA DA VIDA.
They had the full 17+ minute version…
The fun part is we stayed for the first song and someone from that group loudly came up to the jukebox and put in their song with the ‘Play Next’ option. So, our one long song played, then followed by their song, which was another nonsense song only their group seemed interested in.
After the 4 minutes of their song… ‘IN A GADDA DA VIDA HONEY. DON’TCHA KNOW THAT I’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU…’
The groans were great. We left soon after giggling all the way.” User
Another User Comments:
“I’ve got a great story that is along the same lines.
A friend of mine owns a restaurant/bar and really likes George Michael for some reason and everyone knows it. His bar manager of 5 years finally has saved up enough to start his own place. The friend knew all along that this was the end game and they part on good terms. Since my friend has already been through opening his own place the old bar manager asks for help with a few things.
The friend just happens to be there when they are setting up the jukebox and sees the master password and email address. The friend waits a few months. The bar manager’s new place is doing fantastic. It’s slightly upscale and there’s a line waiting for tables every night.
Then the fun starts. The friend plays Steel Panther randomly over the next couple of months. The old bar manager can’t figure it out. This is not the type of establishment that plays that sort of thing. Finally, the friend decides the bar manager has had enough and he plays Steel Panther one more time and then follows it with George Michael.
The friend gets a text that said, ‘You stupid jerk.’
They’re still great friends.” MoonSpellsPink
6. Noisy Woman Got In The Quiet Train Car
“I take the train to work each morning and then again to get home. I like to sit in the quiet car because it allows me to think and do a little extra work each day. On the train ride home today a woman in front of me kept talking on the phone even after people nicely asked her to be quiet.
The conductor also came through and informed her she was in a quiet car.
The seats we are in have very little support so someone behind you could push your seat and you’d feel it. Several riders decided it wasn’t worth it and switched cars.
I decided I had enough and slouched far enough so both of my knees were firmly in the back of her seat pushing fairly hard. She leaned her head around and told me to put my knees down. I closed my eyes and fake slept.
She got up and moved to a different seat. There was a person behind her and guess what he did? Knees to the back of the chair. People started catching on and she chose a seat with no one behind her. Another rider changed seats behind her and she got some more knees.
The conductor came through again and was unaware of our little revenge. She got up and told him that people were putting knees into her back and stalking her to each spot. The conductor put his index finger to his lips and said ‘Shhhh, this is a quiet car.'”
Another User Comments:
“Beautiful!
When they first initiated the quiet cars, I would see people come into the one I was sitting in and immediately start talking loudly or using their phones.
I would let them know it was a quiet car and they still had time to move before the train filled up.
Most people were grateful and would move, but some would challenge me asking ‘Where’s the sign?’ in a really snotty voice.
It was very satisfying to point to the giant sign at the end of the car.
For those who thought they still didn’t have to follow the rules, I just notified our conductor when he came by in my most innocent voice ‘Yeah, I let them know they were in a quiet car but they didn’t care…’
That guy didn’t care and took no guff. He expelled the entitled jerks real fast.
My other favorite car was the Testosterone car. The CBOT traders would all pick the same car on the 3:30 train so they could drink, play poker and tell dirty jokes.
I liked to think they were burning off all their excess energy before they got home to their wives and kids and had to be nice.” awhq
5. "No Parking" Means No Parking
“I’m moving out of my apartment this week and I rented one of those curbside drop off/pick up moving crates. My city requires that you get a permit for the street ($40) and provides ‘no parking’ signs so the crate can be loaded and unloaded.
I hung the no parking signs along with my designated space well before the crate arrived. Lo and behold some student with out-of-state plates parks in my space. I call the cops and they ticket the car. After my crate arrives, the car returns and parks again in the no parking zone.
At the same time, a landscaping company sets up a no parking zone overlapping my zone. Now there are multiple no parking signs tacked up by the offending car.
The landscapers are angry, as the car is in their way, so we hatch a plan together.
Since we both have permits for no parking zones, we both call the cops separately. The offending car ends up with several more tickets. Additionally, I flag down a meter attendant and let them know that the car has been in the spot for more than two hours (the limit for non-residents).
Another $40 ticket. By the end of the day, this dumb student had five tickets on his windshield.
No parking means no parking!”
Another User Comments:
“I worked just around the corner from the Dept of Education head office. The number of times I had vehicles ticketed and towed that ignored the ‘no parking in front of the driveway’ is too numerous to count, let alone the number I had the Metro police call to tell them to move it or lose it.
Many of them with obvious principle paperwork inside, and exam papers lying on the seats.
Best was a brand new (just off the RORO) Mercedes, he stopped off for a nip and had to explain Monday why the car, supposed to be delivered Friday, was in the police impound.
Then there was the Jaguar, where I said to the tow truck driver ‘You probably do have to be careful as you might damage it’, and he was careful all right, it bounced out sideways (he needed it to come out) and bounced up the tow bed as well, and was pulled down to the bump stops as well, just to be sure it did not move, and as it was AWD and in park, no wheels moved.” SeanBZA
Another User Comments:
“I grew up across the street from a middle school, my parents had people towed every time the school had an event because parents thought it was ok to park on the side of the road blocking both our driveway and the clearly marked bike lane.” Ryman198
Another User Comments:
“I’ve had cars towed for parking on the street in front of my house (college neighborhood) with just enough overhang into my driveway that it ever-so-slightly inconveniences me. No exceptions for out-of-state vehicles.” White_Trash_Beer
4. Landlord Shows My Apartment To Everyone? Hope You Don't Mind Me Doing Yoga
“Basically, I haven’t had the greatest landlord and have gotten screwed over a few times by him but never really did anything about it.
So now I am moving out in the next few months, and he has been showing my place to potential new tenants and the rate of showings is getting rather annoying.
So this evening I thought it would be a good time to send a clear message that I have had enough of the showings.
I was given the standard notice of when they were going to be coming by, but I wasn’t going to let that interrupt my ‘schedule.’ So when the landlord opened the door to show the prospective tenants in, the first thing they see is me doing the side-plank pose bare as the day I was born.
The look of horror on the lady’s face when she saw me was priceless. Long story short, to say the only thing that was shown was my exposed glory and a very bewildered landlord. I am still waiting for his response to my interpretation of a ‘showing’.”
Another User Comments:
“I’ve been on the receiving end of this. We lived on the bottom floor, actually had to go down a few steps, but bottom unit anyway. Our unit ALWAYS got shown. We never received a call that they were going to show it.
One time my roommate was showering and I was asleep. I only woke to MY bedroom door being opened and someone talking. I was facing away from the door and froze. They left pretty quick but I was just flabbergasted. Once my mom found out what had happened, and it wasn’t the first time, she had a little discussion with the landlord.
Needless to say, they made sure to set up appointments with us well in advance to 24 hours and even then, called multiple times to confirm. My mom is scary.” LokiKamiSama
Another User Comments:
“This is very common, it seems. I once lived with my partner at a friend’s house when I was pregnant.
Our friend needed someone there while he worked thirds since he had kids. Anyways, it was mid-afternoon, it was just me and the roommate home. The house didn’t have air conditioning, and it was early September. Hot as balls. My giant pregnant self was lying on my bed totally exposed with a fan on me.
I hear the side door open, figure it’s my partner coming home. The door to my room opens, and there’s the landlord with a young couple staring at my exposed pregnant body. I’ve never been more angry and embarrassed at the same time in my entire life.
My roommate cussed out the landlord in front of his prospective tenants, and the guy quit showing the house until we moved out.” smw89
3. Dad Stole His Pen Back
“Dad is a principal at a school and has been for a long time… One day some lady arrives and expresses an interest in enrolling her son. Principal Dad is speaking with her, gets her some forms to fill out, even offers her his special pen.
The pen is a nice stainless steel job that was given to every member of the executive staff on the school’s 25th anniversary.
Anyway, the lady and her son fill out the paperwork and go on their way, at which point Dad realizes his pen has also left. Clearly, the pen wasn’t a gift; it was obviously more expensive than a plastic hotel pen.
Fast forward to the next week when the lady arrives to drop her son off for his first day at the school. Principal Dad waits for Mrs. Pen Thief and gives her the Emergency Contact Form to fill out. Normally this is given to the kid to fill out but Dad was hoping to see the pen again.
Sure enough, this silly lady forgets where she stole the pen from, and out comes the 25th Anniversary Pen to fill out the form… ‘And now I just need to sign it here,’ says Principal Dad, patting down his pockets as if looking for a pen.
Instinctively Mrs. Pen Thief reaches into her handbag and offers him The Pen. ‘Thanks,’ he said as he signs on the bottom of the form… and puts the pen back in his own shirt pocket right in front of her.
Mrs. Pen Thief looks confused, opens her mouth, realizes what has happened, and quickly closes her mouth again.
She mumbles thanks and scurries out the door.
I believe he still has the pen to this day.”
Another User Comments:
“Was recently on a trip to Cambodia where you need to fill out an arrival form and the guy next to me offers his pen.
At that moment we start landing, tray tables up.
Get off the plane and now we enter a hall of people who are in line trying to fill out their entry and visa forums.
I’m done with mine but wait, where’s the Chinese dude. There are 200+ people in this room and half are Chinese on a tour.
This is a nice pen. As you know it was purchased because it was expensive. Silver topped cap with so much detail. It had weight and the ink itself was so smooth.
On this sea of people I thought to myself do I just yell ‘I have your pen’.
Like what do you do when there are potentially 100 people and you have no idea besides he’s a Chinese man.
So I asked the counter for visa entry who I heard speaking English and Chinese. She gets on top of her huge backpack and yells some stuff.
The seat dude presses through the crowd and is grateful that I tried to return it.
Turns out we were both going to the same conference and that these pens are handed out for 5-year members and he basically had an unlimited supply.
Still keep in touch to this day.” Rarus
Another User Comments:
“Well played. I wish I’d heard about this trick when I was in 12th grade.
I had this inexpensive but dearly loved stainless steel pen from Parker (The Jotter). I was having a one-to-one study session with my economics teacher when a similar thing happened. After borrowing my pen to draw a graph for me Mr. Perry just straight up pocketed my Jotter.
I’m 100% certain that he did it instinctively and didn’t want to steal my pen. Yet I couldn’t say anything, so all I could do was stare at it hopefully for the remainder of the session. The pen never came out of his pocket because there were other pens on the table and after that, I never saw it again.
10 or 11 years after that incident I decided to treat myself and bought myself that same pen. Sure enough, I ended up forgetting it at my accountant’s office only after a couple of months of using it. Once again I couldn’t say anything about it, so I felt like there was some kind of a curse hanging over this pen.
Luckily, the next time I visited the accountant, in 6 months’ time, I noticed the pen sitting on her desk in a cup among many other (uglier) pens. ‘Not this time,’ I thought, as I mustered up the courage to ask the accountant if I could have the pen back.
She easily agreed and the curse was broken. I still have the pen to this day.” Tashul
Another User Comments:
“My son – who is in his 20s and I know would never intentionally steal anything, accidentally steals pens from time to time.
He doesn’t mean to, but sometimes when he has to sign a receipt or whatever he later realizes he has their pen and feels bad about it.
I’ve seen him even hold on to pens for a few – after he signs something – before it hits him that it’s not his and he apologizes and gives it back to whoever he took it from. He says ‘Oops I almost stole your pen’.
Most people just laugh.
We think he has a slight case of ADD – and just gets distracted and forgets things.” Aria47
2. I'm Too Sick For You? Good Luck Going Out With Anyone Else Again
“I knew this lovely German lady who I will call Heidi. She was married to a man who I’ll call Jerk. Jerk was a jerk for a number of reasons.
He worked with my dad in IT, who said he had a hero complex where he would cause disasters at work and then try to be the hero and ‘save the day.’ We even suspect he caused a huge IT disaster at our national airport while he was working there.
He was also really creepy. He crept on my younger sister, calling her randomly and asking to pick her up. He was the exact opposite of his wife, who was lovely and sweet and charismatic, and I have no idea how they ended up together.
Unfortunately, a while after we made friends with them, Heidi got very sick. Her colon stopped working, and she almost passed on.
Thankfully, she was in a country with stellar healthcare that saved her life, but she found out she has Crohn’s, and she had to get a colostomy bag.
While she was recovering from her surgery, her husband committed a horrific betrayal. Jerk announced he wanted to divorce. His words were, and I quote, ‘I didn’t marry a sick woman.’ Ugh.
He left her high and dry, and very soon was seeing someone else.
He lost all the friends he had made in our country with his awful behavior, and my family told him he was no longer welcome near us as we were there for Heidi. He finally screwed off back to home; apparently, he had got into quite a bit of debt and skipped off to avoid paying.
Good riddance, we all said. Heidi found her feet eventually. She took up photography and went to university to study it. She did very well for herself and lived a happy life free from jerks. After about a year, Jerk contacted Heidi, and she told us the whole incredible story.
Apparently, he was trying to sweet-talk her into going over to Israel, where he was from, to go through with the divorce proceedings.
According to Heidi, your marital status is on your identity card in Israel, and it’s one of the first things a girl asks to see when you go out.
When the girls saw he was married on his card, they’d never go out for a second time. So every time he’d call her asking when she was coming over, she’d put on a huge grin and give him the perfect reply.
‘Ohhh, I don’t know, I’m not really in a position to fly with my condition and all. Maybe when I get better.’ She knew full well he wouldn’t set foot back here because his creditors were still looking for their funds back.
She would just relish in the knowledge that he was getting rejected by all those women he was pursuing in Israel while she chilled with us having a great time.
Heidi is doing much better now. She went back to Germany, though she still visits my family and her friends from time to time.
She’s still her awesome self. I don’t know what Jerk is up to now, but I suspect after all these years he is still a jerk.”
1. This Is How I Dealt With My Wife's Infidelity
“This all happened to me a few years ago.
I told a friend the story of my divorce, and I was told to share. I thought we were happy. We were your usual suburban professional couple. Financially secure, healthy, good bedroom life, two kids—a 14-year-old girl and a nine-year-old boy at the time.
I thought we had a healthy social life, too.
We were going through one of your typical married couple’s rough patches. Both of us were working long hours, not spending enough time together, and we were going through some developmental problems with my son, and tensions in the house were running a little high.
I noticed that she was spending a lot more time on her phone texting with her ‘friends.’
I didn’t think much of it, though now I wish I had. I started making a much more concerted effort to get out of work when I could, help around the house and be more emotionally available, but over the course of a few weeks, the gulf just kept getting wider.
I ended up accidentally finding some messages when I charged up an old iPad for my son to use.
Her messenger was still logged in and there were a lot of highly questionable messages with a guy from her hometown who I will call JimBobCooter or JBC for short.
The messages weren’t completely inappropriate, but I could tell there were quite a few missing based on the times and context of the messages. I made a mental note to keep an eye on this and went about trying to fix things up.
The next day, I took the day off to knock out some projects that I thought would make her happy and left her some sweet notes reminding her how much I appreciated her.
Still, she was once again in the corner of the living room ‘texting her friends.’ I took the boy’s iPad to the office, opened up messenger… and watched in real-time as my wife tore me down.
She and JBC were making fun of me.
All of the flaws, insecurities, and secrets I entrusted to my partner were now fodder for her and JBC. Not only that, but while there wasn’t outright innuendo, there was an undertone to the whole conversation, especially when she was bashing my performance in the sack.
I managed to take some screenshots but missed a good bit of the messages because as the conversation was unfolding she was deleting them.
I wasn’t emotionally capable of confronting her. I stayed in the office until she was asleep and had a couple of drinks.
I took off the next day and spent some time soul searching, drinking, and trying to figure out what to do. The wife came home and wanted to know what was wrong and I just copped out and told her I had a bad day.
A couple of minutes later I was watching the iPad again. The train wreck kept unfolding.
So began a couple of solid weeks of taking screenshots, drinking, and detaching myself from the relationship. I knew there was no going back from this. The messages were now overtly intimate with my wife completely into it, and JBC was sprinkling in ‘I love yous.’ I consulted a lawyer and got my options, and started moving forward.
Here’s where everything got absolutely surreal.
Watching the messages, I found out JBC was coming to town to spend a weekend of quality time with my wife in a pretty nice hotel. I was missing a good bit of the info, as they must have had a phone conversation about it at some point, but I was able to infer enough to get the when and where.
Sure as heck, the next day the wife is buttering me up and wanting to take a spa weekend with the girls to relax and when she gets back we can really focus on our marriage.
I go with it all the way. It’s the greatest idea she’s ever had, and I’ll do anything to get us back on track.
I get with the lawyer and have him draft a strong separation agreement stating that she would move out, she would get weekend visitation, no child support in the interim until the divorce is final. Then I sit through the most agonizing two weeks of my life.
After all this, most of my feelings for her are completely gone, and I’m just seething with anger as I’ve never felt before. D-day arrives. I take the day off work. I withdraw half of any funds in any accounts we are joint on, leave her half alone.
I had already redirected my paycheck to a new bank. I close our market account and get a cashier’s check for her half and deposit my half in my new account.
I stop at office max and print out about 75 pages of messenger screenshots, and I waste time because I don’t want to be at home.
She texts me that she’s taking off and that she loves me. I tell her to have fun. I show up at the hotel at about 8:30 and call the wife’s phone from the lobby. It goes straight to voicemail. They are probably already at it, whatever.
I walk up to the front desk and ask if I can use the phone to be connected to the JBC’s room. It rings three times and he picks up.
JBC: Hello?
Me: JBC, can you send my wife down to the lobby, please?
JBC: I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro.
Me: Ok then. I guess I’ll have to call Mrs. JBC and get her down here. (Totally a bluff. I knew he was married, and I knew her first name, but that was it.)
JBC: (Inaudible, shuffling, panic)
Me: You got five minutes. Click
Not even two minutes later, my wife comes walking out of the elevator looking a little flustered. I sit her down in the corner of the lobby.
Her: Starts spewing garbage saying it’s not what it seems etc., etc.
Me: I’m not here to argue.
The things that are said in this pile of papers are what’s going on. The only way I’m not giving a copy of this to our daughter, your parents, and emailing it to everyone we know is if you move out immediately.
See, my wife was very prideful.
Our daughter was going through a rebellious teen phase and her knowing probably would have forever ruined their relationship. My wife was also her parents’ golden child and she always worried about what they thought of her. I didn’t have much leverage, and shame was my only card to play.
Also, her professional life is built up around her image, so I knew she would protect that at all costs.
Her: Sniffle, mumble, inaudible
Me: This is a check for half of the market account. I’ve withdrawn half of the amount from all the other joint accounts.
You should have more than enough to get a place.
She starts to cry a little. I could almost see the different thoughts and waves of emotions going through her, but now was the time to keep pressing.
Me: Here is a separation agreement that I think is more than fair considering what’s going on.
I’m going to need you to look this over, sign it, and leave it at the house when you get your stuff. Do you want to look through these screenshots?
Her: No.
Me: Ok. Go have fun with JBC. Do not come back to the house or I’m going to send this (holds up a ream of screenshots) to everyone.
I bounce out of the lobby, and I can hear her start to have a breakdown. I get to the car, drive off to a parking lot and have my own crying rage fit. Previously I would have cried in front of her and yelled and whatnot but I managed to get my stuff together enough to pull it off.
I don’t know what she did that night or over the weekend. She texted and called over and over, wanting to talk.
I just turned the phone off and by the time Monday afternoon rolled around there were movers getting her stuff and she delivered the agreement.
I let her have a talk with the kiddos basically saying mommy and daddy need some time apart, we still love you, etc., etc. Standard divorce talk. After a week she wants to have a real talk for the first time.
I oblige her because I’ve already got my stuff together and I’ve got an idea of what I want, but I should hear her out.
She’s so sorry. She wants another chance. She wants her family back. She’ll do anything. She’s on her knees crying into my lap. I have no intention of ever taking her back. I tell her she needs to set up marriage counseling on her own at a time that works for me.
I tell her that I can’t live with her, but she should be around the children to try to maintain a relationship with them. So starts our new normal of her coming over to the house, cooking and having dinner with the kids three nights a week (she always saved me a plate, I made myself scarce), her cleaning the house and doing the kids’ laundry then heading back to her place.
We went to counseling. It consisted of her working through her issues with the therapist trying to figure out why she did it, her begging for forgiveness, and me stoically playing the victim. I was never going to give her another chance. All I wanted to do was waste time, establish myself as the primary caregiver to the kids, and establish her as not having residency in the house.
After a few months, I go to my own therapist and get diagnosed with depression and PTSD. I ask my work if it’s possible to go part-time for the foreseeable future to deal with personal issues, and it’s no big deal. After six months of therapy, I told her that I couldn’t forgive her right now and that I wanted an amicable divorce, but she is still the love of my life and maybe someday we could give it another try.
She was devastated but agreed to the divorce if I promised to try again someday. Once the divorce was filed I needed the kids to want to stay with me. I left a Google search for ‘how to survive your wife’s infidelity’ up on the shared PC at home, and I left some printed-out infidelity articles not so hidden in the kitchen.
My daughter found them and came to me crying.
I told her she wasn’t supposed to find those, that mom made a mistake, that mom still loves her, and that I would always be here for her. My daughter who used to hold my wife in such high regard now wouldn’t talk to her without screaming, and it crushed her.
Not surprisingly when the court needed statements from the kids a few months later, little brother followed big sister’s lead and they both wanted to stay with Dad in the house they grew up in.
When the divorce was finalized I got the house (had to buy out some of her equity, but that’s ok).
I got primary custody of the kids. I got awarded generous child support due to the difference in our incomes due to me working part-time. Now for the last two years, I’ve gotten to live in the house with my kids, work part-time, get the now-ex to subsidize it for me, and when she takes the kids over the weekends I get to have my fun with girls I met online and some FWBs I’ve cultivated.
In the eyes of my kids, I’m the patron saint of fatherhood for taking the high road and always being there. In the eyes of my ex, I’m the one that got away that she will always pine for, and I get the bonus of having her come over for intimacy whenever I want it by dangling that carrot of maybe getting back together.
But that is never going to happen.”
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