People Share Their Most Triumphant Petty Revenge Stories

Giorgio Trovato

We grew up being told to treat others the way we want to be treated. Apparently, though, it seems that not everyone was taught that, or perhaps, chose to ignore that advice. That’s apparent by the number of people all around us who choose to mistreat others for no apparent reason.

But just because someone decides that “Treat others the way you want to be treated,” is BS doesn’t mean the person they mistreat will. In fact, I know plenty of people personally who would be more than willing to “get back” at someone for mistreating them, whether it be a customer cutting them in line at the store, a grouchy store employee giving them a bad attitude, or a nosy neighbor spreading their personal family secrets. If you act like a jerk, you deserve to be mistreated back! It’s only fair.

You guessed it: below, I’ve compiled some lengthy, juicy stories of people who decided to fight back with classic revenge when someone treated them poorly. Sit tight, and enjoy!

15. Be Rude To Me On The Plane? I’ll Block Your Window View


You know how much that window view means to a lot of passengers.

“This is something I am surprisingly proud of and easily the most petty thing I’ve done in my life.

About a year ago, I was on a short domestic flight (around 3/4 hours). I was seated towards the front of the flight and lined up to board when they called for my group. I saw I had a window seat, and as I saw where I was sitting, I noticed an older woman in the aisle seat of my row and who I learned to be her daughter (maybe late 40s) in the middle seat.

I let them know I was sitting next to the window and apologized for making them get up, so I could sit down. The older lady didn’t seem to understand what I was saying at first, and she just kept smiling at me until her daughter told her to get up because they have to let me get past them.

The older woman got up and told me not to worry about it, but her daughter seemed extremely annoyed when she told her to move for me.

I didn’t mind at all and apologized once more for being too big to fit past them without them having to get up, and once again, the older lady gave me a big smile and told me not to worry about it. Unfortunately, the daughter was nowhere near as happy as her mother.

This is the point where the daughter started to fire off comments to her mother that were directed at me, p*ssed off at the fact that since I have a window seat, I should have been on the plane before them, so they didn’t have such a hassle to get back up after they were already seated, etc.

Her mother, though, didn’t seem to pay her any mind. I just ignored her tirade. I did feel guilty that I made them (especially the older lady with the big smile) get up for me. But when the daughter saw her mother was ignoring her, she started to look for anyone around us that she could complain about me to. She even asked the flight attendant for a glass of wine because this ‘silly moron’ next to her had stressed her out. I put my headphones in and occasionally would pause the movie I was watching on my phone to check if she was still complaining about me.

Now, I usually have to put up with comments and slight insults for work.

I’ve been called a lot worse before, and honestly, being called a ‘silly moron’ is more humorous than anything, so I was just going to let it slide. That’s when I noticed as we reached flying altitude that she was trying to see out the window to look down on the city we were leaving. Immediately, I hunched myself forward to block her from seeing out the window and kept watching my movie. Initially, I planned to block the window for about 20 minutes, but 20 became 30, 30 became 45, and I thought, what the hell, I’m going to fully commit to hunching in front of the window for the entire flight.

14. Refuse To Open The Door For Yor Package? I’ll Send The Package Back To The Sender


“I work as a bike courier delivering all sorts of various packages of your online orders.

I’ve been on this job for around 6 years on and off and have always made an effort to be kind and patient with all my customers. However, given the nature of my job, we do our best at keeping the pace high.

The rules for delivery are as follows. Try delivering at the address. If no response, try delivering to a neighbor if a neighbor is available. Try delivering between 2 to 5 neighbors if possible and leave it with them. If not, we return the package to the depot and try another couple of times the next day. If still not possible to deliver, we hold the package two weeks until finally shipping it back to the original sender. There is some discretion left to each courier on what to do with the package.

Our branch rarely has packages that are not delivered over 3 days and pretty much never have them sent back to the sender. However, it does happen.

This particular day, I was working an evening shift delivering various packages to people’s homes. It is one of the better delivery times since its past 6 pm, and most people are home from work by then and able to receive their orders with no hassle.

About halfway into the shift, I arrive at this lovely, suburban home. I have a relatively big box to deliver to them. To my delight, as I walk up to their door, I see their whole family having dinner through the window. Now, I’m no fan of disturbing family time, but they ordered something, and it’s my job to deliver it too.

So, I give them a little wave as I approach their door and decide not to ring the bell as they saw me flailing their package around. The package is also very clearly branded from a specific brand, so they should know it is something they ordered. They all look at me for a hot minute and continue eating their food.

Odd. But maybe they just didn’t see me? I ring the bell and look through their window again. They all look at me, I point to their package and lift an eyebrow. They all look back at me, look at their food, and continue eating.

Alright. Now I’ll ring once more, but this is getting frustrating. I ring one more time, glance through their window, and basically shove the package as close to the window as possible as if its a portal to their backsides… And here is when MC starts.

They look at me, and now visibly annoyed by my presence, they shoo me away.

Now, this p*sses me off. I treat people with respect, and it’s been a good 10 minutes I’ve been at their door, wasting everyone’s time. So, I walk back to my bike, shove the package in my backpack, and look at my tracker app. I have to report the status of the package. Delivered/neighbors/back to depot/not possible to deliver.

I decided to look at what our interaction was, which was refusing to accept the package. They saw me. They saw their package and indicated to me they didn’t want it. So, I marked it as such, meaning it’s now being delivered back to the sender.

Back at the office, I mentioned this ordeal to find out the particular address has been acting like this ever since, and my supervisor basically said that it was all good by him.

A week later, I found out they also blacklisted the address and refuse to deliver any packages there anymore. They now have to either order through different services or pay for a different shipping company or pick up at our depot instead.” KleptoCyclist

13. Make Fun Of Me For Having A Crush On You? I’ll Let You Down Hard The Day I’m Hot Enough For You


“I took indirect revenge on a girl who shattered my ego and ridiculed me as a young teen. This is a story about personal transformation and perceptions of people.

In 6th grade, I was a bright student in advanced classes. I was the quintessential nerd kid- I didn’t like sports and spent most of my free time in my room messing with computers.

In my day, that was what was called a ‘nerd’- in case you are offended by labels. I personally was never offended by being classified as in the smart camp. In any case, in the grips of puberty, my heart ached for the love and gentle touch of a woman (girl). I never discussed this with anyone. It wasn’t just lust; it was a longing for an emotional connection with someone- a mutual feeling of love.

One day, I was sitting in class reading a novel (advanced English where we were required to read novels and write essays), and the teacher stepped away for a few moments, so the kids start chatting around. The question being asked of everyone, was ‘Who do you like?’- as in, who do you have a crush on.

I remained silent and didn’t look up- I kept reading because I wasn’t skilled socially and would generally stay quiet in these kinds of conversations. The truth was, the girl that I was crushing on sat several seats in front of me in the front row of that class.

Every day that I would see her, my heart would beat hard in my chest, and I would have to look away- she was so beautiful to me. She haunted my thoughts when I was not at school, too. This was another reason for me to stay silent- she was considered in the ‘popular’ camp, and everyone knew her name at that school. Everyone knew who she was. She was one of the kids engaged in this chatty gossip.

I didn’t look up- stayed nose pinned to my book, though I was listening hard to what she might say- struggling intently to sift through the words of all the kids spoken to only hear hers.

Someone who I thought was my friend that I could confide in, turned to me because I was quiet and said, ‘Hey Jeremy- who do you like?’ I probably looked flustered and shook my head and said ‘nobody’ and kept my eyes on the page. ‘Come on, you have to like someone…who is it?’ I looked around nervously- obviously hiding something. ‘No one,’ I said again. “Come on…I know you have to like someone.” I looked at him and took a deep breath and looked around at all the kids, who weren’t paying any attention to me.

“Promise you won’t tell?” The boy lit up surprised and said “I won’t! I promise! Who is it?” I beckoned him to lean closer so I could whisper, “Brandy.” “WHO?” he said loudly. “SHHHHH!” I said and started to turn back away- “Who?” he whispered. “Brandy Parrett,” I cautiously pointed and then turned back to my book and was quiet. “Her?” he said quietly, pointing towards the head of the class. “SHHHHHH! Yeah….shhhh!”

“HEY GUYS!” he said loudly, so everyone could hear. My blood pressure dropped- he wasn’t going to…”GUESS WHO JEREMY LIKES!” OMFG! ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO….YOU’RE NOT….”HE LIKES BRANDY” and pointed straight at her. I died in my seat- I had a heart attack. I shrank. All the kids started laughing– she most of all.

It was so hilarious to her that someone like me could ever think that a girl like her would be interested in such a….nerd. I remember the look on her face- it stabbed me in the heart- it was so funny to her.

When the bell rang, I was first to leave. I was ready to jet out of there as fast as I could and never wanted to return to school again, but I did and never really talked to anyone after that. I was so betrayed by this person who I thought I could trust. I guess I was foolish, but I never imagined a person would do that.

I moved a lot. I have been to at least 4 elementary schools, 2 middle schools, and 4 high schools.

So, it was no surprise when I moved away to another school district that summer, and I was glad. I thought about it and realized that this was a new beginning for me- no one would know me at the new school- the more I thought about it, the more I realized I could be anyone I wanted to be. And so I started a concentrated effort to attract girls- instead of being the butt of their jokes.

I grew to my full height in that one summer. I am just about 6 feet tall. This is from drinking gallons of milk and lifting weights and exercising and drinking raw eggs like Rocky. (I tried this, but it was horrible- don’t do this.) I started to grow my hair long, and a friend of mine pierced my ear.

(This was the early 80s.) I started to appreciate and listen to bands like Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and Aerosmith. I changed the clothes I would wear. I changed the entire perception that people had of me. All of this led to an incredible set of things that happened to me at that time in my life and forever after- not just losing my virginity but much more than that- tales you would find hard to believe- but I digress.

At my new school, I was popular. I became a member of the ‘bad kids,’ and this did wonders for me, socially. I liked it. A lot. I liked girls even more, and I was getting attention from my dream girls now, not just one, but very many.

I did it, and I was very proud of my perceptual transformation. Inside, I was still the same, but people wanted to be my friend now. Girls wanted to date me. ME! I got love notes sent to me and all the things that go along with that. Girls crushed on me, now very spectacularly, and I was so happy about it.

In 9th grade, all the middle schools around funneled into one high school and so it was that I chanced meeting Brandy again. Now, I towered over her. I towered over most kids, and I had a reputation as being a very ‘bad’ kid. And I was but mainly because I had a deep disrespect for authority, not out of being a bully or anything like that.

By this point, I had realized that adults were usually not as smart as they pretended to be, and they had little to no control over me, at all.

In any case, on the first day of school, while standing at my locker, trying to get acquainted with my lock’s combination and such, I was approached by a girl that I didn’t know. “Are you Jeremy?” she said, and I looked at her surprised. “Um…yeah…?” I continued studying my locker and its contents. “Do you remember….Brandy?” and she pointed down the hall to a girl standing there still while all the other kids walked in different directions going somewhere, and she was looking at me and smiling and waved, sheepishly- nervously. I looked at her, and the feeling of my humiliation from her all came back in a flood of emotions- mostly, anger.

When I looked at her, I no longer felt the way I did in 6th grade. I now saw flaws in her that I had never noticed before, and she was no longer attractive to me, though she was the same girl. I felt absolutely no longing, whatsoever. I squinted my eyes at her down the hall, not like it was hard to see, but that look I sometimes get that makes people cringe when I am angry. I said, “Yeah. I remember her,” and turned back to my locker.

“Well, she wants to know if you would maybe like to date her.” I glanced back, eyes still squinting, and she was still standing there. She started to look crestfallen and stopped waving.

I made sure she saw me clear as day, saw the words on my lips from down the hall as I SLAMMED my locker shut and said, “F*CK NO,” not to her friend but to her, down the hall. I turned and walked away without looking back.

I didn’t look for her or see her specifically, but I could feel her eyes on me as school ended, and she was in the crowds getting on the buses all lined up to take us home. I saw her friend in the crowd, looking at me, out of the corner of my eye. That year, I never noticed her, again, never saw her. Her popularity from middle school did not follow her into high school, and she faded into obscurity.

Hardly anyone knew her name anymore.” Jeremy Preston

Another User Comments:

Or your future employer, surgeon, or lawyer.

“Moral of your story- NEVER look down on the plain, the fat, the geeky, or the ugly – they might turn into supermodels one day!” Karma Lee

12. Steal My Parking Space? You Can Have It As Long As You Need


“Disclaimer: I am no longer the young person I was when I did this.

So, back in 1998 or so, I was living in an apartment complex in Lancaster, PA. I had just moved away from my Mormon family who was devastated that I wouldn’t drink any more of the Joseph Smith (Con-man) Kool-aid ™. I was enjoying living with my super immature girlfriend who still came home and snuggled with her STUPID Talking Winnie the Pooh bear (which I later microwaved; keep that quiet as I never told her).

So, she moved out. Then one day as the weather turned wintery, it started to snow pretty well. I had two cars at the time, and they were around the corner of my building in the lot. As the snow got around 6″–10″ deep, it finally quit. I went out, and like my neighbors, I was shoveling out the spaces where the cars were.

Once they were all cleared, I put them back. By this time, it was getting darker, and I needed some grub. So, I got in the car and went out. I came back to see my neighbors car in my space. She was a middle-aged, larger woman who lived on the same side as me. So, I just knocked and asked if she would give me space back.

She proudly informed me that there were no assigned spaces in the lot. So, it’s first to come first steal as it were.

I was able to dig out another space a few down and parked there for the night. The next afternoon, my friend was up visiting. I told him what happened, and he thought it was pretty crappy, and then I thought to myself, “She really wanted that space. Who am I to deny her the spot and all that it contained?”

So, we decided to replace the snow that was removed and then some (pro-rated for loss from melting). We cleared out 4 other spaces and put the snow all around the car and even rammed it underneath, careful not to damage the car at all.

(We may be jerks, but we still respect property.) I’m talking snowplow forcing it under all 4 sides (all while singing Dirty Deeds by AC/DC). The neighbors saw what we were doing and were laughing like crazy. Plus, we were shoveling out their spots, so it was a community service (as Jesus would do).

We then brought out buckets of water and dumped it all over the car. It froze quite nicely. So, in this parking lot, you saw a minor amount of snow in a few spaces and this vehicular ice sculpture compacted into the white lot lines.

All witnesses swore they didn’t see a thing which was neighborly. The next day, I came out to see her and two maintenance men trying to free the car from the space.

They couldn’t budge it.

I later got a call from the main office from a lovely older lady named Marsha. She asked if I could stop in. So, I grinned and walked up to see her. As I walked in smiling, she looked back with the same look and was holding back laughter and let me know that there are no assigned spaces in the lot. I told her that I agree and that I thought it’d be selfish of me to keep the snow that was in it to myself, so I simply put it back. She also told me that I was being accused of breaking her car antenna. It was broken for as long as I could remember; it was an old 80’s Dodge/Chrysler New Yorker/Dynasty.

So, she didn’t pursue it.

When the car was finally removed 2 days later, the shape of the undercarriage was imprinted in the ice it was sitting on. It was all the way under. So, essentially, we put the car on an ice shelf when ramming snow underneath.

She didn’t take my space anymore. (Come to think of it, no one did.) We didn’t talk either. So, two problems solved.” Aaron McClure

11. I Took Down A Terrible HOA President


“Ok, this happened years ago, 1985 to be exact. I was 45 when this happened; 81 now.

So, after my 2nd retirement, I started doing property management. I bought this 2,500 square foot luxury home with the sole intention of renting it out. Now I didn’t know how bad the HOA was, but when I became the owner, I soon found out.

This all took place in 2 years’ time.

Karen would literally have a problem with everyone in the neighborhood. Trash cans left out? Fined. Loud music after 10 pm? Fined. Yard sale without permission? Fined. Removing dead plants and replanting without approval? You get fined. It went on and on like this.

Now the community could run for the HOA board, but the HOA board chose the president. 6 out of the 10 members on the board liked Karen, so she always kept her job. Her husband was in the medical field, so he made a lot of money. It got to a point too where she was called Queen Karen in the neighborhood and her dishing out HOA fines.

Now I used to go in person to collect the rent because the people that rented my house were good friends of mine.

I did this for months. So, I would park my car by the front of the garage. I and my friends were having some music on, but it wasn’t that loud. Queen Karen came over driving her golf cart and said….

Queen Karen: ‘Excuse me?!’

Me: ‘Yeah?’

Queen Karen: ‘You have to turn that music down; it’s too loud!’

I told her that it was 8 pm and that music that’s even loud can be played until 10. She wasn’t having it and demanded that I do so. Now my friends and I kept the music going, and we were enjoying ourselves. She proceeded to get angry and fined me.

Now, most people will just take the abuse and pay the fine. But not me. I went to the HOA board contested the fine and won.

From that point on, Queen Karen made it her personal mission to destroy me. She would b*tch and fuss about every little thing. I fought what I could, but I did end up paying for some of it. She also went after my tenants which made things worse for me.

I had a sit down with my friends one night to discuss the problem. When I parked my car, Queen Karen came over in her robe and said I have to park somewhere else. I did because I didn’t want to start anything.

We see her go back into her house and embrace a man that ISN’T her husband. We were being noisy, and we came to the conclusion that she was cheating on her husband.

(Spoiler alert… She was.)

My friends and I told Queen Karen’s husband. I’m sure he did some investigation because 3 months later, they divorced, and he was moving his stuff out. Now gossip said that Queen Karen got nothing because she was the one that cheated, and she didn’t have a job. So, she wasn’t entitled to the money.

From this point on, Queen Karen had a massive decline in the quality of life that she had. She sold her car and got a cheaper one, and she adopted different dressing habits. But even after the divorce, she never got a job, and she was still living somewhat better than everyone else.

Fast forward to 1986 in February, Queen Karen and the HOA had been giving out fines for very obscure things and increased monthly dues.

Having trash cans out a couple of hours early or after the trash man left would result in a fine. Targeting people that had older or dirty cars goes on and on. Me and the other people the community were sick of the crap that she, and the HOA where pulling. So, at the next meeting, we made out voices our concerns.

Queen Karen said that the community had been falling behind on repairs and that the dues and increase in fines where necessary, especially if people weren’t maintaining their own property. She said that it was in the yearly budget report and that we should have read it. The other p*ssed residents and I go and read the statement. Now none of us read it because we take it as a junk mail and disregard it.

But we read the whole statement cover to cover. Queen had increased the HOA budget 15 percent, and where that extra money was going remained unknown.

We went over to her house the next day and DEMANDED to know where the extra money was being spent. But she refused several times. She closed the door and went back to watching TV. We filing a joint lawsuit to find out where the money was going. In June, we found out.

Queue the revenge.

Queen Karen was living off HOA fines and dues. The increase is because she was running out of money. She still didn’t have a job, so she embezzled from the HOA, so she wouldn’t have to get a job. She gets BUSTED! We call the police for her embezzling the money.

She was charged with fraud and extortion. The neighbors and I filed a joint lawsuit against Karen to get reimbursement as well. Because she had no money, she had to mortgage her house to pay us all. She later went to federal prison for 6 years with no parole. Because she went away, no one was paying on her house. The bank foreclosed on it, and it was bought by someone else. So, when she got out in 1992, she was homeless.

Honestly, the majority of us didn’t want to ruin her life like this. Had she toned down the excessive fines we would have let her be. But she had to double down and steal from us because she didn’t want to get a job like everyone else.” california-old-timer

10. Lie To Me About Being A VIP? Just Wait For Your Hefty Bill


“This all happens around Christmas/New Years.

My grandparents immigrated to Canada from Italy in the 70s and opened up a restaurant. When they passed away, the restaurant went to my parents, and over the decades, they grew and expanded it. I have been working at the restaurant since I was 15. Over time, my parents got older and eventually retired, becoming snowbirds. (Go to Florida for the winters.) They left the restaurant to me about a few years ago but still retaining small percentage ownership as an additional revenue stream along with there savings and annuities.

Soon as I gained control, I pretty much modernized the old place. I remodeled the restaurant’ changed the logo; reached out the local and national papers to put out ads; invited food critics, bloggers, vloggers, etc.

It was very slow at first, and I began to worry that the loan I took out to do all this was the biggest mistake I had ever done and that I ruined three generations of my family’s business, but eventually, it began to work, and a local, semi-famous YouTuber featured us in one of his videos, and that was the catalyst for more people to come and review, and eventually, we were seeing 5x-10x the business we usually get, even if it’s a Monday. We became a hot spot for major events, and it wasn’t uncommon for a celebrity to come. On those nights, I even arranged for special high profile chefs to visit and cook for our guests (costs a fortune).

So, during the holidays, we were beyond packed. It got to the point where people would have had to make reservations in July to get a table in December. (This process took years to get to where we are now.)

When it gets busy, I don’t just sit in the back office; I’m on the floor doing whatever needed to be done, even if that means I greet people, bus tables, or even mop the floors. Other nights when we have high profile guests or events, I’m in a blazer and am acting in charge though.

On one night, a group of 6 women walks in. 5 of them look like they are still in their early 20s, and the head of the group looked like she was in her mid-20s.

The best theory is that she was one of the other four girls’ older sister or possibly an older sorority sister to incoming college freshmen maybe.

I was greeting at the door, and as they were walking up, Queen Bee Karen was telling the baby Karens about how this place is awesome, food is amazing, and there might even be celebrities here. When she came up to me, she told me she needed a table for 6. I replied, “Of course, can I please get the name on the reservation.” She looked at me and said, “Oh, I didn’t make one, but it’s ok; the owner is a personal friend of mine. He said he always has one or two tables that he keeps open for special guests and said we can have one of those tonight.” Now generally this is true of many high profile restaurants, and lately, I have been doing that as well but I had no clue who this woman was, and she definitely never spoke to me about any of this.

I did get she was trying to get in without a reservation, but she literally picked the worst person she could possibly talk to and try this.

I told her, “I am sorry but we can not seat anyone without a reservation. As you can see, we do not have any seats available.” I didn’t want to go all out and say I’m the owner, and we have never spoken before, so I never promised you a thing because I didn’t wanna embarrass her in front of the other girls she was with. (AT FIRST!!)

She then went on and said out loud to one of the other girls to take a picture of me and that she will speak to the owner and make sure I’m either cleaning the toilet or fired by the end of the week.

The other girls following her lead where like, “Yeah, kiss your minimum wage job goodbye.” (I’m not sure if they were in on it with her or if they honestly thought she knew the owner.)

Queen Bee Karen then went on and said, “Look, you can just give us a table, or I can make life very difficult for you. This is not worth losing your job,” constantly pointing just trying to put me down saying things like, “Obviously, you aren’t anyone here because if you were, you would know who I am and never even try to tell me anything other then yes or of course,” constantly trying to belittle me and get that table.

At this point, it was a long day for me, and the way I saw it, I had three options.

1) tell her I’m the owner and just call her out on all of this, 2) just give her the table and let it be, and 3) teach Queen Bee Karen and her little minions a lesson.

I chose option three for various reasons, including some personality flaws I am aware that I have, but I like to think it was at least 50% really wanting to teach her a lesson.

I smiled at her and said, “Of course, ma’am. Follow me please,” and I gave her one of the 3 tables we keep open in case a celebrity comes it (happens time to time).

I told her I apologize for everything, and she is right; it would be simpler to just give her the table.

I also told her that the first three rounds of drinks will be complimentary.

I sat them down and personally served them. As they were sitting down, I told them we do need one of your credit cards and IDs just to keep on file, and we will give it back to you before you leave. Queen Karen gave me her cards and told the baby Karen minions that tonight was on her. I took their orders and got them their free drinks and told them that due to how busy we are tonight, there might be a delay on the food.

All the girls were thinking of and cared about were their free rounds. They ordered their 3 rounds and still no food.

They eventually called me and asked me to check on it the whole time giving me the world’s most nasty attitude since even before they ordered. I told them I will check on it but also asked if they would like any more drinks. They ordered two more rounds by the time the appetizers arrived. At this point, they are all drunk, having done nothing but drink on an empty stomach most the night and only having had salads after. And as more food arrives, the more drinks that they ordered.

What these girls never realized was they are at our VIP table, which alone costs a few thousand just to sit in (but I didn’t charge them for that), but what I did charge them for was all the super expensive cocktails they had throughout the whole night (except for the first three rounds), in addition, the table they were sitting in as mentioned was VIP, so the menus were a bit different.

For one, they don’t say prices on them (trade secret), and in addition, it had certain higher-end menu options such as white truffle, black caviar dishes, and specially imported west coast oysters, among other things.

At one point in the night, I was honestly rethinking what I was doing and thought I might be going too far with these poor girls; they might not know any better, but some things reassured me throughout the night, such as one of the baby Karens asking me if I felt like my life was worthless since all I ever became was a waiter. Also, one of my other employees told me how they were discussing how to” f*ck with me “to the point that they can just do this whenever they want” and how I will know to always give them a table.

I also overheard them say, “He’s cute, but I would never date a waiter like that; he is such a pushover.” There were a bunch of comments like that the whole night. So, I kept on with their life lesson.

By the end of the night, each girl racked up a bill in the range of $500-600 each. When I handed Queen Karen the bill of $4,232.23 with tax and tip included, of course, I have never seen anyone sober up so quickly. She went from laughing and giggling with her friends to nearly in tears. She called me over instantly and asked if this was some kind of joke. I took the bill looked it over and said, “Oh, yes, I apologize.

I will get you the correct bill in a moment. Again, she felt a complete sense of relief thinking she got someone else’s bill, called me a f*cking idiot, and went on to talk with her friends.

To be fair, I did make a mistake; I did forget to count her 8th order of a dozen oysters that costs about $120 per order. So, I gladly just went back and added it to the order.

When I went back to give her the correct bill, she flipped out again, going crazy. I just asked if there is something on this bill that she didn’t order. She and the girls in shock go over every single line of the bill including the first few lines that show their original 3 rounds which say “complimentary.” They then took out their phones and went over everything line by line for the 100th time adding everything up.

Extremely rattled Queen Bee Karen simply said, “One second; I need to use the washroom.” Part of me thought that she might just pull a dine and dash and leave the baby Karens with the bill, but kind of low key, I did in a way remind her we had her ID and credit card without making it obvious I thought she was going run out on the bill.

10 minutes later, she comes back with new makeup (obviously, she has been crying) and makes up a whole story on how the food was awful, the drinks were bad, and so on, demanding that as a bare minimum, I should cut the bill in half with the agreement that the baby Karens will chip in, even though she originally told them that the night would be on her.

Then as if a light bulb went off in her head: she again mentioned her relationship with the owner as if it were to give me additional incentive to cut the bill in half.

Holding back a grin at this point, I told her no. Just no; I can’t change the bill. She whips out her phone and shows me a series of text with someone called “(my restaurant’s name owner),” which pretty much I realized was what she was doing in the bathroom just probably changed one of the other Karen minion’s contact name and deleted previous texts to start this new script. I read them, then clicked on contact into and told her that that’s not the owner’s cell number.

Her reply was, “He has multiple phones for business and stuff. Of course, you don’t know all his numbers.” I remember thinking, wow, this girl thought of everything except I’m the actual owner.

I told her how about this: if we call him, and he says that it’s ok to take 50% off the bill, then I’ll do it. Her reply was yelling and screaming over the time where the few remaining customers all began to start looking, and I knew, “Ok, time to end this.” I told her already in a less accommodating voice, “Cut the crap, little girl. You don’t know the owner. You have never been here before, and if you keep yelling, I will call the police.”

Her demeanor changed, and she was trying to defend herself the best she could.

My reply to her weak comebacks was, “My grandparents founded this restaurant, and my family has been running this place for generations. I have worked here almost my entire life. I am the one and only owner of this restaurant, and I have never once seen you, heard of you, and I definitely never made a stranger I don’t know and have never met before tonight any promises.”

The mini Karens where just frozen and didn’t even know how to react. Queen Bee Karen was in tears. I said, “Now I gave you the table you wanted, one of your specially reserved tables for high-end clients, which I didn’t charge you for, and I gave you three rounds of free drinks. If you don’t pay your bill, I will call the cops and hand them your ID.” In tears, Queen Karen signed the bill, and the mini Karens took out their purses to give her whatever cash they hand which equaled to maybe a couple of hundred, with the promise to pay her back more.

Two days later, a man walks into my restaurant fuming and asks one of my bartenders to speak to me. I was in the back office doing a bit of work, so he waited a good half hour for me. He was Queen Bee Karen’s father. She was with him too, keeping her head down. I took them both to my office showed him highlights of the security cameras which were especially good quality audio because they were in the VIP which we had to keep good records of because we have had other unrelated incidents before. So, I showed him most of it, their comments, their orders there, everything. When all was said and done, he stormed out with her and was screaming at her the whole time they were walking away.

I haven’t seen or heard from either of them since, but the original bill I gave them (the one that didn’t count the $120 oysters) is framed on my desk.

Side note: I didn’t lose as much overhead on the table, and three rounds as you might think the table was originally supposed to be empty, so I didn’t lose anything since I didn’t expect to gain anything to begin with, and the overhead for the food and other drinks more than covered the loss on the 3 free first rounds.” RRInfo

9. Pee On My Tent? Your Career Is Over


In October 2000, I was a young, dumb Senior Airman attached to a Joint Special Operations Task Force (JSOTF) as my telecommunication skills were needed to support the response of the USS Cole incident.

For the record, I was and still proudly am, a POG. I kept the Satcom links up and the exchange servers going, so Red Alert never, ever went down. God help us if the commander couldn’t get his a** whipped on RA2. Who I was working for is crucial as it had a limiting effect of options to what our star of the story had at his disposal. At the time, these task forces were joint missions with all of the branches. I was in the Air Force, but my supervisor out in the field was an army, and the SrNCO is a Marine. We had Navy tech controllers and army ground radio operators as well as other airmen doing random sh*t.

Our deployment started as an exercise but turned into a real mission with the USS Cole on October 12, 2000. Since we were deployed with a squadron of AC-130s (and we were in the neighborhood), it was decided that payback was in order. As some comm puke, I’m not in command, so I have no idea what exactly transpired, which I think speaks well to the OPSEC nature of the people who are the actual bada**es of special operations. All I know is that a lot of lead went downrange.

Towards the end of our deployment, we moved camp and settled near a base where C-17s could safely land and pick us up. We originally came in with the C-130s, but they were still busy being gunships.

Even though we were leaving, we still needed comms as some of the mission was ongoing. We reestablished our links and our tents while the regular Air Force rolled in. It was around this time, roughly around twilight, when some random air force pilot decided to stop by my tent that was roped off as a secured area, cross the line, and proceeded to relieve himself on my canvas.

I was in the comm tent where I was 24/7. I would occasionally sleep in it if we had a busy night ahead of us, but that night, I was busy running cables to the various end-users. I walk outside my tent and come face-to-face with some guy, p*ssing on my tent. I politely asked him, “What the f*ck are you doing?” To which he replied, “F*ck off, airman!” For some reason, I felt insulted as if someone p*ssed on something that I use and cared for.

Like any good E-4, I went and told on this guy to my army staff sergeant, who had a hard-on for the air force. SSG Jones was supposed to go into the Air Force back in 1997, but he didn’t graduate high school, so he was forced to join the Army. All of his emotions and pent up rage was unnecessarily focused on this captain who peed on his f*cking tent. (It was my unit’s tent, but for his intended purposes, the Army owned it for the next three weeks.)

SSG Jones got up in the captain’s face and asked him where he got off disrespecting his troop and his gear. The captain attempted to pull rank, but the SSG didn’t have it.

He got his information and went to our JSOTF commander and filed a complaint. The officer initially lied to our commander, which forced him into starting an official investigation into the matter. It was now my word against his… Oh, and the dried p*ss stains on the tent… And then all of those witnesses that saw SSG Jones light the guy up. After I wrote a two-page memorandum for the record with a sworn statement about some a-hole p*ssing all over my tent, we left for home.

I take comfort knowing that there are photos of the p*ssed stain tent somewhere in some commander’s report and how some captain tried to lie his way out of a situation that ended badly for him.

I thought embarrassing him was the punishment, but I was wrong. When I got home, I found out that the captain was stationed at the same base as me, but only after I was sharing my story with my actual supervisor and crew while getting sh*tfaced after work. Back in my day, it was not uncommon to get wholly wrecked with our base command E-9, so, there me and my crew were, getting hammered with a guy who was a tail gunner during Dessert Fox, our failed attempt to free the Iranian hostages way back in the day. Everyone called the command chief ‘Taco,’ and he was cool with it so long as it was only at the bar or at a coin check.

Taco listens to my story about the tent p*ss and informs me that the captain received an article 15, AND his request for retraining was denied. Taco says that I was my assumption about embarrassing him “probably would have been the end of it, but he lied and tried to retaliate against you by saying you peed on your own tent. His career is over, all because he peed on your f*cking tent, Dale. Cheers!”

SSG Jones, wherever you are, thank you for taking that moment to emotionally unload on some air force officer. Between that and seeing this guy go out to the MWR tent and wait like a Godd*mn jaguar to pounce on some dipsh*t who was surfing Beastiality p*rn on A NIPR PC and exposing said dipsh*t by flinging open the tent door and screaming with the baritone sounds of a coked-up Harvey Weinstein: “SINNER!!!” Those are the memories you cherish.”” Dalebssr

8. Keep Parking Like Trash? I’ll Let The Air Out Of Your Tires


From this revenge story, it’s apparent that it matters to know how to troubleshoot basic tire problems.

“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!

As I mentioned, 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. Initially, 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 happened to be 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, and 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 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! Somebody 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!

When I originally wrote this here, I forgot to mention what my friends told me about her end of the ordeal. 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 gone on a trip earlier in the year and used up her yearly vacation, and she had been sick a lot, so she only had a few HOURS of vacation and sick time left!), she had to catch a bus – which she hated, she had to pay for tires (even though that money got refunded, and she ended up paying for the tow), 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 initially! 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! I remember sitting there feeling pretty smug about the whole thing! This is one of the few times in my life where I didn’t have ONE SECOND of remorse for doing what I did! NOT EVEN A DROP! I never had a problem out of that girl after that.

Honestly, if I had known that doing that would stop her from parking partially in my spot, I would have done it before!

Even though she wasn’t sure who did it, I was told she went through a range of emotions trying to figure out who did it! At one point, she thought it was me, then she thought it was her downstairs neighbor (because of some loud music she had been playing), then she thought it was her ex-boyfriend, then she thought it was her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend. When she presented the idea that I did it to our mutual friends, they ALL said that I was WAY too nice to do something like that (LOL)! They also suggested that I’m entirely too sensible to have come to her and ask her to park in her space and then damage her tires (LOLOLOLOLOL)! One of my friends even SAID, “She just isn’t a petty person like that!” when talking about me to her (QUADRUPLE LOL)!

They told her that she should be ashamed of herself for continuing to park in two spaces after I had asked her not to.

She settled on the ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend because the ex-boyfriend was at work overnight. LOL… It is a sad thing when you have so much negativity around you that you can’t even pinpoint who might have a grudge against you!

I found out later that the community had a remedy for people who did what she did. I just had to call a special number, give them my unit number, tell them a car was in my spot, and they would have come and towed her. I didn’t know that. Had I known that, I would have done that, but my method was JUST as effective!

I got away with it because this was a time when cameras were not as prevalent. Today, I would likely have ended up on YouTube and in jail for doing that! Or maybe NOT jail! I didn’t actually DAMAGE the tires… I would just have ended up embarrassed on some social media site! So, there you have it – my old, sweetest revenge story!” Kay Morton

7. Sexually Assault Me? Face Many Cold, Hard Consequences


“The Background:

This story is about me, but I’m not the one who carried out any revenge.

That honor belongs to a friend of mine. We’ll call her Mary. I am from a pretty rough area of a city known for gangs and violence in the midwest (you can take a guess where), so as you might expect, I didn’t have very much growing up.

Several years ago when I was in high school, I made some not so great decisions, mostly dressing somewhat revealing and making myself popular with boys. I didn’t exactly sleep around, but I was attractive enough and had a good amount of guys interested in me, especially the football players because I was a cheerleader and present during most games. One in particular, we’ll call him James, was a little more aggressive than some others about wanting to get into my pants.

He was a linebacker, around 6 feet tall, and built like a brick wall (wide shoulders, tall upper body, muscular) compared to me, a decently fit but not exactly strong 5’1″ girl.

The Event:

More than once, James had tried to get me to go out with him or stay at his place, but I wasn’t interested. He really didn’t like that and would frequently demean me, calling me a wh*re or a sl*t after being rejected. Eventually, though, a won game, he, combined with some of my other friends, convinced me to come to a party later that night with the other football guys. I’d never really partied before, so I didn’t know what to expect.

I got caught up in the moment and played drinking games with James and a few others.

That was my mistake. After a few rounds, he convinced me to go to a room with him and forced himself on me. Even after I told him to stop, he basically guilt-tripped me into staying quiet while he had his way. I don’t remember the exact events super well, but I do know that afterward, I left the party crying and was driven home by Mary.

The Revenge:

Afterward, I felt disgusted and ashamed of myself for letting myself get into that position. Luckily, I had friends to support me and help me get through it. I wanted nothing more than to forget it and move on, but a few others felt differently. After a few days of him bragging about “sleeping” with me, I thought he had people convinced that I had caved and decided to “give him a chance.” What I didn’t know or remember was Mary had taken pictures of where I was bruised from him holding me down and recorded me talking about what had happened on the drive back.

She had secretly been showing his friends the proof that I had been sexually assaulted and planning to destroy his life.

A few weeks after the incident, James got jumped by several of the people I thought were his friends and had to be later rushed to the ER with a broken nose, a few broken ribs, a cracked hip, and several bruises after a game. At the same time, his car had its windshield smashed in and its tires slashed and spraypainted pink. When he got out of the hospital, his parents disowned him and kicked him onto the streets after Mary proved to them he had assaulted me.

The Aftermath:

James dropped out of school after getting kicked out of his house, and from what I know, slept in basements and spare rooms of friends that would take him in, which weren’t many.

He couldn’t hold down a job and got fired from his last one, which I believe was a retail job, for harassing a female coworker. Last I heard, he was still job hunting and living in his grandparent’s basement.” Reddit user

6. Think Wearing Masks During A Pandemic Is A Joke? I’ll Take My Sweet Time


“My daughter and I went shopping the other day at this grocery store that I won’t name, but it has two ‘X’s in its title, and one of the other letters looks like a shopping cart. Anyways, there are signs at the entrance that state you must be wearing a mask to enter and shop, maintain social distancing, etc. No big deal, I’ll do my part and wear a mask, same with my six-year-old daughter.

We go in and start shopping, I’m being polite, keeping my distance from people, keeping her close to me and the cart. We go more into the produce department, and then I noticed this couple, a man and woman and this black square suitcase looking thing in their cart. The man has his mask on but under his chin, totally disregarding the fact you should be wearing it properly, and the woman kept lifting hers up or pulling it down to scratch her face or just to talk to him. Ridiculous. They are both putting everyone near them at risk.

I’m not a Karen, but if my kids aren’t with me, I will call you out on not wearing your mask properly.

We are still in a global pandemic, and out of courtesy and respect to others around you and the buisness you’re in, just wear the mask for 20 minutes while you shop and take it off when you get outside. I don’t understand the big deal and why people have to go on a ‘protest’ about wearing one. If you purposely wear your mask incorrectly, I’m going to assume you’re a rude, inconsiderate person, and you don’t need to be around me. Now, if my kids are with me, I’m staying away from you as much as physically possible. I do not want your germs near my kids, and I will get tempted to call you out on your rudeness, but my kids’ safety is more important, and they do not need to see me get angry, and I do not know if me calling you out will result in violence on your part.

Anyways, I tell my daughter that we’ll come back to the produce section in a bit, and we head to another department in the store. Everything is good; she’s being polite and listening. Everyone is keeping their distance. Some time passes, and I noticed that couple again, heading down the aisle we’re in. So, I immediately tell my daughter, that, oh, we forgot something in the other aisle, so we turn around and leave. I’m doing the best I can to avoid those people.

Meanwhile, I see a store employee with their mask on walking right passed the couple, asking them if they need help, then keep walking when they say no thank you. No mask-wearing properly being enforced on the employee’s part.

My daughter and I are in the store for maybe thirty minutes at this point, and I have done my absolute best to keep avoiding that couple whenever I see them. We are now done shopping and head towards check out. Only a few registers were open, and it felt like everyone in the entire store wanted to leave at the same time. There was one big, long, six-feet-apart line leading up towards the three lanes that were open. Once my daughter and I finally get up there to the split, we chose to go in the middle lane to check out.

People are still keeping their distance, and now I’m next in line, and guess who happens to get right behind me? Yes, that couple.

Man is still wearing his mask under his chin like he’s scared his jaw will fall off, and I’m not looking at the women because as soon as I noticed they were behind me, I turned and faced forward 100%, and I tell my daughter to go stand in front of the cart, so she’s as far away as possible.

The conveyor belt is almost free of stuff from the gentleman in front of me. So, I was about to instruct my daughter to help unload our cart when, the lady behind me started loudly, snarky, smart-alicky-tone said to the man with her, “Oh, oh babe! You better put on your mask! Quickly! Quickly! Or we might get sued or something!” And then kinda went, pssh, or ugh while chuckling.

And then man, with her loudly sigh and out of the corner of my eyes, I see him fix his mask and wear it properly.

So, that attitude right there told me, they’re afraid of being sued and also they think this is a big joke. Well well well, I’m petty as heck. Sucks that you ended up behind me when the check out lines are packed.

Here’s where I start to get ‘revenge’ for their rudeness and ignorance, on behalf of myself, and everyone else around us. I noticed a white towel and a bottle of cleaner/disinfectant next to the register. There’s the first thing I could do to irritate this couple.

Instead of telling my daughter to unload our stuff with me, I patiently wait and wait for the lady at the register to completely finish talking to the gentleman in front of me before I even move forward.

When she’s done with him, and the gentleman starts bagging his things into his cart to leave, she turns to me and greets me. I greet her back, then point to the cleaner and ask her if she wouldn’t mind cleaning the conveyor belt for me.

She politely and maybe shockingly says yes, of course, and obliges. Pushing the button to move it a bit, sprays it a little, while is moving she’s wiping it down. It takes a while, but I do not mind one bit. While she’s cleaning it, she makes small talk and tells me she usually only does that for the people who wait, because other people will start loading their stuff on the conveyor belt as soon as there’s even a bit of room for their stuff on it.

I’m not 100% sure, but I thought I heard the lady behind me huff and whisper something to the man she was with, something like, ‘did she really just ask her to…’. So far so good. Haha.

When the lady is done cleaning the belt, I have my daughter help me unload the shopping cart. And by that I mean, I take one item out of the cart, then hand it to my daughter, then she puts the item on the belt, and then I hand her another item, and so on. This is the second thing I could do.

I’m going as slow as possible, and I’m talking to my daughter and watching her place the stuff on the belt. I’m asking her questions here and there about the stuff we got.

‘Oh, pickles, yum, what are we getting these for?’

Her response, ‘Oh, papa’s barbecuing hamburgers later, don’t you remember?’

Me: ‘Oh yes, that’s right.’

Big stack of paper plates? I say, ‘Sweetie, these are kinda heavy, do you think you’re strong enough to put these up there?’

Her response, ‘Uh, let me try.’ She struggles, grunting but does it. ‘Yes, I’m strong enough.’

She is totally adorable, and the cashier lady is just giggling at everything she says.

I’m not sure how long it took, but we finally unloaded all our stuff onto the conveyor belt. The cashier lady must’ve already scanned about 1/4 of our items by the time my daughter and I were done. Then I ask my daughter if she wants to bag and load the cart.

She does, so I direct her to the end of the other conveyor belt. I know she is much slower than I am at that, but I was fine with that — the third thing I could do to make things go slower.

I slowly push my cart by the cashier and over towards my daughter, all while making small talk with this polite and patient cashier. ‘How was your day?’ etc.

I noticed the couple behind me had also moved up a bit so that their cart is now at the end of the belt near my stuff that hasn’t been scanned yet. It’s hard to see facial expressions with masks on, but this lady was standing there, arms crossed, all her weight shifted to one side, and she was just staring at me.

The cashier asks me if I found everything okay, and normally, I just say yes thank you, but this time I answered. ‘Oh, actually, I had a hard time finding the garlic bread. It’s always in a different place at other stores, and I keep forgetting that it’s usually frozen.’ While I’m talking, she’s kinda laughing, and when I’m done, she says, ‘Ya, I do the same thing all the time. It’s so odd that bread is in the freezer.’ She is one awesome cashier.

Then, one of our items wouldn’t scan. She scans it multiple times. Won’t scan. Gets the handheld scanner out, flattens the barcode on the bag, and tries to scan it again. Nothing. Puts the scanner back, then starts pressing some buttons on the computer/register.

I think she might’ve been trying to look the product up but couldn’t find anything. Then she tells me she’ll try manually inputting the barcode numbers, but it still doesn’t work. She tried three times. Then she asked another cashier for help, what would a reason be they won’t scan, what should she do, etc.

She apologizes to me, and I tell her it’s no big deal. It’s not her fault it won’t scan. She asks me if I wouldn’t mind waiting a minute while she figures this out — the fourth thing to make things slower. Pssh, go girl; you do what you need to do. She goes to another cashier, and I’m not sure what she said because I don’t know what all these terms mean and stuff; I’m not a cashier, but I turn to my daughter and talk to her while they are talking.

My daughter is fine, having fun, still bagging up some items that were scanned. When our cashier comes back, she apologizes for the wait, and I loudly tell her, while looking directly at the couple behind me, ‘Oh, no, don’t worry. I’m not in any hurry at all.’ And behind my mask was the biggest grin I could make. I didn’t need to hide it. I was wearing a mask. Haha.

The couple, I could see were whispering to each other, kept leaning close to each other while looking at me while pointing to the bottle of cleaner and their stuff. Their bodily language was visibly frustrated. The lady kept crossing her arms, loudly huffing, pacing back and forth next to their cart.

I swore I could feel the anger in her stare when she looked at me. And at one point, it looked like she was going to unload their cart, but the man put his arm out to stop her.

I couldn’t make out everything they were saying, but I’m going to assume they were sorta arguing about whether or not to unload their cart now because of me waiting for the cashier to clean the conveyor belt before I put my stuff on there.

By now, most of my stuff was scanned and on its way to my daughter, and the couple behind me have gotten a bit closer and are still arguing about unloading their stuff. I overhear them a little and find out that the big black suitcase thing is for keeping your stuff cool/cold while shopping.

((That’s so smart, and also, where could I get one? Haha.)) So, I guess that would explain a bit about them arguing about keeping their stuff cold since I’m taking forever.

By now, just maybe two more things to scan. I take out my wallet now since she’s almost done, and she finishes scanning the last item by the time I get it out. She tells me my total. I hear her and acknowledge her. Then instead of paying with just one credit card, I think to myself that this is the last thing I could do to p*ss them off more. I loudly say, ‘Ok, I’m going to be paying with WIC first, then cash, then a card. That’s all allowed in one transaction, right?’ (I know it is because I do it all the time when I have to go get groceries for my boys using WIC, then dog and cat food with cash for my mom, and finally the rest on my hubby’s card.

Technology is awesome.)

After I say how I’m paying, the lady and man behind me loudly huff/sigh and start unloading their cart but not the black cooler yet. I’m just smiling so hard right under my mask. This is just golden.

After the WIC transition goes through, the lady hands me a receipt and starts to show me what I just used, what I have left, cool. I know all this already lady, but keep wasting time. You are so polite, and I’m going to listen to you tell me this. She gives me a new total, then I purposely take a while digging through my wallet and come up with $13.26 or something like that. I gave that to her, she crunched some numbers, and gave me a new, new total.

I inserted my hubby’s card, followed the prompt, inputted PIN number, and just took my time.

The couple behind me at this point were practically done unload everything in the black bag now. But I’m sure they were furious. I think I maybe spent another ten minutes just checking out.

And now I am finished, and I just needed to finish bagging up our stuff and go. I keep my cart where it was, go to help my daughter, and I hear the couple loudly say to each other, ‘Finally.’ Yes. Finally done.

We are now done, and we are leaving. This was just so satisfying for me because I felt that this was all I could do in this current situation. I know it probably wasn’t the ‘morally correct’ thing to do, but so is not wearing your mask properly during a pandemic.

The lady joked about being sued, and I just didn’t think that was funny. People are literally dying from this virus. My friend a city over caught it but luckily recovered, but not everyone else is as lucky. You’re going to act like an ignorant POS, I’m going to do what I can to p*ss you off.” relykslady

Another User Comments:

“In my country, they won’t get sued; they getting a fine of $300 straight away, no hiring of lawyers, but hiring lawyers are probably more expensive anyway.” StinkyKraken

5. Talk Smack About My Crochet Work? I’ll Make You Feel Not So Special


This would be a big slap in the face to any crocheter.

“Ok, so this is probably pettier than anything, but it’s also new whereas most of my revenge stories are a couple of years old.

People just don’t seem to want to cross me anymore, probably because they know I’m vengeful. This gal apparently doesn’t know that.

I’m huge into crochet. My earliest memory of crocheting is from about age 7 with my grandmother. She couldn’t do it anymore, but I wanted to learn, so she started teaching me. I’ve been crocheting for 20 years. And I’ve gotten good in the last 12 or so.

I had a woman in my neighborhood looking for someone to crochet some baby booties from patterns she’s had since the ’80s, so we talked and came to an agreement on price ($15) per pair and such. I figured this would be a good starting place since I’ve decided to open an Etsy store (or something like it) to sell what I make.

We meet, and I start the first pair after deciding on a color combination. (they look very ’70s, but they’re not for me, so why do I care?) I deliver the first pair, and she loves them. All is well, and she gives me a copy of one of her patterns. The first was one of mine.

The next morning, I get a text.

Her: ‘These aren’t the same size. I want you to make me a new pair, and I want them in the next size up.’

Me: ‘Ok, I will do that, but you have to return the pair you have to me.

‘She didn’t get b*tchy with me, but I’m a little irritated at this point because she loved them the day before.

I also know they are indeed the same size. I measured them; however, I’m not going to fight her over the phone.

We set up a time to meet today, and an hour before, she calls me and cancels. Ok, now I’m mad. I’m a stay at home mom, and I arranged my toddler’s whole day around this meeting but whatever.

I was prepared for this meeting with my measuring tape and some agreements for her to sign because I’m not going to lose money on this deal between us. And she had me sign an agreement that I wouldn’t use the patterns she had to make any more booties and sell them to other people. I wasn’t going to do any more pairs until she signed what I had as well.

Maybe not going to hold up in a courtroom, but it’s better than nothing, and I want something to point at if she tries this again, so I can say nope.

Now for my revenge. She thinks her patterns are super special and can’t be found anywhere because she bought them in the ’80s, and there’s no way they still sell them. After all, she can’t find them. Obviously, I’m not going to use the copies she gives me because then I would be going against my word that I won’t.

What she doesn’t know is after all of 10 minutes of Googling, I found the company. They still exist, and they still sell these exact patterns. I can get all 10 of her precious patterns for $5.99 and even some extra ones she doesn’t have.

So, I did. And now I’m going to make and sell the good from these patterns. I already double-checked with the company that I can do this. So, the next time she contacts me, and I go to get a pattern from her, I’m going to tell her I don’t need it because I bought my own. It’s petty, but I will greatly enjoy crushing her fantasy that “her” patterns are so special and rare that nobody can find them anymore. I hope it breaks her just a little bit.” Colorado_Girrl

4. Refuse To Pay Me For My Work? Good Luck Starting Your Truck


Super sneaky, I must say!

“It was a verrrry long time ago…and it didn’t even happen in America —so I think I am safe in recanting this story.

I had been hired as a day laborer for a few days to tear out an old concrete driveway. I had to sledgehammer everything and break the chunks down into manageable sizes, then wheelbarrow all the chunks to a dumpster and deposit them. It was backbreaking work, but I needed the job and the $$. I was working with another, older guy.

At the conclusion of the job, and before I/we got paid, I asked the contractor for the job (who had come back to inspect our work and to collect tools) if he could give me a ride downtown, to which he agreed.

On the way downtown, he told me he wasn’t going to pay me because the other guy I had been working with told him that I wasn’t a very good worker and that I had actually taken a break, etc.

I was incensed. I had worked very hard for the money and was anticipating it.

When we arrived downtown, the guy parked the pickup truck we were riding in, in a parking lot. He barely said goodbye; he was glad to see me go —as a teenager, I didn’t have the gumption to have put up much of an argument. He left the parking lot.

I hung around for a few minutes until I was sure that he was gone.

I then opened the hood of the truck and removed the coil wire (from the distributor to the ignition coil.) The truck could never ever ever ever ever ever start without that wire. I threw that wire so far away (and so well hidden) that it would never have been found.

Perhaps the guy came back…tried to start the truck…Ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh-ruh. Maybe he lifted the hood. Possibly he spotted the missing coil wire. Potentially he could have been smart enough to replace the missing coil wire with one of the spark plug wires, but he still would have been running on only 5 of 6 cylinders — not a very good running engine at all.

But I like to think that he had no idea what was wrong…and ended up paying for a tow to a car shop … and ended up paying for a new set of spark plug wires to be installed —about what he owed me for wages.

I guess I/we will never know. But I think he learned a lesson.” Charles Brendon

3. Won’t Let Me Buy A Tagless Scarf? I’ll Pretend It Was Mine All Along


“There is no violence in this answer, but the revenge was sweet, nonetheless.

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 that 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.


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*tch wants it for herself!” You must understand that 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.

We met with Jenny and her buddy outside of the shop and provided it to the girl, combined with the story of how I first got it straight back. She had been surprised but happy. And yes, it had been free.

I often question the way the original clerk reacted whenever she experimented with making the scarf residence for herself and discovered it gone…” Michele Sullivan

2. Keep Stringing Me Along Overseas While You Cheat? Your Bank Account Will Be $8,300 Lower


“To give you some background I’ll tell you some things that will be important later.

My ex-girlfriend loves her dad (entitled dad). She isn’t even bothered by the fact that her entitled dad abandoned her and her sister when she was 5-years-old, and her sister when she was 3-years-old.

Entitled Dad cheated on my ex-girlfriend’s mother, a sweet and caring woman, with a random affair. After that came out, he divorced and moved to New Zealand. I live in Germany, so it’s literally the other side of the world. Entitled Dad left his children behind and moved to the other side of the world because he cheated on his wife.

After he moved, Entitled Dad kept contact with Ex-Girlfriend and tried to manipulate her into thinking that her mother, that sweet and caring woman, is a bad person and that he is “so much better.” Entitled Dad doesn’t even care about Ex-Girlfriend. Everything he does is to hurt Ex-Girlfriend’s mother. He wants to break her and uses her daughter as his weapon.

I know all that because Ex-Girlfriend’s little sister got sick of Entitled Dad’s bullsh*t as she got older. She told me everything about him and what he tried to make her mother look bad. My ex-girlfriend’s best friend (since childhood) is also a friend of mine and told me stuff, too. And I got to meet him personally but later more about that.

The manipulation, however, seemed to work on my ex-girlfriend. She is so delusional about Entitled Dad that she literally said things like: “He’s the best father in the world,” or “He is always there for me.”

Yeah, always there for you on a Skype call twice a month.

I tried to not speak about Entitled Dad with my ex-girlfriend because as soon as someone tried to show her what kind of a person he is, she feels attacked and got p*ssed and aggressive.

All of her friends and family hates Entitled Dad and tried to talk to her, but the same reaction happened.

The months went by, and Ex-Girlfriend finished her school with an “abitur;” I think it’s like high school in America, and it allows you to go to a university. She decided that she wants to spend a year in New Zealand, to stay with her dad for a few months, and then do work and travel.

I was out of my mind when she told me that. I knew her dad manipulated her into that and that this was his idea.

Everyone tried to talk her out of it, for fear she would not return for two years because she said that Entitled Dad mentioned that “if you stay for two years in New Zealand and have a relative as a legal citizen, you get a visa and can live and return there whenever you want.” I checked it, and as far as I understood, it is a legit fact.

Well, at least that’s one thing Entitled Dad didn’t lie about.

But you already guessed it: she wanted to move to her dad and said things like, “I’ll never be happy if I don’t do it” and stuff like that. I mean, yeah, go see your father and do work and travel, but we all knew her well enough to see that if she’s there, she will stay probably longer than two years because Entitled Dad is able to manipulate her into anything. It’s f*cking mental abuse.

Of course, Entitled Dad called her many times a week all of sudden and told her “how great it will be” and bullsh*t like that.

Then he told her that he will be there when she gets her testimony and at her graduation party.

In my head, I thought about many ways to just get rid of him when I heard the news, but I came to the conclusion, that I couldn’t do much.

I’m sure he only flew over because he wanted to make sure that Ex-Girlfriend does not change her plans and to make Ex-Girlfriend’s mother sad and angry. She sometimes cried at night when Entitled Dad was a topic at the dinner table. So, yeah, she really is done with him.

The big day came, and I saw him for the first time. (I saw pictures before but only his face.) He’s a small, smudgy-looking guy. He was wearing jeans and an ugly yellow and white striped shirt. But his shoes. His shoes were like cowboy boots but only ankle-high.

He looked like a mirror of his personality.

There are two mini-stories with Entitled Dad at the graduation party, which are not really relevant for the revenge, but I included them as a little extra. Let me make you hate this guy even more.

When Ex-Girlfriend got her testimony, Ex-Girlfriend’s mother was crying with joy because she did everything for her daughter, and it was such a big deal for her that Ex-Girlfriend got her testimony. Entitled Dad, however, came out of the building and saw the scene, rolled his eyes, and went inside again to flirt with the single moms. (He married again in New Zealand, by the way.) I had to calm down; otherwise, I would’ve killed this little sh*thead.

The second story shows how important Entitled Dad thinks he is.

Ex-Girlfriend’s mother has a new partner too, and Entitled Dad met him at the aftershow party. Entitled Dad talked in perfect German with everyone at the party. When Entitled Dad introduced himself to the new partner, he spoke in English, “Hi, my name is Entitled Dad, and I’m from New Zealand. Nice to meet you.” My God, yes, we get it; you cheated on your wife and moved to the other side of the world.

Now finally the revenge:

I talked for hours with my ex-girlfriend about our relationship and said that I couldn’t do a long-distance relationship for longer than a year. And it really is that way. I’m not made for that.

She promised she only wanted to stay for 9 months: half a year with Entitled Dad and 3 months of work and travel.

She said that she has a ticket booked in nine months and showed the email to me.

She also gave me full permission to her German bank account where her father pays a monthly $230 child support to her. She also would transfer money every month as soon as she gets work in New Zealand to have a head start as soon as she returns.

Fast forward 9 months later…

Over the last months, I tried my best to keep the relationship alive. The hardest thing to deal with was the time zone difference.

She reached out to me and said, “I want to have one or two months more with my dad.”

I couldn’t believe this. We screamed at each other on the telephone. But in the end, I could wait two months more.

She asked me to postpone her ticket, and I did. Later that month, I saw on her bank account that almost $340 was gone. After a little bit of research, I found out it was a bill for postponing her flight ticket.

A little idea came into my head.

I would not tell her anything about that. And for every month she further breaks her promise… She’ll have to pay.

But that’s not all. A few weeks later, I was looking at Instagram and looked trough Ex-Girlfriend’s followers. One guy had a profile picture with my girlfriend in it. His profile is public and then I saw the picture.

Him kissing Ex-Girlfriend with the caption “4 month anniversary.” I lost my sh*t. She met a new guy and makes me wait because she wants to have somebody over here she can always return to and who manages all her stuff.

The idea of costing her hundreds of dollars every month is too good. Well, too bad; I have total control of your bank account. I now knew she wouldn’t come home anytime soon.

I faked the relationship. I acted like everything was fine. And it wasn’t really too hard. Every evening, I wrote my mother how my day was and stuff like that. It makes her happy and is no big deal for me. So, I just changed, “Hello Mom” to “Hey Babe” and sent Ex-Girlfriend the same text every evening I sent my mother before. I basically cut contact, told her I have a new job, and have to go sleep early.

Everything for my revenge plan.

I simply postponed the ticket every month.

Lived my life and had no trouble at all. The first year went over, and she already lost $4,100, but it just gets better. I broke up with her, confronted her with the affair, and said she could stay where she is.

I didn’t want to spend much time on the breakup because it was over a year ago for me.

I, however, hoped she would forget about her bank Account (and that I have all the permissions for it). And she sure did. Another year went by, and another $4,100 is just gone.

Do you remember Ex-Girlfriend’s best friend? She called me one day and asked me why I have stolen thousands of dollars of Ex-Girlfriend’s bank account. That Ex-Girlfriend gave her sister all the permission over the bank account and that only a couple of hundred dollars would be on the account.

I told her that I postponed the flight every month because Ex-Girlfriend didn’t say otherwise. I also told her that Ex-Girlfriend cheated on me and everything else.

Ex-Girlfriend’s best friend was p*ssed. She told me a few days later that Ex-Girlfriend told her that the money was for a new car for her dad and that “he did so much for her, so that is the least she could do” (Ex-Girlfriend’s words). Entitled Dad had the idea, and of course, Ex-Girlfriend’s delusional a** thought that it’d be a great Idea. All the money he had to pay for HER, Entitled Dad paid every month, but only because he knew he would get back all the money anyway for a new car.

When he found out that all the money was gone, Entitled Dad had a big argument with Ex-Girlfriend, and she had to move out.

Entitled Dad kicked her out, and she had to see how she would manage her situation.

Well, I can tell you: she does not have any backup money. She lost nearly $8,300, and her sister legally took the rest of the money in the bank account and closed it. No more money from Germany. No more money from Entitled Dad. No more friends in Germany.

I got my revenge, and she is completely broken about how her dad treated her. She also lost every friend in her home country because everyone knew what she did to me. Her family abandoned her because she never even called, and she called her mother names. It’s probably because of the manipulation of Entitled Dad. And Entitled Dad is more than p*ssed about the $8,300 he’ll never see.

Remember: look out for your money yourself, especially when you are lying and cheating a**hole.” Deskanarr

Another User Comments:

“As someone who grew up without their father, I understand why she wanted to spend time with her dad and try to get to know him. Sometimes you can be so blind to how sh*tty someone is because you have that idea of having a “normal” family and relationship in your head and just want that to come true no matter what. I’m sorry she cheated on you and lied to you; that sucks a whole lot. Hope you’ll be able to move on and just forget about her.” jamieonhere

1. Work Me Half To Death? I’ll Quit For My Health


“A year and a half ago, I was working a restaurant job that was slowly killing me.


At my restaurant, I was promoted to management but never fully trained. I had gotten Lucy fired for theft, and my wife was the one who replaced her (transferred from another store). This broke a lot of company policies and also probably the law, but the company was short on managers.

A new GM came in, and Lazy Daisy got the demotion she deserved and would be forced to resign. Before she left, she attempted to get revenge on us, blaming us for what happened, but it failed. Another manager, who is so insignificant that I forgot his name, quit and was replaced by an old friend who my wife and I trusted and treated almost like family. At first, things started to finally be looking up in that terrible restaurant.

Then we quickly realized that the new general manager was a full-scale level 10 Karen. GM Karen had made me and wife priority targets in her wrath. She quickly became aggressive, vindictive, and malicious at every opportunity. She fired half the staff, trapping some of them to do so, insulting people until they snapped and fired them. She fired one cook after telling me to skip the cleaning and get off the clock, and the known neat-freak night cook threw a fit, rightfully so, at the dirty line. She fired him, then forced me to work the night off the clock for not cleaning. It was supposed to be my night off.

We are at this point critically understaffed. Wife and I’s schedules are pushing 80 hours every week.

The marriage was in freefall from our stress and the incessant berating from GM Karen. Every moment we had together was usually interrupted by a phone call demanding one of us come in. I had gone from mainly managing to go back to line cook/dish with my only real managing time is having to come in at 8 am to do soft opens (unlock the door for the staff, do paperwork, count safe, and help throw truck).

Some days, I was pushed to as many as 18-hour shifts (8 am-2 am the next day). Few days, I got breaks. No food during the day besides what I could sneak. Averaging 4 hours of sleep if I managed to steal a meal on my way out the door and not have to cook.

If I was lucky, I got a short day or two days off the same week. My body began to fail, but I was that idiot too dumb to quit and willing to do almost anything that was expected of me.

My wife and I’s vacation finally came, and during it, I suffered some kind of respiratory failure. The doctors there brought me back with a bill as large as all of our spending money for the trip, citing asthma as the likely cause without investigating. I had found it weird that my activity-based asthma had been triggered while lying in bed and had suddenly resurfaced after years of dormancy, but I paid it no mind. I should have. But this did severely anger me, and I started to finally figure I needed to get out of there.

Over the following weeks, my lungs would dramatically drop in ability, but I chalked it all up to just simply asthma. After all, that’s what the doctor said.

Onto the Story:

After weeks of grief for my wife and I’s vacation, which included even more insane hours and odd jobs, GM Karen suddenly decided to go on a vacation of her own lasting a full week. It was the last day of the pay period, and my clock-out was in the upper 80s the previous week and upper 90s that week. I was hollow-eyed and barely able to breathe. I still thought it was just my asthma and lack of sleep.

On her way out the door, she whipped several cooks into a tizzy and attempted to get them all fired and then handed me a massive list of chores to do while she was gone.

While all of this stuff should have long been done, years of neglect and the months of severe understaffing made all these duties simply impossible to accomplish. Every new hire had been chased off by her and making up for it with ever-increasing overtime. A lot of progress had been made, but there were still months more to do to fix the neglect from the reign of Lazy Daisy. I told her flatly that this list was impossible to do in a week, maybe not even a month. Then she uttered the words I had not known I was waiting for.

She angrily screamed: “If this isn’t done, you and Wife, don’t even bother ever coming back on the day I get back.

Do it or else.”

Before I could even say anything, she rushed out the door to go on her vacation, and I looked down in defeat. The whole of the staff knew I was at a breaking point, and the faces they had been making told me I was not going to survive doing this. I would spend a lot of the week trying and trying my best, but my body was giving up. One day, I slept in the office as it was too late to bother driving home. By the last day of pushing ourselves and the staff to the breaking point, we had accomplished about 1/5th of her list and blew our labor far beyond what corporate allowed. Everyone had significant overtime.

As the last day came to a close and I finished the floors around the dish-pit, me and Wife looked at the clock. 3 am. The meeting and the moment she returned: 6 am. We were both scheduled doubles the next day, 6 am-close, thanks to the meeting. Karen’s words were stewing in my head, and if it was not for that sentence, I probably would have slept in the office that night or kept working to finish the list. We decided, you know what, screw this place. Karen said we shouldn’t come back if the list wasn’t completed, and well, it wasn’t. So, we complied. We left our keys, stole an industrial size box of chicken nuggets, and walked out the door.

We never came back just like she said we should. The time clock read about 105 hours.

The Fallout:

The rest of the story is told to us by second-hand. Mainly the family friend and some coworkers at first, but after they quit, we got updates from a relative of the new manager that I happened to be working with. Small world. According to them, after we had left, staff morale had plummeted. The last dishwasher, I was the second to last after the other two were fired, would be brought to his mental breaking point and stormed out the door a few days later. People began to quit left and right. The staff apparently looked up to me and Wife since we had stuck through everything with them shoulder to shoulder and in the trenches unlike other managers like Lazy Daisy and Karen.

The state of the store decayed as the downward spiral continued, and store revenue went through the floor. We were the straw that broke the camel’s back. Last I heard, Karen had an empty store, few employees, and nobody to shout at. And that was before 2020 began to dawn. I’m sure that the store hasn’t survived this long.

My health was still declining but had dramatically slowed. Some days, it even felt like it had improved. I thought this was just where my body was going to be and that asthma was what was keeping me down. Two months after quitting, I collapsed at my new job. My lungs were not working. It was an asthma attack on a level I had not felt since the vacation.

I was brought to the hospital by ambulance and discharged in short order as I recovered. Another massive bill and still lost as to why. A week later, I had fallen ill and took the day off. I went to my doctor to get a doctor’s note when suddenly they wheeled me into intensive care. The nurse said I was as white as a sheet. My blood oxygen level was so low; I should have passed out on the drive. They discovered I had a minor nasal infection that had spread through my entire respiratory system and beyond, heavily entrenched in the lungs. The doctor estimated that this level of infection of that strain would require a number of months. He estimated 7-8 months of progression and a severely weakened immune system.

When informed of my previous job, he said that the lack of sleep and constant work was stressing my body to the point where my immune system could not fight off the infection. Despite being out of that environment, the war on the infection was preventing the body from healing. He said I shouldn’t have made it, and if I had not quit, he has little doubt I would not have made it. To this day, a year and a half later, my lungs are still weak, but the infection is gone. They may never heal, but I am still around.

I have, due to recent circumstances, finally quit restaurants entirely. But that was how some malicious compliance and a walk out the door probably saved my life.” Fournone

How much are you willing to do to teach a lesson to a rude person? Would it be anything like in the previous stories? We’d love it hear it.

Tell us in the comments!

Let Us Know What You Think...