People Tell Their Frivolous Revenge Stories
22. Sorry, But You're Not The Parking Police
“I have a busy body neighbor who lives across the street from me. We live in a small, rural English village. The houses are old and quite tightly packed together with a narrow road running through the center of the village that’s just big enough for two cars to pass.
My house has no parking or driveway, so I have to park my car on the road, as do a lot of the other residents. Mrs. Busy Body has a big house with enough space on her driveway for three cars and a fancy electric gate with a remote control.
The driveway is quite narrow as it runs down the side of her house.
In the village, we all try to park on the same side of the road so that people going through don’t have to weave in and out of the parked cars and it’s safer for children. This means I park opposite my house outside Mrs. Busy Body’s.
One morning getting into my car and going to work, she came out of her house and told me that I wasn’t to park there anymore. I asked her why, and her response was, ‘Oh, you know how it is you just want to be able to park your own car outside your own house.’ I said yes and that I did understand that feeling and raised an eyebrow at the irony of me doing exactly that, albeit on the opposite side.
I was just trying to be courteous by parking on the same side of the road as everyone else, but she didn’t see it that way.
I have one tiny car and she has two large 4x4s and a driveway. I spoke to another neighbor, and she’d been bad-mouthing ‘whoever had the little white car parked outside her house’ as she wanted the space outside just in case someone popped round to visit and needed somewhere to park.
So, I parked my car right outside my front door – directly opposite her driveway. Now there was no way that her or her husband could get in and out their driveway in one maneuver due to the narrowness of the road, the narrow drive, their big range rovers, and my car opposite.
I watched her for months having to shuffle her car in and out of her driveway.
She couldn’t say anything to me and ask me to move ‘because you know how it is, you just want to be able to park your own car outside your own house.'”
21. Get Me In Trouble At Work? I'll Get You In Trouble At School
“This happened way back in the early 1980s, so I don’t remember the exact dialog.
I was an only child to a single mother working as a secretary, so money was scarce. I didn’t even have an allowance. If I wanted money for records or to go to the movies with my friends, I needed to work for it.
So at the tender age of 14, after years of babysitting, I decided I’d get a “real” job at a local burger joint. Let’s call it Dairy Princess. The minimum age to work was 16, so I had to lie about my age on the job application.
It was the summer between 8th grade and my freshman year and about two weeks into my job at the burger place.
I was still learning the ins and outs of the job, but I think I was doing okay. This was before computerized registers, so we had to write all orders down on a pad of paper. Each sheet of paper in these custom order pads had a different order number on it.
The number was written twice: once at the top and once on a perforated section on the bottom which would be torn off and given to the customer.
There were shortcuts for each food item, so we didn’t have to spell out all the words. So, if someone ordered a cheeseburger with mayonnaise and extra pickles, it would say something like HB +Ch +Ma +XP.
If they didn’t want tomatoes, we would write T with a slash through it, kind of like the No sign without the circle. If it was a to-go order, we would draw a large diagonal line throughout the entire order.
One day, a teenage girl walked into Dairy Princess with a couple of friends.
We’ll call her Bratty Teenager. She came to the counter and placed her order.
“I want a Hamburger, no lettuce, combo with fries, and a large iced tea.”
So I wrote down:
HB, L with a slash through it
FF
L Tea
Bratty Teenager paid for her order and went to sit down at the table to wait for her friends to finish their orders.
When the food was ready, I called out her number.
When she got to the counter, she looked at her food and asked, “Where is the cheese? Why doesn’t this have any lettuce on it?”
Stunned, I replied, “You said you wanted a hamburger without lettuce. Cheese only comes on cheeseburgers.”
“No, I said I wanted a hamburger with cheese and extra lettuce!”
Hearing the commotion, my manager came out to see what was going on.
Before I could say anything, Bratty Teenager exclaimed, “She got my order all wrong. I asked for cheese and extra lettuce, and this burger doesn’t have either on it. I also asked for soda, not tea!”
There’s one thing you have to know about the tea we had.
You could buy a large iced tea for 59 cents, but any kind of large soda was 99 cents.
The manager looked at the ticket and said, “Okay, let me take that back and fix that for you. Janey, get her the large soda. We won’t charge you the extra, miss.”
Bratty Teenager looked smugly at me, and I was nearly in tears.
After Bratty Teenager and her friends left, the manager gave me a stern talking to. “Do we need to go over the shortcuts again, Janey?”
“No ma’am,” I said. “I know I wrote it down exactly the way she said it.”
Manager looking upset: “Well, obviously, you didn’t.”
Fast forward a couple of weeks, and guess who walked into the restaurant? You guessed it, Bratty Teenager.
She took one look at me and smirked. She placed her order, and I went over it with her before I rang it up and sent the ticket back to the kitchen.
Me: “Let’s make sure it’s correct this time. You want a cheeseburger, extra lettuce, fries, and a large soda, right?”
Bratty Teenager: “Yes, that’s right.”
Me: “You want to eat it here or is this to-go?”
Bratty Teenager: “I’ll eat it here.”
So I rang it up and sent the ticket back to the kitchen.
When it was done, I called out her order number, and she came to the counter.
Bratty Teenager: “Um, you messed it up again! I said I wanted this to-go! And I wanted onion rings, not fries!”
If you guessed that onion rings are more expensive than fries, you’d be right.
I didn’t say a word but went back to get my manager and told her what happened.
“Janey, is this the same girl?”
“Yes ma’am, the same one.
And I went over the order with her to verify everything before ringing her up and sending the ticket to the kitchen.”
“Hmm… Okay. I’ll fix the order this time, but the next time she walks in here, you call me and I will take her order.”
I grinned.
“Yes ma’am!”
Sure enough, about a week later, Bratty Teenager walks in. I call the manager up and, not surprisingly, Bratty Teenager complains about the order being wrong again. The manager bags up her order, as is, and hands it to her, and says, “Miss, I know what you’re doing.
You’re trying to get extra or more expensive food for free. Please take your food and get out. And please don’t bother coming back.”
Bratty Teenager stares daggers at the manager, but she just huffed, grabbed her food, and walked out.
I worked at the Dairy Princess for a total of two months and didn’t see her again.
I quit because we were robbed, but that’s a story for another time. School was starting soon anyway.
It was a few months into my freshman year when I encountered Bratty Teenager again. Yes, she went to my high school, but I believe she was 2 or 3 years ahead of me, so thankfully, we never had to deal with each other.
Since I lived right next to the school and because our family was low income, I had an off-campus lunch pass.
This lunch pass allowed students to walk home from school for lunch, and if anyone was caught leaving school without the pass, it was an automatic detention.
One cold day, I was walking back to school from lunch and I came up behind a group of girls who were also heading in that direction.
I didn’t pay much attention to them at first, but then I happened to hear one of them say, “We can use someone else’s name!”
Ah, I said to myself, I bet they don’t have lunch passes.
I looked up and who did I see? That’s right, Bratty Teenager was heading back to school, and apparently, she was trying to avoid getting in trouble for leaving without a pass.
I stayed behind them and listened in some more.
One of the girls said, “Yes, we can just say we forgot our passes and give them other students’ names. They’ll never figure it out.”
One girl replied, “How about the name Janey?”
Bratty Teenager: “Yes, there are a couple of Janeys at our school.
What are their last names?”
“How about Janey Smithers?”
Bratty Teenager clapped and exclaimed, “Yes! That’s a real student. I’ll use her name.”
Oh no, she didn’t! She deliberately picked my name! She is NOT going to get me in trouble again. So, I pulled up my coat around my neck and quickly walked past the group of girls, praying that no one recognized me.
I got to the school about a minute ahead of them and noticed that one of our assistant principals was standing out front checking passes.
Mr. Matthews was a good guy and he knew me well enough to recognize me by name since I had worked in the office back at the junior high school the previous school year.
Smiling, I said, “Hi Mr. Matthews, how are you today?” and I showed him my lunch pass.
Mr.
Matthews: “Fine Janey, did you have a nice lunch?”
Me: “Oh yes, sir, very nice. By the way, I’d like you to pay close attention to the names the group of girls behind me are going to give you when they get here. I think you’ll be interested.”
He gave me a quizzical look and then back at Bratty Teenager and her gang.
I just smiled and walked towards the school. As I reached the door, I turned around and watched. Unfortunately, I was too far to hear what they were saying but close enough to see their expressions. I saw Bratty Teenager walk up to Mr. Matthews and speak to him.
He looked at her and then turned around and looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. Then I saw him do the finger wave to Bratty Teenager and her friends.
I’m pretty sure that finger wave meant, “Come with me.”
And then she saw me. I grinned and waved, turned around, and went inside. I never knew being petty could feel so amazing.”
20. Wife Can't Pay For A Dress? Your Work Is Going To Find Out
So many things wrong with this couple.
“This story is involving an ex I used to have. (The ex is not the one I got revenge on; she was a lovely woman, and I have nothing bad to say about her. We just didn’t work out.)
Let’s call my missus Jada.
She’s black, and I’m white.
Well, Jada wanted to do a photoshoot with us, so she went ahead and bought 3 very nice dresses with the intent of only using them for the photoshoot and then reselling them. I was told she paid anywhere from $80-$150 per dress depending on the dress.
We did the photoshoot, and she turned to a social media Marketplace to resell the dresses.
She sold 2 of the 3 dresses with no issues. The 3rd dress was another story.
Apparently, the woman she sold the 3rd dress to refused to pay. Yes, that’s right; Jada sent the dress to the buyer without payment. This woman (let’s call her Ashley) said the dress was not as advertised, didn’t fit, etc.
Jada told Ashley, “Hey, that’s fine, Just return the dress – no harm, no foul.”
At this point, Ashley blocked my missus. Keep in mind this is over $50…and from what I was told, $50 for a dress worn only once like this was a REALLY good deal.
This really bugged Jada, which in turn, resulted in me getting annoyed. So Jada asked me to reach out to Ashley.
When I looked up her social media, I also felt like she might block me too, and I saw she listed her husband who was a soldier in the Army.
I decided before I would message Ashley, I would add her husband as a friend, and I also wrote down his name in a notetaking app I had on my phone in case Ashley blocked me.
I got Ashley to respond, and the result was the same I ended up blocked.
Now at this point, I’m assuming that this is a simple case of females acting foolish, and I’m thinking a quick message to her husband would resolve all this. Did I mention by the time this had gone down, he had accepted my friend request?
Boy, did this person have a lot of personal information on social media.
(Folks, this is a tip: don’t do that.) Let’s call this soldier Sgt. Johnson.
I message Sgt Johnson and I explain the situation, and we have a bit of back and forth. I tell him that I think we can sort this whole mess out. The choice is simple:
-
Return the dress
-
Send us $50
Now as I’m messaging him waiting for a response, I go through his page out of boredom, and holy was this a gold mine of anti-semitic viewpoints, straight-up racism, celebration of the white race, comments on news articles about black individuals being charged in crimes on how America would be better off if we split into two countries one for whites one for everyone else, blah blah.
Now he’s responded.
Basically, he’s saying screw off in a nice way.
He doesn’t want to be bothered over a dress.
I decide before I respond, I’ll screenshot his social media profile. It was really helpful that not only did he list his employer as US Army but also the unit he was in.
I also screenshot like 6 or 7 different very racist posts he had made.
I messaged him back and I told him he needs to do what is right; he needs to pay for the dress or return it or else it’s going to cost him.
He tells me his wife doesn’t wanna pay and that they are “burning the dress” because my partner wore it.
Now I’m fuming. At this point, I know what I’m going to do anyway, but I tell him very plainly.
You are going to pay me for the dress, OR I will forward screenshots of your social media to your unit.
He blocks me.
At this point, I know I’m not going to get the money, so I inform Jada of the news, and she’s mad, but I tell her I got an idea.
That Monday, I call up his unit, and I ask to speak to the commander whose name I found on Google.
I get put through the commander’s sectary, and I inform the sectary I have evidence that an NCO within the commander’s unit is a proud white supremacist.
The sectary takes down my details and says the commander will reach out to me.
Later that afternoon, I get a call back from a Cpt; let’s call him Cpt Jack ’cause that sounds like a cool name.
Cpt Jack and I have a conversation.
I explain that I discovered this soldier on Social media, and we had a bit of back and forth, he made racist comments, plus in the short period I was a friend on his social media page, I was able to screenshot several posts of incredibly racist viewpoints.
I could tell Cpt Jack was taking this seriously. I don’t think any commander wants a white supremacist in their ranks, especially with one that has authority such as an NCO.
Cpt Jack asks me if I would be willing to forward over the screenshots, and I say I got them all saved in a folder, and I’d be happy to forward them on over.
No, I did not bring up the dress issue; I felt like if I did bring up the dress issue with the Captain it might muddy the waters on my report, and plus, it’s only $50.
Cpt Jack thanked me.
That afternoon, I went to the ATM I pulled out $50 and went home and told my missus they had finally paid us. That way she’d get off my back. She thanked me, called Ashley a jerk, and went back to watching her TV.
About 6 weeks later, if I recall, I get a call from a JAG officer.
For those of you who don’t know, JAG is basically an active duty lawyer. The JAG officer asks me if I’d be willing to answer some questions in regards to my report. I say of course. Answer the questions, I ask the JAG officer what’s going on, and I get the response I was hoping for.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation,” but it sounded like he had a smile on his face; we both knew what that meant.
Now I have a friend who was in the same unit.
I fill him in on what’s going on and ask him that I’m curious if anything happens.
Several months go by, and one day I get a call from my buddy.
“Hey, you know that Sgt Johnson?” I go, “Yea?” He laughs and goes, “He’s not a Sgt anymore.
He’s not in the Army anymore. He’s been kicked out on an other than honorable discharge.” I go, “Did they say why?” and my friend tells me that, well, he didn’t get an “official reason,” but right after he was kicked out, the unit had a briefing on racism within the ranks, how to report it, and a lesson on what you can and can’t post on social media.”
19. Just Fulfilling Guests' Demands Like I Was Asked
“So a few years ago, I used to work at a country estate. It was a neoclassical Palladian mansion to give it its proper title and is a listed building that was restored and won prestigious titles for the restoration. The important thing to note is that this is defined as a house, not a hotel, so there is no permanent staffing rota for the butlers/waiting staff.
We were offered shifts for events, and the only permanent staff was management, groundskeepers, spa staff, and the chef. This means the waiting staff had very little protection in terms of working hours, etc.
This place often attracted the kind of money that people paid other people to organize their holiday for them and was something to the equivalent of 5 stars ++.
I had earned a reputation with these agents, who were repeat clients, as one of their favorite staff, on a first-name basis, brought them coffee in their morning meetings, etc. This story in particular came after one New Year event these clients had run where I worked 20 hours non-stop on Hogmanay (NY Eve).
The management staff totally changed soon after this event.
The new management structure comprised a new GM and a front of the house (FoH) and back of house (BoH) deputies. They weren’t really aware of previous staff track records and simply had a list of names of staff for call-in.
I immediately got on with the new GM and BoH. They liked my ideas and often implemented them (I knew the house very well and what unexpected issues happened) instead of FoH’s ideas, and this irked FoH somewhat. She would try and reduce the hours I was offered or ask me to complete impossible tasks at times, such as running a 5 star++ dinner service alone for 20 guests for over an hour while she pulled other staff away for other stuff.
The most important line she ever said though when I said I needed help at points was, “You must do everything within your power to make sure the guests are happy Bob.
Any demand they make, you do your best to meet it.” This irked me. I knew the reputation of this place, so I knew that was already a given, I knew it was speak not unless spoken to, and if they asked you to dance like a chicken for their enjoyment, you did it.
Revenge began simply by being patient. Fast forward a couple of months to another event organized by the specific repeat clients, a diamond wedding anniversary. The event just so happened to coincide with a six nations rugby game. (I and 1 other staff member were massive rugby nuts and would regularly talk about it in downtime, and it just so happened one of the repeat clients was also a fan.)
It was a standard afternoon session in the house, many people in many different rooms, and I just so happened to be working in the butler pantry across the TV room.
Inside, there is an old man; let’s call him Stanley. He is sharp as a tack but lovely, and he’s chatting to the agent as rugby is playing on the TV, saying he wished he had someone to watch it with. The agent mentions I like rugby to him, and he says, “Oh, it’d be grand if you could join an old fella to chat!” As much as I’d like to, I had to politely decline as I was on shift, although I did mention that my job is to “do everything within my power to ensure the guests are happy and meet their demands as best I can.”
Stanley has a twinkle in his eye and the agent gets this look on his face of “oh no” as Stanley turns to me and says, “Very well then, I demand you sit and watch the rugby with me and talk with me.”
Correct, Stanley just MCed me, so naturally, I just follow on and reply, “Of course sir, certainly sir,” and meanwhile, the agent is struggling so hard to keep a straight face as the veins popping out his head nearly punched me.
After all, I was just following demands to the letter.
Soon enough, word gets back to FoH and she comes in with this unique face of polite rage and asked why I wasn’t serving other guests, and Stanley just pipes up saying, “I demanded he sit with me and he is fulfilling my demand to the best of his ability.” I just looked and shrugged with the straightest face possible but also trying to crack a grin slightly too.
She starts going red and the agent comes in and tells her it’s true before she politely storms off to the GM, who I am told by BoH burst into laughter upon hearing the story in her office. Spent the rest of the match getting Stanley drinks and talking to him and the client about the game and got paid for it all too.”
Another User Comments:
“I don’t know why some managers get angry when their team does exactly what they said.
If you get angry by it, you don’t know how to express what you want, or worse, don’t know exactly what you want, but in either case, you are a bad manager.” Ipenap
Reply:
“Because they want you to do what they mean, not what they say, unless doing what they mean lets them punish you for not doing what they say.” SalbaheJim
18. Jack My Parking Spot? I'll Buy The Donuts You Want
That’s gotta hurt.
“So in my city, there is a pub that’s attached to a doughnut shop that serves the best doughnuts 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 girl and I get a serious hankering for some snacks so we decide to head to the doughnut 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 that are usually full.
We see up the street that, count our lucky stars, a spot is free! My girl pulls a little ahead of the car in front of the spot, turns on her indicator, and begins backing into a 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 seems to be a pretty univ student who shrugs her shoulders and calls out to me “sorry, first come first serve!” while she and her friend share a good laugh.
My girl suggests we just get doughnuts another time, and I tell her she can drop me off here, I’ll buy the doughnuts 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 doughnuts and since this is the last batch, the doughnuts are slim pickings. The girls are behind me looking at the 5 or so different flavors that are left, talking about which ones are best and which they haven’t had yet.
I hear one of them jokingly mention “thank god we got a parking spot” and they burst out laughing. I get to the front of the line, and when asked for my order, request two dozen doughnuts, 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 and they slowly saw each doughnut 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?” to which 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 doughnuts I ever tasted (and enjoyed by the rest of my office the next morning).”
17. This Bully Learns A Lesson The Hard Way
“Growing up, I played hockey from kindergarten to my senior year of high school. It happened more by the fact that when my parents put me on skates at the age of three, I surprised them by more or less learning to skate in one session.
I was like that with most motor skills, a fact that would haunt me later as I got older.
As I aged, I developed into a body more built for the Offensive Line in football, but the constant exercise and massive calorie requirements of ice hockey kept me in good shape through high school.
It did mean I was generally forty or fifty pounds heavier than everyone else on the ice, and while it did not affect my top speed, it did affect my acceleration. The predictable result was that I was always passed over for the ‘traveling’ teams, and I gravitated to football where I was a defensive lineman.
By the time I was in high school, I more or less played hockey for fun and exercise.
I never made the high school team (this is in Minnesota, so it is a much bigger deal there).
One of the reasons I loved sports so much was that I had a mild speech impediment. I had a tendency to slur my words if I did not speak carefully.
Naturally, I was an easy target for bullies, especially in the 90s when schools were doing their level best to end physical bullying, but in essence, punishing me harder if I ever retaliated physically for the daily verbal torment I received.
Entering my senior year and failing to make the high school team for the fourth and final time, I walked into my junior gold locker room to find an annoyance I knew.
We will call him Andy for the time being. He was two years younger and was a scrawny little jerk who liked to harass people verbally. I mostly ignored him. I had moved to the area the year before I started high school, so I did not have the friends the other kids grew up with, and unfortunately, this was the type of community that would freeze out people they did not grow up with.
Andy was the kind of person who would target isolated people. He would not dare go after people with their friends. Since I spent my time mostly alone, he would try to harass me, but the obvious difference in size (at senior year, I was 6’3″ and 250 lbs of muscle from football, ice hockey, track and field (shot put), and summers spent in the weight room), and the fact I pointedly ignored him didn’t give him much.
While I ignored him, I did pay attention to what he did to others. In addition to harassing people of both genders verbally, he was also handsy, and more than once had been slapped by girls. He was also inextricably able to get himself out of trouble like that which should have gotten him suspended or expelled multiple times.
By the time hockey season started, I really was starting to hate Andy.
Within the school, I was more or less powerless to do anything about it without getting myself expelled, and all I could do at the time was simply bide my time and hope I had a moment I could get him caught or get revenge.
I ignored Andy as I got dressed, and we went through the opening basic drills for practice until we got to a forechecking drill.
The drill is meant to get kids to be motivated to go after a puck in the corner after it had been dumped into the corner and learn to prevent yourself from being hit from behind in the process.
Andy thought a lot of his skills, and to his credit, he was able to move well, though the credit he made was erased by his habit of slashing people with the stick. Andy thought he would show me up and made sure it was him against me.
The first time we went through the drill he made it to the puck first and tried to dart away, but I knew he was going to make it first this time and had instead set up to hit him.
He was short enough that he hit the boards instead of the glass. I wasn’t at full speed more half to three quarters, but the fact that I was more than a hundred pounds heavier left him a crumpled mess on the ice. With him on the ground, I grabbed the puck and skated away with it, and to anger him, I went down the ice to the other side of the rink and dumped the puck into the unused net (our goalie was doing reaction drills off ice with a coach and a tennis ball).
When I returned to the near blue line, Andy was there bruised and seething.
He started running his mouth, but our coach shut him down.
“If you want to play with the big boys, you better be ready for the hits, Andy,” the coach told him. The coach was the father of one of our goalies, and both of them readily hated Andy.
“If you are mad, then hit back, legally,” he told Andy, meaning for Andy to take the Gordie Howe approach, and get your revenge without breaking the rules.
The coach also had known me for five years as I had been on his son’s team. Goaltenders tend to like the big Defenders who shove people away from the crease and punish people who crashed the net on them. By this point, I was well into the coach’s good graces, and he knew of my usual trick with dealing with smaller faster players.
We set up for the drill again.
This time, I was on the outside, and the coach fired the puck, so Andy would be the trailer. I could hear Andy coming up from behind me, and I guessed that he would crosscheck from behind, the kind of dirty move referees almost never call smaller players on when they hit bigger players.
Not wanting to take a wooden shaft to my back, I waited until I was nearing the goal line, and then hard stopped, letting my stick in my left hand (I used a lefty stick) to touch the puck while plating my feet and dropping my shoulder.
Andy crashed face-first into my right shoulder.
I had timed it nearly perfectly. He had just enough time to slow marginally and leaned away backward, but he could not prevent the hit. In addition to the hit to the face, he prompt fell backward slamming the back of his (helmeted) head into the ice.
I had lost control of the puck and turned to grab the puck and slowly went back to the line.
By the time I reached the line, Andy was fumbling with the door latch to leave the rink and went off the ice.
This was the last time we saw him at our practice, and Andy played for a U-16 that year in a town about thirty miles away.
Everything I had done to Andy was a legal move. Both times I hit him was to control possession of the puck or to brace for a hit I knew was coming.
Andy was conspicuously absent from school that week.
I found out later he got hurt. His mother tried to get me kicked off the team, but the coach and the other parents didn’t like her, and most of them hated her kid. She was also my mother’s boss and tried to get her fired.
My mother worked for the school district and filed a complaint and started documenting Andy’s mother’s behavior. Andy’s mother was nearly as hated as he was for more or less the same reasons. Eventually, my mother transferred to a different job in the school district, and Andy’s mother eventually overstepped and was fired for cause (she had been stealing from the district for years).
Andy never tried to annoy me again, and he avoided me at all costs after that.
In most cases, I never got the chance to get even with bullies like him, and he was a real tormentor of the kids his age, but getting the chance to crush a bully without any recourse at all felt real good.”
16. Entitled Passenger Gets Forced To Deal With A Stench For The Remainder Of Their Flight
And there’s no escape.
“I’m a flight attendant for a premier us air carrier, and this past Weds I was working a flight from New Orleans to NYC.
We were stationed in New Orleans overnight on Tuesday, as in Fat Tuesday, so I had two of my girls come to meet me from Denver (where I’m based out of) and we had A LOT of fun.
Come the next morning, I’m not feeling so great. And the hangover continues well into the afternoon, to the point that I’m almost running late for my pre-board because I can’t get off the pot. P.S. for any boys out there that think that your girls don’t puke or poop—sorry to burst your bubble, but we get hit with Montezuma’s revenge just as bad as frat guys do.
Anyways, we get to boarding, and this passenger keeps complaining that she was supposed to get a first-class upgrade but there wasn’t one available so she wanted us to move her to a different flight that had one, which is not something we can do.
She’s being overall unpleasant about the whole thing and in general reeks of your typical stuck-up Long Island girl. You know the type. (Or maybe you’re lucky enough not to).
Her unpleasantness continues through boarding, at which point I see her being extremely rude to the people in her row.
She basically bullies them into giving her the aisle seat, even though she had paid for an economy ticket, which with my airline, almost guarantees you a middle seat.
Then, the final straw. We’re preparing for takeoff, and she’s not in her seat. She’s in the bathroom, doing god knows what, and making the whole plane wait because we can’t take off until everyone’s seated.
So I decided to give her the stinkiest smelliest flight of her life…
Yes. I continuously crop dusted this jerk for the next 3 hours. I farted on her almost every single time I made my rounds through the cabin. I must’ve gassed her 7 or 8 times before we landed.
I caught her wincing, complaining, pinching her nose, and wafting the air around her. It was a complete success each time.
Some highlights;
– These were some of the absolutely worst farts I’ve ever had in my entire life. Like room clearing, vomit-inducing stinkers.
– The 3rd time I ripped on her, I was bent over “assisting” the passenger across the aisle, and could practically feel the side of this jerk’s head on my butt, so I guarantee she could feel my fart on her face.
– While most of these were of the SBD variety, the 2nd to the last one was actually a bit of a rumbler at the end, and I know she heard it and had to have known she had just been farted on.
Which means the last time I did it, she had to know not just she was getting farted on, but that it was being done intentionally.
So yea, if you’re a stuck-up brat flying coach, you better be kind to the staff and fellow passengers, otherwise, you may end up on the wrong end of some smelly justice.”
15. Keep Bothering Me About The Rules? I Can't Bother To Keep Working For You
“I worked for a photography studio situated in a big box store for about a year and a half where I had a manager who was obsessed with my organizational practices.
From the moment I met this woman, I knew I wouldn’t like working under her, but I was desperate for any sort of work so I took the job.
When I was in the interview, a lot of her questions centered around how organized I was, and how compliant to her rules I would be. In training, she was adamant about how everything needed to be filed at the end of the day. I figured she liked things done in a particular way, I got it.
She’d been the manager for fourteen years, she had the place the way she liked it. I understood.
I don’t think I was a bad employee, I made sales, took pretty nice pictures, made sure customers were happy when they left, but apparently I was garbage at keeping the studio organized in her eyes.
The thing is, I followed her rules to the letter especially when it came to filing. Appointment papers and bills were stapled together and put in their folder in chronological order, receipts and their passport slips were in their spot, cash was put in the safe in order.
I would stay late to make sure that everything was perfect when I left, and yet every time I would come in, there would be a note about something I was doing wrong.
I distinctly remember coming in to work half of one of her shifts and her saying she needed to go over filing with me.
She took a ruler and put it to the tops of the papers in a folder from my last shift. When the edge of the ruler didn’t lay flat over the edges of the papers she tutted and told me, ‘See? This isn’t right!’ Even though all the papers were in the right order!
So you would think she’s just really particular right? NOPE.
I started paying attention to her paperwork and guess what? Hers were usually in order but I found mistakes all over. And no, her papers didn’t lay flat in their folders either! There were days that I would come in and she would leave pages all over with notes asking me to clean up her mess too.
This wasn’t her having some obsession with keeping things organized, this was a power move over me.
When I finally quit, I was so sick of her hypocrisy that I decided to give her something to really complain about. I wrote a letter of resignation by hand, end to end, no margins.
On 9 by 11 paper.
I know that sounds weird but we used standard 8.5 by 11 printer paper for EVERYTHING. I knew she HAD to file my letter, but in her ‘surprisingly’ large folder of other resignation letters, it would eventually be an eyesore. It couldn’t be folded to fit without looking even stupider.
It would haunt that folder until the day she quit or retired.
Not the craziest revenge story but after a year and a half of being pestered about papers, I still feel satisfied when I think about it.”
14. Underestimate Me? I'll Make You Lose A Tooth
“For some context, I am not a very big person as an adult. As a child, I was even smaller. At this period, I was one of the smallest and looked like I was the weakest. To put it into perspective, I look like a little porcelain doll that would cry at the drop of a hat and stand to half the height of my classmates.
While it was true that I could cry pretty easily, I was a lot tougher than I appeared. One guy, in particular, was almost three times my size and threw his weight around a lot especially at me who pretty much ignored him unafraid of his size and would constantly pick on me without me fighting back.
This story is about how I got my revenge in a single moment.
On to the story:
My mother was wanting to get her children into self-defense, so she enrolled my two little brothers and me in a boxing class where we could learn to defend ourselves, come to find out that one kid was the aid to the instructor and would spar with the new kids to let them practice without hurting each other.
Since it was an introduction day and our first class, the instructor wanted to gauge us all and see what we knew and how much strength we had.
My little brothers went first and were pretty normal beginners since they were only ten and eight at the time. I was 13 and a bit bigger than them, but because of the way I looked and how small I was for my age, the instructor didn’t expect much from me and thought I could go all out on the kid and still not hurt him.
Soon enough, it was my turn to be gauged.
With the gloves on my hands and the helmet around my head, I stood in front of the kid who was almost six feet tall. I stood under four feet tall, so it was a very David and Goliath feel. I looked over to the instructor and told him, “I don’t want to hurt him.” The instructor insisted that he would be fine and that I wouldn’t hurt him.
I said, “Yes I will.”
“No, you won’t. Go ahead and give it all you have,” he insisted. The kid even laughed at me and goaded me on. He leaned down a bit, so his face was just a little higher than mine. He tapped his chin with his glove and tauntingly said to give him my best shot.
I gave him one last warning, “You’re gonna lose a tooth.”
He laughed and continued to encourage me.
I looked at my mom who gave me a nod of approval. I nodded back and took a deep breath before letting it out. My brothers and mother KNEW what was going to happen next and were all smirking.
I get into my stance. I plant my feet firmly, raise my guard, and square my shoulders before crouching a bit, bringing my right arm down and shooting it straight back up while I stood up with it, increasing my momentum and power, giving him a solid uppercut.
His feet got literally two inches off the mat, and he landed flat on his back. He was dazed for a bit before he sat up and rubbed his jaw. I saw him swish something in his mouth before he spat it out into his glove. A TOOTH! Just like I had warned. The looks on the instructor’s and kid’s faces were priceless.
The following year at school the kid would duck out of the room when he saw me enter. It was a fun year.”
13. Force Me To Take Two Weeks Off? Enjoy Running The Place On Your Own
“I used to work at this one coffee shop, my first chain coffee shop after working only at local or family-run ones. Simply put, it was a nightmare. Owners would micromanage everything without knowing anything about how the business ran, never listened to their staff, and only cared about the money.
Typical out-of-touch owners of a business.
I was hired to replace a manager who had walked out of one of their locations, leaving it with only part-time staff. I was told I was being hired on as the “acting manager” until they either hired someone else or they felt I would be a good fit for the position after my 6-month probation.
I won’t go into everything that went wrong because there’s a lot but to summarize, it was awful.
I was expected to cover all no shows (which had me working 90-100 hours a week), I wasn’t allowed to fire anyone no matter how many things they did wrong (someone actually showed up to work intoxicated, and I still wasn’t allowed to fire them), and any changes I wanted to implement were shot down (like replacing old parts in the espresso machine, shortening our hours to save money on labor, bringing in items that customers would always ask for).
I was stressed, overworked, and irritated when the owner comes in to talk to me about sales for the store.
We weren’t making enough to warrant the hours I had scheduled, and he wasn’t going to pay me any more overtime. I would only work the hours I’m scheduled, and if someone no-showed, I had to have someone else cover those shifts. I tried to explain to him that I only came in when no one else would cover, and it just so happened that the people he allowed to continue to work here had terrible availability.
Making the schedule was already hard enough, but getting someone other than myself to come in on their day off was next to impossible. On top of all that, I had to learn the ropes myself. There was no one to train me, so all the managerial knowledge, ordering, scheduling, I learned myself.
No one other than me knew how to order coffee, had the numbers for the repair guys, anything other than making coffee and using the til, I was the only one who knew.
He wasn’t hearing any of it.
Owner: “All I’m hearing is excuses. This is your store.
If you can’t handle running it, I’ll start looking for someone who will.”
Me: “Wasn’t that the plan though? It’s been 3 months since my probation period ended and you never gave me the manager position, so I assumed you were looking for someone to take over.”
Owner: “I think it’s in your best interest to take some time off.
Start thinking about your position here and whether you actually want to start moving up (I had mentioned in the interview I was looking forward to working my way up in the business).”
Me: “I can’t. There’s no one to cover me.”
Owner: “You’re taking this time off.”
Me: “Is this a paid break?”
Owner: “No, consider this a time out for you to get yourself sorted.
Take the two weeks to rest and we’ll see what your position will be like when you get back.”
Me: “Owner, I can’t really afford to take that amount of time off. I can’t even take 2 days without having to come in and cover.”
Owner: “Don’t worry about the business right now.
It’ll run without you.”
Now, to put it into perspective, I was basically the manager at that point. I made the schedules, I did the orders, I knew the codes to the safe and the alarm. I wasn’t allowed to hire someone to assist me, and no one worked enough time to be able to cover even half my shifts.
I knew this, the staff knew this, the customers knew this.
I made sure to block all work numbers and spent those 2 weeks looking for another job. I managed to find one after a few days that paid significantly more. I sent my resignation email to payroll and the owner (knowing he never checks it), deleted my account off the POS system (being a manager means I have access to it from home) and spent the rest of the leave catching up on well-deserved sleep, having blocked all work numbers.
I’m not getting paid, so I’m not working.
According to my coworkers, stuff started going wrong the next day. One of the openers didn’t show and the next staff member didn’t have keys. Owner wasn’t answering his phone, so they left a message. Owner didn’t show up until one of the regulars called asking if the place was closed down.
He showed up 4 hours after they were supposed to open.
Orders weren’t done, inventory was missed, 4 no shows; you name it, it went wrong.
Owner tried every way he could to get a hold of me, even using a customer’s phone to call me (too bad I didn’t answer any calls that weren’t in my contacts already).
After 2 weeks, I turn my phone back on and get a call the same day from Owner.
We agree to meet the next day.
Owner: “So, you’ve had some time to think.”
Me: “I have. It’s really given me perspective on my position here.”
Owner: “We can start you back on your normal hours for now, and we’re looking for a manager to take on more of your responsibilities.”
Me: “Oh, that’s good.
I’m actually quitting.”
He was silent for a few minutes. I think he was waiting to tell him I was kidding. Sucks for you buddy, I’m serious.
Me: “I’ve already e-mailed payroll and removed my log in from the computer. Here are my keys. Good luck.”
And I left.
Owner tried calling me a few times but stopped once I told him to check his e-mail.
I was on okay terms with some of the staff that worked there and apparently a majority of them had quit after I had left. Owner did find a replacement pretty quickly but without anyone to train them (owner didn’t know anything about running the business), and they were screwed from the get-go and left pretty soon after they were hired.
My petty butt is always checking reviews from customers and employees, and they have consistently sucked for the past year and seem to be on a downward trend.”
12. You Won't Get Away With Stealing Gas
“Worked at a convenience store several years ago.
This was back before gas pumps were all either card at the pump or prepay. It was about 7 am and the morning rush was on. A suspicious fella pulled up to our farthest away pump and positioned his car so that it was not easily visible from the building.
This is a dead giveaway for someone who is going to drive off without paying. My manager and I watch this guy as we are ringing up other customers and sure enough when he filled up, he gets in the car and peels out making a run for the road.
He leaves our lot via a small access road that ends at a traffic intersection.
Red light. He stops for the light, then decides he needs to get out of dodge and guns it again through the red light. When he does, he breaks his drive shaft.
Car coasts to a stop right in the middle of the intersection.
The guy walks back INTO THE STORE, and asks if he can use our phone because his car breaks down! My manager says: ‘Sure, after you pay for the gas you just stole.’ Guy gets all indignant, ‘I didn’t steal any gas!’ getting more and more agitated and confrontational.
Just then two police officers walk in.
Now, these are two lady cops, both in their late 50s early 60s who are usually stationed at the local high schools but always stop in for a coffee and a pastry. These ladies are the nicest people you’d ever meet, always with smiles on their faces.
As soon as they turn the corner after entering, they see the guy getting into it with my manager. Their demeanors changed in an instant, going from kindly grandmother to I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR TEETH IN in microseconds.
They manhandle this guy away from my manager, push him up against the wall, cuff him, and stuff him.
You know how you always think to yourself, ‘Why is there never a cop around when you need one?’ This time there was.”
11. Can't Treat Me Right At Work? Then See Ya
“I once found myself in a situation where I was forced to take a job at Blockbuster video. I had previously come from working in an independent store with lots of freedom, working with my closest friends, that eventually went out of business (go figure).
Anywho, my need for funds outstripped my pride so I succumbed to the corporate machine that was Blockbuster video. Every day I put on that uniform it stripped away from a new layer of my soul. Regardless, I’m an amicable fella who tends to get along with everybody so the new folks I worked with became fast friends – save for management.
The managers there were the stereotypical management archetypes we all love to hate from every film we’ve ever seen.
So, while being amicable, I just couldn’t really get along with these two people – the Assistant Manager in particular. That being said, I always did my job and did it well – I just didn’t let those two push me around.
In hindsight, I was likely out of line sometimes but there’s no fixing that today.
It’s probably worth noting at this point that before taking the job at Blockbuster I had also sent out my resume to an agency in the video game industry that I was woefully under-qualified for.
I somehow got an interview there but nothing ever came of it.
Fast forward a few months. I’m working the mid-day shift at work on a Tuesday afternoon. This was at the height of the time where, if a new release wasn’t in, you could get a rain check to get it for free the next time around.
A couple had come in to rent a film that I thought was completely rented out when in actuality it wasn’t out yet (it was the “coming soon” boxes that were out on the shelves).
I apologized to the couple and scanned the appropriate barcode to credit them for the film on their next visit.
The whole while the Assistant Manager is watching this unfold.
When the couple leaves she explains the error that I had made and tells me that she is going to have to write me up for theft against the company. I’ve obviously a bit upset by this as I’ve never stolen anything in my life.
I explained that I didn’t see it as theft but she won’t hear any of it and proceeds to write me up on a pink slip.
Once she’s done she says I’ll have to sign the slip as an admission that I was aware that what I had done was wrong.
Needless to say, I refused to do it. There was no way I was going to label myself as a thief when I had made a simple mistake in which my manager could have intervened and stopped.
As we’re arguing over the slip the phone in the store rings.
The Assistant Manager picks up the phone and tells me it’s for me.
The voice on the other end is unfamiliar to me but rings some bells in the back of my mind. It turns out it’s the man I had interviewed with months before for the job I was woefully underqualified for.
He explains that he had called my house (I was still living at home at the time) and my parents told him I was working. When he heard I was working at Blockbuster he decided I shouldn’t have to endure that for one more second (he was the best boss ever) so he asked for the local number there (he lived in Philly – I was in Canada) and called the store immediately to tell me I had the job if I wanted it.
Obviously, I said yes. I hang up the phone with a grin on my face. The Assistant Manager says that if I don’t sign the slip right away she’ll be forced to send me home without pay pending likely being fired. I say that I have a better idea and take my stupid Blockbuster shirt off there on the spot and tell her that she can kindly go screw herself, leaving her there to work the rest of the shift by herself with her stupid pink slip dangling in her hand.
I went in a couple of years later to rent a movie. She was serving me at the counter. The only thing I said to her was, “So, still working at Blockbuster eh?”
10. Can't Be A Decent Person? I'll Unleash The Birds
“For a little context, this is about my roommate’s “girl,” but they are so on again off again and have such a toxic relationship that I don’t even know what to call them, lol. So, I’ll just call her Hannah.
I have a roommate called “Dan.” I am not really fond of Dan, but he is my man’s best friend, so I tolerate his stupidity.
(That’s a whole different rant.) I just don’t talk to him unless it’s important.
Dan invited Hannah over to work their rocky relationship out since they were broken up at that time. Being 2020 and everything that’s gone on in the world, this really annoyed me since my man and I (we live together with Dan) didn’t want to have outsiders over.
I had tried messaging Dan about when she was leaving and about not having people over because I would need to disinfect the whole house once she was gone/done touching doorknobs. Apparently, his phone died, but I heard Hannah up and about in Dan’s room, so I decided to message her.
Long story short, she was really rude and disrespectful about the boundaries I was setting for the house.
And told me she didn’t care about how I felt about having visitors over. (A little more context, she used to live with Dan, but they broke up, and she moved out, so I think she feels entitled to be here still, even though she no longer pays the rent.)
ONTO THE STORY:
Dan and Hannah decided that instead, he would live at her house and that his car works better, even though he shouldn’t drive because he has a revoked license and needs an interlock installed before it’s supposed to be driven by anyone and that she would keep her car parked under a tree in front of our apartment for a month or more.
Well, I absolutely don’t like Hannah.
She was kinda… I don’t know, but she wasn’t nice before she was disrespectful to me in my own home.
So, after about a week of her car being there, I took birdseed and sprinkled it all over the roof of her car for 3 weeks straight until it got towed.
(This really WASN’T me. I’m not that much of a jerk no matter how much I didn’t like her. I think the neighbors thought it was abandoned.)
It’s normal to have a few bird poops on your car parked under a tree….
But this….
This was glorious.
Because of all the birdseed and placement of the car, there was bird poop ALL OVER it. And you can tell it’s not just a normal amount of bird poop… It’s excessive, and clearly, something was done (me and my birdseed) to make it worse.
Hehehehe.
I hope it takes several car washes to get it off.”
9. Can't Be Nice To Our Staff? Say Goodbye To Your Free Cookie
“This story happened about a year ago when I was working at an unnamed sandwich chain restaurant that was located in a very small tourist town, and the petty revenge was done by my coworker on my behalf.
The majority of the customers were regulars that worked nearby, and it was really slow when there wasn’t a high school sporting event or people going to the lake for summer.
Because it was usually slow, we were told to only prep limited ingredients, which were usually gone or very low by the end of the night.
Limited ingredients weren’t much of a problem since people were usually okay with waiting until we prepped more.. until now.
It was about 9:45 pm, and we close at 10 pm. I was manning the store while my coworker was on his lunch in the back of the restaurant. Suddenly, a rather old man (EM) walks in and by judging his demeanor, I can tell I’m in for a treat.
I wash my hands and put on a pair of gloves before walking over to help him.
Our exchange went as follows:
Me: Hello sir, welcome to (restaurant). How can I help you?
EM: Yes, I would like one of your rotisserie chicken sandwiches.
Me: I apologize, sir, we ran out of rotisserie chicken earlier.
I can go check if we have some more thawed in the back, and it will only take a moment to prep.
EM: -sighs and crosses his arms- Seriously? No, I don’t have time for that. I guess I will have a steak sandwich.
Me: … I apologize, sir, we are also out of steak.
Again, I can go check if we have more-
EM: -scoffs and rolls his eyes- Are you SERIOUS? You have one job, and you can’t even do that. I GUESS I will go for my last resort… Do you have any meatballs?
(I check, and thank god we have meatballs, but only for a 6 inch.)
Me: Yes, but we only have enough for a 6-inch sub.
If you would like a footlong, I could quickly heat some up-
EM: -somehow sighs even harder than before- You ONLY have enough for a 6 inch?! What kind of establishment is CONSTANTLY out of ingredients? Give me the 6 inch, I GUESS.
I do my absolute best to keep my customer service smile and cheery voice, but I was absolutely dying inside, and my coworker (who is VISIBLY angry) has now come to listen in on what’s happening.
I got the guy his bread, scooped the meatballs on with as much sauce that would fit, topped it with cheese, and toasted it. He made sure to sigh and roll his eyes at every opportunity as I was finishing up his food.
He says he wants it to go, so I wrap up the incredible sauce sandwich and ring him up.
Then another conversation ensues after he sees the total:
EM: Aren’t you going to give me my food for free?
Me: … I’m sorry?
EM: Well, I didn’t get the sandwich I wanted, and you took FOREVER (maybe 5 minutes tops) to make it! I should get my food for free!
Me: I’m sorry, I am not authorized to give away food for free.
EM: -looks at the cookie cabinet that has one single double chocolate cookie- Well, you could have at LEAST offered me a free cookie for all the trouble you’ve caused me! It’s just good business practice!
Me: … I apologize, sir, but I can not give away free cookies unless they are from yesterday’s batch.
(The cookies from the previous batch were not considered “fresh” and were usually written off anyway.)
EM: Well then, I will be speaking to the owner of the store since I know him personally! -he pays and goes to SIT IN THE LOBBY with his food to eat-
Now for the petty revenge…
After I finish the transaction, a young construction worker (C) who occasionally stops by after a job walks in and waits patiently while I wash and glove up again.
At this point, it’s about 9:55 pm, and I had shooed my coworker off to go finish his lunch since he only has 5 minutes left.
Me: Hello, what can I get for you today?
C: Yeah, can I get a footlong steak sandwich?
Me: Sure thing, but I will have to go see if we have any thawed in the back.
Give me just one moment!
C waits patiently while I prep a new container of steak, and it only takes about 30-45 seconds. (My coworker and I are in the back room trash-talking EM because he was still incredibly heated about me being degraded like that) before I’m back on the line.
I finish up his sandwich as fast as I can, and just as I start wrapping it up, my coworker clocks back on and says he can ring him up.
I saw the mischief on his face and knew exactly what was going to happen.
Coworker: Sir, would you like one free cookie with your meal since there was a delay in making your sandwich? We only have one left, but it’s the least I could do to thank you for your patience.
C: Oh, sure, thank you!
I smile brightly, pack up the cookie, and place it in the bag with his sandwich.
After C leaves, EM comes up to the counter looking FURIOUS and demands an explanation all the while I opt to start cleaning up the line, so I could watch this glorious moment unfold.
My coworker cheerily informs EM that since the store was closing in less than one minute, the cookie was going to be thrown out anyway and asked that EM leave the store, so we could close the lobby.
EM storms out of the store going off about bad business practice, never to be seen again. Neither of us got in trouble.
I truly miss that coworker.”
8. Take Down Our Shrubs Without Permission? Hope You Like These Next Plants
But they might not have the best scent.
“We’ve been having issues with Jerk Neighbor since they moved in last year.
He plays loud bass music OUTSIDE well past 1 am several nights each week, dumps his snow in our yard in winter, and generally makes a fool of himself.
He tried to start a fight with my husband over his suspicion that we had dug a four-inch dip at the street (it was a pothole that was there before either of us moved in).
Our homes are about 20 feet apart, and there was once a beautiful row of tall flower bushes halfway between our homes.
It was several feet onto my property, but last month we discovered that he had cut them all down and chopped up the trunks.
He knew it was our property, because he had recently measured out his property, and knew the border was at least five feet from the hedgerow.
However, without a fence, there was no way to prove they were on our property, and the lack of justice bothered us.
He now uses our lack of privacy to harass my husband every time he is in the yard, yelling nasty things and generally living up to his title as jerkhead.
It bothered us enough that now we are having an updated survey done, and redoing our backyard fence. It was normally about five feet from the property line, but not anymore. We are reclaiming every inch of our property, just up to the point where the fence is not considered ‘shared.’ We also decided to extend the fence into the front yard.
We are putting the fence out front not only to keep him away; It is there to protect our new investment.
We have strategically purchased replacement plants for the front and back yard. Oh, these new flowering Bradford pear trees will be beautiful. But more importantly, they emit a pungent odor of rotting fish and dog poop.
They are one of the stinkiest trees that grow in this climate. That said, we bought six and every one is now planted a few feet from his property line, on our side of the fence.
According to an NPR article “Simply put, these trees stink.”
“This whole place smells like dead fish,” says Sheila Titus.
“I mean everywhere. Everywhere you see one of these trees with the white on them.”
“They come up with this stinkin’ stuff comin’ out of them,” she says. “Oh God, it was terrible.”
Revenge is sweet, but in this case, it stinks.”
Another User Comments:
“A friend of mine had a neighbor like yours. He solved the problem by putting up surveillance cameras on the eaves of his house pointed at the area between the houses and neighbor’s property.
Once his neighbor spotted them, he no longer acted like a jerk where the cameras could see him.” for2fly
7. This Is Why You Shouldn't Tailgate Me
“So this takes place in a medium-size city during rush hour.
So I was driving home after work, and the way traffic was set up, I ended up in the far left of three lanes going a safe 5 or 6 over. When a jerk comes flying up onto my butt.
So when Jerk came flying up, I wasn’t really in a position to get over for them to pass me right away, which I normally would do. I was in the middle of passing somebody, but traffic to my right wasn’t bumper to bumper, so give me a few seconds and I could (but would be contesting traffic).
So basically, I didn’t have anywhere to go but forward, and Jerk was stuck behind me.
So when somebody comes flying right up onto my back bumper, I take a look in my rearview at their reaction to me. If they don’t react poorly, I get over when I can and let them go.
But this lady lost it, throwing her hands up, trying to wave me over and everything.
So I started to mess with her. I placed myself to where I could get over when I wanted, but she couldn’t pass me, slowed a little bit sometimes, sped back up.
Doing enough to make sure she stayed behind me and didn’t just swerve through traffic and go around me. But that wasn’t the revenge.
You see, we were on a notorious stretch of the interstate, and I knew a couple of miles ahead of where there was a speed camera.
And I was guessing she either did not know about it or would be too angry to realize where we were on the highway.
So just before we got to the camera, I got over to let her pass and watched her fly past me, flip me off, and definitely get a speeding ticket.
For those of you saying what I did is dangerous, allow me to clarify a few things:
(1) it’s not that busy traffic-wise, but I was not in an easy position to get out of my lane originally. I drive a big 8 seat truck, and the slot I would’ve gotten into to let her pass if she hadn’t have been so rude was not big enough to fit me.
I would’ve had to throw on a turn signal and hope the car beside me slowed down to let me in.
(2) My speeding up and slowing down wasn’t as dangerous as it sounded originally. My truck’s cruise control does not work, so I always fluctuate a few MPH anyway.
Usually, I’ll have a lead foot and speed up too much before slowing down. All I was doing this time to change speed was let off the gas some, before speeding back up to my spot. I wasn’t brake-checking her or anything.
(3) After she originally flew up on me and freaked out for a minute, she backed off enough that I wasn’t worried about being rear-ended or anything.
(4) I wasn’t really impeding traffic at that speed.
This whole time I was still going anywhere from 4-9 MPH over, which is the same as the rest of the traffic. Because of those speed cams, there’s maybe a half dozen people a day that would pass you going that fast any given day.”
6. Customer Thought I Was Going Too Fast, So I Slowed Down For Her
If that’s the pace you want to go, lady.
“I have recently had a nightmare of a week, and I am on edge as I get into work. I work at a certain generic Mexican restaurant where you walk down lines and create your burrito or bowl as you go.
I’m on the line, which means that I’m the person you go to, and I make your food for you and then ring you up unless someone takes register. We’re broken up into two areas.
We have the wells, which are where we have rice and beans, meat, quesos, and soup with some grilled veggies.
Then we have sauces which include all kinds of hot sauces you can put on: corn salsa, pico, lettuce, the gist basically.
Now, when you get this job, it becomes mind-numbingly easy after about a month, and you get it all figured out, and I can get someone through the line within 5 minutes with the cashier taking the longest part.
It’s not hard to get through quickly and to make sure I have the customer’s order right if they actually pay attention.
Due to recent events, we aren’t allowed to serve anyone who doesn’t have a mask on. So this woman comes in on the phone, which screw customers who do this, by the way.
And she has her mask pulled below her chin.
I ask her to put it on, and she rolls her eyes and does so. I also want to preface that I am hard of hearing, so if you speak up and pronounce your words, I’m good.
So she starts with mumbling her order to me and then loudly talking to her husband on the phone.
I ask her to speak up. She wants two nacho bowls. Alright, I put in the cheese, get her rice and beans done, then we move to the meat.
Like I said, I’ve had a real bad week at this point, and my ability to cover up this and be a polite sugary sweet server is fading quickly.
And she yells into the phone, “Oh, you want ground beef?” And turns to me and says, “Put on some ground beef and then steak on that one, I guess.” I do so and get them all the way to the next area, I’m actually going slow today because of her behavior, and at this point, I probably would have had at least two people out and could have started cleaning the line.
I’m naturally fast, and I’m trying to get her out quickly cause it’s 8:30 PM, and I want to clean.
She tries to talk into her phone and just looks at me and says, “God, I can’t breathe in this” and takes off her mask! Again! I tell her she has to wear it; I’m not allowed to serve her without one.
She AGAIN rolls her eyes as hard as she can and puts it on and grumbles to her husband about stupid regulations.
So, she’s taking forever. This is going the pace of a snail, and she won’t even talk to me or speak up except to yell into her phone.
And I’m asking her what sauces she wants when she interrupts me to yell into her phone, “Oh, you don’t want ground beef? Well, she already put it on; this girl is going too fast!”
And she says it in the most sarcastic voice I’ve ever had a customer use, so I snapped.
I immediately dropped the spoon and decided I was having trouble with her bowl!!! It was stuck to the counter, oh boo!
She asked for pico. I kept dropping the ladle and would dig through the bin to find the most perfect scoop. She wanted lettuce? Well, I might as well arrange it leaf by leaf on each of her bowls.
Onions? Let’s just be safe and not spill anything!
I tell my coworker that I’ll ring her up, and I slowly pick out the most perfect bowl lid, make sure it’s securely on her nacho bowls, cause we only want perfection for her. And then rang her up for every single thing she has on her bowls.
Usually, if customers are nice, we only charge by meat. But she was charged for every single thing on her bowls.
Then she randomly yells to me while I’m slowly typing in everything that she wants some sides of sour creams! I tell my coworker I’ve got it, just clean up.
And I make her the most perfect sides of sour cream I possibly could and took my time with it. Then she asked for guac, so I made sure, as to not make a mess, to grab half scoops at a time.
Finally, she’s paid for close to 25 dollars worth of food because she kept asking for sides.
I managed to slowly get her receipt and THEN bagged all of her items, making sure I had only the best napkins and forks for her of course.
Then smiled at her and said have a nice night. She scowled and left.
You’d think after me dragging my feet and grinning like a maniac from behind my mask, she’d be sick of our nonsense and just leave, but nope.
See, we had run out of all of our fried products that night, meaning no tortilla bowls, no tortilla strips, and most importantly, no chips.
My manager said don’t give chips out to anyone in person; we need them for our online orders, and I had told this lady that I can’t give her chips when we started her order, but she seemed to have not noticed.
So she angrily calls my manager and demands we bring her chips and that we forgot half her order.
My manager had seen this whole thing and had been laughing the whole time, but now he’s sick of dealing with her.
Finally, this woman comes back, and she walks in – shocker, without a mask! And she yells at us from the door to bring her the chips! My manager just tells her to leave, and she can grab them if she has a mask on.
She yells at us, asking if we really are gonna make her go all the way back to her car? He just says, “Yup.”
She is livid at this point, and she stomps back to her car, obviously yelling obscenities, and comes back about 2 minutes later.
So when she came back in and was standing at the counter asking (yelling) for her chips, I decided to make her chips.
I made sure her chips were perfect for her and scooped her chips in and then packaged them just so.
I walked it to her around the cash register and handed it to her and smiled, telling her I hope she enjoyed our service and have a wonderful night.”
5. Make A Ruckus During My Exam? I'll Show You Noise
“I’m a freshman at an amazing university, and sadly, I had to leave my amazing student apartment and go back to my parents’ apartment because my mom wanted the family to be together. The student apartment I have is located pretty close to the campus, and it takes me about 10 minutes to reach the campus.
The reason my parents rented me that place was because my parents’ apartment is on the other side of the city, and with the different times the classes start, my mom didn’t want me to struggle with transportation.
I packed most of my stuff and went back to my parents’ apartment to stay there until life turns back to normal.
The story:
It was a terrible time to move home because it was almost time for my midterm exams. We had online classes, and our midterms were online too.
I’m an English Language Teaching degree student, and one of the classes I take is Oral Communication Skills.
For the midterm of that class, the professor divided us into groups and wanted us to send him a group presentation.
My friends and I chose our presentation material and had set up a video call to record the exam assignment.
We were making fairly decent progress until I heard our next-door neighbor talking very loudly.
I was on the balcony because I didn’t have a desk in my room. (We had taken it to my student apartment. Also, the balcony is not an open balcony.) I thought, “No big deal. It’s not too loud” and continued with my exam. But, then, the kids decided to have a screaming match.
I think they were fighting over a toy. And the jerk was not even trying to stop them.
I was panicked because if the screaming could be heard in the recording, it would affect our performance, and all group members would receive a lower score, and there was no way I was going to let this jerk ruin my exam.
So, I asked my friends to stop the recording. Then I banged on the wall as hard as I could, so hard that I felt like I broke my hands. The noise didn’t stop. So, I banged harder and harder, and finally, the noise stopped for some time.
I went back to the video call and told my friends that I was ready. We recorded our assignment without any disturbances and then submitted it.
After the assignment was done, I told my mom what happened. She was LIVID! She was gonna confront the jerk, but I told her that I had a plan.
I went back to the balcony and turned the sound of my laptop up to the highest level. Then I played the loudest music and noises I could find.
The next day, I did the same thing by using my iPad. I placed it super close to the wall that divided our doors and let my playlist play on the highest volume.
It went on for a few more days, and I finally stopped. And would you look at that? I never heard a single noise ever again.
That was not the only time though. Every time she opened her front door, her kids screamed like demons who got splashed with holy water.
She never told them to stop. So, I always opened my door a bit and let out the highest scream sound effect through the speaker of my iPad.
As for the other neighbors, they never complained about my revenge because they were sick of that jerk as well.
And the main reason I resorted to this method was because of the ignorance of this jerk.”
4. Don't Roast Your Students If You Don't Want To Be Roasted Back
“A bit of information to explain some details: here in the UK, we have what we call “secondary education” or “secondary school.” It starts with nursery, then infants, primary, and then secondary, and tertiary education is college or equivalent. I think secondary school is equivalent to the US grades 7 to 12.
My secondary education ended in the year 2000. Secondary education lasts 5 years with each year split into 3 terms. If you take out all of the holidays, then each year was something like 9 months. So each term was 3 months. Each term was split in the middle with what we called “half-term.” So start of term, half-term, and end of the term.
Also to make note, back then, the UK education system had a habit of not firing teachers but rather trying to hide problem teachers by transferring them to another school in another town or city unless something major happens that involves police, etc. These days, the schools are academies, owned and run by businesses with government funding, etc., and are far more strict, sometimes more strict than prisons.
But that is another story.
In my first year of secondary school, we had a French teacher in a literal sense. She was French, accent included, who had come to teach the French language to us English speakers. It was her first year in our school.
We also had a couple of students from upbringings where anything less than an “A” in grades is not acceptable.
Also in every class of every year, you had the girls that never stop talking (chatterboxes), the bullies, the fashion fanatics, the teachers’ pets, etc. To make note, teachers’ pets were those that desired an education and worked hard for it, which means they were lowest on the student food chain and targeted for the other types.
I cannot remember her name, so let’s just call her “Mademoiselle Chienne.” You can use a translator for that name if you want.
Mademoiselle Chienne was teaching French to classes of different years, and almost straight off the whistle, she was rude and condescending to her students.
If you couldn’t say, “Hello, my name is…” in French after the first week, then you’re not worth teaching.
My class had Mademoiselle Chienne, two of the smart students, a couple of bullies, a couple of chatterboxes, and several teachers’ pets. I was, unfortunately, part of the teachers’ pet category with dire consequences for me, but that’s another story.
Mademoiselle Chienne had a habit of talking aloud to herself but in her native language.
When Mademoiselle Chienne would teach us about a part of the language for the day and told us to put our noses into the study books, she would return to her desk and watch the class. This is also the moment when the chatterboxes would start talking to each other about anything and everything not class-related.
A bully would kick the student’s chair in front, etc.
Whenever the chatterboxes would start up, Mademoiselle Chienne would shake her head and mutter something rude in French before calling out for them to be quiet. As you know, these sort of chatterboxes will only shut up for 2 minutes at most causing her to mutter other awful things about the students.
However, one of the smart students sat at the front of the class next to her desk, so he could hear her muttering.
But he wasn’t the only one. As he needed top marks in French along with other subjects, he started learning what she was muttering.
After only a few weeks, he had learned what she was muttering and wasn’t happy. He had gone straight to the Headmaster but was dismissed by telling him that he had only just started learning French, so he doesn’t know what he was talking about.
So he went to the chatterboxes and explained what was happening.
Well, you can guess what happens. The chatterboxes weren’t happy and did what they did best. They started talking incessantly to other students, and as you know, news can spread around a school faster than a plague.
The news was also backed up by older students who knew much more French and had also learned what Mademoiselle Chienne was muttering but didn’t bother doing anything because it was their final year in the school.
Within 2 days, Mademoiselle Chienne had become the most hated teacher in school.
As the higher-ups won’t do anything, the students took matters into their own hands. There was no physical violence, only getting back at her the same way as she got to the students.
It wasn’t long until students started coming up with rude sentences, phrases, and single words in French and started using them in her classes or when they passed her in the corridors, etc.
Sentences when translated would be something like, “Good morning Mademoiselle Chienne. How was your night last night with your many husbands?” She would hand out detentions to as many students as she could who spoke like that to her.
Students would knuckle down and learn in her lessons, but as soon as she muttered something rude about a student who got something wrong, most of the class would say those French words back at her.
She was shocked that students were talking to and about her like that.
There were even school assemblies where the headmaster would tell the school that bullying teachers is not acceptable, only to be shot down by the school for hypocrisy.
When the school returned for second term, we found that Mademoiselle Chienne wasn’t there. Her lessons had a substitute teacher.
Then after half-term of the second-term period came round, Mademoiselle Chienne was completely replaced.
For years, no one knew what happened to her. Did she quit? Was she fired? Transferred? There were rumors that she returned to France. Others that she moved to another school. No one could get an honest answer out of the administration, teachers, etc. All we knew was that she stayed for a third of the school year and then was gone.”
3. Threaten Me? I'll Booger-fy Your Car
“When I was a kid, my sinuses were really messed up. I basically had chronic sinusitis and could make loogies on command. This is important to know for later.
Where I lived, behind our house was a canyon. You could drive or walk right up to the lip of the Canyon and climb down, or there was a road farther off where you could drive into the canyon.
My friend and his brother would get babysat by their aunt, who was my neighbor, and we would go out there and play all the time. It was a great place for adventures.
One day, when my friend and I were in 6th or 7th grade, and his brother was in 4th or 5th, we were playing in that area, and these 2 guys drove their truck down to where we were.
As we’re walking back to our houses, we had to walk near their truck.
They started shouting some horrendous and vulgar stuff at us. They then threatened us. Us being relatively smart kids, we ran.
So, I’m sure that they were probably just playing around, but when we told my friend’s aunt what happened, she immediately called the police.
Anyway, they apparently just thought they were playing around because they stuck around. The police got there and asked us what happened. Right as they were about to leave, 15 minutes later, to go find them, the guys came out of the canyon road, and we pointed them out.
They were pulled over and arrested. Turned out, they got charged with not only felony menacing charges for threatening us, but they were both incredibly intoxicated, so the driver got a DUI charge, and the passenger got an intoxicated in public charge.
Fast forward like a year, and I’m at my same friend’s house on the other side of town.
After walking down the street to go play at the school, we see a familiar truck. After watching it, we definitely figured out that it was who we thought it was. We wanted revenge.
After a couple of weeks, we notice that that dude always kept his windows down, so we started to think of things that we could do to the truck as revenge.
We were at a loss.
Well, one day, we’re at my house playing in my tree, and I start to make loogie bombs. This included taking the big tree leaves, filling them with loogies, then folding them up and throwing them. They weren’t accurate at all and didn’t work well, but my friend had a lightbulb moment.
The next time I am at his house, we check to see if the truck is there. We go up to the open window, and I spend about 5 minutes hiding behind that door hocking loogies all over the seat, steering wheel, dashboard, and radio just as much as I possibly can.
There was a pool of loogies in the seat and loogies dripping off everything.
We didn’t get to see the reaction, but I did do it a couple more times until he started keeping the windows rolled up. I was pretty happy as that meant it had an impact.”
2. Ruin My One Chance To Sleep In? I'll Show You How Shared Walls Really Work
“Some years ago, I had a very difficult, physically demanding job. I was also surrounded by noisy neighbors. I was constantly exhausted from being overworked and being kept up late, and I couldn’t afford to move or quit.
I had Christmas Eve off. Nearly all of the noisy neighbors had gone out of town.
I planned to sleep in on Christmas Eve.
It was my ONLY chance to do so that entire year, no joke. (By this point, I’d been chronically sleep-deprived for months.)
Instead, I was rudely awakened at 6 am by a loud and violent WHAM coming from the wall behind my headboard.
It was followed by an even louder barrage of banging, thudding, and stomping, all coming from the apartment next to mine (which shared walls with the bedroom and living room).
After 15 minutes of that racket, I finally threw on my bathrobe and went next door.
A new neighbor was moving in, which would have been fine, but quiet hours didn’t end until 8.
I’d only had 4 hours of sleep due to a different noisy neighbor, and the movers were making a completely unreasonable amount of noise.
I have moved enough to know that noise is inevitable. But violently slamming furniture into walls, stampeding up and down the stairs, slamming doors, making the adjoining apartment shake, etc.
is NOT normal.
I’ve never had movers be anywhere near that noise level, and I own heavy antique furniture.
I asked the new neighbor if she would please ask the movers to keep it down or at least stop banging on my bedroom wall during quiet hours.
She REFUSED to even ask.
The banging and shaking went on for FIVE HOURS. I would have gone to the movies if I hadn’t been too exhausted to drive safely. (By the way, I have a sensory disorder. I have never been able to stand noise.
Prolonged loud noise is the fastest way to drive me up the wall.)
After the nightmare movers FINALLY left, I heard her pounding a nail into a wall.
BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. Five hard bangs from my side of the wall. Pounding stopped.
She plugged something into a wall socket.
(Yes, I could hear it – the walls were paper thin). BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM.
After several days of this, she seemed to finally understand the severity of the noise level with those thin walls. I never heard a peep out of that entitled jerk again.”
And neighbor began pounding nails in the wall too!
And her revenge was ever time neighbor made noises she banged on the wall to make a point.
Geez.
1. Oh, You'll Get Your Extra Sausage, Alright
“This happened around March of 2020 and just before I lost my last job.
I worked at a local pizza shop, and one day, I get an order for a medium stuffed crust with pepperoni and extra sausage. Already a pretty annoying pizza because I have to use a large dough and roll cheese sticks into the crust (why stuffed crust can be so expensive), so I stuff a large dough, sauce it, and cheese it.
Pretty mundane stuff. Then comes the toppings. I lay out the normal amount of pepperoni and get to weighing the toppings. (We do all our topping by weight, so it’s always exactly what the customer is paying for (foreshadowing).
I weigh out exactly twice the amount of sausage and evenly distribute it over the pizza.
Throw it in the oven, boom. Medium stuffed crust with pepperoni and EXTRA sausage. Pizza goes out, no big deal, wait for the next order.
But wait, there is a big deal. My manager comes back to the kitchen after running the pizza out to the table the customer was sitting at.
My manager tells me the customer wasn’t happy with the amount of sausage that was on the pizza and complained that it wasn’t extra sausage at all. I weighed out the ingredients, and it was a mathematically perfect pizza. But alright, no big deal; in cases like these, we can just run extra toppings through the oven and put it on the pizza.
My manager is then happy to inform me that he doesn’t want to give back the other pizza??? And he still wants to eat the other one, so I have to make him ANOTHER one, for FREE.
This is where the malicious compliance comes in. This guy wants extra sausage? He can HAVE extra sausage.
After proofing my idea with my manager, (so I don’t get myself fired), I decide to use ALL of our sausage. We keep ingredients in small containers, so it’s not a crazy amount, but it still was a lot. When I had completed my masterpiece, there was a solid layer of sausage across the top of the pizza.
You couldn’t see the pepperoni; it was lost in the sausage sea. Manager thought it looked good, so I tossed it in the oven and cut it up.
Normally, before every pizza goes out, we put a knife under a slice so customers can cut it extra if they want. For this guy, I gave him a spoon.”
Another User Comments:
“So your manager gave away at least 6x the amount of sausage as should have been paid for? Fire the manager for not knowing how to run a pizza shop.” PublicRedditor
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