People Share Their Spicy Hot Revenge Stories

“So this happened to me years ago (1985?). My mother worked for what was the first computer supply company in the USA in lovely Compton, California, the gang capital of the world at the time. She had heard they needed an order puller and I got the job. I hated this job right away because for some reason after busting my a** for 8 + hours a day, I’d go to sleep and dream I was still working, so I always felt tired.

Most of the guys I worked with were good guys. One was a former Mexican Mafia gang member, “Victor,” who gave up the life and really turned his life around.

One day, they hired “Gino.” He was an Italian American but wanted to be a Mexican gang banger more than anything. He latched on to Victor after finding out about his past and was always asking about the gang lifestyle and he was hoping that Victor could help him get into the gang.

Victor told him about his life but refused to introduce him as he gave that up and didn’t want to go back. Gino wasn’t happy about this.

One day, I started noticing Gino was finished working before all of us, and that for some reason, I was not finishing until way later than the others. I wasn’t slacking or working slow, so I started to wonder why.

Then one day, I saw Gino coming out of the Warehouse Manager’s office area (it was just a desk between two partitions) acting strange when he noticed I saw him. We were given our stacks of orders for the day and I noticed that mine was double the size of Gino’s. I figured out he must have been putting his orders in my stack before the manager gave them out but had no proof.

The next day, I got there early and climbed up on one of the storage racks (you know the kind you see at Home Depot) above the desk where I couldn’t be seen. The manager was inside the office getting coffee when I saw Gino go to his desk and slip half of his orders into my pile. I waited until he left and went inside to tell the manager.

He came out and counted the orders and noticed I had many more than I should have and Gino’s were half of what he gave him. When we all got together to get our orders later, all of them had a few extra in them and Gino was gone. He got fired for what he did, but to make matters worse, he told Victor that he was coming back to kill me for reporting him, and Victor advised I leave because he knew he was serious and that Gino wanted to have something like a killing on his reputation for getting into a gang.

I was furious at the manager for telling him I reported him, so I quit on the spot but not before going inside to tell my mom what happened. She was good friends with the owner and told him about the incident and he was so sorry it happened and he promptly walked out into the warehouse and fired the manager for putting my life in danger by not being more discrete about who reported Gino (I heard later he threw me under the bus because he was afraid of Gino himself).

Fast forward a few months and I had a better job working at a well-known amusement park. One night, the local Los Angeles Channel had a special on gang violence that I watched. One segment was about a armed robbery in which two gang members robbed a convenience store and the store video had the two gang members faces clearly on the screen and there was sound also.

They not only robbed the store, but the one gang member shot and killed the clerk for no reason. Guess who that gang member was? Gino! I recognized him by his face, tattoos, and voice.

At the end, they said it was still unsolved and to call the LA County Sheriffs if there was any information. I called immediately and two detectives came by the next morning. A few weeks later, the detective called me to thank me because they not only arrested him but got the other guy too. Dumb a** Gino even had the murder weapon on him when arrested. They contacted me a few months later to inform me that Gino and his friend both got life without parole. Don’t bend over for that soap, Gino.”

“Now before I became a friendly, cookie-loving teddy bear, I was a thin, mean little theatre goth who got into frequent fights. It’s what happens when you’re black, nerdy, and gay while growing up in rural Virginia. I especially could not stand it when people picked on my friends. In comes the evil cheerleader. We’ll call her Bea.

Now some of you might be rolling your eyes at this.

Evil cheerleader? Oh no…what a terrible cliché. But our school was a little different. You see, she was the only evil cheerleader. The rest of the team was super nice and did a lot of interschool outreach. Anyways, Bea liked to stomp through the hallways like she owned the place and would viciously bully anyone who looked at her wrong. Naturally, my confrontational a** would stare at her like she was a bug every time I saw her.

Up to that point, she had only had beef with me. We’d trade insults, she’d start a rumor about me, I’d pour soda on her hair, that sort of thing. Then she saw me with one of my shy theatre friends who we’ll call Kay. I was more than Bea’s match, so instead, she chose to go after Kay. Kay was such a wonderful human. Never said a bad word about anyone.

Was always willing to help people. AND SHE MADE THE BEST SMORES COOKIES. Kay also had the unfortunate habit of just letting people treat her however they wanted and not saying anything about it.

So imagine my sheer fury when I see Bea slamming Kay against the locker by her hair, calling her the n-word. You wanna try to bully me, fine. You wanna call me outside my name, fine.

What you will not do is come after my friends with racism and violence. Not today, baby girl. I immediately ran over and slapped Bea as hard as I could. Now due to my height and ethnicity, I’ve been taught that I shouldn’t start physical altercations with women as it never looks good. I cared just enough to not deck that c*nt. As Bea was picking her face off the floor, she thought it would be a good idea to double down on the racism.

Bea: All you n*****s are wife beaters!
Me: Come again? I slapped you because you were hurting my friend. What is wrong with you?
Bea: She stole something from me like the dirty monkey she is!
Me: …Again, what is wrong with you?

Her insults really weren’t making sense. Looking back, I think she was just trying to say the most racially offensive thing she could think of without any real consideration of reality, which is just a terrible roasting technique.

Me: You know what? I have less than zero f*cks to give you right now. You come near my friends again and I will literally snatch your uterus out with my bare hands.
Bea: We’ll see what my man says about that!
Me: Oh no… Not your man…(sarcasm)

She walked away spitting more bullsh*t, but at that point, I chose to ignore her and focus on Kay who had a small knot forming on her forehead.

I took Kay to the nurse’s office and begged her to report Bea. Kay didn’t want to because I might get in trouble too. I told her that I didn’t care; slapping that b*tch was worth it. But Kay didn’t budge. After Kay got an ice pack, we were both sent back to class and the rest of the day went on as usual. After school, I was on my way to Anime Club (yes, I’m a weeb), and who should show up but Bea’s guy, who we’ll call Bob.

Now Bob was a soft-spoken guy who only got cool points because he was on the football team. Peel off the football team luster and you have a walking, talking doormat who’s about as intimidating as a medicated cotton ball. So he and his boys waltz on up to me, spitting some wannabe threatening line about making me disappear. His friends laughed at him which exasperated the snot out of me.

Most punks are all talk. You stand your ground and they’ll back off. Unless they have their friends with them. The moment they lose face in front of their crew, they become much more likely to do something stupid. So of course he rushes me. Now I’ve got something of a conundrum. I’m scrappy, but I’m by no means a bada**. There are five of them and one of me.

So if I can drop this dude, I have to be able to either put on a good show so they don’t engage or run.

Considering I was extra as f*ck, I decided to put on a show. I use Bob’s momentum and I slam him into a nearby locker, putting my forearm on his throat. Now I don’t remember what threat I whispered to Bob, but I’m going to assume it was effective because he went still.

Now what I do remember was what happened next. Now due to how I was holding him against the locker, our bodies were pretty close. Too close. Because I felt something press against my thigh. Now I’m thinking it’s a weapon or a phone or something. Nope. Homeboy was aroused. Why? No clue. All I do know was that things had gotten really awkward. I let him go and high tailed it out of there because I’m equal parts “wtf” and “did that really just happen?”

During Anime Club, I told Kay all about what happened.

She laughed because of course she did, but then a look crept in her eye. It was this devious little smirk that I had never seen up till that point. She looked at me and told me that if we wanted to, we could use this to teach Bea a lesson. I’m thinking she meant like a rumor or using this to insult her but no.

Kay had something far worse in mind. It’s true what they say about the quiet ones.

So after a few days and some additional planning, it was time to put our revenge into motion. I found Bob and asked to speak with him privately, so we went into the spare classroom that the school never really uses. After some back and forth, Bob confirmed that he was bisexual.

Some cringe-worthy flirting later, Bob and I are making out. All according to plan. Bea would walk in, see us, and be humiliated. Now I do want to mention that hindsight is 20/20. We were teenagers and we really didn’t understand how problematic this plan was on a social scale. Bea deserved some karmic justice, but this really shouldn’t have been it. That being said, Bob was an eager beaver.

He didn’t stop at just making out. He uh…went down south if you catch my meaning. Me being hormonal and admittedly starved for a little attention, I really didn’t see any reason to stop him. So when Kay led Bea into the room, she got to see probably exactly what she didn’t want to see.

Now to Bea’s credit, she was not homophobic towards Bob in any way.

In that highly problematic situation, she had plenty of opportunities. She was, however, furious at him cheating on her with one of her sworn enemies. And an n-word to boot. She screamed at him for almost fifteen minutes before a teacher had come by and demanded that we head to class.

Later, Bea found me at lunch and called a ceasefire of sorts. She agreed to only target me if I agreed to stay away from Bob. I agreed, knowing full well that Bob was coming over to my house that afternoon. Bea and I would continue to antagonize each other until I moved away but it was never as severe. In some ways, I think we kinda broke her confidence a little. Oh well. Don’t be a racist c*nt and people won’t want to get back at you.”

“So this takes place when I was 16, wide-eyed, full of wonder, and (much to a lot of judges displeasures) unable to be tried as an adult. I had myself a big brother who we’ll call Elio. And like many big brothers at the time, he was coming to terms with his flowering sexuality (among other things that went shooting up from otherwise flat surfaces whenever Robin appeared onscreen in Batman Forever).

He did his best to keep it a secret, plastering Playboy centerfolds over his Ariana Grande posters, and stoically sitting through the game with my dad during Superbowl parties (albeit through gritted teeth probably wishing he could watch a Britney Spears music video instead). But much like a Nintendo switch under the tree on Christmas Eve, you can’t keep something this major under wraps for long where nosy kids are involved, the nosy kid, in this case, being me.

Like many twinks who came before him upon discovering an alternative lifestyle from the rigid confines of toxic heterosexual masculinity, Elio took it upon himself to explore his feminine side.  Ironically, this eagerness to play up the girly shtick was how he came to succumb to the worst sin you can commit as a brother- stealing your sister’s clothes. (A message to all the gay men reading this.

Her wardrobe is not your experimental laboratory, and you ain’t Dr. Frankenstein.)

Now in my defense, if Elio had the decency to just ask me to borrow my stuff, under the guise of shopping for some made-up girl with the same shoe size/colors/height as myself, I’d have happily obliged. Heck, if he had just offered himself up as a sacrificial lamb modeling for my startup “clothing line” (sixteen year old me considered herself a fashionista with a penchant for designing outfits and recycling her wardrobe to bring them to life) I’d have been all to eager to be his guide into the world of women’s fashion.

But the two-faced b*stard opted to sneak into my closet and try on my stuff without permission.

He thought he was being slick putting them back when he was done, but I was a petite women’s zero and he was a men’s medium. Now had he simply owned up to being incompatible with my measurements and admitted his crime to me the first time, I might have restrained from the retribution I’d go onto unleash.

But instead, he continued to indulge in his deluded fantasy that we were the same size and for weeks/ I’d try on my clothes only to find them grotesquely stretched out of shape with no explanation.

I tried hiding my clothes in parts of the closet I didn’t think the thief would check, only for him to find them. I began sleeping with my favorite clothes like a stuffed animal, but even my embrace couldn’t protect them from being warped beyond wearability.

I started hiding my junior prom dress under the bed. At one point, I was lowkey starting to consider the possibility that I was beginning to shrink. And had I not come home early from a canceled SAT prep session one afternoon (my tutor got wind of a family emergency halfway through), this story might have otherwise ended with me in a straight jacked begging some burned out shrink to save me before I went microscopic.

But fate had other plans.

I made a beeline for my room to find sounds coming from behind the door. Upon realizing that I was bearing witness to the dastardly clothing deformer, I hid in the bathroom in the corridor and peeked through a crack in the door for the culprit to leave my room. Imagine my shock when I discovered it was Elio. To my horror, I watched him go under my bed to place something there and upon his departure, my worst fears were confirmed- he had tried on my beloved prom dress! (Earlier in the week, I had bragged to him about the lengths I had gone to hide it from the “closet ghost” thinking it would go through one ear and out the other with him and just wanting an excuse to flex on how smart I was to take extra precautions.) I storm in, demanding to know why he was wearing my clothes.

He condescendingly tells me that he looks better in them than I do.

I was heartbroken to find that the zipper had broken and the fit was horribly mangled! I went down in tears begging for my mom to tell me it could be salvaged, only for her to tell me what I prayed she wouldn’t). She wasn’t particularly sympathetic, thinking I had done the damage myself, and refused to buy me another one.

I demanded that Elio pay me back for the dress, so I could buy another, but he gave me less than half of what it cost. He refused to believe that it cost more than what I said it did, and unfortunately, my mom didn’t have the receipt to prove it on account of being a bit scatterbrained when it comes to keeping track of payments.

When I threatened to tell her that he was the one who ruined the dress, he laughed and said they’d never believe me.

In spite of my rage and fury sending me into a frenzy of hysterics, I still knew he was right (the two-faced b*stard deserved an Oscar for his straight facade and even if he was prancing around in a rainbow unitard singing Born This Way by Lady Gaga, my folks were the type who would deny his gayness right up until the moment they came home to find him getting jackhammered on the kitchen table by a Puerto Rican bodybuilder).

I realized that if I wanted to get even, I needed my own plan of action. And that was to hit him where it hurt. The answers lay in his phone.

After several weeks of casually walking behind the couch every time Elio whipped out his phone on it, I finally figured out his phone pin. He always locked his room, but thanks to some YouTube tutorials on how to pick a basic door lock with a Bobby pin, that problem quickly resolved itself.

Every time Elio went to shower, I’d sneak in and hack his phone, giving myself a fifteen-minute crash course on all things valued by ur typical bottom. It turns out he fancied himself the next biggest thing in the drag scene. He was using my outfits to cement his status as “the rising star of the social media drag scene.” I thought about deleting his account, but I didn’t want him suspecting me of it and tattling to my folks.

Besides, he could always just create a new one and start over again.

He liked drag race, Kpop, and iced coffee, but I couldn’t exactly ruin his chances of getting on the show, and in the digital age, he had no CDs to smash or switch out. Of course, there was always the option of spiking his coffee with something nasty but I wanted him to feel the pain I did.

And that pain simply wasn’t comparable to a wasted $5.99 plus tax. I was about to concede defeat after about 2 weeks of trying to find something when I discovered he downloaded Grindr.

After my initial revulsion to the app (no, not because I was a homophobe but because his profile and was full of his nudes). Regardless of what he was into, I didn’t find my brother’s ding dong appealing.

I doubt any sister does. Elio wasn’t really into hookups, but apparently, he did like sending nudes to whoever asked for them. It’s important to note that he always blurred or blacked out his face for privacy, and he appeared to color in the background of all his pictures with the image editing on his phone post-production, and he always kept his location on “Never.” I suddenly understood why he had taken to hogging the bathroom for up to 20 minutes over the weekend.

I just assumed that he was just paying the price for going to Chipotle every Friday with friends, but now I knew. He was basically trying to find the best angles for his customers. And just like that I finally had a plan.

What I did next was not something I’m proud of, but I was bitter, hurting, and desperate for payback. Not making excuses, just telling it like it is.

I downloaded Grindr onto my own phone and created a fake account. I used some Stock photo of a sixpack for my profile and punched in a bunch of fake info including a spoof GPS location (shoutout to the internet for walking me through the process!). I knew it would really make a difference to my brother. He didn’t really seem to care who was getting his naughty pics so much as how “cute” he looked in them.

The boy fancied himself a bit of a male model, and I guess he decided Grindr was the best place to get a feel for the industry.

Anyways, over the course of several weeks, I became one of his regulars, routinely asking him for pics (all of which I promptly deleted upon receiving). I messaged him so frequently and stroked his ego the way I knew he liked it to be stroked (I had gone through enough of the chats backed up on his phone to know what kind of compliments made him more likely to keep sending stuff instead of just getting bored and blocking someone after the second or third time he sent them pics, before moving on to someone else).

I boiled what made him tick down to a science and it wasn’t long before I had him eating out of the palm of my hand). Eventually, I had earned a spot in his heart as one of his “exclusives.” At my suggestion, we’d start having “sessions” where we’d schedule times for him to “flood my basement,” sending me caches of pics he’d taken over the course of the week while I would live chat my reaction as to the effect they had on me.

It was gross and I always felt nauseous afterward, but I wasn’t going to let squeamish scruples stand between my revenge. Not after how far I’d come.

The next phase of my plan involved my search on P*rnhub for a pornstar who sounded similar to my dad, with a nice loud “battle cry” (do you guys see where this is going? If you want to back out now, no one will blame you) who was typically paired up with pillow princesses considerably softer.

Eventually after several fruitless searches ending with me crying in a fetal position asking myself how much longer I could keep this up and if it was worth it followed by the world’s most twisted pep talk about how “I was a fighter who could do it” (basically think that scene from Joker where Arthur puts on his clown makeup crying and you’ve got something of an allegory for my struggle), I finally found a guy who sounded similar enough to my dad.

I downloaded several videos featuring him roughhousing with some anorexic twenty-somethings onto my laptop, strung them together with some crude online video editing app, converted it to audio, and separated my leading man’s climactic hollers from the soft whimpers. I saved the file on my computer under the codename “Brand new Take on Oedipus.”

Last but not least, I approach my dad under the guise of needing his help for a school project while my brother is off with his friends.

I tell him I’m acting out a one-woman play for my drama midterm and I need him to be the voice of my protagonist’s off-screen father. I ask him to recite a series of lines for me to record on my phone, all the while encouraging him to “say them naturally.” These lines include but aren’t limited to, “I told you not to disturb me. What is it?” “Is everything alright?”, “Now isn’t a good time to talk,” and most importantly “I finished my work, so I think I’ll head out to join the rest of the family at the movie theatre.

See you later.” I move the audio files onto my laptop and eagerly anticipate approaching the turning point of my master plan.

One Saturday morning, I had arranged for a “session” in which my folks would be out of the house and I’d be with them. Or so Elio thought. You see, my mom, dad, and younger brother were all going to the park near my house on a typical family outing.

We’d go to the park, then take a walk around the local lake, and maybe catch a movie if we felt like it. We usually go around 4-5 ish and come back at night. I know that today will be a movie day because my baby brother has been nagging my folks to go see some kids movie for a while (which he learned was out this weekend courtesy of yours truly).

Before I left the house, I made sure my bedroom door was wide open (important for later). While at the park, I asked to play on my dad’s phone, citing a low battery on mine to explain why I couldn’t use it. Then I sent Elio a text telling him that “dad” had just received a call from his boss telling him he had some extra work he needed to finish.

“I” was going to be in my office across the hall from his room and could not under any circumstance be disturbed as I had a lot of stuff to do and very little time to finish it before the deadline. I waited to make sure he had read the text and sent me a thumbs up emoji in response before I told my folks that I wanted to head back home on account of me getting an early visit from the “lady in red.” Not one to stand between a lass and her time of the month, my dad let me go home.

Feeling like a ninja, I returned to the house, all the while sending Elio my reactions to what we’ll call his “cute little peach” (we had technically already started the “session” fifteen minutes ago). I crept into the house, snuck into my room on tiptoes. Thanks to my open door, I didn’t have to worry about Elio hearing the creak of it from inside his room (they were next to each other), praying he didn’t come out for any reason in time to find me, I retrieved my laptop and the Bluetooth speaker I used to listen to music in the shower, and tiptoed into my dad’s office, now making sure to close the door and lock it with enough force for him to hear from inside his room where I knew he was sending me the pics.

I then send Elio a text apologizing for “being stuck doing something stupid. But now you’ve got my undivided attention, baby.”

Now it’s time for the grand finale (in more ways than one). First I connect my currently muted laptop to my Bluetooth speaker (which I’ve put at maximum volume in advance). Then, I open the Oedipus file and start to run it, while I text more and more raunchy and unhinged reactions to the incoming pictures.

Just as we’re approaching the end of the video containing the loudest yell (I saved the best for last), I text Elio that he’s “making me c*m so hard like the little sl*t he is” just in time to turn up the volume to the loudest setting on my laptop, riiiight before the Tarzan like whoop of passion I know is around the corner.

The scream played loudly enough to break the sound barrier.

Calling it merely loud was the understatement of the century. It was enough so for me to have to cover my own ears despite putting on earplugs in advance. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the neighbors heard. I wouldn’t be surprised if people in Siberia heard. But one thing was certain. There was no way my brother didn’t. I shut off the Oedipus file, lower the volume, and keep my finger on the recordings of my dad’s voice.

At first, nothing happens. All is silent, not unlike the universe before the big bang. The mounting tension would have been enough to send me into a heart attack had I implemented this scheme in my 50s. It takes every ounce of my will not to scream from the suspense. The agony is pure torture. I feel paralyzed in anticipation, but I force myself to turn my attention to the Grindr chat…

I will myself to repeatedly punch in questions asking why Elio stopped sending pics all of a sudden while keeping my ears alert for any hint of noise from beyond the door. Time crawls to a standstill.

Then…. just when I begin to wonder if the lack of results stems from me losing my grip on reality from the stress of waiting…. I hear the creak of a door turning on its hinges.

The sound is faint enough to make me question its existence. By now, I’m almost painfully adjusted to the waiting period, enough to the point where part of me almost wants to deny hearing it out of fear of whether or not I’ll react subtly enough not to blow my cover if it’s real…. but it can’t possibly have been real… and then I hear something else.

Footsteps across the room.. It’s soft, timid, and hesitant, but very much present…. knock knock knock. I take a deep breath and prepare to play one of the tapes. The following conversation ensues: Elio- Elio on the other side of the door Dad- Dad’s prerecorded voice

Elio: Dad… are you in there? Dad: I told you not to disturb me. What is it? Elio: … How long have you been in there? Dad: I’ve been in here for a while.

Elio: I um… I heard a scream. Is everything ok? Dad: Oh yeah… I screamed because I dropped something on my foot. (I specifically encouraged my dad to say this line like he was hiding something). I’m ok now, though. Don’t worry about me. Elio:…. Ok… if you say so… Dad: I love you Elio: Yeah, me too, I guess?

I hear Elio go back into his room, and within seconds, I hear a notification for the Grindr chat.

He apologizes for the delay, and like the putty in my hands, I know he is, says exactly what I was banking on him to. Elio: You’re not gonna believe this, but my dad is in the next room and I heard him screaming at the same time you told me you were c*mming, lol.

And now commences what I believe the French refer to as the piece de resistance.

I leave him on read and tiptoe downstairs with my apparatus while he waits for a response. Quiet. As. A. Mouse. Then I set up my laptop and speaker for one last audio blast. I put on my shoes and chill out for a few minutes watching his texts get more and more hysterical, begging me to respond with, “Lol, that’s so weird” and to assure him it was all a coincidence.

A merciful sister would have realized that avenging her dress shouldn’t come at the cost of her brother’s peace of mind and come clean about the prank.

I sent the following text to him. “Elio, we are never going to speak of this. Not to your mom, not to your siblings, not to me. If you attempt to bring it up, you will no longer be allowed to stay in this house.

We are going to put this incident behind us and go about as if nothing happened. I want you to delete your account on this website and every single picture that you posted on it. If you know what’s good for you, never go back on the app again while living under my roof.”

Then I blocked him before the final phase of my plan. From downstairs, I blast up both volume settings and fire up the last line I asked my dad to record: “I finished my work, so I think I’ll head out to join the rest of the family at the movie theatre.

See you later.” This time, I hear Elio respond, “Wait, what?” From upstairs, I can hear him coming down. Now it’s time to kick it into high gear. I shove my laptop and speaker under into a cabinet under the sink, jam my feet into my shoes, and sneak out through the back door and hide behind the shed.

After a few hours, my folks appear in the driveway and I rush out to welcome them back and come inside, as though I was with them the whole time.

His relationship with my dad was never quite the same afterward and many a night for years to come, I overheard father bemoan his nonexistent relationship with his little slugger. Elio ended up moving out less than a year after the prom dress incident. He finally came out via a Facebook post a week after settling into his new apartment. He blocked my parents on every social media platform and went completely NC.

Any attempts on my dad’s part to reignite their father-son bond was met with cold apathy and indifference when Elio wasn’t flat out refusing to talk to him. For years, the only time they ever met in person was at extended family get-togethers. I felt a bit bad for my dad, but it worked out in the end. Elio’s determination to distance himself from my dad resulted in him growing closer to me as a result.

I think he didn’t want to risk losing his other kids the way he did his oldest.

In all honesty, I’d have been happy to let Elio fester in guilt and shame for the rest of his life (we were never really close growing up and the prom dress incident was nothing more than the tiniest of tips on the largest of icebergs). But over the years, our relationship slowly mended and perhaps it could have evolved into something that roughly resembled a healthy sibling relationship had he not tried to take over my wedding planning and revealed his own plans to get a free engagement ceremony/coming-out party by hijacking my reception with a proposal to his then-partner.

I tried to reason with him, but his unyielding stubbornness forced me to pull the Uno reverse card I hoped I’d never have to use. I sent him a text revealing that all this time, Dad had no idea he was gay and that I was the one talking to him on Grindr. I concluded my message with a warning if he showed up, I’d have security escort him out, and afterward I’d tell the whole family that he sexted his sister in high school and I had the nudes to prove it (I never kept any, but he didn’t know that).

He might have been able to reveal I was a liar had he not deleted his old Grindr from back then. I then blocked him on all platforms before he had a chance to reply.

He didn’t come to the wedding, I never saw him again, and my quality of life greatly improved as a result of his absence in it.”

Another User Comments:

“Holy hell, that was the evilest story of revenge I ever read. I love it.” Luke_The_Duke02

It’s just crazy how in denial they were of how noisy they were.

“A few years ago, I got hired at a job in a big city with expensive rent. I slept on my brother’s couch for a few months while I struggled to find a place but eventually found someone in an old building who wanted to get out of their rental agreement. The apartment was pretty close to work and in a nice area, so I took it, almost too good to be true…

It didn’t take long for me to realize I made a big mistake. The building was old, and the walls were made of plaster. Any sound reverberated like crazy. I could hear people cough and sneeze like they were standing in my place. What’s worse, I shared one of these thin walls with my neighbors, who were absolutely f*cking insane. They just would not shut up.

I would hear a man and woman argue constantly, often until 2 or 3 in the morning. And by arguing, I mean literally screaming and shouting and throwing things against the wall. When they weren’t arguing, they were always just LOUD, shouting, and whining at each other like little kids constantly. Pretty much the quintessential toxic, obnoxious couple. And the sh*t they would argue about was so stupid! I remember hearing an argument about whose turn it was to steal shampoo from the drug store.

One time the partner decided to yell, “THE BIBLE SAYS WHAT THE BIBLE SAYS” over and over again for some reason. Almost every day, it would be something different and uniquely annoying.

The first real incident happened when I was woken up by screaming and banging against my wall at 1 am. I did what I usually did (blasted Kenny G through my speakers at the wall until they shut up), but this time, it didn’t work.

The banging got louder, so I stopped the music, but then it got worse and sounded like a fight. It was hard to describe, but it sounded like the woman was getting beaten up. At this point, I was more concerned than mad, so I called my superintendent, who told me to call the police (not the US). The police came, the neighbors told them everything was fine, the police left, it was quiet, I went back to bed.

Literally the next night, I am woken up again at 1 am by my neighbors having another argument. This time I heard a BOOM, then the woman say, “Oh my god” in a weird voice, and then banging and what sounds like someone being strangled. The noises were freaky and way more concerning than even last time, so I called the police again. The police came, the neighbors told them everything was fine again, the police left again, and it was quiet again, but this time the police called me back and basically told me I was an idiot for wasting their time.

They said there was no evidence of any fight and both neighbors denied anything even happened. Even the superintendent said that no one else on the floor complained and intimated that I was starting to become a nuisance. I decided from this point forward, I was going to go full Spielberg with video evidence.

The noise was bad for the next 6 months, and I would get woken up at least once a week after midnight by yelling and screaming.

I made a few written complaints, a few videos as evidence, and sent them to the property manager. There was enough to serve them an eviction notice and go to the landlord/tenant board, but somehow the property manager f*cked up the date for the hearing and it never actually took place. Thankfully the noise stopped anyway (for now…), so I assumed the neighbors finally got the message and would be quiet from now on.

I didn’t fight for another hearing because the eviction notice gave the neighbors an opportunity to be quiet, which they sort of did.

As an aside, the video evidence I gathered during this time was BEAUTIFUL. I was pleasantly surprised that my phone was very good at picking up their voices. It got to the point where I would get excited when I was woken up in the middle of the night because I would run out into the hallway and film their door and room number as the noise blasted out and echoed down the hall.

I gathered some d*mning, unambiguous evidence, pure gold, and it was all timestamped at around midnight or 1 am. But because the hearing got canceled, I didn’t get to present my evidence (at least not yet…).

For a few months, everything was reasonably ok. They were still loud as f*ck during the day, and there were a few times after 11 pm on weeknights where I went to their door and asked them to keep it down, but other than that, things were mostly better, and I was starting to be able to relax in my place for once.

Yet again it was too good to be true…

One day around 2:30 in the afternoon, I start hearing this weird, high-pitched screeching coming from my neighbors’ place. And it doesn’t stop for hours. I’m sitting on my couch trying to figure out what it is. It sounds like a giant f*cking tropical bird moved in next door.

Well, it turns out, after all the sh*t we went through a year ago with the noise complaints and eviction notice, my neighbors decided it would be a good idea to get a dog.

And of course, these obnoxious a**holes couldn’t just get a quiet, normal, well-behaved dog. They had to get a completely untrained, 4-month-old, tiny, yappy Pomeranian that was INCAPABLE of being quiet. This thing would yap and screech and bark over and over and over EVERY DAY for HOURS.

While I’m still coming to terms with how miserable my life is about to become, I get a note under my door.

On it, my neighbor writes that she just got the dog as an emotional support animal for her mental health and asks the whole hallway to please try to tolerate the noise.

F*ck that sh*t. I’d already been living next to and listening to these neighbors scream at each other for over a year. They were confirmed f*cking morons; two insane, toxic a**holes in a mutually abusive relationship.

I knew with CERTAINTY that they weren’t capable of taking care of this dog properly and the noise situation would go to complete sh*t.

And regarding the mental health, I was going through my own troubles during this time (in part due to lack of sleep) and was seeing a therapist. The last year of complaints should have made it clear to anyone that noise was a problem for me, especially getting woken up at night.

Of all the things this neighbor could have chosen to help their mental health, they chose the most obnoxious thing possible. They knew getting a loud dog was going to be a problem and they did it anyway. It was time for WAR.

I realized if I wanted this noise to stop, or to be even taken seriously, I needed a mountain of evidence against my neighbors.

I researched the evictions process and everything that was required. I checked the forms my superintendent would have to send out for an eviction notice. I read threads on Reddit about slumlords and neighbor disputes. It became clear to me that the only way to win was to be religiously disciplined both in gathering evidence and refusing to retaliate (no more Kenny G). I became a noise-complaint monk, taking a vow of disciplined log taking, and relying on mantras like, “Shut the f*ck up…

Shut the f*ck up….”

Once I submitted my first written complaint, things got bad. My neighbors flipped out when they realized I was complaining again. I heard stuff like, “OF ALL THE APARTMENTS IN —, WE HAVE TO LIVE NEXT TO THIS F*CKING GUY?!” for a few days. Then the loud arguments in the middle of the night started all over again. And one of the neighbors got into the new habit of SLAMMING their chest of drawers against my wall at 2 am.

The barking also got much worse. The emotional-support-animal letter said that the barking would get better once the dog was trained, but from what I could hear, my neighbors’ methods of training began and ended with screaming at the dog just like they screamed at each other each day. “NO! BAD DOG!”, “BE QUIET!”, “SHUT THE F*CK UP!” came through my wall in new and varied combinations every day.

And every time an argument started between my neighbors, the dog would always join in, even in the middle of the night. The constant level of noise was insane.

For over a year, l logged every instance of yelling, shouting, and barking coming from my neighbors’ apartment. It didn’t matter if it was after 11 pm or not at this point; I was trying to demonstrate how I can’t get peace at any time of day.

And when I say every instance, I mean I had minute-to-minute logs of every loud noise and every word I heard from my neighbors’ wall. If I was woken up in the middle of the night, it went in the log. If I heard the dog bark from 12 pm to 1 pm on February 2nd, it went in the log. If I heard someone yell, “YOU PEED ON THE FLOOR AGAIN, F*CK!” at the dog, it went in the log.

Honestly, it sucked and made me almost lose my f*cking mind, but by the time I was done, I had pages and pages of notes.

Obviously written logs wouldn’t be enough. I already had a decently fat stack of video evidence to demonstrate the true character of my neighbors, but I needed current evidence if there was going to be another hearing. F*ck Spielberg, now I was Coppola in the heart of darkness.

I got more videos of screaming and shouting coming out of their door. I got videos of banging and barking against my shared wall. I got videos of screaming, shouting, banging, and barking all at the same time, or in any combination. I had amassed a war-chest of video evidence to be deployed at the next available hearing, but I was getting war-weary.

At this point, I was like 6 or 8 months into the complaints process and I could barely take it anymore.

I was getting woken up like 2 nights a week and would be a zombie at work (I complained about my neighbors at work often). I was finding it harder and harder to keep myself from blasting music, or banging on their wall, or kicking their f*cking door down. But I managed to stay strong, and I followed the eviction process like it was my religion.

I sent in a second written complaint, then a third which resulted in an eviction notice, which gave the neighbors an opportunity to be quiet. This time they didn’t give a f*ck; if anything, they were louder than ever before. I was looking for other places to move into when I finally get good news from the property manager: there’s a hearing date!

There was light at the end of the tunnel, but once the neighbors heard about the hearing date, they did everything they could to f*ck me up.

There were no attempts to stop the barking anymore; it was constant. The screaming matches were back in full force, and when they started yelling and screaming, the dog would go nuts! It was just an insane amount of noise.

And the drawers were ridiculous! Honestly, I never expected the slamming drawers to be that bad but they easily eclipsed the barking and the shouting. They would SLAM and SLAM and SLAM the drawers over and over again against my wall.

And because of the plaster, it would BOOM BOOM BOOM and echo through my whole place. These a**holes were definitely doing it on purpose.

3 days before the hearing date, I go to bed at 9:45 pm. At 10 pm, I’m still not asleep but I’m startled by BOOM BOOM of the drawers. I log it and go back to bed. At 11:30 pm, I wake up to BOOM BOOM BOOM again, and I’m p*ssed off.

It takes me half an hour, but I fall asleep again. Then at 12:45 am, BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM; there it is again! I call my superintendent, tell her what’s going on, the super calls them, and tells them to stop. I fall back asleep. Then at 1:30 am, BOOM BOOM BOOM. I wake up super f*cking angry. It’s obvious they’re doing this on purpose to p*ss me off before the hearing and get a reaction out of me.

I call the super again and go back to sleep again. Then at 2:45 am, BOOM BOOM BOOM. I can’t take it anymore. I scream “DO IT AGAIN!!!! DO IT AGAIN!!!” I lost it; I couldn’t help myself. My discipline broke. My superintendent calls me and tells me my neighbors just said I yelled a death threat through the wall (what the f*ck?) and that they’re calling the police (WHAT THE F*CK?).

Everything just feels f*cked now. I can’t sleep, so I just wait until morning. No police show up, and I go to work. I realized I couldn’t even stay at my place anymore until this hearing was over, so I went back to my brother’s couch for the next 3 days.

Finally, the big day arrives. I gather my evidence: Over a year of meticulously logged noise complaints, 6 instances of video evidence (I cherry-picked the gold out of 20 good ones), the previous eviction notice the neighbors received, 4 written noise complaints (including the 2 from the previous eviction notice), a letter from my co-worker about poor work performance due to lack of sleep, and even a letter from my therapist about how my neighbors’ excessive noise was affecting my mental health.

I got there and met the property manager and superintendent, who were there with the owner of the property management company and a slick-looking lawyer. I handed the lawyer all my evidence. I gave him a USB stick with the videos. I even handed over my big Bluetooth speaker to make sure the videos were loud enough to hear (laptop speakers suck).

I look over to my neighbors, and they are wide-eyed.

They look scared! Finally!

We all go into the landlord/tenant board room with everybody. The adjudicator first asks if anyone wants to mediate instead of going through with the hearing. My neighbor’s hand immediately shoots up. I say in front of everybody, “I don’t want to mediate!” but apparently, it’s not up to me and the lawyer takes me aside.

The lawyer tells me if it goes to mediation, the neighbors and the property management create an agreement (e.g.

no more noise at x o’clock), and if that agreement is broken once it results in an immediate eviction. He explains if we go in front of the board instead, it’s a 50/50 chance they either get evicted or get off completely. Obviously, mediation is the better way to go. I know these idiots are already incapable of keeping quiet, so I agree with the lawyer.

We go out to find the neighbors, and they’re nowhere to be found. Turns out, they opted for the free legal counsel (I wonder why) and won’t be available until the afternoon.

While waiting I explain to the property manager, owner, and lawyer what happened a few days ago with the slamming drawers all night long. When I made my complaints before no one really took them seriously, but today, everyone is very interested in everything I have to say.

The afternoon comes, and I’m excluded from the mediation meeting because it’s between the neighbors, the lawyer, and the owner. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can hear my neighbors yelling and shouting from inside the room, so I know it’s not going well for them.

Everyone leaves the room and the lawyer comes up to me. He tells me the mediation failed, the neighbors refuse to change their behavior, and won’t accept any terms.

The lawyer says they have to go in front of the adjudicator again but by now it’s almost the end of the day.

I wait another hour or two and everyone comes out. I see my neighbors leave as the lawyer comes by again and explains. Apparently, after the mediation failed, the property management owner offered my neighbors 2 months rent FREE if they agreed to move out in 2 months.

The neighbors agreed, but when they all went in front of the adjudicator, the neighbors changed their minds and said no! And apparently, a second offer was made, which they said yes to, and then no again, all in front of the adjudicator! They ended up running out of time and the adjudicator cut the hearing short and said it would have to be resolved in a second hearing.

I was disappointed, but the lawyer assured me that because of how capricious and insane my neighbors behaved during the hearing and that they would almost certainly be evicted during a second hearing. I was dismayed that it wasn’t over but hopeful the end was coming soon. I also felt vindicated, it was finally clear to everyone that my neighbors were actually insane and I wasn’t just making this up.

The next two months weren’t as bad as before. I continued my long steady march of logs and videos. But the noise definitely let up, especially the drawers. One day near the end of the second month, I started to hear insane barking; it would not stop. It went on for hours and hours and hours. I called the superintendent to complain when they told me it was probably because the neighbors were moving out today.

YES! HAHAHA! FINALLY! Apparently, she couldn’t tell me earlier because of privacy reasons. As they were moving out I blasted, ‘Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye’ on loop, put in some earplugs, and took a 2-hour bath.

My apartment is quiet now, and I can finally sleep. It wasn’t exactly the satisfying crushing blow I wanted, but my discipline paid off, and now I can live in peace.”

In the end, they got their cat back, and rumor has it that the neighbor still has scratched-up furniture.

“A little background on the cat, Romeo was born in our house and lived with his mother and siblings. He also had a heart murmur which was manageable but required daily medication.

So a few years ago, one of my family’s cats hadn’t come home for dinner which was unusual.

When it got to the second day (36 hours no show), we were very worried, so we went out looking. We all came home one by one with no luck until my little sister ran inside and told us he was sitting in our neighbors’ window!! We knocked to explain he was our cat and take him home, but the neighbor refused to hand him over claiming he was a stray who she “saved” and was a girl cat.

It got pretty heated and we ended up threatening to involve the police, but this woman was standing her ground. My mom called the police, but they said we would have to wait a few days for them to come out which we couldn’t afford to wait; he needed his meds. So we put our heads together to find a way to get him back without barging in there.

The thing is that our cats all have odd habits because of our own. We’re one of those families who sing everything and dance about a lot, so we have certain songs which the cats know mean ‘it’s time for treats,’ ‘it’s time to vacuum,’ etc., and one of those songs is the Can-Can. The Can-Can means it’s time for canned food and all our cats know this; they get pretty rowdy when you sing it because they love their wet food.

If you sing the Can-Can and don’t deliver on the promise of food, they get mad and start acting out. So me and my sister set out the next morning with a plan.

We stood outside the neighbors’ house (on the pavement, public pathway) and did the Can-Can for an hour straight. We sang at the top of our lungs; we looked like we’d lost our God d*mn minds, but it was working.

Romeo was our most vocal cat, and he was shouting; it’s canned food time, where was his canned food?!! We went to the window and saw him clawing up the furniture with vengeance and encouraged him. Good boy, mess their sofa up reeaaal nice. Yeah, get those curtains!! The neighbors told us to leave after they got too sick of the singing without realizing our boy was RUINING their living room, so we left and waited.

A few hours later, there was a knock on our door. The neighbor gave us a lecture about our “uncontrollable” pets and handed Romeo over. My mom took him into the house and slammed the door in her face with a big, “F*ck you.” Romeo had his meds and a vet check-up (all good thank God) and lived a long happy life as a part of our household.”

“Alright, circa 2014, I worked for a large movie theatre chain in a small Midwestern city. The job was pretty awesome outside of the sh*t pay and essentially no way to move up. I like to think I am good at my job and I try my hardest no matter where I work. In this particular situation, I was one of the most tenured employees at the theatre save for two other folks who had worked there part-time on the side and had full-time jobs elsewhere.

So for the sake of this story, I need to tell you about Jane. Jane started working for the theatre 2 months before me. She worked elsewhere as a supervisor and was looking to move up at the theatre. Right after I started, one of the managers left to work at a different theatre and the supervisor moved up. We had two managers, one general manager (basically the highest level at the theatre), and a supervisor which is a manager in training.

(This is important.) Jane somehow got the supervisor position even though there was another person who essentially was promised the position due to their continued service at the theatre for almost 8 years. There were rumors about Jane sleeping with the GM when she started, and this situation got them going again. I didn’t care too much because why would I, I am but a lowly peon in the corporate machine.

Anyways Jane moved up and the tenured crew member left the company because they got screwed over.

Once Jane moved up we had a whole meeting about her moving up and how the theatre focuses on professionalism and ensuring no favoritism was happening. Specifically referencing how normal crew members shouldn’t fraternize outside of work with management.

Jane didn’t really listen to that though. She continued to hang out with the crew members who were mostly underage and would do various things like go drinking with minors, taking them to bars and buying them drinks, or simply buying alcohol at a store and letting them drink at her house, I honestly have no issue with the drinking at the home deal, just adding context, as well smoke the special plant with them and post pictures on Instagram.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention Jane had a secret Instagram where they would post pictures of themselves with their friends from the theatre. They chose Instagram because none of their family or their man used Instagram and no one would know, right?

Even more d*mning was her relationship with a 19-year-old that worked at the theatre. She had a man who had been with her for years and honestly supported her for all intents and purposes.

Not only did she have a 19-year-old side piece, but also was messing around with a 17-year-old. I even caught them messing around in the break room one time. She essentially threatened me with my job if I told anyone. Honestly, she could’ve just told me to please be quiet and I would have just judged her silently.

Fast forward about a year or so and another one of the managers left for a new job.

Jane obviously moved up and someone else took the supervisor position. Now I won’t go into too much detail, but despite my tenure and performance, I was looked over for the promotion. A newer crew member who was really good friends with Jane got the position over me. This was confirmed by the other manager who let me know that Jane was definitely in good with the GM, who ultimately made the final decision.

That being said, I was beginning to sour and making minimum wage for years at a job that couldn’t give a sh*t about my efforts and continued performance. That being said I was preparing for an exit.

Before I get into my exit, it is important to note that Jane had and most likely still has a problem with me. I have talked about some issues I had with her, but I never escalated or even confronted her about anything she did to me up to this point.

I honestly left it be. But I didn’t like her and the fact I didn’t like her or play along with her bullsh*t infuriated her so much to the point where she made my life hell at the theatre. When she was a supervisor, she didn’t have much power, but when she became manager, she began giving me sh*t shifts, convincing people that I was weird and to avoid me (I mean, I am weird but not like avoid me weird), threatening me physically, threatening my job, her and her gang of misfit a**holes also slashed my tires (I have no solid proof, but my car was parked in the employee lot, and ya know, only employees can get in), and beyond that, she also made fun of my girl(my now wife) for having an invisible illness (MS).

She would make her life hell because she had a disability and had some minor limitations. Add together all of this, plus my girl went off to college, plus getting looked over for the promotion, suffice it to say I found a new job.

I had a few close friends at the theatre including my now wife who I met while working there (silver lining, right?). I had let a few of them know about the new job but told them to keep it on the down-low since it was still two weeks away.

I had put my two weeks in with the GM and asked that he also keep it on the down-low since Jane and her posse would f*ck with me. I told him that I wanted to tell everyone myself, so it kept him quiet.

Now the important thing about my new job is that it essentially paid me double my wages from the theatre. All of my friends were stoked for me; I was taking a job that would also have me making more than the managers at the theatre but also a job that put me on a better track in life.

That being said, with Jane and I butting heads on multiple occasions and her track record of messing with me, she decided to get one last attack on me. She started a rumor that I was just going to call out on all of my shifts the two weeks before my new job started.

With her last act of revenge in motion, the GM approached me and let me know that he wouldn’t be scheduling me for the last two weeks.

I tried to explain to him that the rumors were bullsh*t and that I needed to work because it would be my only source of income. I told him that Jane started the rumor and I started to tell him all of the other stuff as well. He of course didn’t believe me and told me that Jane wouldn’t do what I was saying she would do.

So it was her word vs mine.

I contacted my new job who let me know that my start date was firm and that their budget wouldn’t allow me to start until two weeks later as originally planned. Now here I am essentially jobless for two weeks. Now I was upset, but I was also lucky. I was still living with family and didn’t have to pay rent, so I sucked it up and essentially told myself that I would just take a forced two-week vacation.

But Jane didn’t stop there. She escalated again by having one of her cronies call my new job and tell them that I got fired. I was luckily able to talk down my new boss by letting him know that this wasn’t the case that I put my two weeks in and everything else, but that was the last straw.

I left my last day at the theatre and while it was sad and I was upset that I wouldn’t be able to work out the last two weeks of my job that I had for years, I was focused and determined on revenge.

Rule #1 of living a secret life and having a secret Instagram is to not add everybody and their mother to the page.

I had a friend of a friend who also didn’t care for Jane; let’s call them Joe. Joe and I had gone to high school together and briefly worked at the theatre together. He and Jane were part of the same group at the theatre until they had a small falling out.

Nothing crazy, but he wasn’t exactly happy with her. I talked to Joe and we discussed my issues with Jane over some lunch that I bought for him. (Food is the key to all revenge plots.) Once we ate and discussed my problems with Jane, I asked for his help. I needed access to her Instagram. Ya know, the secret one, showing her hanging out with underage employees, drinking alcohol and smoking the green plant with them, and also some mushy posts about her 19-year-old man, as well as some moderately racy photos with her 17-year-old fling.

With very little discussion, he gave me full access.

I took screenshots of essentially everything. We are talking 2-3 years worth of illicit and moderately illegal activity. More than enough to get her fired and to raise some questions in her relationship. I took the screenshots and I printed them on the most high-quality paper/material that CVS had to offer. I also copied them to a few flash drives for good measure.

I purchased two yellow padded envelopes (can never be too safe), and I filled them both with copies of all of the posts as well as a flash drive with additional copies. As well, I included a note in each one for the appropriate parties.

One of the envelopes was taped to the back door of the theatre. There was somewhat of a blind spot so pulled into the parking lot from the rear and snuck around the corner mission impossible style to tape the envelope to the back door.

On it was the GM’s name, as well in the letter, I merely stated that one of their managers had a secret Instagram with a lot of d*mning evidence of not only favoritism but also fraternizing with underage employees amongst other wrongdoings. In the letter, I also requested her immediate termination of the information would be provided to the district manager as well as our corporate office.

I made sure to put it somewhere the GM would see on his morning sweep when he opened the theatre. The second folder and letter were delivered to her home by Joe. Joe agreed to this as I knew Jane’s schedule and had a good idea of when she would be gone and he knew where she lived from previous hangouts.

With both folders delivered, it was only a matter of time.

Before I knew it, I was receiving death threats from Jane’s gang. All of them saying that they knew it was me and that Jane was going to come after me, that she never did anything to deserve this. It didn’t matter to me of course, I no longer worked there and would hopefully never have to deal with them again. From what I heard, she was taken into the main office of the theatre and the GM let her have it.

He ultimately had to fire her because there was very clear proof that she was in direct violation of many of the rules and conditions of her employment. As well her man with proof in hand kicked her out of his home.

Last I heard, she moved farther north and hasn’t held down a solid job since. Her family didn’t want much to do with her once everything came out with her cheating on her man.

Also, the part about fooling around with a 17-year-old tends not to sit well.

In the end, I started my new job without fail and moved on from that place. Haven’t see much of anyone from there since.”

Another User Comments:

“I hope she at least got some criminal charges pressed on her.” Puppet007

Reply:

“I considered it. I don’t mean to inflate my own ego, but I just couldn’t bring myself to destroy someone’s life to THAT extent.

I consider myself a good person and a job is one thing, but jail time is another level. But the guy she was with was either a victim or Stockholm syndrome or something. Regardless, they were 17 in the beginning, but a few months later was 18. Not a justification, but I feel they could spin it in their favor with enough mental gymnastics.” Ike09161995

“This happened years ago at a pizza place where I used to work.

I was a delivery driver for 6 years at various pizza places, picking up and moving on to greener pastures whenever it suited me. Granted that only happened a couple of times because I am unfortunately a very loyal employee. To be honest, I should have done that before this whole thing ever even happened.

The store I was at was part of a nationwide franchise, and the waters had gotten choppy. All of the managers quit at once and they just couldn’t seem to get one to stick around. It got so bad that the Area Manager had to come in as acting GM and brought a manager from another store with him.

These two are the main characters of this story.

Well, besides me, obviously. For the purpose of this story, we’ll call them Jeff and Cait and I’ll just be… me.

Jeff was 45 and had been with the company for a long time before I started, worked himself up from the position of driver, all the way to being the one to oversee about 20 stores. He was actually married to another Area Manager. I got along okay with Jeff for the most part.

On the other hand, Cait and I got on like a house on fire, both being ladies of a similar age. She often confided things in me that she would soon bite her in the a**, figuratively.

I considered myself a decent employee as far as pizza slingers go, came to work on time, did all of the dishes, got along with everyone, and had the best delivery times.

Because of this, I usually landed all the best shifts, including opening on Saturdays. If you’ve never worked a ‘tip’ job, you know that shift is the most coveted out there. Working through both the lunch and dinner rush before going home is well worth having to get up earlier.

That information is relevant to the story, trust me. You see, there are always 2 drivers who do that shift.

One comes in earlier and leaves earlier, and I was the one who got to come in just before we flipped on the ‘Open’ sign and went home once the dinner rush began to die down. This is also relevant.

The final vital bit of info you need for context is that my brother goes a bit wild at Christmas. His favorite thing to do is book an entire movie theater for everyone he knows to see a movie of his choice.

This particular year was when The Last Jedi came out, and he is a Star Wars fanatic, so that was what we were going to see. Unfortunately, it would be at 6 on a Saturday, at least 2 hours before I would get off.

At this point, Jeff and Cait had been with us for 3 months without managing to find suitable replacements, and I made an arrangement with the other opening driver to switch shifts because his ended right when I would need to leave to make the movie.

I then cleared it with Jeff and he agreed to let me go at 5:30.

I was all set. Or so I thought.

You see, that Saturday we started busy. Very busy. So busy that at 5:30, when I went to hand Jeff my slips, he had already dispatched me out on a double delivery. I took them but reminded him that I needed to leave when I got back.

I just hoped the trailers were long enough that I didn’t miss much of the beginning of the movie.

I got back from my double and by that point, it was already 6 and the theater was 20 minutes away. I had to leave. Once again I went to hand my slips to Jeff, but he got in my face.

“You leave when I say you can leave,” he told me.

“You’re not going to let me?” I asked, incredulous that he was reneging on our deal. I came in early! I did my time, d*mmit.

He looked so very smug. “No.”

Well, I made a decision right then and there. There are so many pizza jobs out there that they needed me more than I needed them. I took my slip book, you know, the kind that you see in restaurants? I’ve found they’re great for delivery because not only can you store all of your slips in them, but they’re hard enough for customers to bear down on to sign.

Anyway, I slapped that in his hand and said, “Fine then. I quit.”

It was his turn to look incredulous. After making sure I meant it, he checked me out and I left the store fuming. I missed the entire opening of my movie.

But the story doesn’t end there. Oh no, you remember how I said Cait would confide in me?

She loved to tell me all about how often she and Jeff would meet at a hotel after work.

She even horrified me by telling me Jeff would turn off the cameras so they could hook up in the back office when the store was empty, in a chair I had sat in multiple times!

Cait was, even so, obliging to give insignificant details like the date and time this happened.

So I put in an anonymous call to the franchise’s HR and told them what to look for when it came to checking the tapes.

I told them everything Cait had told me. But I still wasn’t content with leaving it there. So I went to my local pizza place, that just happened to be in Jeff’s wife’s area (remember when I said she was also an Area Manager) and I got to gossiping with the workers there while they made my pizza.

I was well aware it would make it back to her.

Food employees can’t keep such juicy gossip to themselves.

Jeff got demoted to store manager, then transferred to the same store in his wife’s area I went to, so she could keep an eye on him. I guess it didn’t work out because last I heard Jeff’s wife divorced him and he no longer worked for that franchise.

And none of that would have happened if he had just let me leave on time.”

“I worked at a clothing store in a mall for a year and a half, and it was not fun.

So a new girl had just been hired as many new people did in that job, and right away, you could tell she thought she was hot sh*t, we’re talking acting like a manager, talking how many hours she had, and worst of all, she wouldn’t shut up about all the dudes she was banging and how the money she got from them was the most important part.

To put it lightly, she was a cold-hearted b*tch who made everyone feel bad about their “insignificant” lives as she put it.

Here’s where things go down. In our store, all the racks were milled steel bars and hooks so really hard to break and really expensive. They could however be bent out of shape if enough heavy coats stay on them for long periods of time.

Ms. Hot Sh*t here thought it would be a good idea to impress the management by putting all the coats on the same rack using the milled steel bars instead of a circular rack that wouldn’t warp. I protested of course as I’d been there longer, but she said: “I get paid more than you, so do what I say.” She got hired as a key holder of the gate, so she made a dollar more than I did per hour.

I go along with it and put the heavy winter coats up on the milled steel and go about my life. Well, 2 weeks later, the milled steel is of course warped, and when management saw, this they flipped (cheapo store, any cost was bad to them). Anyways, she blames it on me and I get written up for it, and now I refused to sign, so they gave me fewer hours which also cuts my pay.

Because she lied, I was now making 50% less than before and had a formal written complaint against me. To say I was ticked off wouldn’t even start. So I devised a plan to get back at her.

You see the drywall on the center pillars had sustained water damage for an early melt earlier that year making them extremely soft. However, they provide some of the largest coverage of shelf space in the entire store meaning basically a good 20% of shelf space couldn’t be used.

Now the kicker is Ms. Hot Sh*t didn’t know about this as she came in a week after it had happened, and to the naked eye, you wouldn’t think the pillar couldn’t be used as there were banners on it to try and hide the yellowing. I may have suggested what a waste not being able to have products on the pillars was and how if someone could come up with a nice display, it would bring in a lot of customers due to how people could see it from the mall main floor (we were just off the food court).

Her eyes lit up.

Now here’s the thing, I was taking a small break to a nice snowy lake cabin the next day, and the people she had working with her where the manager or the temps who were not allowed to handle marketing and logistics (i.e., putting shelves/ rack up on the wall due to their cost and the incident that got me written up). Now I knew she wouldn’t want the managers to see it because she wanted all the glory from it (she wanted to show our 3 stores in the mall that her store was the best while the managers weren’t around).

So she being with a temp and them not being able to put up shelving put the heavy winter clothing on milled steel racks attached to the soft drywall pillars, within a week, the drywall on the pillars collapsed and ruined $500 worth of product.

Now she tried to shift the blame on me, but I was away for the whole week, so it could not have been me because obviously, that can’t happen if I’m in the forest hundreds of miles from civilization.

So no dice there and she promptly got charged with the repair, demoted to the sales associate, and written up for what they finally realized was not just this but the one they wanted me to sign. The repair was $2,500 plus the $500 stock that got destroyed when 40 pounds of drywall came crashing down on it.

But I wasn’t done yet, you see our manager in our store specifically was pretty chill and she’s still a personal friend to me, and she had a group chat so we could talk off-hours and keep up to date.

Now as I mentioned before, she wouldn’t shut up about all the men she was playing and how the only thing that mattered was the money, and boy oh boy, did she use the group chat to say a lot of this. Sometimes one of these dudes would come around and take her for lunch. Let’s just say when she was in the back for a little while finishing something up that I let them see the text channel if they promised not to let her know I told them.

So often they’d go on their lunch date and after 1 or 2 days, she’d be down a man. Finally, this boiled over when one of them took her phone saw how many guys she had been banging for money, and messaged all of them about how much of a lying cheat she was.

After 2 months, her fountain of man money dried up, and now demoted to a sales associate, she didn’t have the money to spend on all her lavish nights out or designer clothing.

She eventually moved up to another store for more hours and stole money from the register causing her to get fired. A fitting end to a backstabbing ice queen, I think. I eventually left that job after half a year later to pursue my current job.”

Another User Comments:

“Did they ever give you back your money and/or apologize once they realized the first incident was her fault?” TeaManManMan

Reply:

“Nope, that place sucked. My manager did, mind you, but it was unofficial.” garmdian

“So this happened sometime in the 2010s somewhere in the UK (that’s all I’m revealing). I worked for a medium-sized PLC in a small team that worked with the sales department getting quotes. I had previously worked in another team in a different department in the same company as well.

This also includes elements of malicious compliance. I’ll post this there as well.

So to set the scene: the company had recently had some issues with regulators, and senior management were either oblivious to the damage they were doing or didn’t care.

They were trying to save costs but going about it all the wrong way.

So my team consists of 6 team members and a manager. We were fairly busy and often helped out on other teams as well and they would in turn help us. (This is important for later.)

So we are all called into a meeting without warning and told that due to declining work tickets, they were laying two of us off.

They did say two people were safe (the manager and his sidekick). They made us reapply for our jobs including doing a test (following the letter of the law on redundancy), which had nothing to do with our roles. It also became apparent during the process that the company flat out lied or at the very minimum manipulated the data used to come up with their conclusion of falling ticket numbers (they dropped by 13 from year 1 to year 3; bear in mind it was a total of several thousand tickets a year).

In the end, the company carried on and two team members were removed and made redundant, one of whom took a golden handshake the other sued the company for various things (not really worthy of mention here) and won.

After the dust settled, it also became apparent manager secured his sidekick’s position despite him being the worst member of the team in terms of work done and work quality.

So in the weeks after, the entire team was too busy to help other teams who then stopped helping us, so a huge backlog of tickets also built up. We also got threatened with disciplinary proceedings if our backlog didn’t come down. But was also refused any overtime. During the process, we had also been admonished for skipping steps in getting quotes (steps that often took a significant amount of time, and served no purpose) So me and two others remaining (not including sidekick who had his nose so far up the manager’s rear-ended that it came out of his mouth) decided to do everything by the book, down to every last bullet point.

This made the backlog of work even worse, but they couldn’t say anything.

One week, we had another meeting with HR the sales director, and our manager to discuss the issues. We all calmly said, “We are sorry, but we have to follow the guidelines and rules laid down and this is as fast as we can work.” We were also asked to start helping out the other teams again as we should be team players.

Again, we said, “We are sorry, but we can’t; our workload is too high and it’s also not in our contracts that we have to do other teams work.” This went on for several months and management still refused to believe we were overworked.

When it was time for holidays, we realized they hadn’t changed the amount of people allowed off from 3. So we all booked holidays (they both went abroad and I decided to visit family the other end of the UK).

Of course when the manager realized (a week before), he went nuts and another meeting with HR was called. We all calmly said, “Sorry, but we checked the rules for our team and 3 people (out of 4, the manager could do what he likes) can be off at any one time.” And again, stood our ground and all went on leave for 2 weeks each.

This caused even more chaos at work as you can imagine. The sales director after this hatched a plan to get the Indian teams (we had offices in India and other offshore places) to be trained up by us and to help us, however, they demanded we fly out to spend weeks there training them. Again we all refused as it’s not in our contracts to be trainers or to have to work abroad (they ignored the fact I didn’t have a passport at this point).

Soo poor old manager and his sidekick traveled out and trained them for weeks. (Eventually, both stayed for over 2 months and failed to train them. We would send low effort tickets to them and they would screw it up and we simply said sorry to fix this we need to do it again. So after 6 months, they gave that idea up entirely.

We after around a year or so of this (I’m being deliberately vague on timing, so please don’t ask about it), we all decided to all seek other employment having found we all could not trust the company or manager anymore.

And we all found roles elsewhere within a week of each other, so we all handed in our 4-week notices (again to the letter of our employment contracts) and were due to all leave on the same day.

Now the female member of the team who was a very learned person and she revealed in all our contracts any documentation we create is ours and we can do with it how we wish when we leave.

So we hatch a plan.

In the final week we are there, we move all our digital stuff to one location, including all my manuals and cheat sheets for my previous team. They both did the same with their previous positions within the company. On our final day, we bring in our own external drives and with IT’s help download and removed all documentation and deleted the copies on the company systems.

We all said our goodbyes, and at the end of the day, quite happily told our manager what we had done. He exploded and demanded it back and we calmly tell him not according to the letter of our contracts this (waving the drives at him) is ours and we choose to remove it with us.

We were later told by friends who remained that the sales director had a fit because now no one was doing quotes for him.

Gladly we all have had great new places and keep in touch.”

“Wife and I got together in July of ’07. July 5th to be exact. (We actually celebrate that anniversary more than the wedding one. We’re not really normal.) It was Ex Wife’s idea, sort of. Wife needed a place to stay, so Ex Wife suggested she move in with me. Ex Wife just didn’t expect things to get serious. And she wasn’t happy. She just got remarried at the time too, so WTF? Wife and I have been together 13 years, married six.

Like I said, got together in July, ’07. The company I worked for got bought out and took over in October. My/our last day was Dec. 1st of ’07. I decided I deserve to sit on my a** for a year before seriously looking for work. This is important, I guess.

So, come spring and Ex Wife is on the same softball team as Wife’s best friend.

Ex Wife keeps going on how she can’t wait ’til I die, so she can kick Wife out of HER house. Nice, huh? Lawyer friend says as long as her name is still on the house, she can. Divorced or not. I need to get her to sign a ‘quit claim deed’ to get her name outta there. Then we can refinance to get her name off the loan too.

So, I tell her that ‘when’ I can’t make payments any longer (you know, being out of work for six months) that they’d come after her. Not a lie. And I/Wife wasn’t even close to losing said house.

Ex-Wife doesn’t like to work, but her new hubby bought her an ’04 40th Anniversary Mustang that she works to make payments on. Her ‘Dream Car.’ Sure! Now she works.

Didn’t when WE were married, lol.

Soon after getting the house re-financed, we found out that Ex Wife was still on my car insurance. She was enjoying MY multi-vehicle and house discount. Um, oh hell to the no! And since I’ve been with the same company for 30 years, I asked a little favor. Take her off, put Wife on, but after notifying the state and the lienholder that she no longer has car insurance, maybe they could wait a couple of days before MAILING X notice.

Banks love the chance to insure you, for at least double. Or more. For those of you not in the states, banks/credit unions demand you keep full coverage insurance on the car in case it’s stolen, wrecked … you get the idea, right?

Now, the big plus when her name was still being on the house, it gave her a great credit rating. But for some reason, after the banks and everyone else she got loans from found out she didn’t have access to the house, all her rates, and payments went up.

And, yup, they can do that. Or demand the loan be paid in full.

Part two of the revenge. I know what you’re thinking, all that and that’s not it? Sad, huh? Anywho, driving home from work one day (oh, I did find a new job), I drove past the bank that had Ex Wife’s car loan and there it be! All shiny and white, just sitting in their parking lot.

I knew what that meant, so I went inside to have a little chat. By law, they have to wait 30 days for you to get caught up on your payments or they put it up for auction. Big hassle for them. Also by law, they can’t tell you what the highest bid is, BUT if you agree to pay off the remainder of the loan, they’d be happy.

At least it was worth more than what she owed. But, I would have gone over a little. So yeah. On day 31, the wife and I were driving home the wife’s new car.

And what made it even better. She (the ex-wife) came in on day 32 with the money to catch it up. AND .. they told her who bought it. My #2 son said she cried all the way home. Oh, life is good sometimes.

It ain’t much but, it put a smile on our faces.”

“Some background: I work in the military as a medic and live in the barracks. All the personnel living in my barracks work at the hospital as medics too. The way our barracks room is set up, there are 2 rooms that house one person each and a small, shared common space with one bathroom. Since the pandemic, the CO (commanding officer) of the base had people living in the barracks to double up to make room to quarantine those who are from the ships.

So now each room had 2 people, a total of 4 people sharing a tiny common space. I didn’t have to move rooms, but someone moved into mine, so I had to make space. We’ll call her Sally. The room was already small, so cramming another person was less than ideal, but there’s nothing we can do. I was also a minimalist, so I was able to give Sally more than half my living space and allowed her to hang up any artwork or photos to make it more comfortable for her.

I also had an extra mattress foam topper that I gave her because the beds are awful.

At first, I thought she was ok. I laid out my rules clearly because I’ve had troubling roommates before. My rules were simple, 1) don’t have people over or throw barracks parties in my room because, you know, social distancing, and I still have valuables and I don’t know her friends, 2) be clean, and 3) if I do something you don’t like, tell me right away.

No passive-aggressive sh*t, and I’ll do the same.

She seemed to be OK with the rules, but boy was I wrong. The hospital we worked at had each department manning be down 50%, so we didn’t work every day, and Sally and I had different schedules. The nights before I work, she would go to some other person’s room to party (not allowed but none of my business), but she would come home around midnight plastered drunk making a lot of noise and go into our fridge (that was in our tiny room that she stuffed with alcohol waaayyy above the allowed amount) and grab more alcohol while lighting up the whole room and clinking the bottles.

She’d leave and then come back again around 3 AM making even more noise and before she goes to bed, she would play the TV full volume and light up the whole room or have her Alexa blast heavy bass music that shook the room. This would happen nearly every night. I already have insomnia and have mental problems and not sleeping wasn’t helping.

I’ve confronted her about it, and she said ok, but she didn’t change.

I’ve talked to my chain of command, and they couldn’t do anything because rooms are limited, but they offered to talk to her chain (we work in different departments). The other 2 roommates in the other room even told her to keep the noise down at night and one even called her out for being stupid and selfish. Sally didn’t care.

I ended up buying a $300 noise-canceling headset to drown out her bass and other ruckus.

(Thank you, Bose.)

Things got worse when I was put on night shift. I’d sleep throughout the day, and my shifts were 12-14 hours, so I was exhausted when I got home. Thankfully, she stayed out most of the day, so I was able to sleep. But when I would come home, I would clean up after her before I would sleep. Trash was everywhere, I’d vacuum, I even bought her a small drawer so she has more storage.

One day after work, I came home and I couldn’t find my new headset. In the middle of looking for them, Sally came home for lunch and I asked her where they were. She found them on her bedpost. I asked why they were there.

Sally: Oh, they fell from the side table so they moved them.

Me: They? (This is when she knew she f*cked up.)

Sally: Yeah, I had a few people over last night.

Me: (trying to be calm) Why did you have people over last night? I told you that I wasn’t comfortable with that because I don’t know your friends. These are expensive headphones.

Sally: I know, I apologize. They were just trying to move them out of the way.

Me: Another thing, I left my headset on my bed. Why would they be in the way?

Sally: …… (She knew she f*cked up again.)

Me: Don’t have people on my bed.

And I don’t care if you party somewhere else, just don’t do it here.

After she left, I let my chain know what happened and that I’m not comfortable sleeping in my own bed. The chain is trying to help, but moving me is still low priority. (You know, since we’re in the middle of a pandemic and all.)

Fast forward a few days, I come home from work and I noticed my bed was messed up.

I smelled my covers and noticed someone else’s smell. I immediately wash my sheets and told my chain again. I work again that same night and was now going to lose some shut-eye because I have to wash my stuff. I confronted her again and she half apologized.

I knew that no matter what I say, she is still going to do what she wants. Since I’ve been working nights, she’s been blasting her bass all throughout the night and not only can the other 2 roommates hear her and have asked her to turn it down, the 4 people living directly below us can hear her and have asked her to turn it down.

She would say ok to everyone but continued to do what she wanted.

Finally, someone filed a noise complaint about her to her chain. Sally came home crying saying, “I can’t sleep with headphones because I move a lot in my sleep and they will come off.” And “I need the bass because it helps me sleep” and my favorite one to the other 2 roommates, “I leave the deadbolt open on my door so YOU can come in the room and tell Alexa to turn off when I sleep.

I don’t like having the door open, but I do it as a favor for YOU.” She claimed to have been sexually assaulted during a room inspection and doesn’t like having the door bolted open, but she is the ONLY one that bolts the FRONT door open too that leads to the HALLWAY, so anyone can come in every night, but hey, you can choose to believe her or not.

After that day, things were tense, but she turned the music down, but she still was a stupid drunk every other night and had people over. She tried to make me look like the bad roommate and she was a victim somehow, but I volunteer a lot and have a lot of friends throughout the hospital including her upper chain, so no one believed her.

Finally, she did something that would get me away from her forever! I came home one night and saw trash as usual and started putting things away and cleaning up.

There was a trash bag that wasn’t there before I left. While putting her things away in her drawer, I saw a sh*tload of needles and gloves, about 13-15 syringe needles. I immediately messaged a friend who worked in her department and asked if they were allowed to bring home needles. He said no and that he was working duty last night at the hospital and Sally came in drunk at 8 PM (literally 30 minutes after I left for work).

The people working duty didn’t know she was drunk at first and Sally asked if they can let her in her work area for something. One person didn’t see why not and let her in without supervising her, this is when they suspect she snuck the needles. When they checked on her, they realized she was drunk and kicked her out.

My friend advised me to make a video as evidence that it’s hers because he was now liable to report the incident.

As I was talking to my friend, I was still cleaning and as I was tossing trash in the trash bag, I saw so much bloody gauzes and uncapped needles in the plastic bag! Sharps have to be tossed in a sharps container and where I’m at, locals go through the trash and properly sort them and if a local were to get stuck by one of those needles the base would get in so much trouble.

So I recorded that too. A roommate from the other room came home and I asked her if people were over the night before and she said yes, and I showed her the bag and drawer of needles and asked if she knew anything about it and she was just as shocked as I was.

The revenge (finally): I send everything to my chain and was interviewed by Sally’s chain and told them everything and was moved out that day.

The military police were called to my room to investigate. Unfortunately, Sally came home before them because someone warned her. She had the audacity to move the needles in the common area to try to blame another roommate, but my video evidence, the testimonies from myself, and the other roommate, and her history shut her down.

When I moved out, I took EVERYTHING: from the drawers I bought her, the hooks on the wall, my blackout curtains, my cleaning supplies, my extension cords, to the pins on the corkboard.

Additionally, the CO put her on restriction for 30 days and she had no electronics and had extra duty and deducted 2 months of half-pay which runs up to be 2k. The best revenge is how she’s now socially outcasted from all this. During the investigation, she threw so many people under the bus to try to save herself. She might have gotten more punishments, but that was all I heard.

She already has a reputation for getting irresponsibly drunk, getting into fights, lying, and skipping out of work. I’ve talked to her chain and they’ve described her as selfish and a pathological liar and don’t pity her. This event just showed everyone her true colors.

Another ending: because of my event, the hospital CO had to investigate what the base CO did and saw that the quarantine rooms were never used to their max occupancy, and the ships at this point had their own quarantine system. Everyone in the barracks was able to move back to their original rooms and no one has doubled up anymore.

Also, I was never told what she used the needles for. She tested negative for drugs and there was no evidence of drug use in the room.”

Everybody knows poop is the best way to get back at someone.

“So, a little backstory.

So, ever since I was born I never liked my brother. He constantly treated me like an animal at the zoo, always took money from and never paid me back, and would claim to be better at me then everything only to form a situation where I would always lose.

The most recently a**hole thing he has done is claim my ps4 as his own and then start to play Overwatch, which he bought with my money (he still denies it) and plays it constantly, never letting me play the system I own.

The fact that makes this sting so much more is I just bought Bloodborne and Persona 5 games I very much enjoy and I can’t even play because of him.

So, after a while, I buy a controller for myself to play games on my pc like DS2 and Hollow knight. I find my controller missing the next day and this b*tch has the audacity to take it for himself.

So, I tell my dad since there isn’t anything I can do against a 17-year-old, 6’3″, 150 lbs as a 14-year-old, 90 lbs kid, and my dad tells me to “let him have it” since my brother is a freak who is by definition a sociopath.

So, one day, I play for however long I want until he physically forces me off. Then I go up to his room take out his most expensive pair of pants put them on and sh*t in them to re-create the age-old joke, “Who pooped my pants?”

“I was working in a downtown office with half a dozen fast food places and such within a block or two. But there was an older, larger lady who started to snag me every time I went out to lunch and ask me or others in the office to pick up her lunch, often with very detailed, specific, condiment/dressing requests.

NEVER would return the favor.

She would start acting impatient if we would go out later than usual.

She would act huffy if we brought lunch from home or ordered pizza delivery.

So, I started shorting her 5 cents on her change or bringing back root beer instead of cola.

Lazy lunch lady stopped asking!

BTW, a couple of months later, she tripped on the sidewalk getting lunch and broke her arm. She wanted to sue the bank whose sidewalk she had tripped on. She asked me to take a photo of the “ledge” that she had tripped on. I did that, with a ruler to show its height – 3/8ths of an inch (1 cm).”