People Distribute Their Most Warranted Revenge On A Loser
11. Don't Anger A Rich Redneck
Be careful who you mess with.
“This is a story about my grandparents’ friend. I was a young teen, but given the outcome, this story has stuck with me. I’ve sat on this story for a while, but it’s so satisfying to see a gaggle of Karens taken down a notch that I figured I’d share.
For the sake of this story, we will call my grandparents’ friend William.
Now, my grandparents knew William from WAY back. My grandmother knew him from school, and my grandfather met him after marrying my grandmother. Anyways, in the ’60s, Grandma was a manager at the 7/11. William led a crew that went there every day. It was the only gas station in a 30-minute radius, so everyone knew everyone in that sleepy coastal town kind of way. Now, one day, William was doing a job down on the waterfront and slipped, fell, and broke his back.
While he was healing from the operation and was broke as a joke, my grandma would always make sure to send him something to eat that she’d pay for when the crew would come in to grab their snacks and gas up, knowing William would simply skip the meal to save the dollars for his own family. My grandpa also took him to several doctor appointments since William couldn’t drive for a while, and his tiny little wife couldn’t wrangle him into a car by herself.
William never forgot that. 20 years later when he sold off his now VERY successful business and was a millionaire about 20 times over, he promptly told 90% of the world to “go to heck” but kept those that had always been there for him close. Meanwhile, he never moved from the house that he’d had since before he was rich… His only concessions to his wealth were trips with his wife to see the world and buying up quite a few acres of the forested land around him.
If you weren’t his friend, you’d take him for every other blue-collar worker in the town. There was absolutely nothing obvious to show that he was worth tens of millions of dollars.
After his wife died in the ’90s, William decided to take up a new “hobby.” As he lived outside of the city limits, he set up a sawmill and woodworking shop – got all the proper permits and everything.
The saws were in a big old enclosed building in the middle of all that land so in all honesty no harm no foul…right? Wrong. The family that owned the forest behind William’s land had just sold it to developers. Thus, the new “luxury” gated neighborhood (the first in the area) was born. Enter a plethora of Chads and Karens who were mostly from up north and had moved down south to take advantage of the better weather and the nearby beach.
It didn’t take long before they decided to take offense to his little business venture on the other side of the 10-foot tall wall of their neighborhood because it didn’t “fit with the image of their community.” You know, the community he was decidedly not a part of. So… they sued him. Didn’t even try to start a dialogue with him – just up and sued him.
William. Was. Livid. He was your typical coastal redneck, and he would be DARNED if “those darn Yankees” told him what to do on his own property (that was not within city limits nor located in an HOA). William countered with professional noise studies that showed that some of the kids in that neighborhood drove vehicles that made more ambient noise than his little operation. Nope, the people in the neighborhood simply threw more bucks at the lawyers to continue on with the lawsuit.
Essentially, their plan was to bleed him dry. Their lawyers, who were not locals, actually told William’s lawyer that he should probably advise his client to close the shop so that he wouldn’t end up bankrupt due to the resources being thrown at him from the homeowners. Due to the relatively modest surroundings of his home, the neighbors nor their lawyers had any idea the man was actually richer than just about all of them put together.
All they saw was an older dude who drove a beat-up 80’s model truck and wore Dickies jeans and work shirts that lived in what appeared to be a relatively modest home, especially compared to their McMansions.
When William’s lawyer told him about that conversation, William lost his freaking MIND. I clearly remember his screeching into my parents’ driveway in that old work truck, cussing up a storm, and ranting and raving before he even got in the house.
He came to our house, why? Because my grandmother, (bless her heart), was known as one of the most giving people in the world… unless you made her mad. If you hurt her or someone she cared for, she became one of the most vindictive jerks that could be found in that town. I am not kidding when I say that her ability for Revenge Served Cold was Legendary amongst the locals.
So William had come to the house for a dose of her deviousness. Us kids weren’t allowed inside during THAT conversation, but after he left that day, I later heard the adults talking about how he proceeded to hire quite a few private investigators to see if there would be any dirt to dig up on them. By them, I mean the dozens of people in that neighborhood that were a part of that lawsuit.
Lo and behold, there was apparently copious amounts of dirt to be had. I still remember him positively CROWING about it to my grandparents one fine summer day months later. That 60-something-year-old man was as gleeful as the proverbial kid on Christmas morning. Why? Because after he learned what his little private army dug up, he started making some phone calls to various Acquaintances In High Places.
The ensuing fallout meant that the lawsuit was dropped. There was quite a list of misdeeds that were discovered, but the ones that I heard talked about by the adults that stick out are:
There were more than a handful of individuals that owed back child support. William very helpfully had the Private Investigators provide the mother’s updated address and employment information so that they could pursue said child support/garnishment if they wanted to. On top of that, the IRS became VERY interested in several of those people as well as various other neighbors. Finally, one household ended up in prison because the investigators realized that they were dealers… The pictures of the transactions caught by the PIs were helpfully handed over to the Sheriff’s Department. (Substances are bad, kids.)
Moral of the story: NEVER anger a rich redneck.”
10. Try To Get Me Fired? I'll Get You Fired From The District
“I was in my mid-20s, fresh out of grad school, and ready to start my teaching career. I got a job at a title one elementary school near my home teaching art. And I was super excited that I could walk to work!
However, I was so far into la-la land that I didn’t notice any of the warning signs…
Warning sign number 1: It was a week before school started, and I had called and emailed the school office staff and my principal to ask about getting my keys and badge, so I can start seeing what I needed to do to get ready for the school year.
No response and no answer from either. So I call the district office and asked when and where I could pick up my keys and badge. Two days before school started, I get an email from my admin that I should have been more patient and not have contacted the main office about my keys and badge.
I finally got everything and was able to get into my room and was horrified with how much I had to get done.
(Apparently, they had used my room as storage, so it was loaded with tables and desks stacked on top of each other, 8 filing cabinets, and well over 100 chairs stacked all around the room.
I managed to clean out the space with help from my awesome custodian (shout out to all custodians who are the secret backbones in helping teachers get ready for the school year).
Hurdle number one finished!
Warning sign number 2: It’s now the day of classes starting. And I haven’t been informed of what the schedules are. As in, which days I see certain classes and when. So I email my principal, again, asking what the schedule looks like and if there is a digital document that I can print out. I get an email back a few minutes later telling me to “stop pressuring and bullying her.” (?!)
I replied, sorry if I was making her feel that way, but it would be nice to know what classes I had and when.
This leads to warning sign number 3: It’s 8:10 am, not 10 minutes after school started, and I finally get my schedule… only to find out that I have two classes, AT THE SAME TIME! Note my school isn’t huge, but we still had 14 classes serving kinder-6th grades, so I was having at least 46 kids in one classroom by myself! Moreover, I had seven 45-minute periods a day and saw every class every day of the week, with only a “30-minute lunch” (my lunch was when I was on lunch duty).
I asked my principal if there was any way we could adjust the schedule, so I had time to plan and get the classroom ready for the next class and wouldn’t lose instruction time getting things ready as the new class was coming in. I got yelled at by her with a class waiting outside saying that “it was my first year teaching, and I didn’t know what I needed and needed to just deal with it.”
Well, I decided not to “just deal with it,” and I read the teacher’s contract for the district.
Come to find out, we had a section about classroom size. It stipulated that if you had a class of over 30 students, you get to have an educational assistant help you with the class. I brought this up with my principal after a month and a half of struggling and was… you guessed it, denied and told there were no funds in the budget, and I would have to make do without it or quit.
Mind you, I am stubborn and determined to make things work with what little I have. But things were rough. In order to prep and plan everything for the next day, make meaningful grades, keep up with referrals, and keep in contact with families, I was having to be at the school from 6 am (when the morning custodian arrived) until 9 pm (when the night janitor was leaving) on weekdays and then also use my weekend time to continue to plan and grade.
When it came time for my first teacher evaluation, I was dreading it. However, I got all satisfactory marks from my principal. I was shocked; little did I know this was a plan she had all along.
A few more weeks pass, and I’ve had it. I talk with our union about the double classes and say it’s not sustainable, and a classroom my size can’t safely fit more than 30 students, let alone 46 students.
And they said they would handle it… and another few weeks go by and nothing.
It’s now the week of Thanksgiving, and conferences are over, and I get to not worry about anything for two days. So I decided to go to a potluck dinner with some old friends of mine. So here is the best part and maybe the part that saved my career and even maybe my sanity: I was talking with an old acquaintance and his new husband about what teaching job I landed and how the school year was going.
I let it slip that even though my students were amazing and had such creative minds, it’s frustrating to me that I don’t have the time to give to them, that they deserve, and with two classes at once, it’s hard to get around to everyone in the class in just 45 minutes.
I noticed the husband raise his eyebrow and ask me what school I worked at.
So I told him. What harm could it do?
Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone in between, little did I know I was talking with my principal’s supervisor. I found out the next Monday when my admin stormed into my room at 8:05 am to scream and yell at me, threatening to fire me, and make sure I never work in education again! I was shocked and confused at the time.
However, later that week at our staff meeting, we talk about a change in the schedule and how only one class would be in my class at a time for an hour now, and I would only see them twice a week instead of all 5 days! It was magical. The kids were happier, I was calm, was able to help each individual student if they needed it, and was able to plan enough throughout the day so I could leave at 4 pm!
Sad to say, my happiness didn’t last forever.
I noticed my principal stalking my room and coming in non-stop to observe me. It was awkward. I also had a few of my very extroverted students come in quiet and unable to focus on work, but when I asked them if everything was okay, they would burst into tears and say, “I don’t want you to go!”
Being confused, my response was always, “Oh student name, I have absolutely no intentions of going anywhere.
You are all the best students a teacher could ever ask for!” Which would cheer them up for a while, but then they would come in next week upset again.
It all clicked the day before we left for Christmas break. My principal came into my room with one of her minions (who was our building union representative) to tell me I was being put on a Teacher Support Plan.
This plan was to evaluate whether or not my contact, with the district, would be up for renewal at the end of the school year.
I was shocked, and my union rep just snickered and walked away giggling with our admin. I felt sick and abused, unable to feel any emotion. It wasn’t until I got home and read what this plan detailed that I was seeing red.
I had hit my breaking point.
This is when I started to formulate a plan of revenge.
Some things to note: our principal liked to come into school whenever they felt like it. She would be there anywhere from 7:45 am (our actual contract hours) to as late as 9:30 am (she once showed up at noon without telling anyone). I also knew that she had kept renewing a certain after-school care contractor that wasn’t free to families, but they got funds from the district to offer it for free.
I also knew that this person running after-school care was romantically involved with and living with our principal!
So during winter break, my acquaintance and his husband called and asked if they were free to get drinks over the holidays. I love a good cocktail, and I needed some hard drinks. When we met up, I wanted to talk about anything other than school stuff; I just wanted to keep my mind off of school drama.
But the new husband brought up if things were better after he had talked about the double classes. That was when I found out that he was her boss.
I asked: “What do you mean you talked to my principal? How do you know her?”
New Husband, “Oh, you didn’t know? I’m the supervising administrator for that cohort of schools.”
My jaw dropped, and I started to hyperventilate.
The husband was startled and asked what was wrong.
So I told him, I told him everything. How she yelled and threatened to get me fired, how she put me on this support plan, and how she just kept observing my class without notifying me.
His face went from a concerned look to a surprised Pikachu face to red with anger.
He told me, “I really always had a bad vibe from her and always wondered why there were always so many new teachers at that school every year.
What else can you tell me about what’s going on?”
I hesitated to tell him everything, but my acquaintance told me not to worry; he has seen this look before, and that we were on my side. So I told him everything I knew. They both just sat there awestruck, unable to speak about what they were hearing.
Anyway, after break is over, I am dreading coming back into my class, but I don’t want to miss seeing my students.
So I push on. I am walking in the hall to my mailbox, and I see a few of my students that had cried and told me they didn’t want me to leave. They ran up and gave me the biggest longest hug ever, saying, “You’re here! You’re here!”
Me: “Of course I’m here. I wouldn’t leave the best students ever! Now would I?”
Students: “But principal said you were going to leave us because you didn’t want to be here, and we should give you trouble before you left.”
Me (trying to hold my rage): “Oh, maybe she was talking about how I was leaving to visit family over the break? No need to worry; I’m still here.”
Yes, y’all, this wretched woman tried to purposely make kids misbehave in my class to write me up for not having a good rapport with my students! I was beyond livid!
So next time I have class with that student, I ask them if they could make a comic book of the conversation they had with my principal when she told them I was leaving.
And make an ending he wanted. Phase 1 started.
Phase 2, I contacted my boss’s boss and told him per my contract, I wanted another admin to accompany my principal’s Teacher Support Observations. And I wanted it to be him. He said absolutely! But not to tell my principal just yet.
The first day of my observation comes, and she walks in without a notebook or anything to take any sort of notes.
Looking proud of herself like she is about to get away with firing me. She is shocked and confused when her boss walks in with a laptop and sits next to her and starts typing notes about how I’m doing. She stumbles around and comes to ask me for a notepad to take notes, and I tell her, “I don’t have an extra notepad, but I do have some poster paper (we were making a movie poster of a movie we would star in to go with our comic books).
And that I hope you can be better prepared next observation as to not disrupt my class and take time away from their institutional time.” Her boss just smirked.
Phase 3, I was now calling my new best friend (my boss’s boss) whenever she was late getting to school, and he would do a random stop by if he was close. So he was able to document that she was not showing up to work on time and had not submitted the paperwork to have it be taken out of her leave minutes.
Overall, we get her at least 2 times a week for a solid month, I think he even asked someone from HR to come to our school to see for herself at 9 am and she still wasn’t even there!
Now time for Phase 4, which was my favorite one. Getting the parents on board. I first started talking to parents that seemed to always be late picking up their students, I would chat about it, and they said it was hard to get there on time, and they often had to leave early.
And when I told them about our aftercare, they would tell me that it cost too much for them. However, I would inform them that since we are a Title 1 school, that after-school care was free and paid for by the district and gave her a nifty flyer I made up with the website to fill out the forms and which ones to fill out.
This made word spread around to parents paying the contractors directly that it was supposed to be free. And boy was that a fun PTA meeting to go to. I also made sure the principal knew it was me that informed the parents about that free after-school care program.
After this, there were countless investigations at our school. With head administration from the central office stopping by our school, auditors, and our union finally got involved and tried to play the heroes/victims of this incident.
The outcome: The second half of the year was very chill. My new best friend made sure that my Teacher Support Plan was taken off my teaching record, and my principal was not allowed to do my second term evaluations, nor was she allowed to do any informal observations. The after-school care contractor was fired and taken over by one recommended by the district, and my students were making amazing strides in their posters and comics.
At the end of the year when we were getting our assignments (jobs) for next year, my principal made one last attempt to get me to leave and told me that “our budget doesn’t have the funds for an art teacher next year and that I might want to see employment elsewhere.” I laughed in her face and said, “Nice try, my position is paid for by a state bond and isn’t affected by your budget from the district.
If there isn’t anything else, I’ll be leaving now,” and when I walked out, I could hear her slam her desk and swear up a storm as I closed the door.
At the end of the year, I had my one student share his comic book about how the principal told him to “give me trouble in class” at our school’s talent show, leaving the already angry parents angrier that an adult would tell a child to act in such a way.
I even think she had a shoe thrown at her when she ran on stage to stop him from finishing his comic.
To the surprise of no one, on the last day of school, she announced on the intercoms after students had left that she would be resigning from our school to move to a different position where she was “needed” and that she would miss “almost all of us.”
I came to find out after stalking her on LinkedIn two years later that she had to get a job out of the district an hour drive away to get another admin job, but only stayed for a year, and then had to step down to teaching English at a different school in another district the next year!
And for those of you wondering how my student’s comic book ended, well. “The art hero rallied the students against the angry principal to make her see the errors of her ways, but the angry principal could not become happy, so she left, and the power of happiness filled the school once again.””
9. Refuse To Believe The Elevator Is Broken? Try It Yourself
“So I’m an elevator technician. When they break, I’m the one who fixes them. When parts wear out, I replace them. You get it.
The other day I was on a job replacing a worn-out emergency light. Back in the day, it was a habit to use the battery of the emergency light to power the elevator’s siren system. Modern emergency lights have different voltages being LED, so I can’t use the old way of connecting everything.
So, I have to wire everything up from scratch, including a new battery and siren. No big deal, but it takes a little longer to complete the task. Note that this is a 3 stop elevator. (Ground floor, 1st, and 2nd). I start by hanging up all my ‘out of order’ signs and start working on the ground floor.
5 minutes in, just disassembled the old piece, the story begins.
In comes the Entitled Woman (mid-40s, can walk perfectly fine) carrying 1 barely filled grocery bag.
Entitled Woman: ‘Excuse me, is the elevator broken again?’
Me: ‘Not exactly ma’am, I’m changing this (showing her the new emergency light) because the old one wasn’t working anymore. This will probably take about an hour to complete.’
(At this point her daughter walks in)
EW: ‘How am I supposed to get my groceries upstairs?’
Me: Getting annoyed, I look at her bag, and give her the ‘Are you freaking kidding me?’ look.
Daughter: ‘Mom, seriously, take the stairs, it’s 2 floors.’ (Clearly annoyed)
EW: ‘NO! I pay for this elevator, and I need it now!’
D: (sigh) ‘I’m going up.’ (And takes the stairs)
EW: ‘How long is this going to take?’
Me: ‘Like I said, ma’am, about an hour.’
The woman then sits her butt down on a bench in the hallway waiting for me to finish.
Really? Oh well, I do my thing in the cabin, not hurrying at all, mount the new E-light to the ceiling, and pack my things to go 1 floor up, to start the wiring on the top of the cabin.
EW: ‘You done yet?’
Me: ‘No, ma’am, I still have to wire things up on top of the elevator.’
EW: ‘No, I can see you’re done, you’re packing your things!’
Me: ‘Yes, I have to take my bag 1 floor up so I can start on the wiring.’
EW: ‘Can’t I use it now?’
Me: ‘No ma’am, you can’t, there’s exposed wiring up there, if you use it now you can cause a short and you will get stuck.
It’s really not safe.’
And she sits back down on the bench, seriously mad. I take my bag and make my way upstairs. As soon as I stand in front of the 1st-floor door, I hear the door on the ground floor close, and sure enough, EW went into the elevator and tried to take it upstairs. No, I wasn’t having that. I take my emergency key and as soon as the elevator started moving, I open the lock, cutting the safety chain, and the elevator comes to a sudden stop.
This scared the crap out of her and she screams! I open the door and in my most fake surprised voice, I yell ‘OH NO, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!’ while calmly pressing the emergency stop on top of the elevator. Yep, this thing isn’t going anywhere soon.
Me: ‘This is exactly why I said the elevator is unsafe to use now. I’ll do my best to get it working again asap, but you made a mess up here so I don’t know how long it’s going to take.’ (There was no mess, but I couldn’t resist teaching her a little lesson.)
EW: swears, yells, and makes a scene
Me: ‘I’ll be right back, I have to go to the engine room to see if I can get it working again.’
I close the door and make my way up.
On the second floor, the daughter came out of the apartment because of the yelling of her mother. I quickly explained what happened.
D: (raising her voice) ‘Oh no! Please get her out of there!’ But then she comes closer and whispers to me: ‘Don’t hurry, make her suffer.’ That’s my kind of girl!
Music to my ears! I smile, give her a thumbs up, and make my way up to the engine room.
I call my supervisor to explain the situation, in case she files a complaint.
In the engine room I start playing around with the fuses, putting her in the dark, because yea, I haven’t connected the e-light yet. I play with her for about half an hour before I turn off the emergency stop I activated, the elevator synchronizes to the lowest floor, and I wait for the doors to open.
Me: ‘PLEASE, don’t EVER do that again!’
EW (white as a sheet, shaking): ‘N-no, I won’t.’ And she takes the stairs and goes inside.
I never heard from her again. I calmly finish my job and leave the building with a smile on my face. Mission accomplished.
FYI – I made sure there never was any risk. It was intentional that the elevator was able to move because I needed it to.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to access the car top because of the distance between the floors. I tested all safeties I was going to need before I started the work. I disconnected the old light, which was convenient with a plug when I tested said car top safeties, so there never were exposed live wires. When I blocked the door with my bag, I never left the site.
On every floor, the ‘out of order’ tag was placed over the floor call buttons, and the reason why I initially started working on the ground floor is so people who enter the building can clearly see me working when the elevator was still ‘active.’ The moment when I started working on the car top, and people couldn’t see me when entering the building, I did make use of the stop button, that I already tested, to prevent the elevator from reacting to calls.
Every action I took was well thought out, potential risks were considered, and actions were taken to eliminate them.
If I really needed that elevator to stay where it was, I would make sure it would.”‘
Another User Comments:
“As a fellow elevator technician, I salute you. I have wanted to do this so many times! Hate when people breathe down my neck while working because they’re too lazy to use the stairs.” Liimix
8. Stop Payment On Your Car Repair? Wrong Choice
Did he really think he’d never get caught?
“This occurred in the mid ’90s, so the details may be a bit off.
John owned a small automotive repair shop doing general repairs on most brands of vehicles. There were three of us working there: the owner and two techs. We got a call one day from a new customer whose BMW would not start and who was nearby at a golf course.
I sent a tow truck and had the BMW put into a stall. Sure enough, it would crank over but not fire off and start. I checked for spark, and there was plenty. Now to check the fuel system. No fuel pressure. Went under the hood again to check the fuel pump relay. No problem there. Now to check power at the fuel pump. The manual said the fuel pump was in the inner fender liner in front of the left rear wheel.
Pulled the wheel off and the liner back, and lo and behold, no fuel pump. There was a fuel filter there, though. Went back to the manual and looked up the next production year BMW, and it said the fuel pump was internally mounted in the fuel tank. Cleaned myself up well (car had white leather) and removed the rear seat to access the fuel pump.
The fuel pump only has power while cranking or engine running, so I got Tim to crank the engine over while I checked power to the fuel pump. Pump had power to it. I priced out the fuel pump and wrote the estimate. It came out to approximately 625.00 broken down like this: Labor for diagnostic time and install 2.5 hours at 75.00 = 187.50, fuel pump = 300.00, total = $487.50.
Tax and shop supplies $38.18
New total $525.68
When the customer called for the estimate, Tim answered the phone and gave him this total: $525.68. No towing included. It was on the ticket, but Tim just missed it.
At the last minute, I remembered the fuel filter and ordered one and installed it on the vehicle at no labor, just the cost of the fuel filter plus a little tax.
When Buttwipe came to pick up the car, I heard a lot of loud voices in the office and went in and took over the customer. He wanted to know why his bill was $625.00 instead of the $525.00 he was quoted. I explained that the quote Tim gave him did not include towing of $75.00 and that I had forgotten the fuel filter at 25.00 plus tax and had installed it at no labor charge.
Buttwipe raised his voice suggesting that the fuel filter was the problem and not the fuel pump. I assured him this was not the case, and he demanded the old parts. No problem as we would just throw them away anyway.
He wrote a check.
About a week later, the check comes back as stopped payment. Turns out, Buttwipe lived in another county, and our DA’s office (local prosecutor) will not take action on out-of-county checks.
John calls the customer to see why he would stop payment on the check. Buttwipe ranted that he had taken the fuel pump to “his mechanic” and that guy said the fuel pump was good and that we had “ripped him off.” Total bullcrap as a restricted fuel filter will hardly keep a vehicle from starting although it might affect the acceleration a bit.
Fast forward to a few months later, and we sued Buttwipe in small claims court.
A friend who is an attorney represented us for free and said if we collect to add $500.00 for his fee. We paid $25.00 for a process server and he was served. Buttwipe never showed up for court, so we won by default. Now his bill is around $1,175.00 with court costs, attorney fees, and such.
In Texas, if a customer does not pay for a car repair, we can enforce a mechanics lien on the vehicle and even take it from anywhere we find it.
Also, it can’t be sold to another part with a lien on it.
A couple of months later, we were telling this story to another local who owns a tire shop. Turns out, the same Buttwipe had bought a set of tires and stopped payment on that check as well. Buttwipe was trying to play the system knowing that out-of-county checks won’t be prosecuted.
A few months after that, I saw the BMW at the local golf course parking lot and sent a wrecker to pick it up.
Now the bill is $1,350.00 with the impound fee. The wrecker company took the car to their yard and then called the local police department to inform them of a repossession.
When Buttwipe finished his golf game and came out to go home or wherever buttwipes go and found his car missing, he called the police to report it stolen. The police informed him it had been taken on a mechanics lien and to not come on our property unless it was to pay for his outstanding bill.
Buttwipe called up and yelled at John, cursing and hollering. John hung up on him. Buttwipe called back cursing and hollering again. John hung up, again. Buttwipe called back a third time, and John told him, “If you want to discuss this like an adult, I will; otherwise, I am not going to listen to cursing and yelling.”
John explained that the bill to redeem his car was now $1,350.00.
Buttwipe said, “I’ll sue you.” John asked him if he remembered being served by the constable a few months ago, that we sued him already, and he never showed up. Buttwipe then said he would just let the bank take the car back. OK. No problem there. The bank will pay the bill and auction the car, and whatever wasn’t covered by the auction, Buttwipe will still owe.
I got the call from the bank asking how much was owed on our bill. I informed them of the balance due, and I asked the banker what was owed on the car. The balance at the bank was around $9,000.00, and the car was worth around $6,000.00. At auction, it might bring $3,500.00. So if Buttwipe let it go back to the bank, not only would he have a repossession hurting his credit, but he would still owe the bank around $6,850.00 and have no car.
Buttwipe’s wife called and asked to come in and pay for the car. We told her the amount and told her no check or credit.
She came and paid.
Now for the revenge. We called our friend at the tire shop that Buttwipe had screwed over on the tires. I think it was around $1,100.00.
He arranged for a wrecker to pick up the car after Buttwipe’s wife paid us and took it to another impound yard incurring another $175.00 impound plus the $1,100.00 for the tires.
So for Buttwipe trying to screw us out of $625.00, he ended up paying us $1,350.00, and our friend’s shop $1,275.00 for a total of $2,625.00. I bet his wife was livid, and that probably put an end to his golfing for a while.”
7. Jerk Boss Loses Jobs In The Industry, And I Get Promoted
“Years ago, working in a care home, the person I was supposed to be working with didn’t show up for work. As per policy, I called the office and the on-call manager came to cover but logged onto the desktop computer to do some essential work, finding an icon linking to a particularly dodgy website.
Cue huge investigation into the whole team who blamed me as they thought that I had reported them.
Led by the bullying manager (let’s call him Bully), I then had the joy of multiple malicious complaints – area manager turns up one day, I and my friend on shift are accused of stealing toiletries 3 weeks after they were bought. Friend and I found every single item and proved it was an unfounded accusation.
Another day I have a grievance raised by one of Bully’s minions against me for taking too long to do the home’s huge food shop at the supermarket – 1 hour and 30 minutes.
Explained that the van broke down twice (a fault that was known and getting fixed) but the minion tried to say that I should have called. Explained that I did, but Minion was on the phone. Minion said that she had only called her husband for 45 minutes and her friend for 30, but she had checked the last number that had called afterward to check that she hadn’t missed any calls.
Had to explain to Minion that only works if the call can connect. Minion got in trouble for personal calls. Oops, another strike against me somehow.
Got a promotion to another care home in the company. Bully wrote an awful reference, so bad thankfully that the hiring manager didn’t believe it and gave me the job. Bully then wrote multiple complaints to various senior management and to the regulatory body about my promotion and why it wasn’t fair.
The hiring manager was able to evidence that the recruitment had followed all processes and that I was the highest scoring candidate. Complaints dismissed. Every couple of months, Bully would write another round of complaints with more reasons, but they were always dismissed.
Eventually, I left the company for another promotion to another care home. All quiet for a while until that manager left. The new manager announced, and you’ve guessed it, Bully.
Spoke to the area manager to explain the situation, but concerns were dismissed. Nothing for it but to keep my head down and cover my backside. Raised a few concerns with Area Manager about Bully’s behavior – announcing my pregnancy to the whole team when we were still waiting on confirmation and I’d asked him not to, some bad management decisions but nothing done, and I was told just to get on with it.
Kept a record but moved to a different site due to my pregnancy and didn’t see much of him and then went off to have the baby.
Came back from maternity leave, and we now have a new area manager. Day 1 back, New Area Manager sits me and my newly hired colleague down and asks about the situation in the home. Whilst I’ve been off the home has deteriorated, Bully has allowed the staff to do what they want, and it’s chaos.
The regulatory body has inspected, and the home is rated poor. They want to shut us down. New Area Manager has 6 months to turn it around. I tell New Area Manager that I am not surprised and explain my concerns. New Area Manager notes down all concerns including bullying from my previous role. New Area Manager asks us to report any concerns directly to him.
1 month later, Bully is under investigation for all of the bad practices reported. He leaves rather than be sacked. I’m offered his job. He can’t apply for a job with other care homes because my evidence was submitted to the regulatory body including reporting his multiple complaints (they were anonymous but quite unhinged), and they won’t give him a registration. (You need registration to hold the job.)
To add insult, under my management, the care home went from poor to good in 5 months.”
6. No, You Won't Charge Me Extra For Yard Waste Pick-Up
“I live in a consolidated county. That means that the city and county governments merged some years back, ostensibly to reduce administrative and infrastructure costs. This is important, because services like fire, police, utilities, and trash pickup are now managed by former county officials and not the city officials. Many of these services are also much more inefficient, and some services have been “outsourced” to private companies.
My “municipality” outsourced trash and yard waste pick-up a few years ago, and the two companies who now do those collections are woefully inadequate, and their services cost more than when the city or county did it. They both have similar sets of rules: what can be put out for collection, take fewer types of waste away, and no longer come two days a week as the city once did, but now only come one day a week.
We’re all paying more for less service.
Now that the background is done, here’s the story:
I did some yard work over the course of a couple of weekends last summer, cutting some limbs, trimming some shrubbery, and cutting down a dead tree in my backyard. Knowing what the rules are for how much yard waste, limbs, leaves, and such can be put out, I bagged everything that was supposed to be bagged, filling up three of them.
Things like leaves and small clippings, weeds, and such. The paper bags for yard waste from the big‒box home improvement stores are what they require, so I use those. I just fill them halfway up so as to not make them too heavy for the waste collectors, even though there are no written weight restrictions. However, if a bag is “too full,” they will knock it over to spill out the contents, so they then don’t have to pick it up.
I cut the larger limbs down to under four feet in length, or they wouldn’t be picked up. Anything at all, they can do to get out of picking something up, they will do. And they almost always leave a horrendous mess behind when they do pick things up.
The pile put out for collection is not allowed to be any wider than ten feet, nor any deeper or higher than five feet, nor may it contain any piece longer than four feet.
All bags must be placed in a row, no more than three feet away from the limb pile. My pile was maybe four inches longer than the ten feet and only because of the tiny ends of the limbs (smaller than a toothpick) hanging out of the pile. The pile was no higher than three feet and no deeper than four feet. In other words, it fell within the size limits, except for a few twigs with leaves.
I also had the three bags, each about half full of clippings and leaves, all lined up exactly as required, and about two feet away from the main pile.
They were scheduled to come on a Tuesday, but when I got home from work that afternoon, it was all still there. There was a pre-printed notice on my door that my pickup exceeded the proscribed size limits, and the note said that I would be required to either pay a $250 oversize load fee or “reduce the size of the pile by half” to make it fit into the limit.
This is where the revenge comes in.
I had the next two days off, so the next morning, bright and early, I got out the hedge trimmers. I trimmed the ends of the pile back to exactly nine feet in length. After carefully laying those trimmed bits on top of the pile. I went to the backyard, where the limbs I had not trimmed up the week before were stacked for the following week’s pile, and found four long, fairly straight limbs.
I removed all the smaller limbs and leaves from these limbs, ending up with four moderately straight poles, each about seven feet long. I marked one-foot intervals on each pole in fluorescent orange paint, and stuck them in the ground, (out at the curb in the front yard) at the corners of a rectangle exactly five feet wide and ten feet long. Got out the surveyor’s tape (bright pink plastic tape used to mark property corners) and tied it onto and around the stakes at the height of five feet.
This established a visual outline of the volume I was required to stay within.
I made absolutely sure that everything in the pile was completely inside the poles and below five feet in height. This required adding almost two‒thirds of the remaining pile in the back yard to the stack out front, to bring it up to four feet six inches in width, four feet six inches in depth, and nine feet six inches in length.
And no pieces longer than 46 inches. The pile was almost twice as much material as before. This included some small logs, up to 4” in diameter, also each 46” long. (The limit is 5” diameter) All within the limits of 5’ x 5’ x 10’ the waste company mandates.
I carried each of the three bags of clippings to the back yard, and filled each of them up as much as possible, while still being able to fold over the tops and staple shut each bag.
I also included small, 8” to 10” sections of the ends of larger limbs, for added weight. The bags were now completely filled and weighed more than twice what they had before. I had to use the hand truck to get them out to the curb, they were so heavy. Oh, and all the extra clippings I had generated, filled up two more bags, so the total was now five bags.
The company limit.
I then went inside, called the company, and very nicely asked that they come to pick up my yard waste since they had not done so on Tuesday. They agreed to send out a truck and crew and told me I would have to pay the fee. “Come on then,” I told them. They soon arrived and happened to be the same crew that normally comes to my neighborhood.
I pulled a 25‒foot Stanley tape measure from my pocket and asked them to measure the poles to confirm that the space was within the required limits. They did so and agreed the pile was not oversized and proceeded to spend the next two hours manually loading it all onto their truck. Oh, and it took both of them to manhandle each of those bags into the back of the truck too.
I told them, very nicely and with a smile, that I knew what ten feet was, pointed to the fence where it was marked with orange electrical tape, and thanked them for coming to pick up my yard waste. The two tired, sweaty waste disposal guys just groaned, got in their truck, and drove off. There was no extra fee added to my bill for that month.
Never has been since.
Now, I know they got paid for their time, and I know that I had to do a lot of extra work on my day off, but since last July, I have not once ever had them leave so much as a single leaf on the ground in front of my house. They had to actually do some hard work, with me standing there in shorts, smiling, and drinking cold Gatorade while they were sweating.”
5. Refuse To Return My Deposit? I'll Have Three Agencies Come After You
Mr. Landlord, you had ONE task.
“I had rented out a room in a house with the current owner and occupant of the joint.
I gave him a deposit to move in plus the first month’s rent. Everything was good. I did my job, I paid my rental obligation, privacy was respected. After 6 months of living with him, I finally got a better-paying job and left. The agreement was that when I left, I would get my deposit back the week after.
A week goes by, my landlord says, ‘I’ll get it next week.’ Another month goes by, my landlord says, ‘I have not forgotten about you.’ Well now it’s been 2 months and he blocked my number. I’m mad as heck as I want my deposit.
Now, I plotted my revenge.
See my landlord was a fanatic. Halfway through my first month’s rent, he showed me in the basement of the house all 20 of his “plants” he was growing into mature plants to run a distribution ring.
He also had a special den room where he could use illegal substances to get a fix along with pills. While I worked hard at my job for not the greatest pay, he took unemployment and disability benefits while doing substances back at home.
My landlord also had an extensive weapons collection. Firearms which were not registered in his state as well as firearms not registered under him.
My landlord also had his own dealer that would show up to drop off substances among other things. My landlord did this the entire course of me being there. He thought he was safe until he started messing with my livelihood. So I wrote down everything I could remember and did my research. Behold the powers of search engines and the internet. ‘Crime Stoppers’ fine print: Get $1,000 for your tip.
BINGO. I fill out every minute detail, time stamps, photos of the growing operation. Photo of the house, contacts, his entire life I had information on. Submit everything and I wait.
My deposit was $350 so pocketing an extra $650 is completely worth it. He thought I wouldn’t be a snitch but you backstab me so I’ll mess you over so hard.
My parents lived in a neighboring town.
I asked them to forward me the town newsletters and I also looked at the county police and news updates – 4 months later I see it in bold. Operation busted. The police got a wiretap warrant on his phone and staked out his property. The seriousness of substances and weapons mixed, the ATF was also involved with the DEA. A swat team executed a search warrant and busted into his house in the early morning hours, around the times I told them when he was asleep.
They seized everything, he is looking at about 40-60 years for his offenses. On top of that, the police also apprehended the other addict who delivered to him in the middle of the night. I don’t know when afterward but at some point in time Crime Stoppers helped me set up how I wanted my $1,000. The evidence was pretty damaging. I got my revenge but I also saved a community.”
4. Attack Me? The World Is Going To Find Out
“I have had migraines since I was 3 or 4. Sometimes they start slow and sometimes they hit like a hammer. I can be instantly unable to function if they hit quickly.
In college, this could be a huge problem. The only available medications just knocked you out so you didn’t care that you hurt and wanted to vomit. In my freshman year (1987), I was at a party for my roommate’s man’s birthday.
I had never had champagne and didn’t know it was a migraine trigger. I took a sip or two of champagne and instantly got a migraine. We were at someone’s house about 20 minutes away from the dorm. My roommate didn’t want to leave the party so she arranged for a guy she knew to drive me home. She had no idea what he was really like.
She just knew him from a few parties.
On the drive that I thought was to my dorm, this guy pulls over on the side of the road in an undeveloped area. No one was around. He assaulted me and left me on the side of the road. I didn’t even know where I was, much less how to get back to the dorm or to a hospital.
After a while, some lady found me curled up on the side of the road. She thought I was dead. Cell phones were not a thing, so she half lifted me into her car, wrote down where she found me, and drove me to the nearest hospital.
I could barely speak enough to tell the hospital people my name. The hospital knocked me out for about 8 hours with pain meds and muscle relaxers, once they were sure I didn’t have a head injury.
He only hit me in places that it would not show.
My roommate didn’t get home until about a day after I did. She was staying in her man’s dorm room. She probably wouldn’t have come home as early as she did but her parents called at the same time every weekend and she HAD to be home for that.
She was shocked when she saw how beat up I looked.
I asked her how she knew that guy and learned she didn’t really, he was just at a party now and then. I wasn’t happy with the situation, or that she let some creep she barely knew drive me somewhere. She felt really guilty, but guys don’t advertise that they like to take advantage of girls. She did have some information on the guy. He didn’t live in our city but instead went to a really Christian school with a great law school.
He was in law school and was visiting for the party. His dad was a really well-known lawyer for a televangelist’s church. That was the beginning of what I learned about him. Remember, the Internet was in its infancy and social media did not exist.
I called some other people who knew him from the party and got some information from them. I got his girl’s name.
Then I went to the library and learned about this girl, the church, the law school, the college he was at, etc…. I had photos from the hospital. I had declined to press charges because even then I knew that it would be hard to prove.
Even with all the bruises. It would be my word against his. He was from ‘a good family’ and went to a Christian college and law school.
My family was not prominent, and I was wearing a miniskirt that night. At the time, it was normal for lawyers to smear victims based on what they wore, if they had a drink (especially if they were under 21), etc… I didn’t want to have to deal with all of that. I just wanted to ruin his life without having it ruin mine. I got phone numbers for the Dean of his Law school, the head of the college overall, for his father, for his girl, and for the person who owned his apartment complex.
He lived in some fancy apartment owned by a guy who was a big donor to the college. It was for people getting Master’s or law degrees or medical degrees after they already had bachelor’s degrees. The apartments were given out as a type of scholarship to the school, and they were supposed to be really nice (I never went there, so I don’t know firsthand what they are like, but I heard about them from this guy’s friends).
I wrote some letters, including tear stains that made some of the writing blur a bit. I included copies of the photos of my bruises.
I said that I didn’t want to press charges because I knew it would be an embarrassment to the college/law school/televangelist/his parents (whichever one fit the person I was writing to). I just thought they ought to know because he could harm a member of their family/congregation/school.
He could also be a HUGE publicity nightmare if he did this to someone else and I didn’t want that because I believed in their message (sent to the church and the school). I called the girl (her number was in the phone book) and told her that her man assaulted and beat me.
She cried and said he had beaten her too, but she thought it was her fault.
I told her the violation was not my fault, I was trying not to puke when he attacked me. I told her to stop seeing him and have nothing to do with him if he treated her that way. She said that her family would be upset as he was from such a good family and he was so well thought of at the law school.
I didn’t tell her that I was working on ruining that for him. I sat back and waited for things to happen after I mailed the letters.
His family was shocked but not surprised. They wrote me an apology, saying he had been in trouble before but they thought he had gotten better after the church intervened in his life. Apparently, he hadn’t and they were cutting ties to him.
The man who owned the apartments actually called me. He wanted to hear what happened from me so he could figure out if I was telling the truth. So I told him what happened and why I didn’t press charges. He believed me and started eviction proceedings. A representative from the church called me to ask me to stop telling lies about the guy.
I told them that they shouldn’t protect someone like him and to ask girls he went out with how he behaved because his partner told me that he beat her when he got angry.
They were shocked. I never heard from the college, but the Dean of the law school called me. He asked if I told the truth and assured him that I had. DNA wasn’t commonly used (it was 1st used in a criminal case that year), so it was my word vs. his word. Just the accusation was enough to have the guy kicked out of law school, especially with the photos of my bruises and the tear stains on my letters (which was the reason I wrote them out by hand and let myself cry while I wrote them).
Apparently, those accepted to that law school should be above reproach. I don’t know if they would have handled it the same way if I tried to prosecute the guy, but since I ‘was trying to keep it quiet so I didn’t harm the school’s reputation,’ it meant I was a good Christian girl who could be believed.
I was actually surprised that the letters had so much success.
I expected his father to send a letter telling me to stop slandering/libeling his son. The letter saying they were cutting all ties to him was a surprise, but a good one. Sadly, it indicated that I was probably not the 1st to accuse him.
About a year later I found out he was working for a company installing carpet in homes. I called that company and told them that they were sending a bad person into people’s homes.
I even offered to send photos of the bruises if they wanted them. The woman that I spoke to was horrified. Just the idea that he had been accused, and that I cared enough to call when I learned he was going into people’s homes was enough for her. I learned that not only did the company fire him, but they also called other companies and told them what a liability he would be if they hired him.
He had started to drink heavily by that point, at least according to the friends who knew him at my school. I went on with my life, got therapy to help me cope, eventually got married, and have had almost 30 years with an amazing husband. I don’t know what happened to this guy, but I know he never became a lawyer (his dream). I know that I made his life a LOT harder. I did google him a few years ago. He has had many arrests and has spent quite a few years behind bars. I like to think that by getting him kicked out of law school and getting his family to understand that he was very much un-reformed, I helped speed him into the defendant’s chair in a courtroom.”
3. Put Me In The Hospital Twice? I'll Make You Pay $11,000 To Be Bullied By 20+ Rugby Players
“If people know what I did, I could lose my scholarship.
A bit of background first: this petty revenge started when I was 9, and I was a small boy (4”9, 35kg or 77 pounds).
So the petty revenge starts in a smaller town in Ireland. I was in a primary school/elementary school. I wasn’t very popular, but I just kept to myself and my friend group of 4.
The biggest kid in the “popular” group was David.
David didn’t care about me for most of primary school until 4th grade when we went to a forest park on a field trip. Most of the class was playing Bulldog Takedown. I decided not to because I had overindulged on McNuggets and felt sick, so I just sat down and cheered for James, my best friend. For some reason, this personally offended David, and he went over to me and dragged me onto the area where they were playing where he then said, “You’re in play now.” He lifted me up and slammed me into the ground, hurting me so bad he put me in the hospital.
David got off with a warning because he claimed that “it was a mistake” and that “it was just a game of Bulldog,” but from then on, I was enemy #1 in his eyes. Over the next year, he tormented me with little things like taking my pens and purposely kicking a ball at my head, but then the worst incident happened on our 5th class field trip when we went to an adventure center with no parents for 2 days.
On the first night, all the boys were in one room and just having fun with some light pushing and shoving. David then picked me up on the top bunk and threw me into a bed frame.
I finally told my parents David was bullying me, and they made me move schools for my last year of elementary school. I remember when they told me, I shouted at them, “You’re ruining my life” because I don’t make friends easily.
A year later, we decidedly move from a small town in the midlands to Dublin, the biggest city in Ireland. I was happy with that because I was going to have to start a new school anyway.
Fast forward 3 years, and it turns out after growing a bit, I’m pretty good at rugby, I got a scholarship to a very expensive rugby school in Ireland which costs around $11k a year, and worked my way up to sit on a board of four people to decide on which rugby players are given scholarships.
The board had four people on it: the principal, our rugby coach, the director of rugby in our school, and a player on the rugby team (me).
We had a meeting every Wednesday where players that scout had recommended would speak to us and tell us why they deserve a scholarship, and in order for a player to get a scholarship, the vote would have to be unanimous.
One day, David appeared. He walked into the room full of energy and ready to speak to us. As soon as I saw him, I knew it was David, but I could tell he didn’t recognize me. He spoke for about 25 minutes, and I just sat there smiling and trying not to laugh. As soon as I spoke, I saw his eyes open wide; he recognized me, and I could almost see him shudder.
He knew he was not getting this scholarship. I spent 10 minutes taking apart every single good thing he said about how he played until my coach intervened. In the end, he got 3/4 votes.
3/4 votes meant he didn’t get a scholarship, but he could still pay the $11k to get in, which he did. By the time he was on my team, everyone knew what he did to me, and his life was 3 weeks of heck. After 3 weeks, he left the rugby team, and I found out through the principal that he left the school.”
2. Coworker Thinks She Can Throw Shade At Me For Being Frumpy? Lose Your Job
“I worked at a popular, high-end clothing store while I was in graduate school (I’m an engineer).
I won’t name the brand, but it’s the sort that charges $50 for a pair of male boxer briefs, $200 for a lady’s fancy bra, $400 or more for a pair of jeans, $1,000 or more for those skinny suits that hip guys wear to their job, where the hems of their pants reveal that they’re wearing loafers without socks.
The clothes there weren’t really my style but the starting pay was two dollars higher than minimum wage and higher than most of the other, surrounding stores. This was at a rich people shopping center, where lots of people who shop there are wannabe celebrities and constant selfie-takers.
I was surprised to get hired there but was relieved that I wouldn’t have to really do customer service, as I worked only in the stock room.
I’d put out clothes on the shelves and racks before and after closing, and also arrange everything in the back to make it organized. I was also trained so that in emergency situations I could cover register if we were short-handed so that the regular associates could go on break.
I was hardly seen by customers, but I still had to wear the clothes the store sold, to promote the image of the company.
I didn’t, thankfully, have to wear the dainty little suits, but I did sport the jeans and other casual things we sold.
It was a job. I didn’t love it and I didn’t hate it. I just worked, took my pay, went to school, and went home. At least that’s the way it was for two months.
After those two months, “Jessica” began to work during the same hours as me.
She was about my age (I was 22), no more than maybe twenty-five, tops. She didn’t work in the stock room (it was just me back there, with one or two other college guys), but worked the front. She wasn’t the manager or even a supervisor, but she SWORE she was in charge of me.
She made it known to everyone, even customers, that she graduated with an associate’s degree in fashion marketing from FIDM.
I suppose it’s a big deal but I was thinking girl if you’re a college graduate why are you bragging about it as if it has something to do with you folding jeans and ringing people up at the register? She talked like she was a fashion expert and in the ‘fashion industry,’ and would talk about the New York or Paris fashion weeks in a familiar way that implied that she just got off the plane after attending these events personally.
You know the type, the kind that talks about famous fashion designers by their first name as if they knew them.
Well, she always criticized the way I wore the jeans because I didn’t tuck in my T-shirt like the mannequin, or that I work Chuck Taylors on my feet instead of the little leather Sperry Topsiders knockoffs we sold for $300.
We were given a clothing allowance as employees.
As a stock person, I was allowed three complete outfits for free, everything from tops to underwear, to socks, and pants (but no shoes). If I wanted more and it was specifically for wearing at the store, I could mark it as a ‘uniform purchase’ and have the price deducted from my check a little at a time. This was advantageous because they wouldn’t charge you tax for them, and charge you only a third of the retail price.
Uniform Purchase was distinctly separate from ‘Store Discount,’ for which we also received a percentage off, but it wasn’t the incredible 66% discount we got for uniform purchases.
Jessica would snicker at me when I took over register for someone, shake her head or roll her eyes at me as if I looked really ugly. I’m always thinking, whatever girl, you wannabe model you aren’t even hot and you’re not the boss, who are you? But I held my tongue.
She’d also complain if I was supposedly not fast enough in grabbing a size medium from the back because a customer is requesting the dress and all we have on the floor are smalls and larges. She’d trash me to the customer and when I showed up would sarcastically say ‘finally!’ and turn to the customer with a ‘see what I have to put up with?’ expression.
She was especially mean if any customers got chatty with me and treated me with respect. And if those customers were female and were getting flirty with me, Jessica would be a total jerk.
The real manager, Paula (about thirty-five), had their own issues to deal with beyond petty bickering between a stockboy and an entry-level sales associate with delusions of ‘Project Runway’ grandeur. The assistant manager, another fashion industry wannabe named ‘Heather,’ was just like Jessica, but thankfully I hardly interacted with her.
According to my coworkers, Heather was just as bad as Jessica. Except, Heather had keyholder privileges which meant she was one step above being just as worthless as the rest of us. She looked to be in her late twenties.
Even though I didn’t plan on making this store my career, and even though Jessica didn’t bother me THAT much, I thought it won’t hurt to get this witch fired.
To her face, I’d just smile and act like I was following her orders happily, or didn’t mind when she would point at me rudely, or snap her fingers at me like she was calling a dog. Jessica would always hear a directive from one of the managers, and then go around telling the other employees what to do, as if they didn’t have ears. She’d try to act as if it was HER directive.
Her coworkers who were the same ‘rank’ as her would sometimes vent to me about how Jessica acted like she was in charge when in some cases she had even less time in the company than other employees on the floor. I noticed that when I arranged clothes in the back especially big-ticket, desirable clothes that were seen in magazines in our company’s advertisement campaigns, she’d ‘order’ me to set aside things in her size.
I’d do it because it’s my job to set aside things if employees want to buy them outright at a discount or put it as a uniform purchase. Whenever an employee was on the register (really, a big Ipad with a drawer beneath), you could tap in a code and the register would show a rundown of every non-customer transaction that employees performed that day, and with a few more keystrokes, their transactions over MANY days.
The managers knew this code, of course, and I’ll assume Jessica knew the code too because Heather shared the code with her. The code pretty much unlocked all the register’s managerial functions. I WASN’T supposed to know the code, but I did, because there’s a mirror on the wall behind the register, and I was re-stocking paper handbags behind Heather when I saw her tap in her four-digit code.
She assumed I was stupid and didn’t understand the incredibly complex wizardry that is a two-year-old, low-end spec Ipad.
I knew Jessica was getting rung up for ‘uniform purchases’ when she should have been getting rung up for the regular employee discount. She assumed that when I set aside all those expensive items for her, that I was too dumb to know what she was doing, just because I might have something of a mouth breather countenance, unfortunately.
Even if I look on the surface like a fugitive from the trailer park, something told me Jessica wasn’t going to be using $800 heels, a $500 dress, and a $1200 motorcycle jacket while working at the store.
And anyway, I asked around. No one saw Jessica wearing any of the truly fancy clothes she bought at our store at what the other employees assumed was simply a regular employee discount.
I thought maybe she was being honest, too. It WAS possible, after all, because I didn’t always work with her. Maybe she wore evening dresses to work on her other shifts? Whatever, I decided to make sure.
One time when everyone was busy doing other stuff and the store had to resort to putting me on the register, I typed in Heather’s code and pulled up Jessica’s purchases.
As I suspected, she had bought thousands of dollars worth of our store’s best items but put them all as ‘uniform purchases’ and not at her regular discount. So I swiped ‘print’ and the register switches from the regular tape to the 8.5″x11″ printer beneath the counter, and a complete rundown of all of Jessica’s purchases come out. I highlight all the most expensive items that she was charged for ‘uniform purchase’ (such as her $1200 jacket would only be $300, and even that was tax-free and she got to pay it little by little).
I knew that my manager, Paula, wasn’t exactly a nuclear physicist and she was more interested in moving up the chain of command so that she could have a job higher than store manager in the company. So as long as her store’s sales numbers looked good, she didn’t care what her assistant Heather did. Except, if it was a violation of company policy that might reflect badly on her.
I knew Heather was in on Jessica’s scam because you’re not allowed to ring yourself up at the store, you have to have someone else do it, and none of the other associates would want to conspire with her for fear of getting fired or worse.
To make sure, I printed HEATHER’s purchase history too. I didn’t see Heather as often as I saw Jessica, but I could also see really glaring red flags on her purchase report.
Like, she bought a $900 nightclub dress as a uniform purchase, which I’m quite sure she never wore to work. I did the same highlighting on suspicious items as I did with Jessica’s.
Then, because none of this was REALLY my business, I was just a part-time butthole who worked in the stockroom, after all, I waited for the most fun opportunity to lower the boom. Jessica got on the little Bluetooth earpiece that she wears on the sales floor that she thinks makes her look like a VIP, and says, ‘OP, I’m going to need XXX in a size small, customer waiting, get the lead out.’ So I bring the item, and Jessica says I’m ‘not passing muster.’ I thought wow Jessica you sounded really 1940s there, you wannabe pinup girl LOL.
After the customer leaves, Jessica says, ‘I’m going to need you to go on a trash run and sweep out the receiving bay. And I need you to cover Annie’s lunch.’ I laugh and tell her, ‘Who died and made you supervisor, you freaking burnout?’ She looks like she was the goddamned Crypt Keeper for a second and that she wanted to punch me, before she remembered that I’m 6’2″ and outweigh her by a hundred pounds.
She hisses, ‘You are SO fired, you freaking geek. Heather’s going to hear about this.’
I tell her, ‘Screw you, I’m going to lunch.’ And I clock out and leave.
When I come back, I see Jessica immediately get on her little earpiece. Before I even reach the stock room, Heather is there, and the manager Paula intercepts me.
Paula says to a nearby worker, ‘Annie, can you cover register? We have an urgent matter to deal with.’
I know I’m supposed to be fired.
Which is why, during my lunch, I went to the copy place and made PDF scans of the printouts I made for Jessica and Heather. I had all the corporate bigshots’ emails. They were in the new hire handbook all of us get when we start working. I saved a draft to each but didn’t hit SEND yet.
I had the printouts as attachments. In the BODY of my email, I described exactly what had been going on.
I did send ONE email. And that was to Paula the manager, herself. But I didn’t press SEND until we were on our way to the employee break room.
Paula tells me, ‘OP, Heather sent me a text that says you were verbally abusive to Jessica. Heather herself says that Jessica has complained to her on numerous occasions that you are a substandard employee, and only Heather’s own, personal kindness has prevented her, as your supervisor, from presenting your name to me for termination.
I came in myself, on my day off I might add, to see if you have anything to say in order to save your job.’
It’s been a couple of years so, of course, that can’t be exactly what she said, but it was something typical and rehearsed and faux-professional that any low-level boss would say when trying to sound important. I said I didn’t have anything to say in my defense, and that in fact, I quit.
Jessica and Heather looked surprised, but then Jessica started smiling. She had won, she thought.
Paula looked disappointed, and said, ‘I’m very sorry to hear you say that. At least for me, you’ve always done your job well. You may collect your last–‘
‘Oh, but before I go, I think you should look at these printouts. I know you don’t spend a lot of time studying this stuff, but I thought you might find it interesting.
It’s the last three months of Jessica’s and Heather’s employee purchases. Notice how they always ring each other up and notice all that stuff they’re claiming to use as uniforms. Thousand dollar evening dresses? Stiletto heels? Fascinating… Anyway, if you have any trouble understanding it, I explained it in an email I sent to your cellphone. You should have it already if you check. I have the same email ready to go to Dan and Pam and Kimberly and Victor and Kevin because I thought they’d get a kick out of it, too, but I haven’t sent it in yet.
I was hoping you could look it over and email me back when you’re ready, I mean if you want me to edit anything. After all, you ARE the manager, and I assumed you had your suspicions about these two disgusting THIEVES already since it’s your job to keep on top of things.’ I turned to Heather. ‘I borrowed your code. You know, the same one you loaned to Jessica.
Hope you don’t mind. Later!’ Then I got up and left.
I had the pleasure of seeing Jessica’s and Heather’s smug expressions melt instantly to one of ‘ooooohhhhhhhh, crap…’ Later that afternoon, my phone was ringing. It was Paula. She was practically crying, she at least sounds like she’s sobbing while she pleads, ‘OP, please, please don’t send those emails, I’ve fired Heather and Jessica. They’re DONE.
And please don’t quit. What can I do to make this right? Please, OP, remember I was always nice to you, please don’t tell anyone about–‘ She’s right. I have no beef with her. She HAS always been nice to me. I’m kind of embarrassed. I tell Paula to relax, I’m not a snitch (against cool people, anyway) and not a blackmailer and I’m not out for her blood.
‘I already quit. And I’m keeping my mouth shut.’
A few days later, I showed up for my final check. I learned from one of the sales associates that corporate Loss Prevention was called in (our corporate office is only a few miles from the retail location) to interview both Heather and Jessica about their fraud. Paula had used all her political and managerial dexterity to frame the situation in such a way that made it look as if she, as a responsible and observant manager, had discovered the employee dishonesty.
The narrative worked.
In lieu of arrest and heavy fines for what amounted to outright grand larceny, Jessica and Heather were simply fired, blacklisted from the store, and due to the store’s prominence, to say nothing of the cross-company word of mouth, blacklisted from working at any other prestigious fashion brands. They were, of course, unable to use the company as a reference, and due to being fired for cause, could not file for unemployment.
Jessica’s fantasy of being a major player for ANY fashion label in any capacity is deader than Lenin. Paula was actually in the store that day and practically ran to me, hugging me to thank me for ‘keeping this scandal at a store level. It’s been handled, I SWEAR.’ I told her no problem. What I didn’t tell her was that I never did delete those drafts.
She offered me a reward of free merchandise and again asked me to reconsider coming back as a stock person, even a sales associate.
No thanks. I’m going to look awfully silly in those dainty little suits at my super cool new job of working at Sizzler. Same salary. Lateral career move LOL. It all ended okay. Paula ended up rising in the company so that she later found a desk at their head office.
A year after the whole debacle I finished my degree, had a short stint as the night manager of Sizzler, but now I’m doing what I really want to do.
Except now at my job, guess what we have to wear. Yeah. Dainty little suits. I wear socks, though.
The need for something nice to wear to work led me back to my old store where Paula was once manager.
She didn’t work there anymore, but one phone call from a sales associate to her office (because I said I knew her) led to a nice chat and three suits at a generous discount. I refused to take at least one absolutely free, even though she offered. That’s how I found out about her rise in the company.
She also told me that it came to light that Jessica and Heather had actually been reselling a lot of the clothes on eBay, at a markdown from the store but still at a huge profit for themselves.
The store found out because they offered to prosecute the two women less if they could return the items. But too late, they admitted the items were resold at an online auction. Both Jessica and Heather were slapped with huge fines to avoid big girl jail. Paula and I are now social media friends. Those old email drafts? Deleted. I would have never torpedoed Heather and Jessica if they just left me alone to do my job in peace, and didn’t try to feel big and important at my expense.
I would have left them to live in their self-medicating lies, live and let live.
Other than some difficult customers, people like Heather and Jessica are what make working retail such a nightmare for so many. And that’s why I feel no guilt about destroying them. I’m sure Jessica had lots to talk about at that year’s Milan Fashion Week.”
Another User Comments:
“I enjoyed this THOROUGHLY. It hit close to home.
I used to work retail, not anywhere high-end. Contempo Casuals, Claires. Crap like that. At Claire’s, we had this stuck-up FIDM grad who was hired as an assistant manager and would treat her underlings like crap. She reminded me of the type of white trash who comes into wealth and suddenly treats service people like trash. She referred to me as the help, instead of calling me by my name.
She would hide my paychecks and then tell our manager that she gave them to me. She would brag about her degree like it was a Ph.D. from Harvard, not an associate’s degree in visual displays (no really, her parents paid 20,000 USD a year so she could learn to decorate a store window) from a for-profit diploma mill. She would make fun of my crappy beater, while she had a new Mercedes with her stupid personalized plates – MY T MAUS – with a frame that said, ‘Daddy Bought It, But Princess Got It!’
Of course, twenty years later I look her up on social media.
She’s still full of herself, takes nothing but duck-faced selfies which is kind of pathetic in itself, but even more so when you’re forty-four years old. They’re at MySpace angles because she’s gained so much weight. Not an infinifat, but still hammy. She posts lots of ‘inspirational’ posts, too and a few other ones that indicate she is still some entitled piece of crap. And she still has FIDM listed under education.
Turns out she’s also an addict in recovery who works as ‘the help’ at CVS in a crap neighborhood. I would feel bad for her, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.
HI STEPHANIE. Muaaaah. Terrible how your life turned out.” AyeYoDisRon
1. Break My Heart Like It's Nothing? I'll Use Your Mommy Issues To My Advantage
“This will be long because it involves about 6-8 years of background even though I summarized as much as possible and in fact removed many tinier details from the overall story. Firstly: I am a traumatized, neurodivergent queer woman with “mommy” and “daddy” issues and so is my ex-“wife.” I tried to keep it all together and coherent, but I’m not sure how successful that was.
Names changed of course because I might be a villain of this story, but I’m not completely evil.
Originally, it was just me and my childhood best friend/sister figure Amy against the world, then we befriended Jean who turned us against each other to keep me and drive Amy out via rumors that “Amy” spread. My ex, Baby, and I met around this time, and she immediately well, diagnosed me as being much the same as she is (namely at that moment, queer) and told me so.
I had never thought about it much before since I was only about 15/16 (and her 15) at the time, but she opened my eyes and led me through everything, showing me everything I had never known or realized about myself. I was also complaining to her about how I couldn’t believe that Amy had treated me so poorly after so many years of friendship (though I may have referred to it as “service” a time or two since I felt a bit “used” there at the end).
Baby comforted me by saying that she was also a ride-or-die type of friend but that she didn’t feel we were just friends or even just best friends, but like we were partners: Queer-platonic partners to be exact. (Essentially like if you married your best friend for all the benefits of marriage but as a super friendship upgrade at the highest level and usually no romance/hooking up.)
This appealed to me at the deepest corners of my soul and so I was all in, to the point we referred to each other as “(my) wife” and even had a small ceremony similar to a wedding together.
(We were about 18 and 17 at that time, marriage was illegal between 2 women in our state, and we were both in the closet.) I dedicated myself to this relationship as any good spouse would in my understanding of relationships, as in I made myself available for anything at almost any time if it was for her. Wanna go out? I’ll drive. Hungry? I’ll get you food.
You want that toy/game/console/dress/anything? I’ll buy it for you, Baby; I know you don’t have a job yet/I know bills are tight/etc. Anything to make her happy, I would do it! She has also had: an abusive male partner, an abusive female partner, and a good female partner who had a breakdown and broke up with Baby for the female partner’s own mental wellbeing and another male partner who wasn’t really great either (from when she was 15-20) because we weren’t like… an exclusive couple since we were platonic.
Now the decay begins: upper-level college was a nightmare for all of my undiagnosed and thus untreated issues, and I had many breakdowns by the time I was 21/22. Baby was beside me through it all, but every now and then, I would feel unsatisfied by the fact that I always felt like I was the one reaching out to her/starting interactions and conversations, and the like.
I do tend to self-isolate as a self-destructive thing when I feel particularly unwell mentally, and I communicated to her that the easiest way to snap me out of that was literally to just send me any kind of message and start a conversation with me. Any topic, it doesn’t even matter – the only thing that mattered was a feeling of being connected to another human who cared about me.
Not that I expected her to always deal with my breakdowns; I just simply said, “Here’s what I do sometimes, here’s why, here’s how you can help me when I feel this way,” and she basically just said, “Ok, I love you. I hate when you feel bad, etc.” but then would blame me for her own isolation and feelings of disconnect when she felt bad, and I was at work.
Blew my mind. I also had experienced a few breakdowns about finances/bills at this time because I was buying her clothes, food, entertainment, and filling my car with gas literally every week to keep up with driving to and from college, my job, and everywhere she wanted to go. She would just complain if I limited our trips or stopped buying her things because I was broke because “(you) have a job with a commission; it’s fine.” Irritating especially after explaining that the anxiety attacks were as severe as hers because we were now both broke, but she just brushed that off.
My depression hit an all-time low, the lowest ever, like… end it all type of low that winter. Then she randomly sent me the link to a YouTube music video for her new favorite band saying that I might like them too. I did, I was obsessed, and not to sound dramatic, but that hyper-fixation on that band quite literally saved my life.
After that, she and her best friend were playing overwatch, and she met some poor, pathetic gamer guy who was immediately obsessed with her since she was a hot gamer girl.
Literally telling her that he was in love with her, would do anything for her, would move to the states for her, etc. after the first week. Anyway, at that moment, watching her send us screenshots of his messages while calling him gross, disgusting, pathetic, etc. and saying she wanted nothing to do with him anymore, but she couldn’t break up with him “only 3 weeks into their relationship; it would hurt his feelings” really made me take a step back.
Especially when we all said, “Leading him on won’t make the breakup better, only worse! What is wrong with you? Put him out of his misery if everything he does repulses you,” and she told us that she wasn’t going to. And then saw him for another 5 months while constantly telling us that she was disgusted by him. After she broke up with him and he began attacking her for essentially being a fake witch, she ran to us crying because he was hurting her feelings.
Ok and we all told you that would happen? The whole situation felt insane, and watching it was a nightmare.
Then she forgot my birthday, even though she makes a big, HUGE deal out of all of her friends’ birthdays and her own birthday. I told her that it made me feel like crap that she put so much effort into all of their birthdays but would forget mine after what was essentially 3 years of marriage and 6 years of friendship.
I said, “You can just put it in a calendar on your phone and set a reminder. That way, you don’t have to worry about remembering it yourself if that’s easier for you.” And she basically implied that it was my fault for not reminding her myself and that she wasn’t going to put it in her calendar. Then she went to a concert to see the band that saved my life without me in a different state.
This would be fine except I had a panic attack when I got off work, and there was no “I’m here safe!” message from her. I literally Googled if there had been a plane crash because why else wouldn’t my partner tell me she landed safely? Baby posted a photo of her and her two friends there at a mall 25 minutes later showing off their outfits while I was in the middle of a full-on breakdown over her safety.
I asked her if she landed safely, and she didn’t respond even though the read receipt showed up. I then watched her post exclusively on Twitter and Instagram for the extent of her week-long trip, including references to a group chat of her friends and our friends that I wasn’t in but still received nothing from her.
When she got back home and I asked her about it, it was somehow my fault for not texting her but that as her “friend,” I should have been satisfied with her posts on social media.
At this point, I was so emotionally exhausted that I didn’t even fight it. I felt so defeated and upset. I pushed it down though, and to be completely honest, it just festered, and I let it build. I especially held on to a special resentment that she no longer called me her wife even though she still wanted me to fund all her everything.
Then someone reached out to me, and we became friends.
Claire was a lot like me but with less mommy and daddy issues, more backbone, and a voice she used to open my eyes more fully to the fact that Baby had basically been using me as a sugar mommy, with no benefits to myself, for at least a year and a half. I told her that I essentially knew that but would argue that I was getting detriments instead of no benefits but that she had fostered so much codependency in me for her that it would be hard to leave.
My 3 remaining grandparents then died roughly a week after each other. She forgot my birthday again while I was helping my parents go through all my grandparents’ things and their houses, and I decided that that was it. If I couldn’t rely on her to put a freaking birthday in her calendar, then what could I rely on her for?
The attack: since her mommy issues are all about being abandoned by her mother, and she wanted to treat me like her mommy 2.0, I decided that I’d have to follow the blueprint.
I ghosted everyone and everything except Claire and our chats, deleting a few accounts here and there, and deactivating my Twitter. The relief I felt was so immediate and full that even surrounded and filled with familial grief, I felt like I could finally breathe. That was the most relaxing month I had had in over 6 years with her. After that month, but before my Twitter was permanently deactivated/deleted, I went back to it and basically posted, “I’ve been gone for my mental health and determined that it’s best that I never return.
If I’m still following you, I love you and wish you well.” Of course, I was no longer following her, but she was following me. I then killed it for good. Her friends immediately tried to harass me on her behalf because she needed “closure,” and I was being “a witch,” but that was the point. I knew that severing our lives would hurt her, especially if I ghosted her which is exactly why I did it that way.
She had hurt me so much over the years, and I was tired of protecting her by hurting myself.
Financially, she suffered a ton and had to sell quite a bit of things to have enough bucks to scrape together to go move in with one of those friends while I was finally able to pay off my entire credit card balance and have funds left over for me for the first time in 4 years.
For a few months after that, I would also periodically drop anonymous messages to her or her friends that would be just a little off-putting for a stranger to know/remember about you from years ago but was also public knowledge at the time. Like, “Remember specific con 2019? That was so fun wasn’t it?” or “I liked you better blonde personally” or a message warning that one woman she had been hate stalking from within her group chat that there was a snake in her garden and that she needed to reevaluate the people she spent time with.
(Apparently, that woman was what you would also call “toxic” and, in her paranoia, she imploded the entire group chat with accusations of sabotage and most of them were true? Apparently, there was more than one snake but my ex was caught out too.) I stopped that before summer 2020 was over though because I determined that she’d had enough, and the lasting effects of this revenge would satisfy me.
I know I’m not a good person because of this, and I’m definitely addressing it in therapy, but if you aren’t actually gonna be my ride or die, then don’t promise me forever and then use me for my bank account and treat me like garbage, Baby. I hope you’re doing well in therapy too, but I have a feeling you’re ignoring your problems more than I ignored ours.”
Another User Comments:
“From your background story, you had no other option than to break it off completely. I think it was the best decision you made for yourself.” musicsporty1