People Share The Time They Got Payback That Was Completely Successful

How many times have you gotten revenge on someone, only for it to blow back up in your face? It seems like right when you think you’re finally getting payback on a cruel person, you’re back in debt where you started. Now back to square one!

But think of how glorious it is when revenge is successful. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders. It feels like you’re on top of the world. And most importantly, you get to rest in satisfaction knowing that the victim got what they rightfully deserved and now gets to bask in regret for their poor choice of actions for the next few months or years.

I’m sure the girl who got her car’s tires leaked after parking improperly will continue parking perfect for as long as she lives. I’m also pretty certain that the disrespectful bully in Story 16 learned he’s not quite the king of the jungle when one of his victims finally struck back (a little late but at the perfect moment nonetheless). Read below for more of these great, successful revenge stories! You’ll be on the edge of your seat with these ones!

15. He Treated Our Relationship Like A Game, So I Switched Up My Laundry Game

“I did his laundry. Yup. Laundry.

All the signs were there. Hang up phone calls. This was before caller id, *69, etc. Finally, there were blatant remarks about his gf, made to me his wife. Hickies on his neck.

I didn’t say anything. I did his laundry.

And rinsed every pair of tightie-whities in a heaping helping of bleach.

In case you’re not quite realizing what I mean and what it does. I poured the bleach into the rinse water. After the spin cycle, I dried them. They looked clean. They smelled very clean. They were very white. He was pleased with my skills. And, soon, he was too red, raw and swollen in his private region to even think of making love.
He was probably worried to death he had some terrible std, she probably broke up with him and ran to get herself checked.

I just stayed and did laundry.

Soon he healed, for awhile he behaved. Things were good. Then he stepped out again. I didn’t accuse. I didn’t cry. I didn’t hide in bushes trying to catch him in the act. I did laundry.

Soon his junk was swollen and raw. He had a hard, hot, sweaty job and the bleach did a number on him. He and his side piece weren’t having fun anymore. Maybe they were wondering who gave who what.
I really don’t think the woman got red or raw, but the condition of his private area probably scared them both.

It was a mystery to me, MY private region was fine.

Eventually, he learned he just felt better and was safer at home.

Eventually, I got sick of the game and got a divorce.” Connie Wright

14. Tell Me The Scarf For Sale Was Actually “Lost By A Customer?” I’ll Be that Customer!

“Years ago in the Boston area, there was a popular store called Filene’s Basement.

It was famous for its extensive racks and large, square bins of clothes and accessories at extremely low prices, as well as its crowds.
If you had enough time and patience, you could often get a great deal. The original store, at Downtown Crossing in the city of Boston, closed a number of years after the following story took place.

A college friend of mine named Jenny, a female friend of hers whom I only met that day, and I had all gone to the Boston Filene’s Basement to look around. Jenny was in search of a wedding present for still another friend of hers.
I thought I would help if I could.

We found ourselves at one of the waist-level open wooden bins, this one piled high with scarves of a huge variety of colors and designs.

Nothing we found seemed to suit. Using a technique I had perfected to access newer and cleaner items at the very bottom of the pile, I grabbed a number of new, folded scarves and pulled them out to have a look to see if there was a treasure in there. Lo and behold, the largest and most gorgeous scarf I had ever seen was in the group. I was struck speechless by its exquisite dark blue background with a rainbow of embroidered flowers and gold threads, as well as its fine quality.
It felt like silk. It was still folded neatly, as brand new items often are when they haven’t been opened, used or worn.
Unlike many scarves in the enormous and picked-over pile, this one had clearly been left untouched.

I immediately showed it to Jenny because I thought it would be a perfect fit for her friend. She loved it and went to look for the price tag. It was so gorgeous, we were concerned that it would be too expensive, even though all the scarves in the bin were, according to the sign, only $20 each. We couldn’t believe that the scarf I had discovered was that cheap, hence the attempt to locate a price tag on the scarf.
There was no price tag. Uh oh.
This could mean that it had never had one, or it had fallen off in the riotous jostling and tossing around of the scarf pile prior to our visit. Still unfortunate. I offered to go find a staff member who could check for us.

That was when things got weird.

I found a female clerk nearby and asked if she could check for a price and give the item a tag, so we could possibly buy it.

This clerk took the scarf, examined it for less than 5 seconds and declared, “No, it has no tag because it’s been lost by a customer, so I am going to take it and put it in the lost-and-found.” She proceeded to quickly walk away with it.
WTF???

As I mentioned earlier, it was clearly brand new and never used; it hadn’t even been unfolded ONCE before I found it buried deep at the bottom of the bin.

My only thought was, “Oh my God! This b**** wants it for herself!” You must understand, the fabric of the scarf was truly a work of art.

I had never seen anything like it before, and haven’t since. However, I realized that this clerk was going to steal it under the guise of finding its “rightful owner.” And I got mad. Jenny was disappointed, but she was willing to let it go.
I, on the other hand, was not. I asked Jenny to wait for me, and that I would just be a second…

I proceeded to follow the clerk from a safe distance to the complete opposite side of the store. I saw her tuck the scarf into a small plastic bin on a shelf behind the cash register and leave the area, toward some offices behind the cashiers’ counter.

Furious now, I hatched my plan.

You see, if the scarf had been “lost” by “a customer” then why not…

…be that customer?

I waited in the long checkout line, heart rate increasing (would the clerk re-emerge and see me?), until I reached a cashier and proceeded to fabricate a short story about having lost my scarf earlier that day, describing it in sufficient detail so that when the unknowing cashier went to check the lost-and-found bin, oh my goodness! There it is! Oh, thank you SO much! And away I went, scarf safely in hand.

I was shaking.

I met up with Jenny and her friend outside the store and gave it to her, along with the story of how I got it back. She was shocked, but happy. And yes, it was free.

I often wonder how the original clerk reacted when she attempted to take the scarf home for herself and found it gone…” Zoe Morosini

Another User Comments:

“A town I used to live in, the clerks at the Goodwill would, if they saw something they liked, try to hide it. See, they aren’t allowed to buy anything until it has been on the floor for a day and the price tags had dates on them.
If you found it, they’d pick at the price tag, then claim they could not sell it to you because the price tag had been tampered with.

I watched them do both of these actions many times.” Steven J Greenfield

13. Weaving In And Out Of Cars Isn’t A Game, It’s Dangerous

“In 1980 I had a full-size Ford F250 truck, which is somewhat larger than a sedan. I was on a 2-lane highway in Massachusetts, when the national speed limit had been reduced to 55mph, down from the 65mph it had been previously (in order to reduce the nation’s dependence on foreign oil), and to which it has returned today.
Back then, groups of cars would travel together in “wolf packs” at 10 to 20 miles over that speed limit. It was a reaction, a protest, to the lowered speed limit. I have never seen them since the limit was raised.

We always felt safe, because who would the police stop? In the dozens of times I was with them, I never saw any police action. The 5 to 20 cars were always good drivers, moving smoothly amongst themselves and while passing other cars. It was almost like a ballet – smooth and beautiful to watch and be part of. When such a group came up on you, you could just join in and become one of them.
It felt like some kind of liberation. Everyone was observant of the others, of course, because no one would want to be part of a reckless group of speedy vehicles. In all my experience, I only noticed one driver who was not “with it,” as a wolf pack is a team effort sort of thing.

Perhaps he was a bit inebriated on alcohol or drugs.

One time, I was traveling at 65mph in front of four cars on a 2-lane highway where the oncoming traffic was too heavy for normal passing. The road had a shoulder wide enough to park a car beyond the white line.
A speedy sports car came up behind us, and decided to pass each car, one by one, on the shoulder. He would pass each car, pull in front, and make the car passed pull back a bit to ensure adequate space between the vehicles. Passing on the shoulder is considered dangerous because the vehicles being passed may or may not be aware of this vehicle, and, who knows, how much in control they are in, considering its relatively unusual nature.

I would be surprised if any of these other drivers weren’t concerned about this. I could see that the car had a quick pickup and that the driver had a fast reaction time.
So…when it was in the process of speeding up and passing my truck, the ground beyond the shoulder was at the exact same level as the pavement, so I knew it was safe for what I was about to do – I merely moved over to the right three feet, forcing the car to be half on the shoulder and half on the grass. You won’t believe how fast he sped out of there and didn’t slow down until he was out of sight. Hopefully, he learned a lesson.

I pumped both arms in the air several times in celebration. I assume several of the drivers behind me could see me doing this in silhouette.
I like to imagine that some of them were laughing and cheering, but how could I ever know?” Matthew Rasanen

12. Spread Rumors About Me? Boy, Do I Have A Great Punishment For You

“About 30 years ago, I worked for a steel fabrication company as a production floor leadman. There was a woman working as a welder, and her husband Mike and brother-in-law also worked there. We were all friends at work but never really socialized much outside of work. Any way Daphne ended being assigned to my crew, so we worked together a lot and we got along well as friends, but never anything more than that.

Well, there was one guy working at the other end of the building who liked to spread gossip and stir up crap. So naturally, he spread stories about me and Daphne sneaking off to the compressor room, and elsewhere for “quickies.” Mike heard about that, knew it wasn’t true. He wanted to punch out the gossiper so I stopped him and said that I have an idea.

The gossiper was on his 4th wife, having some “self-induced” bad luck with wives because he liked to stray. Wife #4 kept her thumb on him pretty well. She also did all the chores around the house, washed and waxed their car, and everything – at least according to her husband.
They also had a bad habit of ticking off neighbors, having been caught as peeping Toms and Tonyas.

But it was clear to all who wore the pants in that family. And it was clear that they had WAY too much time on their hands.

So I asked my wife for a pair of panties, explaining to her what I was going to do. But it creeped her out so we bought a new pair and I clipped a few curly hairs from the dog.

Next day, I slipped out into the parking lot, and Gossiper’s car was unlocked. So I kept low in case anyone should look to the parking lot, and I jammed those panties under the front seat passenger side.
Then I walked back to the shop. I almost felt guilty fearing that it could end in a divorce.

Nothing happened for a week or so, so I guess Mrs. Gossiper didn’t clean the car weekly or that he found them and tossed em. Well, after about a month, we noticed the Gossiper was eating his lunch with Mrs every day. She would drive in at morning coffee, he had to go outside and sit in the car with her. She would come every lunch hour and sit with him And for afternoon coffee. Every day for a very long time! And if he was a minute late she would scream him out.
Many people wondered what was up with that but he didn’t say.

Finally, after nearly a year of this – scout’s honor, every day for a year – someone asked Gossiper if he had gotten his Mrs a Valentine card.

He said “No. She took me to the store to get one, I went in without her, and I guess I took too long because she came in and dragged me out, cussing me out that I was trying to screw all the girl’s in there. So I couldn’t get one. Last year, someone put a pair of stinking panties under my seat and now she won’t even let me eat lunch with her being there to make sure I don’t screw anyone.
And I got no idea where those came from!”

I never expected it but that worked great! Gossiper never gossiped about anyone for quite a long time! I got high-5s from Daphne and Mike for that one. No one that knew of it thought that would work so well.

Best revenge I ever “engineered.” Chet Gilford

11. They Learned To Stop Being Bullies That Day

Sometimes you have to learn the hard way.

“Many years ago, I was a student at a junior college carpentry course.

Most of the students, including myself, were local to the area. However, we had two guys from elsewhere in the state who were roommates in the dormitory.
In short, these guys were total jerks! They made life tough for everyone in the class and resorted to whatever form of bullying they could when it suited them.

One of their ‘hobbies’ was stealing other students’ tools. I lost a few to them.

These guys got to be just enough of a problem, it was time that somebody had to do something. The instructor had his reasons for not wanting to take a stand on it.

So I did.

I worked over my ‘contacts’ to see if anyone could come up with some very objectionable printed material that could be ‘planted’. Everyone thought my idea was good, but nobody really had anything that would work reliably.
Finally, I got a phone call. Someone had just moved into a place and found some very explicit adult material stashed somewhere in there. I came over, picked out a couple of ‘winning’ pictures to cut out, and took them while the new tenant disposed of the rest of it.

Classroom session was after lunch. The chapter and page in the carpentry textbook to be discussed had been announced and was written on the chalkboard. Everyone left their belongings on the tables of the classroom throughout the day.

Over the lunch hour, I walked in, verified the place was deserted, and then planted some of the ‘choice material’ in the textbook of the guy who was the most aggressive a-hole of the two.
After lunch, the classroom filled. I was toward the front with a couple of the other guys who were older, more level-headed, and reasonable. The guys just out of high school clustered at the back. These two guys always moved into a position where they could essentially dominate the people in the back of the room, who did generally try to keep their distance.

The instructor told everyone to open their books to the page number listed on the chalkboard. We all did that…

Within a couple of moments, with much commotion, everyone from the back of the room was quickly settling in the front of the room.

The two guys from elsewhere were just sitting there looking at each other in total disbelief, and then they started blaming each other for it!

I recall them both becoming rather quiet and reserved after that. I think they did a lot of growing up that day.” Tim Gordon

Another User Comments:

“Good for you! That is one way to deal with bullies!” Teresa Spanics

Reply:

“Thanks, Teresa. I’ve always figured that when one has to fight dirty, try to do it in such a way that somebody is learning from it, rather than merely just being mean like they’ve been!” Tim Gordon

10. She Never Parked Over The Line Again

“I used to live in an apartment when I was 20 where we had assigned parking spaces.

I worked two jobs – one in the day and then one at night. My hours were from 7 AM–3 PM and then from 4 PM to 12 AM. As you can imagine, when I would come home, I would be DEAD TIRED!

We had assigned spaces at this particular apartment complex. There was one girl who would ALWAYS park her car over the line and partially in my space, which would block me from parking in my assigned space. When this would happen, I would have to park in the visitor spaces, which were a long distance away from my apartment unit, and then walk back to the building late at night/early in the morning.
That community was VERY dark at night and I felt VERY on edge walking alone in the wee hours of the morning back to my apartment from the visitor spots! I was respectful, so even though this went on for almost a month, I didn’t go knock on the girl’s door when I got home because it was such a late hour and I knew she would be sleeping.

I knew the girl. She and I were kind of frenemies and I knew her before she moved into the complex. Her best friend liked a guy but had been afraid to tell him.
I met the guy and dated him. Her friend held a grudge, so she did too. She didn’t realize I lived in that apartment community, but we saw each other after she moved in and we realized that our spaces were side by side. We weren’t cozy with each other, but I didn’t have any issues with her directly.

I finally had enough of her parking over the line, and blocking me from parking in the spot I was paying for. I decided to talk to her one weekend when I was well-rested and calm.

I went to her apartment and asked her REALLY kindly to please park her car only in her space.
She already knew I worked multiple jobs and got home late and I explained that the way she parked was causing me to have to walk in the dark from the visitor spots. She laughed me off, but then apologized and agreed to park ONLY in her spot. I stayed completely calm when I talked to her and, after that talk, I thought we had an understanding. I was WRONG!

After that talk, she parked over the line MORE than she had ever done before! I couldn’t believe it! I came home that Monday evening and found that she had parked DIRECTLY in the middle of the two spaces so that she had a room on the right AND left side of her car for nothing bigger than a bicycle.

I was LIVID! It was 1 AM. I couldn’t believe she did that AFTER I was nice to her AFTER I explained that I got off late and it was dangerous for me to be walking alone from the visitor spots and AFTER she knew I worked two jobs and would be TOTALLY TIRED when I got home! This was INTENTIONAL on her part! So this meant WAR!

On that particular night/morning, I had enough! It was action time! After walking from the visitor spot where I parked my car, I went into my apartment and put my stuff down. I grabbed some gloves and a hat and put on different clothes – all black.
I stuffed my hair into the hat and went out of my building, down the side of the building and then around it so I could come back into the parking lot without anyone looking out of their windows and seeing me.

It was about 3 AM at this point and I was DEAD TIRED, but I was on a mission! I walked all the way around the back of the buildings, stealthily went over to her car and let the air out of ALL her tires! I know! I know! Forgive me! 🙂 I let the air out of each tire and then I put the caps in the same place right in the center of each tire all the way around the car.
I wanted it to be CLEAR that it was no mistake! I walked around the building, came back up the side and went into my unit. In the morning, I came out to go to work. She usually left for work before I did.

Her car was still there! LOL…when I came home that night, guess what? She was COMPLETELY parked in her own spot and NOT EVEN the slightest bit over the line. She NEVER parked over into my spot again! EVER!

Weeks later I was out with some friends and some of our mutual friends ended up talking about someone doing something to her car and how she had to miss work because of the issue.
I piped up and said that I hoped the person didn’t damage the tires and they filled me in on what SHE had to go through! LOL! As it turns out, she thought her tires had been SLASHED and ended up CATCHING THE BUS TO GO BUY NEW TIRES! Just to put that into perspective, we lived in a nice community that was NOT in an easy place to get to for non-drivers.

There was a “professional’s bus” that ran Monday through Friday from the community straight into the downtown area and another bus that ran every HOUR AND A HALF AND you had to walk quite a distance to even get to that bus stop! It was NOT a very bus friendly area at all! The place she purchased the tires from had a tow truck.
After purchasing the new tires, she had to ride BACK to the apartment complex with the tow guy so they could get her car and then go BACK to the shop. Then, they started taking off the tires and checking them and discovered that they weren’t punctured! They ended up refunding the tire money and she had to pay for the tow.

My friends told me she had been SUPER p*ssed! She missed work, she missed a day’s pay from her job because she had used up all of her vacation and sick time, she had to catch a bus – which she hated, she had to pay for tires and she went through all of that only to find that the tires JUST needed air! She HAD a jump box WITH an air pump on it too! They said she just didn’t think to try using that before going through all of that trouble!

I should add that she didn’t even think it was me! SHE ACTUALLY THOUGHT HER EX BOYFRIEND’S NEW GIRLFRIEND DID IT BECAUSE THEY HAD AN ARGUMENT OVER THE PHONE AND SHE THOUGHT THE NEW GIRLFRIEND WAS JEALOUS OF HER! LOL! ” Kay Morton

9. Have A Great Bachelor Party!

He didn’t see THIS coming at all.

“This is awesome. In the 80s I was in Ensenada with some friends bar hopping.
We found ourselves walking out of a bar early one morning and saw a sign that said Charter Fishing. Anyways everyone wanted to go fishing. Knowing I get car and seasick, I passed. But Eddie said hey man they have these new patches. Put it on now you’ll be fine. So I lift my shirt and he puts the patch on me.

We are out getting baitfish and I’m puking like a mofo. But the water is like glass. I don’t get it. The boat hand walks over and says Senor are you ok. I said I’m f*cking green and puking foam.
No, I’m not ok.
And I have a patch on.

I shouldn’t be sick. He lifts my shirt up, peels the patch off and everyone starts laughing. Eddie, that a**hole, put a Nicorette patch on me. I don’t smoke.

Fast forward 32 yrs later. Eddie is getting married to his high school girlfriend who patiently waits for 35 yrs. I beg to be the one in charge of his bachelor party. I need to find an exotic dancer who is more manly than feminine. I call a friend in Hollywood in the adult business and tell him what I need. He has me meet him at Denny’s in Hollywood the next night.
Before I even got 20 feet from him I could tell that he was, in fact, a man. I said no offense but that large Adam’s apple and your deep voice give away that you’re a man.

I said Roger, we need to make this person pass as a woman. Pass without any doubts. He says it’ll be expensive. I don’t care.

4 days later he wants me to meet him at the same Dennys. He says he has what I want. I pull up get out of my vehicle and walk-in. This smoking hot blonde stops me and asks if I want to get a drink.
Beautiful enough to get your attention without screaming that she could be a paid girl. I said wait right here, I’ll be back in 10. So I go to Dennys and see Roger in a booth alone. I said where is he/she? Roger smiles and the blonde from outside is standing right behind me.

I couldn’t believe it. She is perfect. My only question was how this person looked without clothes on. That would be the true test. I got a demonstration of how it all tucks together.  I shared my plans, handed over a $1500 deposit and waited.

The bachelor party.
Everybody was waiting for the dancer to arrive.
I showed them all the photos. Said she was an ex Hustler model. In the meantime the chair Eddie would be sitting in for the show was anchored to the concrete. The dancer showed and handcuffed my boy to the chair. I hid out in the kitchen with Eddie’s woman who is the only person that knows what’s gonna happen.

She does her routine slowly taking her clothes off.

The guys are going nuts throwing down lots of money. The bride-to-be has her father attending too. He doesn’t know his daughter is watching him. This goes on for the best 45 minutes of my life.
Now it’s time for Armageddon. I signal for the girl to unleash the beast.

She goes down to just tiny underthings with a tiny whistle attached to a small elastic string. The dancer tells Eddie you have to blow the whistle to get the key to the handcuffs. He gets teased a little but finally gets the whistle in his mouth. As he’s blowing the whistle, the dancer lets go and out flies very large junk, bigger than probably any man at that party. Every jaw at that show was on the ground.

Eddie in his drunken state was starting to sober up.
Quickly.

While it was still quiet, the dancer says remember Ensenada? Remember the Nicorette patch. Paybacks suck, Eddie. Consider yourself paid. She grabbed her stuff, plus her tips (which we figured totaled in excess of $4k), came over and gave me a hug, hugged Eddie’s girl and left. Revenge? Oh yes. Respect? Tripled. I had fools calling me saying, hey remember I broke your skateboard in 3rd grade? We are cool right? Or I can pay you for that now. What I got the most from this is patience. I waited over 30 years. And I unleashed my revenge without hesitation. People are more aware around me, afraid they might mess up.
And I just sit here.

Laughing..” Steve Arce

8. I Got The Last Punch

“I have hated bullies my whole life and I hold grudges. I was tough enough for a little guy but always outmatched by much bigger guys. When I was in 6-7th grade I tore a ligament (partial) in my knee and spent 6 months in a cast. It was horrible getting around school on crutches.

One day, I was waiting in line to speak with my teacher and the boy behind me, also waiting, knocked the books out of my hand. While I picked them up hopping around he spoke with the teacher and laughed at me as he walked out the room.
I told him that one day he would regret doing that. I spent the next 5 years with this guy and he would always make smart remarks.

I guess he felt free to do this because he was bigger and older.

I went through high school with him and he was just such a jerk. A few of my friends knew the story and would tell me to let it go but that’s not in my nature. And this guy was pushing other kids around. Well, a year after graduating I saw him in a bar and he was berating a waitress for what I have no idea (maybe out of his sense of entitlement, he {his parents} was wealthy).
The waitress was crying in the back corner and it made me see red. As I was leaving the bar, I noticed him across the street heading to another bar.

We were heading in the same direction.  I tell my buddies how much I hated this guy. Finally, I made my move across the street, I told my friends to stay away in case he thought a large group of guys was coming for him. It is a very busy street but cars don’t move fast because of all the people.

He was getting to his car when I caught him and asked him if he remembered me.
He says no but he knew. So I cocked my arm back and punched him straight in the face. He went down hard on his car and was bleeding. I said to him “that’s for knocking the books out of my hands in 7th grade!” As I turned around there was a huge bus stopped and everyone was looking out the window.

I hadn’t noticed it but they saw and heard the whole thing and they were laughing and cheering. I know it was an immature thing to do but I was an immature guy. I felt a sense of imbalance and this was what I needed to do.
I walked back across the street to my buddies and went on with my night. This is a story all of my friends told for at least 10 years. I never felt bad about it and haven’t seen the guy since. It was liberating.

What I have learned is that people get away with a lot of things like berating a waitress or picking on smaller kids. And they do it because there have been no repercussions so why stop.

If you know the feeling of being punched or beaten up it reminds you to act appropriately or it can happen again.
I understand if you feel like I was in the wrong but I do not regret it today. The guy was a jerk and now maybe will think twice about treating someone terribly.” Mike DeMone

Another User Comments:

“I think you did great for doing what you did. I just feel bad you weren’t able to something a lot earlier, like while still in school.

Bullying is rampant, and schools have no idea how to handle it. Almost everyone who reports it says, “My teacher did nothing” or “The school didn’t do anything to stop it.”

Thanks for the share.

I’m sorry you were bullied and had to suffer through it.” Ed Lisbe

7. Her Darkest Secret Was Revealed With My Master Plan

“I was teaching in a small rural school when the harassment started from a coworker.

She was a support person in the building. Her child was one of my students. On my first day of school, I would always send home a small pamphlet of expectations for classwork and class behavior; it was to be signed by parents and students, then returned. This procedure would save drama later on in the school year, when a child or parent would claim that, Johnny or Suzie “Didn’t know better” or “Understand.” This coworker came to me and told me that their child would not be following several of my rules in the pamphlet after school on the first day.
My first question was, “Why?” I was then told the reason their child would not be following the rules, “They don’t like the rules.” Like it or not, my rules stand without a valid reason why they shouldn’t.

I explained to the mother, citing several examples where I would be willing to make adjustments, for valid reasons. The mother got mad and said, “You’ll be sorry,” then stormed off. I thought, “What is this junior high?”

The first quarter was moving along, this coworker’s child had a “B+” in my class. I am suddenly called to the office for a meeting after school with my principal, with the coworker and her husband about picking on their child.
That is their claim of why their child’s grade is suffering. Wait, a “B+” is a good grade. I grade with a rubrics allowing students to see what area they lost their points in on assignments. These parents bring in an assignment I downgrade a section on capitalization.

This is the same mistake that this child has repeatedly made the same error, has been spoken to about, been warned to make the corrections, and chooses not to fix the capitalization issue.

I explain that their child told me, they were not going to correct their capitalization. These parents wanted me to let their child have a pass on capitalization.
I told them I couldn’t do that because of state guidelines. The coworker, mom, changed subjects, digressing into a rant about having the children write journal entries every day. The meeting spirals where both parents are calling me names, my principal does nothing about it; I walk out of the meeting. They didn’t want to help their child’s education. They just wanted to be able to bully an “A” out of me.

The coworker pulled her child from my class, hiring a private teacher for her child.

I would think that would be the end of this nightmare parent, nope. She programmed spyware on my computer, leaking all of my confidential student files.
This coworker then began a phone campaign in the community to get me fired, telling everyone I leaked confidential student information. She physically shoved me from behind in the hall one day, when my hands were full, then laughed. If that wasn’t enough she called the cops on me while I was at work, telling them I was intoxicated in front of my students. The police came and did a sobriety test in front of my students. This was the final straw of her bullying me.

I had already turned in my resignation. Not because of her nonsense, I had health reasons.
I decided to have a little fun.

I had figured out months before, she was a substance abuser. This was going to be to my advantage in my revenge plot against this wretch. She was also very predictable in her schedule; she did the same routines like clockwork every day. She had an office at the back of the library. My classroom had a backdoor into the library; if the library was locked I could still get in there. The plan for revenge was writing itself.

I have always maintained connections to people, that know people, that know…well, the idea is drawn out; one of the connections was to the one thing she wanted and needed, drugs.

I didn’t want her cut off; I wanted the price raised, the dealer to act as if there was a shortage for some bogus reason. If the dealer’s profit margin was getting affected, they wouldn’t be game but raising the price solved that problem. The idea was to keep her on edge, never satisfied, ever. Once I had that accomplished, I moved to the next step. I went to the pet shop, bought two dozen feeder crickets; released them into her office. I sprinkled itching powder on all her books and papers; knowing she would move them looking for the little noisemakers.
I picked the thermostat lock box in her office, then turned it up to 95 degrees. She was always wearing long sleeves to cover her track marks.

She shed her sleeves in the sweltering heat until someone could adjust her thermostat. Somehow, it kept getting turned back up to 95 degrees. The next thing I did is diabolical, but it tipped the scale for people in the community to realize, she was an addict. I put “Buck Lure”, female concentrated deer urine, on pantyliners. Why pantyliners? Pantyliners have an absorbent side and an adhesive side both of which served my devious purpose.
On the underside of her desk, I placed a liner, inside the file cabinet on the topmost underside, a liner. I placed half a dozen liners in her office. In the final act, I painted the keyboard with a Q-tip with the deer urine.

She had looked all over, couldn’t figure out where the odor was coming from in her office.

She had to get her work done in her sweaty oven of an office. This made her fingertips moist, picking-up the deer urine off the keyboard when she typed. The more she looked for the scent and the crickets, the more itching powder she came into contact with on her hands.
The hotter she became, the more reactive the powder. The more she scratched her skin, the more she spread the powder.

All of these things, had her walking around the school and town like a frazzled ball of nerves. She began walking around school with her track marks showing, itching, complaining about bugs, and compulsively smelling her fingers.

After two weeks, the whole town knew she was a strung out mess. I just revealed to everyone who she was under her fake facade.” Mindy Lou Johnston

6. They Had No More Money For Partying After I Was Through With Them

“I lived in off-campus apartments for about 3 years during/after undergrad and I landed an awesome 2nd floor of an old house, with lots of windows, high ceilings, a huge bedroom with a bay window, and OFF STREET parking.

The neighbors that lived downstairs from me were college freshmen who were excited to have a party house. They had lied to the university, saying they lived with their parents 45 minutes away, so they could opt out of student housing. They chose to live in an area that was quiet and mostly grad students or townies. When they partied, they were the only ones at that noise level/obnoxiousness.

The boys got really drunk and liked to throw empty bottles at my Jeep. They mowed the lawn with a weed whacker. They broke into my apartment for food. One quiet Sunday morning I heard the boyfriend yelling at the girlfriend and she was crying and begging ‘no.’ Their dog had stopped barking too which made me fear he had gotten serious.

I called the cops and by the time they got there he had smashed her computer and left. I could hear through the floor, the police knock and ask if she was ok. She said yes and they left. She started sobbing.

After that she was a lot nicer to me but I actually started to feel unsafe. I told them to cut it out, the loud music and everything, and they laughed. I found out that the couple on the lease was actually engaged and that she worked for the university as a parking lot enforcer (writing tickets). I finally reported her to the university for lying about residency.
They asked if I’d be willing to testify and I hesitated but said yes.

They had a trial or something since they all had lied in Federal documents, and she had lied as an employee too. They were able to keep the apartment but they had to pay all the $$$$ they would’ve paid for living in the dorms for the year as well. Things got a lot quieter after that. I guess they didn’t have $$$ to spare anymore for beer.

My landlord was one of my professors and he knew they were freshmen and he rented to them anyways. When he started funny business with me because I wanted the toilet to stop overflowing when I took a shower and vice versa, I said, “Hey I wonder what the university would think if they knew you rented out to freshmen who were supposed to be living in the dorms, and that in your leases it specifies this rule AND you have the student say which year they are.” The students had lied to the university but not him.”
Kaitlyn Rock

5. It Took Two Years, But He Finally Got Fired

We all get what we deserve in the end.

“This didn’t start out as revenge and I never imagined it would amount to even a slap on the wrist.
It was all about our son’s middle school, some really bad, lazy, teachers, who played favorites and the even lazier principal who protected them by lying and blaming our son (a 12-year-old!).

One teacher refused to give boys the grades they deserved and instead focused on the girls alone. Another was so old, she kept losing our son’s work, resulting in low marks. In Mass., teachers must meet with parents at their request, by law, but these two creeps refused.
Finally, someone got them to meet with us only if the principal or assistant principal was there.

The one who only liked girls refused outright, so we filed a complaint.

No matter what they did, the principal kept backing them up and blaming us or our son unfairly. Finally, after they canceled a few meetings or just didn’t show up, my husband resorted to storming into the principal’s office, even interrupting his meetings. He’s not a violent guy but very tall and strong-looking. When angry, his face is quite scary, so I’m guessing that’s why they listened to him and not me.
But it still didn’t result in improvement for our son. They struck back by “losing” all his doctor’s notes for absences (he had a chronic bronchial condition). The doctor was asked to re-submit the notes so many times (by us) that finally, they said they would no longer do it—that it was pointless (they were right) and suggested that we send copies by registered, return receipt mail.

We did.

Then, the jerks put our son on the truant list and we had to go before the District Attorney! When we presented our evidence, he was so disgusted that he chewed out the assistant principal (the principal didn’t even show), threw him out and threatened to fine him.
He took our son’s name off the list.

I filed a formal complaint against the principal with the state Department of Education. They called and asked a few questions, then said they would investigate. I also got the same notice in writing.

We were getting desperate and luckily, a new charter school was about to open.
The admittance was by lottery and after attending an info session, we signed our son up. He got in and off he went, to a much better school! He also managed to get several of his friends to ditch the horrible city school and go to the charter school as well.

Someone actually called us from the Superintendent’s to complain and I told them to stuff it…that they brought this on themselves.

A couple years went by and I got one notice from the DOE that their investigation was almost complete. I figured it would amount to nothing. But one day I picked up the paper and on the front page was an article about angry teachers protesting the firing of the principal! He was canned a few months shy of retirement, without a pension! You can’t imagine the joy I felt! I’m not prone to Schadenfreude, but this was like a religious experience!

I laughed with amazement as I showed the article to my husband and son.
We couldn’t believe how many teachers claimed that this guy was a “great guy” and “so dedicated”..bla-bla-blah! Dedicated to covering their ass*es, is the actual story.

The town buzzed for months with news of this, both for and mostly against him. I’ve never met anyone who deserved firing more than this guy. He never gave a damn about the pain he caused our son, so why care about him?

It took over two years, but yes, revenge was so sweet!” Sharon Talbot

4. She Finally Stopped Feeding The Birds

“I lived in an apartment in the heart of a large urban city. My brother and I had the corner apartment on the 6th floor.
Across from us was a school, beside us a church and the rest of the street was all different size apartments. This is important for later events.

Some old lady, two floors up, decided to put up 4 big bird feeders on her balcony, I assume so she could hear the birds outside her apartment.

What it meant for me was that half of my balcony was covered in bird sh*t. And since the city was beside a huge lake, the primary beneficiaries of the feeders were seagulls (sh*t-hawks) and pigeons (flying rats). Being on the corner, the breeze had 180 degrees where it would blow it onto the balcony itself, not to mention the disgustingly covered balcony railing.
So, not only is our balcony useless now for storage or enjoyment, the thing reeked to high heaven, forcing us to close all the windows in our apartment.

Now I know how things work. If I complained, there would be the level of the indifference of the landlord, the court proceedings, the appeal process, the mean young men vs the kind old lady, etc.

I have been down this road, and it is not something I would ever recommend to anyone.

Instead, I got pails and filled them with rice and left them out on the edge of the balcony for a few days.
There were now over 100 dead birds in the immediate area. Both the church and school had to report it for health scare reasons, so the city immediately investigated. Nothing hurries up a bloated government bureaucracy than the potential of multiple negligence lawsuits!

Once the dead birds were cleaned up and tested, the police onslaught to lay charges were afoot! Once you make a bureaucracy move its a** and spend resources better wasted on themselves, there needs to be someone to pay for it.

Finally, the cops noticed the bird sh*t down one corner of the building and went about questioning everyone in the building.
When they got to my door, my pails and stuff were all cleaned and stored away. When they started to question me I made sure to talk about the nice old lady two floors up. I told them that we occasionally share an elevator ride and that a couple of times when asked about what she fed the birds, she confided she buys whatever is on sale to feed the birds. It may be bird feed, it may be small nuts, small seeds or small grains. The cops looked at my balcony, took notes of our talk and left.

Found out days later, she had been given a huge fine for illegally feeding birds from her apartment, and another for public nuisance for killing all the birds for using non-bird feed and told that if they ever find here doing this again, there would be more severe consequences to follow.

A follow-up notice in every common room, the elevator and every hallway notifying tenants to inform them that feeding birds or other wild/stray animals were forbidden and possible eviction would result in violators.

Problem solved in a matter of days. Once cleaned up, I was able to enjoy my balcony for the remaining 4 years I lived there.” Bart Vance

3. Treat My Dog Like Garbage? Your Beloved Exotic Pets Will Be Gone

“About 25 yeas ago I was a first-time homeowner. I lived in an older neighborhood with wonderful neighbors. All except one. We were a young family with 1 child in kindergarten and 2 dogs.
One of our dogs used to like run out the door when given the opportunity. That one neighbor was usually outside when it would happen.

She would immediately go inside her home and call the dogcatcher. Then she would come back out and scream at us until we caught our dog. The more the neighbor would scream the more excited the dog got. The dog thought it was an exciting game of chase and the screaming was all for fun.

We would eventually get the dog on her leash and back in the house. The dogcatcher would come by and talk to us and tell us we need to keep our dog on a leash.
One day I was talking to a friend that lived in the neighborhood. I was telling her about the other neighbor and what a problem it was that she calls the dogcatcher on us.

My friend mentioned that she was surprised because this other neighbor is such an animal lover. She proceeded to tell me that she has all kinds of animals over there. In addition to cats and dogs, she also has a pig, a crow, and an opossum.

The next time my dog got out and was running around and the neighbors screaming and making everything worse, I’d had enough.
It took me a while to get the courage to make the phone call but I did. I decided to call the department of fish and game on this neighbor. Opossums are marsupials, and you’re not allowed to keep marsupials as pets where we live. I didn’t tell anyone at all that I had made this anonymous phone call.

Later, I heard from my friend that all of her animals were impounded. None of her animals were registered/licensed and she had more than the allowed number of cats and dogs. She had to pay fines and registration fees. I felt bad at the time.
My intention was to get revenge but it went way beyond what I expected.” Gina Pendergraph

2. Say Goodbye To Your Employment, Thief!

“During my college years, I grew tight with my then-roommate. He was a couple years old than me and I did seek for his advice on a few matters. To put it in a better perspective, there were 6 of us in a house and we were all students. Both of us became close and one day, I introduced my classmate to him.

They hit it off and became a couple few weeks later. I was cool with it. That was the purpose of me introducing the girl to him anyway.
Then a few months later, I got a girlfriend myself and my roommate and I hung out less after that. For some reason, his gf didn’t mesh well with other housemates and my gf did. Since both our gfs stayed in the same house a lot of the time, I felt it would be fair to share the utilities equally among us. I offered to pay the part of my gf and it is up to him to do what he wants. He didn’t pay for his gf and we just left it at that.

As time went on,  animosity grew between us and my roommate and his gf.
Habits and little things started to accumulate. Things such as them not cleaning the kitchen after cooking, extended time showering together in the shared bathroom hence hogging precious bathroom time in the morning, etc. etc. Things got worse after a while and arguments broke out and everybody made it clear that his gf needed to leave the place and help keep the place clean. Unfortunately, I was put in a position where I had to take sides and I leaned away from my roommate and his gf. This p*ssed him off and we were not in good terms after that.

Money was tight as we were all students.
My roommate took a part-time job in Carrefour.

He worked as a cashier and one day, he came back with all kinds of groceries and CD sets I’m sure he couldn’t afford to buy. Later, we found out he got his gf to go buy all this stuff, queue on his lane and he just pretended to scan the items.

I minded my own business and when the time comes to end the lease, my roommate decides to leave the house. Few weeks after he left, the phone bill arrived and that a**hole racked up the phone bill making international calls and the bill is under my name.
I got stuck paying for it.

With that wound on my back, I decided to call Carrefour and gave Carrefour the details of my roommate and informed them of their Modus Operandi.

Called Carrefour back a few weeks later and the manager got on the phone and told me they caught him red-handed. They thanked me and told me he managed to get his family to wire him some money and pleaded to let him go, which unfortunately, Carrefour did and terminated his employment.” Vincent Tan

 

1. He Didn’t Care About How His Bad Choices Would Affect An Innocent Person, So I Had To Save Myself

“This is a long one, but it really rocked me I went to a pretty dark place in my mind, so dark that I wanted someone badly injured or even killed, and I think it’s important to explain how I got there.
This happened over 40 years ago when I had just turned 18.

My big adventure after high school and before I started college was to hitchhike from Atlanta, Georgia to Riverside, California to see a friend, Bill, who had moved there after 11th grade. Made it in four days. I hung out with him for about a week.

Then I hitchhiked to Colorado to see another friend who was about to start college in Boulder. Again, hung out with him for about a week. At that point, I was going to go home to Georgia, but Bill, my California buddy, contacted me. He wanted me to come back to Riverside, where we would hook up and then hitchhike to Georgia together so he could see all his old friends.
So back to California I went and then Bill and I set out for Georgia.

When we got to Phoenix some cops immediately checked us out. Turned out there had been a prison break the night before and something like 18 inmates had escaped, so the police were on high alert. They gave us each a hitchhiking ticket but otherwise were pretty cool once they confirmed we weren’t escapees. They told us that everyone was being advised not to pick up hitchhikers. Uh oh.

It usually took no more than an hour to get a ride, but this time Bill and I stood nearly all day with no luck.
Desperation set in and we decided to break up temporarily. Our plan was for Bill to start walking. I would be picked up first, presumably, assure the driver that I wasn’t an escapee and ask him to pick up Bill.

In hindsight, not a great plan but as I said we were getting desperate. So Bill started walking.

I finally caught a ride and asked the driver if he would pick up my friend. He said sure. Only we never saw Bill. I later learned that someone had passed me and picked him up. Go figure. I wouldn’t see him again for a couple of years.
After getting another hitchhiking ticket the next day in Tucson, I finally made it through Arizona and into New Mexico, where I spent the night under a bridge overpass. The next morning, I rolled out of my sleeping bag, walked down to the freeway, stuck out my thumb and the very first guy pulled over. In a Camaro.

Cool!

Turned out he was a Marine currently stationed in San Diego. He said he was in the process of buying the Camaro from his Sergeant but first had to take it home to San Antonio to get his wife’s approval. I settled in for what was going to be a long and comfortable ride.
But when we stopped for gas, he aggressively hit me up for gas money. I only had something like $20 to my name, but I gave him a couple of dollars although he wanted more. Looking back, I suspect he picked me up only because he was looking for major help with gas. He was pretty unhappy about my paltry contribution. But I was nearly broke and really couldn’t even spare what I gave him.

I tried to explain this, but he didn’t care and was so angry about it that I thought he might leave me behind, even after taking my two dollars.
But he didn’t. In hindsight, I really wish he had.

We were rolling along, mostly in a kind of awkward silence, out in the high desert country of west Texas doing about 75 mph— at that time the national speed limit was 55 mph—when we passed a Texas Ranger going the other way. He was giving us the eye as we passed. I looked back, and sure enough he did a U-turn and turned on his lights. I felt sorry for the driver as I knew he was going to get a speeding ticket.

It was his problem, not mine, but I felt bad for him even though he had been a jerk about the gas.
And so began one of the strangest and scariest episodes in my life.

The driver pulls over and rolls down his window. As we’re sitting there waiting for the Ranger to approach, I hear him shout “Get out with your hands up! Passenger, you first!” I gasped and said to the driver, “What?” I couldn’t believe my ears. This was just a speeding ticket. Why do I need to get out? Why with my hands up? The driver also appeared surprised and yelled out his window, “What?” The Ranger shouts again, only this time even louder, “I SAID GET OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! PASSENGER YOU FIRST! RIGHT NOW!”

So I struggle to open the door with my foot—it’s not easy to open a heavy car door with your hands up— and got out.

As I do, he shouts at me to face away from him. Once I’m out, he shouts for me to turn around. When I turn to face him, he’s standing at the back of the Camaro with a rifle pointed at my face. From that distance, his gun looked as big as a canon. I felt my legs turn to jello and seriously thought I was going to faint.

He had me walk to the back of the car, then lay face down on the ground with my arms and legs spread out. I was so frightened that my heart was pounding through my chest.
I could barely breathe and was shaking so hard that I was literally vibrating on the ground. None of this was making any sense.

I was pulled out on the ground at gunpoint for a speeding ticket that wasn’t even mine. He then did the same with the driver.

I hear a pickup truck rattling down the dirt road that ran along the freeway. The truck stopped, and I hear a man shout something like, “Hey Bob, do you need some help?” The Ranger shouts back, “Sure, take my rifle. If they move, shoot ‘em.” My anxiety level blew through the roof at this point, and I just knew I was going to be shot because I couldn’t stop shaking.
The Ranger says, “You’re both under arrest for Grand Theft Auto out of the State of California” and proceeds to handcuff us. When he comes over to me, I said something like, “Sir, please don’t shoot me.

I’m only a hitchhiker. I don’t know anything about this car being stolen.” He basically said to shut up and put me in the back of his car.

A Deputy Sheriff arrived and the driver was put in the back of his car. After a tow truck arrived, we took off. I had no idea where we were going. We took the next exit off the freeway and drove for maybe 15 minutes into the small town of Pecos, Texas.
At that point, I assumed we were probably headed for the police station, but as it turned out we were taken to a small house in an old residential neighborhood. I have no idea why. As we were escorted up to the front door, I spotted a small wooden sign that read “Justice Of The Peace.” They knocked, and an old, stooped man opened the door.

They asked if they could borrow a room for a few minutes. He invited us in.

They left me handcuffed to the kitchen table in the company of the presumed JP, who was watching a rerun of All In The Family (Archie gives Edith an Eiffel Tower clock for her birthday) with a canned laugh track that seemed just so out of place for my situation.
It all felt very surreal.

They took the driver down the hall into a room and shut the door. I wasn’t sure what they were doing back there and half expected to hear screams and the sounds of a beating. After what seemed like forever but was probably more like five minutes, they came out and the driver and I switched places.

I was relieved to see the driver looked ok. Into the room we went, and again they shut the door.

We sat at a table, and they read my Miranda rights to me. They told me the driver had exercised his right to remain silent and didn’t answer any questions.
I, on the other hand, willingly answered every question put to me and then some. I told them everything about the driver and the car that he had told me. I told them I was just a hitchhiker picked up by the driver that morning in New Mexico. I told them I had just graduated high school in Georgia and was on my way home after hitchhiking around the country to visit friends before I started college.

I swore on a stack of Bibles—ok, not literally but only because there wasn’t a stack of Bibles in the room—that I didn’t steal the car and in fact had no idea the car was stolen.
They went through my backpack and were particularly interested in my two hitchhiking tickets. In terms of a timeline, they established that I had gotten the Phoenix ticket on Day One and the Tucson ticket on Day Two, which showed that I was traveling east. The info they had was that the car had been stolen off a used car lot in San Diego by a lone black male on what would be Day 3 and then we were arrested on Day 4. The driver, who was black, really was in the Marines and stationed in San Diego but, again per their information, had gone AWOL shortly before the car was stolen.

Although I’m a male, I’m not black and had no connection with the Marines, San Diego, the car or the driver other than catching a ride with him that morning.

All of this along with my backpack/sleeping bag and Georgia driver’s license made it pretty obvious that I really was just a hitchhiker and that I didn’t steal the car. They said that if the driver had been willing to confirm that I really was just a hitchhiker they would have released me but since he didn’t they would have to get California’s permission to let me go.

Up until this interrogation I had no idea that the car was stolen, and I still found it hard to believe that I would be so unlucky as to get caught up in the middle of this.

In fact, when we were first arrested I thought it was probably some big mistake somehow, but in any case from what the Ranger and Deputy were saying the driver was a lot more connected to stealing the car than me. And of course, if what they were telling me was true, and I had no reason to doubt it, then the driver had left out the part about bailing on the Marines and had lied when he told me he was buying the car from his Sergeant.

They also said they would recommend to California to release me, but I would have to spend the night in jail before they would hear back.
So off we went to the Reeves County Jail.

I was scared to death but figured surely California would agree to let me go and I could make it through the night ok. After all, we’re all in this together, right?

Wrong.

It was a nightmare, especially in the first two days.

The driver and I were put in the same 8-man “pod,” which was a central room made of concrete block with two small stainless steel picnic-style tables with benches on either side bolted to the floor in the center. There were eight individual cells, four on each side of the pod. Each of the cell doors had a small window.
The doors and lights were controlled electronically by the jailers from switches just inside the door into the pod. The area in front of that door was separated from the central room by floor to ceiling iron bars, so the jailers could safely come in to flip the switches and to transfer inmates in and out of the pod through a locked gate in the steel bars.

In the morning, the lights were turned on and the cell doors were opened, which allowed us out of the cells and into the central room. This would prove to be unfortunate. At night we were told to “cell up,” the doors were closed and the lights turned off.
Otherwise, there was no supervision of the pods, and the inmates could do pretty much as they pleased during the day.

I quickly learned that the other inmates in our pod were all multi-convicted felons awaiting trial for various major violent crimes like murder, robbery, assault and rape. Basically, this was just a pit stop for them on their way back to prison. Of course, they wanted to know what we’re in for because, as I also quickly learned, this establishes the food chain among the inmates.

The food chain works like this: Violent offenders or frequent flyers are generally at the top of the pecking order.
All six of these inmates were at the very top: violent frequent flyers facing long prison sentences, including life, and had little to lose if they got in further trouble. Non-violent inmates and petty criminals are below them. And at the bottom are first-time people who have no prior criminal record to brag about.

But you’re even lower if they think you “ratted” or “snitched” on another inmate. This would be the pond scum of the inmate world, the lowest of the low, worthy of scorn and severe physical abuse.

So as far as the inmates were concerned, we were new-to-their-neighborhood fresh meat and the food chain needed to be established right away.

The driver tells them that he went AWOL in San Diego and stole a car so he could get to San Antonio. They aren’t impressed and threaten to kick his soldier boy ass. I’m up next. I tell them that I was just a hitchhiker who had no idea the car was stolen. They really don’t like hearing this because if I’m a first-timer and actually innocent then I’m not even a criminal. I’m just a punk at the bottom of the food chain, even lower than the driver.

I’ve now been in jail all of maybe five minutes and already I’m in big trouble.
But it was about to get a lot worse.

The driver pipes up that not only am I just a punk but that I’m soon going to be a college boy.

I sink even lower in their eyes. But he’s not done yet.

The driver then tells them I’m a snitch. He says that he didn’t tell the cops anything when we were arrested but that I ratted on him, which technically wasn’t true as this was the first time I heard him say he really had gone AWOL and really had stolen the car. I had just told the Ranger and Deputy what the driver had told me and it certainly didn’t include anything about him being an AWOL car thief.
In fact, at the beginning of the interview I thought I was kind of sticking up for him since surely a Marine, one of our nation’s “few good men,” wouldn’t go AWOL and steal a car, right? Although I protested that wasn’t the case, that I hadn’t ratted on him, it didn’t matter.

The inmates quickly go into a rage, and all of their anger was focused on me. It was six sociopaths versus one very naive young man with the driver looking relieved in the background. They didn’t like him, but they hated me.

After spending some time describing in great detail some pretty horrible things they had done to snitches in the past and how they were going to do the same to me, each one trying to outdo the other in terms of pain about to be inflicted, they decided to get high first.
So off to a back cell they went while I sat on my bunk, hopelessly waiting for the torture contest to commence. Luckily, after they got high on what I guess was heroin, they seemed to forget about hurting me and just nodded out for the evening.

But it was made abundantly clear that I had no friends, including the driver, and it was just a matter of time until I was going to get a beatdown or worse. At this point, I’m really, really hoping California is going to let me go first thing in the morning. All of this made for a very long night, and I didn’t get much sleep.
The next morning, we’re woken up when a jailer comes in, flips the doors and light switches and yells, “Breakfast.” Some inmate helpers, called “Trustees,” are with him and they roll in a cart with breakfast trays that they slide one at a time through an opening in the bars. You grab a tray and sit at one of the tables to eat.

The jailer and trustees return about 15 minutes later, collect the trays and leave. Lunch and dinner would be a rinse and repeat of the routine at breakfast. Meal times would prove to be the highlight of the day as there was never much food at any one meal so you were always hungry and besides, there was nothing else to do.
No phones, no pen and paper, no books, no tv. No nothing.

Apparently the driver was still tired from all the hard work that it took to abandon his military service, steal a car, flee halfway across the country and screw me over because he didn’t wake up. One of the inmates grabbed his tray and put it on the table.

But the driver continued sleeping so the other inmates ate his food before the jailer and trustees came back to collect the trays. He woke up later, and when he asked about breakfast the other inmates laughed and told him too bad, they ate it, literally you snooze you lose.
They were very pleased with themselves and took a lot of pleasure rubbing his nose in it. I was fine with it because it drew their attention away from me.

Then a jailer came and escorted me and the driver to the courthouse across the street to sign extradition papers. On the way there, I ask whether they had heard from California. No. The driver tells the jailer he didn’t get breakfast because he didn’t wake up in time.

The jailer asks what happened to it, and the driver tells him the other inmates said they ate it. The driver asks if he can get another breakfast.
No. But the jailer did seem to be very interested to learn that the other inmates had eaten the driver’s breakfast. I didn’t know it at the time, but this would prove to be a pivotal moment for me. Twice.

We sat in a holding cell for a while, then one at a time were escorted into a Judge’s chambers. The Judge looked to be 90 years old. He told me that if I sign the paper then California would have a month to come and get me but it would probably be more like a week.

If I didn’t sign, it could take months and they would eventually get me anyway.
It sounded like a no-brainer so I didn’t hesitate to sign. Besides, I’m thinking I’m getting out as soon as they hear from California.

I thought about telling the Judge I was an innocent young man going through hell in his jail and begging for his help. But he didn’t seem all that interested in me or why I was there, and with California surely releasing me at any moment there just didn’t seem to be any point.

We’re escorted back to the jail. When we return to the pod, we discover that the other inmates are locked in their cells as punishment for eating the driver’s breakfast.
They are beyond p*ssed and start screaming at us that they’re going to kick our asses for snitching on them when they get out.

Pivotal Moment Number 1: The driver immediately tells them that I was the one who told on them, that I’m the snitch, that I’m just a punk who talks to cops. I was stunned as this time there was not even a “technically not true” argument. This time it was absolutely not true. This was completely on the driver, and I had nothing to do with it. Frankly, given how my relationship with the driver had deteriorated almost from the very beginning, I couldn’t care less if he starved to death.
If the other inmates had been the sharing types, I probably would have eaten some of his breakfast, too.

So again I protest my innocence but again it didn’t matter. The inmates go absolutely berserk this time, pounding and kicking their cell doors while screaming how they are going to break my arms and legs, rip off my ears, bite off my nose, poke out my eyes, rape me, kill me, etc.

It was pure pandemonium and I could barely hear myself think. One by one each inmate made me stand in front of his door and look him in the eye through the window as he screamed all the terrible things he was going to do to me.
I had to resign myself to the fact that this was about to happen, that it was going to be really, really bad and that there was even a chance I might not live through it. I could feel myself going numb with fear.

Luckily, they made so much noise that a jailer showed up to see what was going on. I figured it was now or never, so I told him they were going to kill me if he didn’t get me out of there.

I truly felt like I was begging for my life and practically got down on my knees while doing it.
I didn’t even know if there was anywhere else they could put me, so this was taking a big chance since now I really was “snitching” and doing it right in front of them. I don’t like to think about what would have happened had he just turned around and left.

But much to my relief, he pulled me out and took me to another pod. I didn’t know what to expect but it certainly couldn’t be any worse than where I had just been. Luckily, it turned out the difference in pods was like night and day. The inmates in the new pod were non-violent types, mostly petty thieves and marijuana dealers, which is where I should have been put in the first place.

They knew about the pod I had just come from and were impressed that I managed to get out of there without first getting a serious beatdown as it had happened to a couple of them. In fact, at least one of them and maybe both, I can’t remember, had to go to the hospital as a result, which only confirmed for me that I had just narrowly avoided being seriously injured or worse. The only issues in my new pod would prove to be boredom and worrying about my long-term future, both of which were a welcome relief compared to what I had just gone through.
Later that day, the Ranger stopped by to tell me that they can’t let me go because California wanted to talk to me in person.

He said he would vouch for me when they arrived. I think he felt sorry for me. Like the Judge, he said California had up to 30 days but it would probably be more like a week. I was definitely crushed—how could they not have understood that I was innocent?—but at least I now felt relatively safe and was extremely grateful for that.

All of the above was to explain to you how I got to such a dark place in my mind and how for the one and only time in my life I came to truly hate another human being.
In jail, you have a lot of time to think because, after all, there’s really nothing else to do. I thought about the set of circumstances that led to me being there.

Bill asking me to come back to California. The delay getting through Arizona. Waking up that last morning just in time to catch a ride with the very first car that went by.

And I thought a lot about the driver. How he picked me up knowing he had fled from the Marines and stolen the car, putting me smack dab in the middle of his criminal conduct. How he had gone from pretending to be a nice guy to revealing himself to be a jerk by aggressively demanding gas money.
How he had lied by not telling me he was AWOL and by telling me he was buying the car. How he could have at least told the Ranger and Deputy that I was just a hitchhiker and I would have been out of there and on my way home.

How he went out of his way to feed me to the wolves that first night so the other inmates wouldn’t pick on him. How he did it again after we got back from the courthouse. How he had lied about me twice, and how close I came to being seriously injured or worse both times as a result.
I even wondered if he was going to try to blame me for stealing the car.

I don’t engage in hate as a general rule. It’s a bad way to go through life. But I have to be honest here: I hated him. Still do forty years on. But I also figured there was nothing I could do about it.

Turned out, I figured wrong.

My Second Pivotal Moment was about to happen.

The next morning, I have to get a haircut because inmate’s heads were shaved to avoid potential issues with lice. I’m escorted downstairs by the same jailer who had taken the driver and me to the courthouse the day before, the same one to whom the driver had complained about not getting breakfast.
I immediately recognized the “barber” as one of the inmates from the first pod. In fact, he was one of the most vocal in describing all the different ways he was going to torture, then kill me. This guy was a complete psycho. I sat down in the barber chair and the jailer sat directly across from us. We were in a small room, just big enough for the three of us and the two chairs.

Pivotal Moment Number 2: I immediately realized that here’s my chance to exact revenge on the driver.

I didn’t say a word to the barber, and of course he’s on his best behavior in front of the jailer.
Instead, I started talking to the jailer while the inmate was shaving my head. I asked him if he remembered taking me and the driver to the courthouse the day before. He said he did. I asked him if he remembered who complained about not getting breakfast. He said it was the driver. I asked him who said that the other inmates ate his breakfast. He said the driver told him. I asked him if I had ever said anything about breakfast, the driver or the other inmates.

He said no, you only asked about California contacting the jail.

I knew the barber heard every word.
I was banking on the fact that not only had the driver been the snitch but that the driver had played the barber and his buddies by fooling them into thinking it was me. After all, inmates may hate snitches but nobody likes to get played so I thought this would be more icing on the cake. I figured the barber would share this new information with his pod pals and that there would be some sort of serious consequence for the driver. I thought I would probably never know, but at least I had given it a shot.

I should be clear: by “serious consequence” I mean a beating, the more savage the better as far as I was concerned.

They could have killed him, and I would have been glad to hear it. Like I said, I hated that guy.

After my haircut, as we were getting up to go back to the pod I gave the barber a quick glance and raised my eyebrows as in, “Did you get it?” He gave me a small smile and a nod. I quickly smiled and nodded back.

Bingo.

At least, I hoped so. After all, it’s not like we had been buddies so there was no other reason to smile and nod. But based on my experience with the barber and the rest of those sociopaths, I really thought the driver was now in big trouble and I took a lot of satisfaction in that.

I told the other inmates in my new pod what I had done, and they thought it was hilarious. They all agreed that the driver was going to get the sh*t beat out him.

Five very long but uneventful days later, I’m finally told to roll up because the California cops have arrived. I had practiced my “I’m innocent” speech all week, listing all the reasons that showed I didn’t have anything to do with stealing the car. I’m escorted downstairs, where two California cops were sitting at a table having coffee with the Ranger and Deputy who had arrested us. I walk in, all eager to give my speech.
They look up, and one of the California cops immediately says, “Mr. Bethune, we’re going to let you go.”

I guess they just needed to hear my story in person from the Ranger.

I was a little disappointed that I didn’t get to give my speech but was happy to finally be going home. Looking back, I’m extremely grateful to the Ranger for keeping his word that he would vouch for me. If it weren’t for him, for all I know the California cops would have said something like “Wow, that’s a great speech! Now shut up and get on the plane.” I was then given a bag with my clothes and told to go change in the holding cell.
A jailer opens the door to the cell and much to my surprise there was the driver, sitting on a bench, dressed in his street clothes and wearing leg irons. I had just assumed I would never see him again but instead, he was sitting right in front of me, all packaged up and ready to go.

Obviously, they had brought him down first.

His head was the size of a basketball, his cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk, and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. In addition to his street clothes, he was wearing some sort of padded jacket around his chest.
Faking sympathy, I said something like, “Oh man, what happened?” When he opened his mouth to answer, I could see that he was now missing his front teeth. He said, with his mouth kind of clenched, that the other inmates had beat him so bad that they gave him a concussion, broke his nose and his jaw, knocked out some teeth and broke some ribs.

He didn’t really want to talk—I think it hurt too much—but I just kept asking him questions while I was getting dressed.

I was curious, but I also just enjoyed seeing and hearing him in so much pain.
He told me that he had to be taken to the hospital, where they wired his jaw, gave him the padded jacket for his ribs and some pain medication that wasn’t really working. It was clear this guy was hurting badly.

Me, on the other hand, I was feeling grrrreat!

I said wow, when did this happen? Was it the day I was taken out of the pod? He said no, it was the next day. This would coincide with when I got my head shaved, had the conversation with the jailer and exchanged secret knowing nods with my new pal, the psycho barber.
Sweet!

I have to hand it to those guys in the first pod.

They were very good at what they do. This was five days after the beating and the driver was still obviously in a lot of pain—the very sort of pain he tried to have inflicted on me. Plus now he was going to have to deal with missing teeth, life-long souvenir compliments of the Reeves County Jail. And who knows, with any luck maybe his head injury would come back to haunt him later in life. Sadly, I’m sure his head, face, nose, jaw and ribs must have healed at some point but hopefully, there was a lot more suffering before that happened.
As I was changing into my clothes, I thought about telling him that I was the one who had caused him to get that beating, but he probably already knew it anyway.

I thought about telling him that I had hoped that they would kill him so that I could p*ss on his grave, but he probably already knew that, too. And I even briefly entertained the notion to hit him on his broken jaw as hard as I could.

But I didn’t. I didn’t want to get into any further trouble, and besides, I’m just not a violent person. What was done was done.
He had screwed me over, and I had gotten revenge, served cold so he never saw it coming. It was time to move on.

So I just finished getting dressed, knocked on the door and left. My parents wired some money to me, and I was back home the next day.

My guess is that the driver was kicked out of the Marines, did some jail time and eventually made it back to San Antonio, where I hope he enjoyed a short, miserable little life and came to a bad end. That is, when I even bother to think about him at all, which is hardly ever.” Source

Although sometimes revenge is the wrong thing to do, other times, it’s never felt so natural, especially when all the moving parts work so harmoniously to create a mega impact.
Share with us your most successful act of revenge below.