People Spit Out The Moment They Almost Went Too Far To Get Revenge
18. Try To Destroy My Orchard? I'll Bankrupt You And Get Your House Torn Down
“My great grandparents planted an orchard, and it is now at least 120 years old. My grandparents and my parents were really proud of the peach trees growing in it and did their best to keep them well and in good health. We always threw a big party when the peaches were ready to be harvested and invited all of our friends and neighbors to it.
I loved those parties.
The neighbors on the property to the south of our orchard were particularly fond of our peaches. They were a bunch of fine old people, and the old man, Sam, and I were pretty good friends. He taught me a lot about woodworking with hand tools only and we had some great evenings in his workshop. We finished many good drinks there together.
In return, he got a lot of fine peaches, marmalade, homemade peach liqueur, etc… Sadly he died a good ten years ago, cancer sucks. His wife followed soon after, many suspected it was of a broken heart.
They had no kids, so all of their property was left to the state, except his tools and booze collection, which he had gifted me a few weeks before he died.
In comes Karen. The name speaks for itself. Haircut, attitude, witchiness. The whole deal. She bought the property of my late neighbors. We couldn’t afford to buy it at that time, as we had met some dire straits the years before and all our savings were gone. The first thing she did (before she actually moved in), was to go round and make demands of the neighbors on the surrounding properties.
When it was finally our turn to listen to her gibberish, she told us that we needed to remove half of the trees, as the leaves were blowing on her property. We told her in a polite way, that we won’t comply with her demands as the orchard is a vital part of our family heritage/tradition/life and has been there for at least 120 years. She was pretty angry but did nothing for the time being.
There are some things you need to know before I continue with the story. The workshop I mentioned before was situated right at the border to our property.
It was a small timber-framed building, at least 160 to 180 years old. The regulations in my state are pretty strict concerning old structures. Every structure over 100 years is protected and you need special permission to tear it down.
Failing to get this permission can lead to a hefty fine. To get permission to build a new building, it has to be up to code and you have to ask your surrounding neighbors and if they agree, you’re good to go. Except there is one specialty in my county. You have to keep a certain distance to the border of the property to allow emergency services full access to your property.
If one of these requirements isn’t met, the building is illegal or at least only partially legal and can actually be ordered by the court to be torn down. That might come in handy later.
So, back to my Karen. After our first encounter with her, she did her best to pester the whole neighborhood. She got the neighbor’s dog put down because he allegedly attacked her brat.
It later turned out she faked the attack. The dog was the sweetest and most innocent dog you could imagine. A Bernese mountain dog, big, but a real teddy bear. Anyways. She later got us to stop doing our annual peach parties, as she called the police every time for various reasons.
Noise complaints (we had a band playing there in the afternoon), arson (we lit a fire in a designated fire pit in the middle of our property), she called the ATF on us, in short, she was a real pain in the butt.
After three years, we decided it wasn’t worth it to deal with various officers and law enforcement agencies every time we threw the party. We decided to quit. After she had reached this goal, she resorted to pestering us to remove the orchard. We didn’t cave in and some things started to get really fishy.
Somehow the tires of our trucks got slashed, eggs got thrown on our farmhouse, our cat disappeared and surfaced a few days later in pretty rough condition.
It looked like somebody had tried to cut his tail off. Don’t worry, he healed up completely, but we actually couldn’t prove that she did all that.
Then came the day she made her biggest mistake. She had a company come in in a sort of secret operation and tear down the old woodworking workshop overnight. Two days later, they started building a big garage/recreational center/house right where the shop was, but she missed one fine detail, which got pretty important later on – she didn’t ask our permission, nor the neighbors’.
A short while after, the trees right next to her property started to get sick. The leaves turned brown in the middle of summer, and the branches started to die. We lost four trees before we figured out the cause. Somebody had driven long copper nails into them. We had a suspicion, but we couldn’t prove it. So we put up some trail cameras. Perfectly legal, as it was on our own property.
We caught her red-handed. My dad confronted her, she apologized, and my dad, being the way too nice guy he is, wanted to let her go off the hook.
But not me. The nail she drove into our oldest tree was the final nail to her coffin. I started to investigate. I had some friends at the administration of our county and asked them to do some inquiries.
Turns out she hadn’t applied for permission to tear down the old shop, nor for permission to build a new building. I pressed further about the borderline of our property. Turns out, the old markers vanished over time and her building was about 3 feet on our property. After I had gathered all this information, I presented it to my parents. At first, they were reluctant as they didn’t want to start a neighborhood clash.
But after I recalled all the things she did to us and our neighbors, they were in.
So let the games begin. First, we called the authorities on her for tearing down a protected building and presented them with all the evidence we gathered. Then we called the building authorities on her for building a building without permission, not up to code, and not only did she not keep the required distance to the property border, but she also built on our property without our permission.
Long story short, turns out the workshop hasn’t only been protected because of its age, but also because it was a historical landmark, which played a vital role in conflict back in the 1860s.
She got sued for this and had to pay a fine of an equivalent of about $150,000. She further had to demolish her newly built building, costing an additional $50,000. She got fined for this too (about $83,000) and had to rebuild the workshop at her own expense, which was another whopping $154,000, as it had to be period correct up to the smallest detail.
This means it had to be built with the correct materials with hand tools only and to the correct dimensions. As you can imagine, paying professionals to build quite a large timber-framed building only by hand gets pretty expensive pretty fast.
So, all in all, it cost her an equivalent of $437,000 plus further expenses with lawyers, etc. This caused her to go bankrupt so she had to sell the property in the end, which my parents bought, by the way. The last I heard of her was that she moved back to the big city. Yes, the Peach Parties are still on and even more lit than ever! “
17. Getting Feisty With The IRS Over A Mistake They Made
“First, you have to appreciate the kind of guy Nathan is. Brilliant engineer/crazy person. Nathan likes rules and Nathan doesn’t give up when he knows how things should work. I like to get him to tell the story whenever we’re together because he doesn’t even see why it’s funny – it’s just how he deals with all problems.
Nathan was like if you saw Sysiphus and you thought, maybe I should try to stop him.
But then one day, the boulder was on top of the hill. And you go and ask Sysiphus how he did it and he replied, ‘it was simple… I just kept pushing it forever and ever, and eventually… the mountain gave up.’ A real Grade 19 Bureaucrat. He just works systems through problems no matter how daunting they should seem.
Until one day, when Nathan’s unstoppable force met an immovable object.
I came into work and saw checks and envelopes spread all over his desk. And Nathan filling them out with the kind of grin Steve Buscemi might have crossing names off a list with a tube of lipstick.
I ask him about it and he calmly starts explaining that he’s ‘having trouble with the IRS.’ I probe a little deeper since that in no way explains more than one check or envelope and he starts telling me about how last year during tax season he was in China for work so he started filling his taxes out early while at his parents’ house.
He owed a little but left before he could mail it in. But he remembered while in China and (broke through the firewall in order to) paid it online. But then his parents, thinking he forget, wrote a check for him and mailed his taxes in too.
So now his taxes would be paid twice. So they said don’t worry about it, we’ll cancel the check.
Well, it turns out that NYS IRS has a canceled check fee of something like $40.
And they sent Nathan a bill and penalty for the $40… That was it. That was the whole story. A $40 fee.
Nathan, why do you have 20 checks on your desk? ‘Oh, well after I explained to them what was wrong with the fee they didn’t get it.’ So Nathan spent the next 4 weeks escalating the issue to the point that he got a case officer – a real, live human agent on the phone with a case number.
Nathan started by asking for the agent to spell his name – and politely to demonstrate that he was where he said he was by asking how the weather was and how the ‘drive in’ had been that day. He then asked for his agent’s manager – got their name and exchanged some pleasantries.
He explained that his parents wrote the check but that he was the one being charged the fee.
The agent explained that this was the policy of the IRS – ‘All canceled checks will result in a $40 fee.’ The agent and Nathan went in rigorous compliant circles for hours exploring the rules. Nathan then calmly confirmed that:
It is the policy of the IRS to allow just anyone to write a check on behalf of anyone else? ‘Yes, sir that is fine. You just need to indicate the name and zip code of the account.”
It is the policy of the IRS to charge a $40 cancellation fee to the person whose account is indicated on the check? ‘Yes sir, that is the policy in NYS.’
This means that – and I swear to God he actually asked the agent this hypothetical question on the phone, ‘I (Nathan) could write a $10 check and indicate it’s for you (Mr.
‘Agent’ at 1234567 Schenectady, NY) and cancel it resulting in a $40 fee for you with absolutely no penalty or recourse to me?’ The equally compliant and rule-minded agent replied, ‘Yes sir, I guess you could.’
So, that’s what Nathan did.
And that’s what he was doing with 20 checks on his desk and what he meant by ‘IRS trouble.’ He was following through, sending checks to the IRS addressed to pay the taxes of the agent and the agent’s manager, so Nathan could cancel them, causing the agent and his manager to owe the IRS a fee for each canceled check.
He was exploiting the same flaw in the system in which he was caught to essentially extort the IRS agents. I laughed about this for weeks after.
And then, 3 or so weeks later… I’ll be damned if he didn’t receive a letter from the IRS:
‘Sir, we understand the point you’ve made. Please consider your fee waived and I hope we can put this behind us.'”
16. Refuse To Play Fair? I Won't Either
“I am a big guy (6ft, 275lbs) and I am not all muscle. I used to play soccer as a kid until I was 17 years old when I took a nasty knee injury that ended my hopes to play pro. I started to gain weight over the years, partly due to bad habits and lack of exercise. I reached 325lbs at one point and it felt like I was about to die.
That’s when I decided enough was enough and it was time to turn my life around. Started eating healthy, and slowly picked up the exercise bug again. I also joined a 6v6 soccer league in my city where my friends had a team and invited me to play. I’d play soccer once a week, go to the gym thrice a week, then rest and chill. It was great.
On a soccer pitch, you don’t expect 300lbs+ guys to be running around or even be skilled enough to dribble through defenders. Most teams wouldn’t even mark me (I played as a striker) until I scored a goal or dribbled through two of their players.
That earned me some respect on the pitch, I had competitor players come to compliment my performance after the games. I even made friends with league coordinators who at times cheered me after a nice pass or goal.
It was just great… I felt I was alive again.
At the time of this story, I had lost about 30lbs (I was 295ish). We were playing a long Winter League which is basically 14 games (14 weeks) and we knew almost every team in the league… except for one team. It was the 4th game of the season and we were scheduled to play the new team.
A bunch of big guys that looked like they were straight out of an MMA competition.
The game starts, as usual, I am not marked… I literally had enough space to park a truck with no defender giving me a thought. I received the ball, ran for the goal, then buried it in the bottom corner. Easiest goal ever. Five minutes later, I did it again. Now I had their attention, and I was being marked by a guy who from now on we will call Jerk.
Jerk tried every trick to take the ball from me and failed. The more he tried the more frustrated he became.
Then at one point, I had the ball, dribbled, and did a body feint and he dropped on his butt trying to correct his direction. I crossed the ball and we scored the third. It was humiliating but I didn’t mean it like that. He stood up and walked right next to me and said:
Jerk: ‘You think you’re having fun, fatty?’
Me: ‘You’re not really going to talk trash on a recreational soccer game, are you?’
Jerk: ‘I am not talking trash.
I am just asking if you’re having fun.’
Me: ‘Yeah, I am. And you?’
Jerk: ‘I will have my fun in a bit.’
I didn’t really know what he meant but I didn’t give it a thought.
A few minutes later, I receive the ball again, Jerk is like a step or two behind me. The next thing I know is my left foot (the one planted in the ground as I received the ball with my right foot) is twisted, I hear a loud popping sound from my ankle and I am on the ground.
A moment later, a jolt of excruciating pain in my ankle made me groan like an elephant stomped on my foot. Jerk has taken an illegal sliding tackle on my left foot and it tore my ankle under my body weight. Then, he literally stood up and leaned down on me and said: ‘Now I’ve had my fun.’ I was out of the game.
Fast Forward 24 hours, my ankle has swollen to the size of a large grapefruit.
I see a doctor who diagnoses that my Anterior Talofibular Ligament has a 2nd-degree tear… This is the strongest ligament in your ankle btw. I can’t play any sport and only use my foot lightly for 8 weeks minimum. I made sure I submitted an incident report to the league after the game, then kept all the receipts for medical treatment as a result of the injury.
It took a toll on me emotionally as it reminded me of my old knee injury that ended my soccer dreams.
I was determined not to slip into depression again though.
Even though I could no longer go to the gym or the pitch, I was still eating healthy and spent the next 8 weeks planning my revenge.
It took me 9 weeks to recover, which was better than the Sports Specialist predicted.
I was back in the last game of the season before the two playoff games. We were playing Jerk and his team again. I had spent my whole recovery time doing my very best to get ready to make that game. Took physio’s advice and applied them to the letter, did anything and everything to make sure that I am good to play.
I made it. Now it was time to exact revenge.
I concocted a plan with my friend Dave to exact revenge on Jerk, one that would leave him with a permanent memento from Yours Truly. Jerk likes to stay behind then make a vicious tackle, push or shove when the player he is marking is about to receive the ball. I was going to use that against him in the worst way.
In the game, I made sure Jerk felt like I was scared of him.
When I received the ball, I got rid of it too quickly, and if I was dribbling, I either passed it or let it go as if I was avoiding contact.
This encouraged him to stay with me and to scare me even more. He literally played the first 15 mins of the game with a smug look all over his ugly face.
That was about to change.
About 20 mins into the game, we get a corner kick. Dave goes to play the kick and I stand in the box, Jerk is two steps behind. Dave was about to take the kick then he stopped and nodded ‘No.’ This meant Jerk was no longer in position and we couldn’t do what we planned to do. This happened a couple more times. Then it is the fourth corner kick towards the end of the first half.
Dave is taking the kick. He looks at me and he nods ‘Yes.’ Jerk is two steps behind me and is now marking me again. I put my hand up and shout, ‘HERE, DAVE’… Jerk now commits to me. Dave then goes on to play this sweet perfect cross right above my head level. Jerk goes on to do his standard come-from-behind-and-do-something-nasty routine.
At that very moment, I plant both feet in the ground, expecting the shove from behind, lean backward, and launch my body towards Jerk.
He is going for the ball with his head, and I am going with my head for his face.
He perfectly planted his face in the back of my head (his head going forward, and my head going backward). We both fall to the ground and I drop my 290lbs fat butt on top of him, catching him with my elbow, straight into the eyebrow. As I turn around on the ground, I can see he’s in rough shape.
I shout, ‘FIRST AID KIT HERE PLEASE’ then tell everyone I was First Aid certified and start sitting him up and leaning his head backward.
In the process, I pinch his nose to check if it’s alright and he screams like a little girl. League Coordinators cart him out, and an ambulance picks him up a few minutes later.
After the game, he sent a message saying he is suing me for intentionally hurting him.
The League Coordinators did not support his incident report and said that it was he who went for me from behind and that I couldn’t have anticipated that, let alone injure him so badly if it weren’t for his own force.
They also indicated that I was the first person to provide first aid to him after the fall. He had no leg to stand on, and his claim was dismissed.
Then I sent him a letter from my lawyer letting him know I was suing him for my injuries 9 weeks prior, supporting that with doctor’s reports, physio reports, and the league’s incident report where the League Coordinators concluded that his tackle was both illegal and deliberate. He had received a warning from the league that he would be permanently banned for such behavior. The league then went on to ban him from participating in the games.
He reimbursed me $2,300 in medical costs.
I scored 3 goals that game. We won and made it to the playoffs, then we beat them again in the playoffs and won the league. I am still on track with my weight loss.”
15. Closing All Of A Rude Customer's Bank Accounts
“I used to work for a bank on their contact center. I literally have hundreds of stories about that place and its customers, but today I’d like to share a story that has always bought a smile to many a suffering customer service co-worker’s faces about the time we got one back for the good guys.
Backstory: I was employed as a Customer Service Officer. I’d been with the bank for about 18 months at this point, mostly working afternoon shifts, but recently the bank had moved to a 24-hour customer service model, so while most of the bank would be closed (Head office, Complaints, Credit, etc) — we were still open.
Let me set the scene: ~10 pm, midweek, fluorescent lights flicker overhead, the call board empty and I’m literally counting the seconds left in my shift, ready to go home.
Phone call pops onto my screen. I think ‘Darn! I always get a call just before I finish…’
Me (mustering my best customer service voice): ‘Hi, thanks for calling (bank), you’re speaking with u/Absurd-n-Nihilistic, how can I help you?’
I hear nothing but dead air, so I start to repeat myself.
‘Hi, you’re speaking wi—’
When I hear the tone of voice and words every contact center worker has heard at some point. It just lets you know you’re in for a great call (not!).
Customer: (loud sigh) ‘Yes! I’m here! God, what takes YOU people so long to answer?! What are you doing?’
As noted before, there were no calls on the board, this customer didn’t wait in a queue.
He would have dialed, gone through to the IVR to enter his customer number and pin before being put through to me. Max 60 seconds.
Me (trying to not provoke any further and get this customer off the phone as quickly as I can so I can go home): ‘Oh, I’m sorry about that. Our system doesn’t show a queue, but I’m sorry that you had to wait.
What can I do for you this evening?’
The customer seems to settle down and starts explaining that the reason for the call was the interest charges on the most recent credit card bill. He was sure they were a mistake because ‘I always pay my bills on time’ and ‘I don’t like paying you bloodsuckers anymore than I have to.’ Charming, I know.
So I place him on hold to look at his account.
I started looking at the payment history, when payments were due/received, what the balances were etc. Then, I quickly looked at the customer’s interaction notes. This is where the bank records any contact with the customer as well as, any fee waivers, special interest rates, etc., and I see an interesting series of notes from colleagues of mine stating things like ‘Customer advised interest was charged due to full payment not received by the due date.
Customer threatened to close all accounts with the bank. The manager approved the interest waiver.’ Notes like this went on for months until there was a note from the head of customer relations and retentions stating ‘if customer threatens to close accounts to seek a waiver of fees, interest or other charges, please process immediately. No retention authorized.’
I was a bit shocked because usually, the bank would do a lot to keep existing customers like they told us in training, ‘it’s cheaper to keep a customer than it’s to gain a new one.’
So I call over my night manager to read the notes and give him a heads up I’ve got a feeling the customer is going to be demanding another interest waiver.
My cool night manager said, ‘well if he does, do what the note says.’
Total hold time: maybe 2 minutes.
I take the customer off hold and thank him for waiting.
Customer: ‘About time! My time is very valuable, you know. So have you fixed it yet?’
I start explaining that the interest charges are valid because he didn’t pay off his balance before the due date.
He goes ballistic!
He starts calling me every conceivable name under the sun and mid-sentence stops, he plays it like he’s just had an idea.
‘Fine. If the interest charges are valid, I’m going to close my accounts. I want to close my accounts with you now!’
At this point, I’m excited about putting him in his place but I also want to cover my butt, so I ask:
Me: ‘So, just to be certain. You are instructing me to close all of your accounts with us, including your credit card, savings account, and transactional account?’
Customer: ‘Are you stupid? That’s what I said!’
Ladies and Gentlemen: We got him!
Me (Grinning my butt off): ‘Okay no problem.
I’ll just place you on hold to do that for you.’
I hit the hold button fast just as I heard him say, ‘No I—…’
With my night manager’s help, we close his accounts.
His savings account was a term deposit so by breaking the term early he had to pay an early access fee of 10% of the balance. We used the funds in his transactional account to cover the outstanding balance in his credit card (including the interest) and sent a request for a cheque to be issued for what remained.
I took the customer off hold.
Me: ‘Again thank you for your patience. As requested your accounts are now closed. Was there anything else I can help with tonight?’
If I thought the customer went ballistic before, oh boy! There was talk of suing the bank, suing me, suing my night manager, suing the head of customer relations and retentions.
That we were guilty of discrimination. That I didn’t have the authority to do what I did.
He’s going to call the police. We’re thieves. Some other ways of telling me how useless I am and how I can kill myself. You get the picture.
Me (still smiling because I know I nor anyone else at my bank will have to deal with this again): ‘Sir I understand you are upset. However, on a recorded phone call, you instructed me to close your accounts.
I’ve complied with your wishes. As there is nothing else for us to speak about tonight. Thank you for calling (bank) have a good night!’ And hung up on him before he could say another word.
My night manager created an incident report and sent it to the head of customer relations and retentions with an attached copy of the call recording. I later found out the head of customer relations and retentions sent the customer a letter telling him he was banned from our bank for life due to the ‘vile and disgusting’ way he had spoken to me! We would never do business with him ever again and if he called or visited a branch, we would be the ones calling the police.
Do you want to know what the total interest charges were that started all this? ~$30.
His term deposit had $20,000 in it. He cost himself $2,000 in early exit fees because he thought he could bully his way out of ~$30 in interest.”
14. Sure, I'll Write An Essay On Respect
“When I was in sixth grade, I really venerated my English teacher. He was cool and quirky and calm and compassionate, so little introverted me looked up to him to the point that I sort of studied his behavior and intentions. This helped me be more confident and extroverted, possibly too much.
One day, he was late to class when I walked in. I set my bag down in the same manner that he did, stood before the class, and proceeded to do a pretty spot-on impression of him.
This drew some good laughs so I went in harder, hamming up his mannerisms and movements and inflating his vocal idiosyncrasies. The class roared louder with laughter. ‘Wow, I’m really doing a good job!’ I thought.
I was wrong. Just before I launched into the staunch effigy, Mr. C walked into the doorway and stood behind me, leaning against the door frame in full view of the class but out of my sight.
The second wave of laughter bolstered my confidence, and I rode that rush into a full-blown monologue that didn’t cast him in the best light. Fewer laughs this time, plenty of cringes, quickly followed by a sound I can still hear – a slow clap, coming from behind me, the tambour of which can only be produced by adult male hands.
My posture folded as I grabbed my bag from his desk and shrank into my seat.
‘Bravo Mister ____,’ he said grinning, ‘that wasn’t half bad.’ His grin faded to a scowl. ‘However, that was incredibly disrespectful. You are going to go home tonight and write a 300-word essay on respecting your teachers.’
I was crushed.
In addition to losing the respect of my favorite teacher and hurting his feelings, I had two tests the next day and a ton of homework and there was no way I could get all of it done well enough to make up for this.
Then I got an idea.
‘Mr. C, I don’t think I can fit it all in 300 words,’ I said with a smirk. ‘You still haven’t learned, have you? Alright then, 500 words due by the beginning of class,’ he quipped.
‘That’s still going to be a tight squeeze, Mr. C,’ I rebutted.
‘Son, now you owe me a thousand. I don’t want to hear another peep from you.’ I nodded, with a few Ooohs from the class.
Just as I wanted, hook, line, and sinker.
I went home and studied for my tests, did my homework, then took out a piece of drawing paper. I drew the scene of the class laughing at the bottom, with an exaggerated me doing an impression of the teacher in the middle, with Mr. C leaning against the doorway in the corner. Across the top, I wrote, ‘Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery.’ Across the bottom, ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words.’ Signed and dated it.
The next day when I reached into my notebook and took out a single sheet of paper, he scoffed, thinking I hadn’t written the full assignment. He took the page and stared at it completely blank face. I didn’t know if he was going to rage on me or send me to the principal. He stared for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a smile curled across his lips, he sat the drawing down, and heartily said, ‘Bra-vo! Now THAT is a job well done!’ We were back in good graces again, thank goodness.
He framed the drawing and hung it on the backside of his filing cabinet. It was still in his room ten years later when I visited after college.
If you’re reading this Mr. C, thank you. You’re still my favorite teacher I’ve had.”
13. Try To Tow My Car? I'll Tell The Towing Guy He's Here For Yours
Yikes, imagine if the guy came out while the other dude was telling the towtruck guy to take the other car instead…
“I am not a big believer in revenge, as many times, it just seems to blow right back up at you. However, once someone handed me the opportunity on a silver platter. He was actually trying to exact revenge on me, I guess, although completely unnecessary.
The financial services company I worked for at the time made it company policy to deliver, in person whenever possible, all death claim settlements. We felt it was the right thing to do and many times people had a need for additional services as well as additional coverages.
It was a very snowy night, and I called this woman who was my last check to be delivered.
She told me that I could come by, but she literally only had a few minutes as she had to pick up someone at the airport. She lived in a condo development. When I got there, I could not find any available visitor spaces. There was only one space that was open which belonged to a resident. I knew I would only be a few minutes, so I put a large note in my windshield stating who I was, why I was there, and that I would return very shortly.
I was gone less than 5 minutes. I met the woman at the door of her unit, quickly explained the settlement, gave her a brochure about other things commonly needing attention at such a time, and my card.
When I got outside to my car, someone had parked a car perpendicular to mine to prevent me from leaving. There were 3 buildings, and I had no idea to whom the car belonged.
I honked my horn hoping to get someone’s attention. Nothing. Finally, I checked to see if the other car was locked, It wasn’t, great! Hopefully, there would be something with a name inside? With that, some guy comes running out, “Get your hands off my car!”
I apologized profusely, mentioned the sign in the windshield, he didn’t care.
“I have called the towing service; they are coming for your car.
Just you wait, pal!” And he went inside.
With that, the tow truck arrived. The driver gets out and asks, “You the guy that called for a tow?”
I smiled, “Why, yes, can you believe where someone left their car on a night like tonight?”
In a matter of seconds, the tow truck driver had that guy’s car lifted up and was on his way. The first guy comes running out again even madder now, “You jerk!”
“I think you better not be worried about me and more worried about your car.” I then hightailed it out of there…”
12. Drive This Truck Over Quicksand? Um... Okay!
This is already sounding like a bad idea.
“This story is from a buddy of mine who works as a deliveryman for large loads of construction supplies.
He’s a Truck Driver (TD) and he works for Do What the Customer Says Inc. (DWtCS Inc.) which distributes contractor supplies. He drives the trucks that deliver different loads of materials.
About a month ago, he was on a job for Strict General Contractor to deliver lumber for a housing development being built on marshy land.
At the point of his delivery, Strict General Contractor had not drained a lot of the area for some reason except for a few large, deep isolated puddles. This wood TD delivered was being used to frame up some sidewalks and foundations for some other things.
The access road was just packed soil with gravel on top of it. The previous day to TD’s delivery, it had rained a lot.
When TD pulled the eighteen-wheeler with a nearly full trailer of lumber (that’s about 30 tons just for the wood) to the entrance of the access road, he noticed it had fallen into mud sludge with rocks in it. To test the sludge for driving, TD took a paint stick and stuck it into the mess that was the access road. The stick sank on its own.
The housing development was a good 1/2 mile into the marsh, so he called up Strict General Contractor.
Strict General Contractor: ‘Hello?’
TD: ‘Yes, Strict General Contractor, this is TD from DWtCS Inc. and your access road is too wet and dilapidated for me to deliver the lumber in, your guys have to come out and get it in either separate trailers or by hand.’
Strict General Contractor: ‘I can’t do that, we’re on a tight schedule.
It’d take hours to unload it and take it to the site.’
TD: ‘I can’t do that, I’d get fired, wreck the truck and cargo, and probably a ticket for reckless driving.’
Strict General Contractor: ‘I’m filing a complaint about this.’
Strict General Contractor hangs the phone up.
TD is left waiting there for a solid 1 and a half hours and other supply trucks and contractors back up on the road.
He gets another call from Strict General Contractor
Strict General Contractor: (Screeching) ‘Where’s the lumber I expected over an hour ago!?!’
TD: ‘I told you, the road is too dangerous for me to drive over.’
Strict General Contractor: ‘JUST GET THE GOD DAMN LUMBER HERE!!!!’
Strict General Contractor once again hangs up. TD calls his supervisor, Big H.
Big H: ‘Hello? TD?’
TD: ‘Yeah it’s me. The service road for project X is dilapidated and if I crossed it, it would bury me and the truck in.
Strict General Contractor insists I drive over it.’
Big H: ‘I’ll drive over there.’
Big H was the supervisor for the multiple drivers for the development, so he worked nearby. It took 30 mins for him to get there, with two more angry phone calls from Strict General Contractor and the line of contractors getting longer. Big H gets to the scene. Strict General Contractor is called out to meet with Big H.
Big H: ‘Big H, Supervisor of the drivers servicing this area for DWtCS Inc. I hear we have a problem with the service road?’
Strict General Contractor: ‘There is no problem with the god damn road. Your driver just refuses to go across anything other than perfected asphalt.’
Be aware, the service road had dried a little, so it looked a bit better than in the morning, but still dangerous driving territory.
The packed soil had fallen apart, so it was just semi-wet dirt piles and gravel drying in the 10:30 am sun.
Big H: ‘The road seems fine to me, let’s test it.’
Big H borrows concrete boots from another contractor waiting in line and walks onto the ground. Surely enough, he starts sinking.
Big H: ‘Yeah, we can’t drive over this. The truck would sink real bad in this stuff, it’s quicksand without the sand.’
Strict General Contractor: ‘DON’T FREAKING CARE I NEED THIS LUMBER NOW!!!’
Strict General Contractor storms off, leaving all the viewing contractors, including Big H and TD dumbfounded.
The trucks are DWtCS’s property, however, the trailers and their cargo are often rented or borrowed in the name of the contractor that subcontracts us. The trucks are owned by DWtCS and they can detach cargo from in the cab. Per company policy, in an emergency, discard cargo and prioritize the safety of yourself and the truck.
Strict General Contractor contacted Big H’s Supervisor. He was told to tell TD to just drive across it.
Big H told his supervisor he’ll only accept if Strict General Contractor signs a liability contract. He handwrites a contract in his truck saying any and all damage will be the liability of Strict General Contractor and must be paid to DWtCS.
Strict General Contractor comes back and signs the contract with a smug grin on his face.
TD jumps in his truck and gathers everything important while Big H takes pictures near an oblivious Strict General Contractor.
TD drives the truck into the road, makes it so that the trailer is 3 feet away from the edge of the road before the truck starts sinking past the point of no return. TD detaches the cargo, and tried to get the truck to escape, but is unable to. Remember, multiple-ton truck, this thing is heavy. The truck is already about 1/5 the way submerged when TD releases the trailer.
As the mud surrounds about 1/3 of the way up the trailer, the engine is sputtering as it overtakes the truck and gives up.
TD panics and abandons ship. He shoves the door. Nothing, the mud is too deep. The window makes it 2/3 the way before the battery gives way to a rising mud flood. TD has his GI Joe instincts kick in and smashes the rest of the window out and claws his way out of the truck.
There, a mildly concerned Big H and livid Strict General Contractor stare at TD as he makes his way across the top of the sinking lumber, where it stops sinking about halfway into the quicksandy mud.
Big H turns to Strict General Contractor and says the most triumphant words ever.
Big H: ‘Lumber delivered. Since you signed the liability contract, I’ll send you the invoice for everything.’
$80,000 went to the company plus taxes and fees and the price of the actual lumber delivery. Strict General Contractor tried to argue against it in court but failed miserably. Don’t make holes in your sinking ship kids, jump out of it.”
11. Have An Affair? I'll Shoot Your New Man Some Interesting Text Messages
Luckily, the new guy didn’t try to start anything with him.
“This is a totally true story. I had found out that my wife of 4 years was having an affair. She had locked her phone, stayed out at all hours, and was acting strange. We were in the phase of trying to work it out, well actually, I had threatened to leave her, so she decided to at least pretend to end things with the jerk she was seeing.
One day, early in the morning, I was at work and got a text from her. She never texts me at this hour, so that was weird. She was saying how she thought it might be better if she were to cut the marriage off and just be with her new boo.
She kept putting LOL after her sentences, which she never does with me. So, on a hunch, I just began to say, well, maybe we should break it off.
But I pointed out how we would never be together again, never be intimate again, never share all the experiences we had, ever again. I texted, “Remember the time when you apologized to me and said that you wouldn’t go back to him ever again? And you got a picture of him, from out of his car, and let me shoot my load on it?” (That never really happened.)
Then I talked about all the places we were intimate and the things we did.
How we even made love recently, while I made her insult the guy.
That made the texts stop. Later, my wife called me and said, “We need to talk.” I said, “About what?” She said, “The things you texted.” I feigned ignorance.
She said that I said a lot in that text, and it wasn’t even true. I said, “So?” She couldn’t say any more, but I know that it wasn’t her texting.
Her boo was texting me early in the morning from her phone, trying to show me that she was his now. And I had dropped the mother lode.
But if she let me know that it wasn’t her that received the texts, then she would have to explain why someone other than her was texting me from her phone so early in the morning. And she denied everything.
But according to the texts, I knew all about who she was with and had revealed some totally fabricated but embarrassing details that made him mad!
Because of those fateful texts, they broke up. Apparently, she was too much, even for a no-good scum bag like him.
Revenge is so sweet.
I divorced her and haven’t looked back. That was 7 years ago. I still laugh at those texts because the dude she was having an affair with was particularly mean-spirited. Served him right.”
10. Teaching The Client That They Are Not Always Right
“The client is not always right.
I work at a big ad agency with large companies as our clients. We expect to work in partnership with our clients; we fire clients that treat us poorly. Usually, we treat each other with respect.
Our biggest client has 5 different teams we work with, and one of them was led by Baseball Dad.
BD was the type of neckless marshmallow who gets wasted at his kid’s baseball games and starts heckling the other kids.
Just a boorish butthole. He never approved any of our work, putting out awful stuff that his internal team made even though he is literally paying us millions of dollars to make ads for him. His product was struggling to sell, and he blamed us, even though we were killing it with the other 4 teams. He didn’t know this, which comes back to bite him later.
Furthermore, he crossed several lines:
He was extremely misogynistic. He used to call my female coworkers ‘sweetheart’ in the most condescending voice, comment on their clothes/bodies, and wink/smirk at me while they were talking because we are both men, I guess.
These women are highly accomplished, serious people and they are like family to me; huge misplay on his part.
BD was abusive to us. He would constantly interrupt us, tell us to shut up, call us ‘vendors’ and remind us he could fire us at any time.
BD would lie. He would tell his boss (actual nice guy but too busy to check closely) that we missed deadlines or forgot deliverables because he never checked his email. We would then have to awkwardly struggle to prove BD wrong without calling him a liar so we could keep the business. He never owned up to anything he said to us on the phone.
The final straw took place on a call between BD and one of my project managers.
I saw her run out of a room crying. She told me what BD said to her, in a 1 on 1 call, that she should worry less about budgets and more about wearing ‘that nice top’ she wore at our last presentation. Gross.
I told my cool boss that our team had enough of BD; we were at our wits end with his nonsense. Several of my coworkers were looking for new jobs.
It’s hard to hire good people, so my boss asked me to give her a day to figure this out; she wanted to lose BD without the entire business.
The next day, she showed up with our IT guy, who set up a voice recording on our conference line. It’s illegal to record people without consent in my state, but BD was late to every call. Too bad, because if he ever had shown up on time, he would have heard the new message kicking off every call: ‘this call is being recorded.’ His team heard it and had no problem with it.
I suspect they hated him, too.
For the next two weeks, we recorded everything. Every word of it. One of my audio engineers made a supercut of every terrible thing BD said – every ‘sweetheart,’ ‘shut up,’ ‘no one cares what you think.’ My project manager even baited him into repeating what he said about her clothes on a budget call; this time, he literally said, ‘you’re much better at flirting than budgets, sweetheart.
That’s why I like you.’
The supercut sounded insane when played all together; it was an incredible piece of evidence. We sent it to his boss and his vice president and threatened to walk away from the work 2 weeks before product launch if BD wasn’t disciplined. They immediately apologized and begged us not to leave; they said it would be handled by Monday.
My one sweet project manager, who he had been so gross to, got the best part of the revenge; she anonymously sent the supercut to his wife using the email address she had posted on LinkedIn.
I don’t know what became of that but I imagine it wasn’t good.
On Monday, BD wasn’t on the call. My boss snooped and found out that he had a few complaints prior, and got immediately canned after we sent it through. He didn’t see vendors as people, so he was shocked that his words towards us ‘counted’ against his 3 strike policy. Apparently, he melted down completely as he was being fired.
He said it was all because we were incompetent, but the other 4 team leads had all put in their numbers and said that it wasn’t on our end; their products were slaying. Wish I could have seen it. I imagine he came home to a very angry wife as well.
We all hit the bar at the end of the day in his honor. Screw you Baseball Dad!”
9. Hire Me Then Back Out On That Offer? I'll Cost Ya $400,000
“Background: A few years ago, I worked in the wine industry and I traveled to Australia to try to broaden my experience of the industry, as well as of life and to try out living abroad for a while.
I also knew the pay there was vastly higher than what was my home at the time in the UK. I had quite a bit of experience, a decent CV/Resume, great qualifications in the industry and academically and I was young and eager.
At the time, I had a one-year work visa, but this could have been extended to two or longer, depending on the employer. I applied for loads of jobs; many were listed on the various employment websites, industry-specific ones. If I liked the sound of it, I applied for it. I also wrote to various wineries in the area that I really liked with my CV and various details.
I got a lot of replies, but one of my favorites got back to me, and they put me in touch with their hiring manager.
I was stoked to have an interview with one of my favorite wineries in the region for a sales rep job. I drove to the winery, met with the hiring manager, and had the interview of my life. I nailed it; to this day I’ve never had a better interview.
I met the winery manager, and we got along great. At the end of the interview, the hiring manager told me I was a shoo-in, and that they’d be in touch shortly to let me know if I got the job, followed by a very reassuring wink/nod.
The very next day, I got a phone call saying that they’d be delighted to have me as their regional sales rep, and we discussed a start date.
This winery was several hours out of the city, so I had to move quite a distance, rent an apartment, buy a car, and so on. This cost me the vast majority of the savings I’d accumulated back home before the move. A few days before the starting date, I give them a call to let them know I’m moved in and that I am looking forward to starting and to ask if they wouldn’t mind if I came along a few days before just to get a better lay of the land, etc.
They said the owners weren’t around so don’t bother coming in, but call again tomorrow. I did, and again, the owners weren’t around again. I was due to start on Monday, so I figured oh well – I guess I’ll meet them then.
I showed up bright and early, 20 minutes early on the first day, ready to meet the crew and get stuck in. I walked around until I found someone, as the cellar door and main areas weren’t open yet.
They told me to hang around until someone showed up – eventually, the general winery manager appears and when I say I’m supposed to be meeting with him, the hiring manager, and the owners today, his eyes widen, he goes a little white(r), and then, after some ‘uhhh’-ing, lets me know that they aren’t ready today and need a few more days to sort things out but to call back in the afternoon to find out when I’m really supposed to start.
I call back, and it goes to voicemail. I leave a voicemail, saying, ‘hey, let me know which day this week you’d like me to start.” I call the hiring manager I had spoken to before, that goes to voicemail, I do the same. Two more days pass, and I’m starting to get irritated. I want to start work. I call the hiring manager again who picks up.
I am as civil as I can be, but I do ask why I haven’t been called back. She lets me know that the owners have changed their minds, and don’t want to hire me anymore.
She admitted that this was pretty awful, and she’d been trying to convince them to take me, but they had issues with the fact that I was a temporary worker and wouldn’t be there for more than two years.
I let her know that there were options for extending my ability to stay in the country, etc. She said she knew, but they were adamant. I was pretty angry at this point, so I decided to call them directly.
Their number was easy to find, so I called them and left a voicemail asking them to call me back. And another voicemail a day later, all the time remaining as polite as I could.
Eventually, I called them from Skype, with ‘no number’ and they actually picked up. I asked why they no longer wished to hire me and tried to explain that they could apply for an extension/sponsorship if they liked having me. Then came the line, ‘We just don’t want a pommy working for us, plain and simple mate.’ You buttholes. This had nothing to do with the sponsorship thing, you just don’t like Brits.
I’m not even a pom (this is typically slang reserved for English – I am Scottish). I terminate my lease, cancel my Internet, and drive back up the coast about $2, 000AUD in the hole (not including the price of the car, fuel, food, time wasted, etc).
Revenge: Angry, but at this point desperate, I stay at a hostel and begin job hunting again. This time there’s a pretty great job as a regional manager and buyer for a decently sized chain of liquor stores.
This is a little beyond my previous experience but whatever, I go for it. I get the job, and suddenly I’m responsible for 7 stores and the purchases they make. 7 big stores that buy a lot of wine. When store managers make their weekly orders, it was done through an online system where the various products and quantities were put in.
There was a short window between the order being submitted and the order actually going through to be fulfilled.
I simply canceled each and every store’s orders of the wines from that winery. I did that every single week until I left. Each store was ordering between 15 and 30 cases of this producer’s wines per week; an average of about $6,000 per store in sales (closer to $4,000 per order, per store). When the store managers saw that their stocks were dwindling or gone, and asked me about it, I simply said that they’d changed their pricing and we can’t afford to sell it right now.
Every time their sales rep (who did not know me) called to ask what the problem was, I just told him that their product just wasn’t moving and we don’t need any stock right now. He didn’t think to even compare previous years’ sales records, he’d have seen that it had always sold well because their wine is great!
I wasn’t there long, I hated that job, the hours, and the stress of taking care of seven freaking stores and their problems, but the revenge was sweet.
After four months I packed it in, and I reckon their awful attitude cost them over $400,000 in sales.
I could have made that for them if they’d hired me.”
Another User Comments:
“God, I’m imagining the satisfaction of them knowing it was you who canceled their orders. MY GOD HOW COULD YOU NOT RUB IT IN THEIR FACES. You have serious discipline and incredible restraint.” Reddit user
8. Making Sure A Customer's Sandwich Really Stays Together Like They Asked
“This happened about four years or so ago.
I used to work as a cook at a dine-in restaurant at a truck stop.
The lack of leadership by the restaurant management bred an atmosphere of being able to get away with just about anything among the employees, including how we interacted with the customers. My coworkers quickly learned I preferred to work than gossip, and they even more quickly regretted the rare time or two they would try to get me involved in some drama.
As most of them didn’t like my sarcastic wit, they would let me be.
I pretty much was back in the kitchen most of the time and didn’t have to usually deal with our guests but would be out front from time to time (usually on my way to or from the restroom) and did get to know many of our regulars.
There were all kinds of truck drivers.
The ones who were cool and fun to talk with. The flirts. The politically opinionated. Every once in a while an occasional creep who had to be dealt with. All walks of life of drivers graced our establishment, and for the most part, no problems.
Then there would be the drivers who, no matter what you did, were just outright jerks. Rude to the staff. Complaining about everything.
And I mean EVERYTHING. The weather. The repair shop. The music playing on the intercom. The showers. The price of diesel. The cost of items in the store (which was a separate department from the restaurant). The truck parking. All things that we had absolutely no control over, and hey guys, we’re just here to serve you food, okay?
Yeah, it would get a little tedious listening to the whiners, so whenever I happened to spot the few habitual verbal offenders sitting out front, I would take the back way around to the ladies’ room.
As I said, I don’t care for gossip or drama.
So, I’m working on the grill line. It’s a somewhat slow afternoon being the middle of the week. The front counter is about half full with drivers sitting around chatting and eating when one of our regular jerks comes in. Now, this particular regular jerk was a special breed. The kind I refer to as “Not Happy Unless They Are Watching The World Burn.” This guy took being a jerk to the next level.
He never wanted to socialize with the other drivers. Never tipped the servers. Always got his food to go (yes, he would every single time open the container to inspect his order, grumble, and make a snide comment).
He would get the same thing every time: a club sandwich with fries.
And for whatever reason, he would stick his head around the corner of the server line to see who was cooking before ordering, even though he would get the same thing every single time.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see this driver peeking at me for a moment before he disappears from sight. Knowing what is coming, I go ahead and start the order. Now the club sandwich we made was of the triple-decker variety. It had three slices of bread, ham, turkey, bacon, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and cheese, which upon assembly was held together with frill picks (very long toothpicks with colored plastic frills on one end) and cut into quarters.
Sure enough, the ticket pops up on my printer a couple of minutes later.
As I had gotten a headstart, the sandwich is already laid out on my cutting board, and I’m waiting on the bacon and fries to finish cooking. I set up the to-go box and reach for the pan with the frill picks.
Only to discover that there are none.
No surprise, honestly. The other cooks aren’t exactly known for keeping up with the line stocking, so I go over to the storage room to get some.
We are out.
There isn’t one single frill pick in the place.
‘Oh no’ goes through my mind. Walking back to the line, I quickly brainstorm what to do. Realize that, if I’m careful, I can cut the assembled sandwich and lay it in the box with the fries in such a way that it will not fall apart.
Pleased with myself and my idea, I finish putting the order together and place the closed container in the pass-through window for the server to bag up.
As I have no other orders at the moment, I decide to text my general manager – who is scheduled in later in the day – about the frill pick situation and to ask if he can stop and pick some up on his way in. Before I can hit ‘send,’ I hear a bellow from down the server line.
“WHAT THE IS THIS?????”
Immediately on alert, I step around to the server line to see Mr.
World Class Jerk glaring – at me. He repeats his question so I ask, “What’s the problem?”
“Why are there no-frill picks in my sandwich????” he demands to know.
My reply is matter-of-fact. “Because we’re currently out.”
“Why not??? Can’t you freaking order right??? Why can’t you do your darn job???”
Crossing my arms, I quirk an eyebrow and flatly reply that it’s my general manager who does our ordering, not me and that I wasn’t even aware we were out of frill picks until just now.
The server is standing nervously off to the side; she’s waiting to see what goes down.
Mr. World Class Jerk inhales, sputters a little, then spits out, “Well, I can’t eat THIS like it is without the frill picks to hold it together!! Not while I’m driving!!!” He thrusts the box into the server’s hands. “I want each sandwich section wrapped so it doesn’t fall apart!!!” Then, muttering under his breath, he steps back out front as the server scurries towards me.
She hands me the box. I turn, walk past the grill line into the back kitchen, and to the prep table. Setting the box down next to the dispenser. Open the lid.
You want your sandwich wrapped???
You got it.
Each. Individual. Section.
Carefully, lovingly wrapped. In a four foot long sheet of 18-inch wide foodservice grade saran wrap.
Placing the sandwich back into its box, I walked back up to the server line and handed it off to my coworker.
She takes it out front. I see her hand it to this jerk, who proceeds to open the lid. He must have been satisfied because he closed the container and exited the restaurant. Walking back onto the grill line I finish sending my text to my boss…and wonder how long it will be before the fallout from my malicious compliance hits.
It never did. I don’t know if he ever called to complain to my boss, but I certainly didn’t hear about it. Though, we never saw that driver come into the restaurant again.”
Another User Comments:
“Should have dropped it on the griddle for a half-second on each of the top and bottom, so that the plastic fused together.” SeanBZA
7. Vacationing In The Middle Of Nowhere To Escape Annoying Boss
Gotta do what you gotta do!
“I work for a small company in the trades as head of the IT department (aka the only IT person). Truthfully, the gig is pretty great. Good pay, benefits, and I can come and go as I please within reason. The two people I have to answer to are the VP and CEO and as is par for the course they know nothing about anything to do with technology and generally leave me be as I’m good at my job and everything runs smoothly.
Being a small company a lot of us don’t take vacations due to A) building the company and B) not having replacements for the time we’re gone but after two years vacationless (we’re in the US) my wife convinces me to use the time I’m given to decompress and take a small, one week, getaway. I talk to VP and he gives me the thumbs up to take the time barring I get everything in order and do some minor teaching to other staff in case of an emergency.
Enter FOD (Field Operations Director) a man who is an attack dog for the VP for no reason as the VP is nothing but polite and reasonable. FOD loves giving everyone a hard time, adding steps to tasks to make himself look like he’s part of the process, reminding everyone how much of a ‘boss’ he is to the rest of us in management, and calling me a nerd any chance he gets.
Fair to say, I dislike FOD immensely.
After making my rounds with other staff it’s FODs time to do some scary computer-related learning. FOD refuses to look weak under any circumstances and gets very aggressive when learning new things because ‘I’m the boss, I already know.’ In the midst of learning, it dawns on him to ask why he has to learn this stuff anyway, I’m the nerd and it’s my job to do this.
I clue him in on the week I’m taking off and this stuff is just precautionary. This worries FOD as he’ll have to retain information, answer questions and do some minor troubleshooting.
The conversation went something like this, and I wish I could tell you that this guy isn’t this much of a jerk, but he is.
Boss: ‘Who approved your vacation?’
Me: ‘VP did as long as I could get you guys comfortable with some small maintenance.’
Boss: ‘I only approve vacation time, I’m your boss.’
(Side note: he does THIS so much that VP actually wrote out the hierarchy in chart form and we all carry a digital copy with us to remind him who he’s actually in charge of)
Me: ‘You’re not.’ (shows chart)
Boss: ‘Well fine! But you’re salary so you have to work during your vacation.
You’ll bring your laptop and work phone with you.’
Me: ‘When YOU vacation you make it very clear you’re unreachable and can’t be bothered even if it’s an emergency.’
Boss: ‘That’s because I go to places without service and unless you’re going to the mountains you have to work! You’re salary!’
Malicious Compliance initiated.
Me: ‘Just to be clear; if I go to a place without service I won’t be expected to work, yeah?’
Boss: ‘That’s right, but you’re a nerd you don’t do anything outdoorsy.’
Me: ‘Great, thanks for clearing that up.’
Fast forward 3 weeks later and it’s vacation time.
All my ducks are in a row, people are comfortable with me being gone for the week and are all encouraging me to just disconnect.
A close coworker of mine knows of the conversation FOD and I had and asks what I plan to do about it so I shared my easy but effective plan.
The wife and I rented a cabin in the woods, 2 hours from the nearest town and it doesn’t have service.
I set up automatic email replies that have all IT questions and concerns forwarded to the Boss since ‘he’s the boss, he knows.’ I leave my work phone on the charger in my office with the ringer on, the door locked so he has to hear it, and voicemail changed to have FOD become IT for the week.
Coworker loves the idea of flooding FOD with questions he can’t answer so much that he gets other coworkers in on it.
Midway through the week, I get a call from a coworker with an update: FOD loses it. He can’t keep up with any requests for help and didn’t bother to memorize the simple tasks I showed him so he does what any good ‘boss’ does and puts in a request to take a vacation until I get back. A retreat is always an option. Nothing screams leader more than retreat.
It’s not weakness and failure if he’s not there!
My coworkers were able to manage and FOD got his 3-day vacation, unfortunately.
After the week off I’m called to VP’s office to catch up and get things back on track. VP obviously heard of the hardships FOD faced in my absence and laughed at my MC surprisingly. VP struck a deal with me moving forward since it was made clear to him no one else knew how to do my job: I can go on vacation wherever I’d like as long as I bring my laptop and phone and check it once a week.
They’ll refund my vacation time for that day even if I only work for 5 minutes.
I took that but with the caveat of making FOD actually learn some of my duties just in case.
VP agreed. Now I do an hour of teaching a week to a very surly FOD. After all, he’s ‘the boss’ he’s gotta know.”
Another User Comments:
“It is so strange that you can go for 2 years without vacation. We have 20 days and at least 2 weeks of it unbroken by law, and companies give even much more. Rested people perform much better than overworked.” tasartir
6. Refusing To Do Homework
“This was many years ago when I was in high school, but it is still one of my proudest academic coups.
Backstory: I was a gifted kid in an IB (International Baccalaureate) program. I also had undiagnosed ADHD and tested well but didn’t consistently complete homework, especially if it was busywork.
I’m in IB History class in my sophomore year. We get assigned pages upon pages of reading and notes for homework every night, and the notes are THE most tedious nonsense.
There’s a really specific format we have to use that involves splitting the page in half, writing a fact from the text on one side, a couple of sentences of “analysis” of that fact on the other, and 2-3 sentences summarizing everything you’ve written at the bottom of the page.
We also had quotas for how many pages of notes we had to do. (I don’t remember the exact ratio because I never ever hit it but it was like a 40-page reading needed 20 pages of notes.) They took FOR-EV-ER, there often weren’t actually enough “key facts” to analyze, and everyone just wrote whatever to hit their page count.
They were also the first thing on the chopping block if we had too much homework (which we always did). And we would get graded down for not hitting the quota, not following the format, or for having poor quality content. Everyone hated them with a passion, especially me.
Our teacher got sick of people not putting effort into their notes, complaining about their notes, or just not turning them in at all, which happened more often than not.
So, she announced at the beginning of the new term that anyone who missed a note’s assignment would get an incomplete instead of a zero, so it wouldn’t affect your grade, and if you did well on the final, any missing assignments would be waived. But if we didn’t do well, they would become zeros, and our grades would drop.
She intended this to just be temporary grace for the good students, so they could afford to miss an assignment here and there and not ruin their GPA.
But she was not prepared for the unintended consequences I was about to inflict.
This announcement was absolute music to my ears. You see, not only were our notes busywork, but they were POINTLESS busywork because all the material from the reading would be covered on the PowerPoint in class the next day.
So, I would always just pay attention and take notes in class, only do some of my homework, ace the final because I had still learned the material, and because homework was only 35% of the overall grade, I’d still usually scrape a B in the class, which was fine by me.
So, naturally, when I hear we don’t “have to” do notes, I accept the LIFE out of that challenge. I decided right then and there that I would be doing no history homework for the entire term and basked in my newfound liberation from hours of nonsense.
About halfway through the term, my teacher comes up to me and the convo goes something like this:
Teacher (Valley Girl voice – she was only 24 and very immature): “Um, Ginger, I noticed you haven’t turned in any notes at all yet this term.
I’m like, kinda concerned about that.”
Me: “Well, you said if we did well on the final we would get our notes waived.”
Teacher: “Well, I mean yeahhhh, but if you don’t do well, you’re going to lose a huuuge chunk of your grade.”
Me: “Okay, and…?”
Teacher (bothered): “I mean, you should reeeeally turn in SOME notes so that doesn’t happen.”
Me: “It’s okay, I’m good.”
Teacher (REALLY bothered): “Are you seriously planning on, like, just not doing ANY notes all term?”
Because they’ll be waived anyway when I do well on the final.”
Teacher (getting condescending): “Oooo-kayy, well don’t blame ME when your grade goes down.”
Me: “Yeahhh…Can I get back to work now?”
I proceed to stick to my word and not do any notes assignments all term.
The final comes around, and it’s our typical format: 120 minutes to write two essays chosen from three prompts. I could have crushed any of them, but I picked the two easiest for me and got to writing.
I finished the first one about Columbus’s problematic historiography and realized it only filled one piece of notebook paper front and back (single-spaced). But I had said everything I needed to fulfill the prompt. Cool, onto the next one. I don’t remember the topic, but it too was clear and concise, taking up only a sheet and a half.
I was the first one done (not unusual for me; I often hyperfocus on essay tests) and walked up to turn it in.
The teacher thought I had a question.
I informed her I was done. Her eyebrows shot through the roof, and she asked if I was sure. I said yes, left class, and went and enjoyed my early lunch.
It’s next week, and we get our graded finals back. She stiffly marches up to my desk and slams my test papers down. The longer essay got a 98. The page-long one about Columbus got 100.
She muttered something sarcastic, “Well, I guess that little gamble paid off for you, huh?”
“Yep, just like I said it would,” I said. She was FUMING as she walked away.
She had been SO hoping to catch me in a big “gotcha,” but as it was, I ended up getting the highest score in the class.
She had to waive EVERY SINGLE note’s assignment, and I ended up with an A for the term.”
5. Fire Me For Talking About Unionizing? Time To Air Out Your Little Secrets
“I used to work for a plasma collection center back from 2008 to 2010. Even though I was a certified phlebotomist I was placed up in reception and I slowly worked my way up to senior receptionist and trainer. I was also training for quality control and was known for keeping detailed notes of issues that were in need of fixing/training which I would forward on to management.
Some of the things I’d keep track of were violations of FDA and GHA (German Health Authority since we were run by a German/Swiss company) as well as OSHA issues. Because I wasn’t seeing anything being done, I eventually stopped reporting the issues to avoid being labeled a troublemaker and just kept time/date info and if I could I got pictures with date stamps just to cover my own butt in case something bad went down.
Fast forward to June of 2010 and I was talking with one of my coworkers about the proposed cuts to benefits and the high turnover rate at our center. They were complaining to me about being afraid to call in sick because others had been fired for it, and I mentioned that they were putting donors in danger by us being sick since we weren’t allowed to wear face masks unless we were in the back in the donor area and even then it was the clear face shields to prevent getting hit if someone “leaked” on us.
Without thinking about it, I talked about how unions protected against this sort of thing in other medical fields, and how that might be something we should consider to help protect us. The coworker got weirdly quiet, but I figured it was because I was talking about a subject most people don’t like talking about.
Nothing really happened until about August when another coworker grabbed my ponytail while I was working with a donor and yanked down on it, jerking my head back.
I’d informed everyone I worked with to never touch my hair because it was a trauma trigger for me from being abused, and so this coworker knew I would wind up in panic mode from this.
She’d seen it happen before when a donor touched my hair, so this was deliberate. I remember telling her to not do that again, or I would make her get away.
She, of course, walked up and yanked my hair even harder, and I hit her.
The supervisors went into damage control mode as I fled the area, still in a panic response, and one of them cornered me and demanded I write down what happened because I had “assaulted” someone on the property. I wrote my side as well as told them to check security footage since the camera was aimed right at the booth I was working at and had a clear view of the events.
Turned out everyone else told an entirely different (and creepily similar) story than what I told, and the footage couldn’t be found even though less than half an hour had passed. I was fired for assault less than an hour later and escorted off the premises after being given 5 minutes to clear out my locker and get my belongings.
So on to the revenge, which was two-pronged.
My partner was there on that day and saw what happened, and tried to offer to write up what he saw, but was denied. So the next time he went in, he wound up being screened by the coworker who yanked my hair (who didn’t even get a write up for assaulting me) and asked her loudly enough that the whole reception area could hear, “So how’s those 50 shekels of silver, Judas? Was it worth it?” which left her in tears and another person had to finish screening him.
He wound up being banned for 6 months for his attitude, but he claims it was more than worth it.
While this was going on, I had been reaching out to the various organizations and departments that oversaw plasma donation and collection, the FDA, OSHA, CDC, GHA, and the like. I informed them of the fact that we always cleaned prior to an inspection but we didn’t keep things that clean today and suggested a surprise inspection should be in order.
I also handed over copies of everything I’d collected and tried to report, but always got shut down.
I learned a few months later that all of the management and several of the other techs and supervisors were all “suddenly” reassigned and the FDA, GHA, and OSHA had all slammed fines on the center for violations back almost the whole time I worked there.”
Another User Comments:
“It’s funny because my husband works in the medical field, and he writes down every single piece of blackmail he can get on people and puts them in a folder just in case they mess with him.” NaturalFaux
4. Letting My New Coworker Fail Miserably
I mean, they didn’t want help, so…
“I worked in a pharmacy dedicated to sending medications to nursing homes. Since this is often difficult to do just by hand, there were machines that could help out. I often helped use the machines to package the meds.
A new coworker joined my team. She was pleasant enough, but for some reason, I could not tell you, even to this day, I hated her on sight.
Apparently, the feeling was mutual, though we were able to work together cordially enough.
Since the machines, while super useful, were also prone to breaking down, a lot of manual intervention was required to ensure smooth operation. Since it’s a pharmacy, we also had to keep track of the medications being used on it (which means counts, often done nightly, particularly with more expensive medications).
This information is relevant.
I had been at this job for a few years, so I was reasonably experienced with the use and maintenance of the machines. My coworker wasn’t. This is also where I point out that my coworker is older than me.
So, my coworker had been at the job a few weeks and had received some training, so my boss at the time told me that it’d be okay for her to shadow me while I worked but also to make sure she did some of the work on her own, so she’d learn via hands-on experience.
This also meant I couldn’t leave until my coworker did since she hadn’t been given the go-ahead to be alone with the machine. Goody.
It went more or less okay for the majority of the shift. I let my coworker do some of the work, as ordered by my supervisor, and she seemed to be getting it.
However, for some reason, she wasn’t relying on the computer, which had kept track of all the medications used (and their corresponding slots) to do the nightly count.
Instead, she was literally writing down every single slot and medication by hand, to count later.
“Coworker,” I said, “you know the computer keeps track of that–”
“I know it does, YarnAndMetal, but I don’t seem to get how to do it!”
This is toward the end of the shift.
My nerves were fried from having to deal with her, and I was tired.
“You do it like THIS, Coworker.”
“I don’t get it, YarnAndMetal, so I’m just going to do it by hand.
You younger people don’t seem to have a problem with computers, but I do! Let me do it by myself!”
People. The process to see what had been used was literally two clicks of a mouse button. I had shown her once at the start of our shift. Our supervisor had shown her during initial training. Another coworker had shown her while she was training.
I. Was. DONE.
So, I let her do exactly what she wanted. I let her write down every canister by hand, every med by hand, and let her count by hand.
I even offered, as a show of good faith, to help with the counting, but again, “NO, YarnAndMetal, I’ll do it! Let me do it by myself!”
As a result, we ended up leaving an hour after our shifts were supposed to end.
That’s an hour of OT that we hadn’t been authorized to take, for the record.
The next day, my supervisor asks me why I’d stayed so late last night, so I told her very honestly that my coworker didn’t want my help finishing out the necessary counts last night. My supervisor, being what she was (yes, my wording there is deliberate), immediately went and ripped my coworker a new one.
The day after, my coworker didn’t come in. We all found out she’d quit, effective immediately.
Good riddance, I guess.
BONUS AFTERMATH: I also found out the day after I had to stay so late that the counts my coworker did were wrong. All of them.”
3. Director Of Nursing Gets Their Phone Blown Up
“I work in a nursing home on the 3-11 shift as a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA). What happens a lot is the CNAs will go to get food around 7:30 or 8:00 after they’ve put the majority of the residents to bed. Some of the residents figured out when we normally eat lunch and come out to passively beg for our food or try to pay us to go get them some (legally, we can’t do that) ESPECIALLY if we have pizza.
Don’t even mention the word pizza in a nursing home unless you want a mob of people around you.
A few residents complained about the CNAs “teasing them with food that they can’t have by eating in front of them.” The facility made it a rule that we could not eat where the residents can see us. The problem is, the break room is a side room attached to the dining room.
Sometimes when we’re in the break room eating, we could look up and see residents staring at us through the glass door. That means we can’t even eat in the break room.
The CNAs didn’t even talk about this compliance. We just all did it. The facility put in a rule that we absolutely had to take our lunch break about a week before this happened because CNAs would put that they didn’t have lunch at the time clock which led to them paying overtime.
Even if there was one CNA in the hall, that CNA still had to take a lunch break according to their rules. When I was the only CNA in a hall, I would pick up my lunch and eat while still answering call lights because I was the only CNA to answer them, but since I couldn’t eat where the residents saw me, I stayed out of the building for my lunch break.
Because we stayed gone the entire time, they started getting complaints that call lights were being ignored. The nurses were doing their own malicious compliance because the Director of Nursing (DON) was jumping down their throats for answering lights while they were passing out medicine. “You can’t lock up the cart to answer a light during med pass!” is what she would screech at them, so when the aides were on lunch, the nurses weren’t answering the lights either.
No residents were harmed during this malicious compliance.
This led to a lot of complaints and phone calls to the DON’s cell phone at night because the residents would call their family members who would then call the DON. One night at around 7:45, the DON stormed up to me while I was eating lunch in my car. She was in her pajamas, so I knew she wasn’t happy.
DON: “Why aren’t you in the hall? I’m getting phone calls about call lights not being answered!”
Me: “I’m on my lunch break.”
DON: “You can’t leave the hall unattended!”
Me: “According to the in-service AND the write up that YOU made me sign, I have to take a lunch break whether I’m the only aide on the hall or not, AND I’m not allowed to eat in front of the residents, so I can’t be in there.
We’re also not allowed to work while off the clock.”
When she realized the corner her rules back us into, she practically short-circuited. She wasn’t even making words anymore. She looked around and saw two other CNAs eating in their cars. These ladies were kind of sassy and weren’t going to take any nonsense from her, so she didn’t even bother. She stormed into the building, and I didn’t see her again until my lunch break was over.
She apparently answered the call lights in her pajamas.
For anyone that is curious, the call lights that she answered were for little things like a resident who was on a fluid restriction wanting water or wanting their tv turned to a channel that the tv was already on.
Those were the only two lights that were on according to my nurse. The DON was furious that she had to drive down there to answer those lights since they didn’t even need anything.
Welcome to CNA work, jerk!
The next day, we had a new in-service that said we can take our lunch in the break room, and they put a sad excuse of a blind on the glass door of the break room. They also put a sign on the break room that said: “Staff Only.” This didn’t stop residents from going in it, though. The in-service also said that if there is only one aide on the hall, that aide can not leave the hall unless they find another aide to watch it while they’re gone.
Sadly, she didn’t stop bothering the nurses.
I know some people would think we went too far with our compliance, but they were threatening termination for eating in front of the residents and for not taking a lunch break. I was suspended for three days before this compliance for not taking a lunch break, so there was nothing left to do but malicious compliance. The DON and the administrator of the facility kissed up hardcore to the residents, which is why we had stupid rules like that. Thankfully, both of them are gone. I was told by the next DON that the write-up and suspension would not be on my record, and they paid me for the 3 days I missed because there was no wrongdoing.”
2. Fire Me For No Good Reason? Let's Take This To Court!
“It happened about a year ago, in the fall of 2018.
I used to work at a distribution warehouse and last summer I got stress and depression that was so bad I got anxiety attacks because of it from the bad work environment. It was mainly caused by a specific employee and the CEO.
I was having way more sick days than before and got asked for a doctor’s note in a meeting between me, the CEO, and the guy who basically ran the company, Cedric (he was great and seemed concerned about me, while the CEO more seemed annoyed that my sick days were higher than normal for me).
We filled out the part of the doctor’s note that is supposed to be filled by the employee and the company, and I booked an appointment with my doctor.
The doctor concluded that I had stress and depression that caused me to have anxiety attacks. He recommended that I get allowed small breaks for fresh air (very bad air quality in the warehouse) and that I go down from 35 hours a week to 20.
He also recommended I get therapy. The bill got sent directly to the company.
I was pretty wound up after the appointment and called them and explained that the bill was being sent to them. I didn’t feel great afterward, so I told them I would be taking the rest of the day off.
It was about two hours before I usually got off and I had worked before the appointment.
They were very understanding and nice.
The next day I was working I talked to Cedric about the doctor’s note. We agreed that I would have an extra day off, so that I only worked two days in a row between days off, that I would have a longer lunch break (to make the math add up), and that I would come in later which was my idea as I know that’s when they’re most busy which I pointed out to him.
The CEO wasn’t part of this convo because he wasn’t in that day.
The next Thursday I get called into a meeting with both of them again for Friday.
I assumed it was to talk about how it had worked this last week with my adjusted schedule and maybe change it slightly. The CEO was his normal unpleasant self and Cedric seemed unusually silent and uncomfortable. The CEO went through the doctor’s note with me, saying he didn’t understand the part about fresh air.
I explained and told him how I felt the new schedule had worked, how much better it already seemed to be for me, despite the only thing having been put in was me having Wednesday off. He then slid a piece of paper across the desk to me and informed me I was being fired. I was shocked, read the paper through, and signed it since there was nothing else I could do.
I was given my copy of it and then they walked with me to the warehouse where it was announced to the others. My boss was just as shocked as me and angry because she liked me and had not been informed. I went home after that.
I contacted my union, sending them the copy I had, a copy of my contract, and explained the timeline. I wasn’t working since that day, because screw them, to be honest.
I only came back shortly one day to give back my key and uniform, and to say bye to people. I was put on as cc on every email the union employee that worked my case sent to them and he sent every email the union lawyer sent him to me.
Well, a lot of things happened through them that I won’t write out in detail, but here are the bullet points:
I hadn’t actually been given a proper letter of termination.
The one I was given was legally binding, it wasn’t actually correctly made.
My assignments had slowly changed, but my contract hadn’t and was now wrong.
This meant that instead of one month’s severance, I was entitled to three. And as this was agreed on after the one month was started, my severance was to start after – so four months of severance pay.
Since they didn’t actually have a reason to fire me, it was “unreasonable dismissal” (legal term translated) we could either get a settlement or take them to court.
Since my union is one of the biggest here and quite strong, and the CEO realized that he knew nothing about it, he hired an attorney (very expensive and the company wasn’t doing very well).
The settlement was negotiated between my union and the attorney, and I was then giving the choice of either accepting or taking them to court.
Through a conversation with the union advisor working on my case, I decided to accept.
The company’s attorney was being very slow to sign it so it would be closed, I suspect the CEO told him to due to having to pay it the next payday after it was signed by everyone (me, the union employee working my case, the union’s lawyer, the CEO, and the company’s attorney) and as I mentioned, the company wasn’t doing great. They had actually lost a customer the day before I was fired.
In the end, I got paid to be at home for four months and got a pretty decent size settlement for the unreasonable dismissal and the contract not being updated.
The CEO also had to state that my position in the company had been dismantled and the assignments had been spread between several employees. This was all mainly because my work had changed so much, I had basically become an assistant manager.
Moral of the story: Be in a union, have them check your contract, and make sure your contract isn’t outdated compared to what you do.”
1. Pocketing $200 From A Pizza Chain
“I worked as an assistant manager at one of the main Pizza Chains (I will leave the actual company unnamed). I had been there for roughly two years and seen many Assistant and Store Managers come and go, either being transferred or quitting. Some were good, some were bad.
One Particular Assistant Manager that joined our team (We’ll call him Josh) was a complete jerk right from the start.
A scrawny little punk in his early 20s. He has a smug, condescending attitude, treated everyone as if they were inferior to him.
The one thing that really pushed me over the edge was when he accused me of stealing, sent me home, and told me I was fired. All the while, refusing to listen to my suggestion that he check the security camera. Also, keep in mind that we were both assistant managers.
I’ve been there for over two years. He had been there for only a few weeks.
After I left, I called the Store Manager and explained the situation. He didn’t care whether I stole something or not, he just stated that Josh had no right to do what he did.
As for the revenge I got against this smug little punk…
I had come to open the store and found it a complete disaster.
Everything like the oven and such were still running, food was left out, etc. When I opened the safe I found the bills all just strewn in there. The correct procedure would have been to count the bills. Keep $500 organized and stacked in the safe and put the rest in a deposit bag to be taken to the bank that night. All he did was toss the bills in the safe, leaving them unorganized, and didn’t do any paperwork or deposit.
I call the Store Manager to find out what happened and he informed me that according to the drivers who were working, Josh had a mental breakdown, began throwing and kicking stuff then just sent everyone home several hours before the store was supposed to close. If he hadn’t quit, he would obviously be fired. Either way, he wouldn’t be working for us anymore.
I went back to the safe, opened it, and while obscuring the camera’s view, pocketed about $200. I then called the manager back saying, “Hey, I counted, but it’s like $200 or so short. I don’t even know if we still have orders from last night that need to be can-”
He cut me off saying, “Don’t worry about it. He didn’t take care of it, it’s on him. If it’s short, it’s coming out of his last check.””