When something gnaws at you—be it a rude customer, irritating coworker, or terrible neighbor—there's usually not much to be done about it. But every once in a while, the opportunity arises for a deliciously petty revenge. When you get the chance to annoy someone just as much as they've annoyed you, you've got to take it—and that's exactly what these people did.
I lived in an apartment with a roommate. We had neighbors who would throw crazy parties pretty frequently, often times during the week. One day, my roommate who had to be awake early got fed up and decided to pee on a metal pizza pan and stick it in the freezer. After a crazy party he pulled the pan out, and flipped it upside down, giving him a frozen disc of pee.
He then slid that disc under their door where it would melt on their fully carpeted entryway. We woke up to them shouting at the people who crashed there, demanding to know who peed on the floor and what the heck was wrong with them.
So, I'm married to a wonderful woman. She's smart, funny, and very kind. Her mother is generally very nice and tends to have a great attitude and be very enjoyable. Sure, she’s a bit of a prude, but still generally enjoyable. However, she can be a bit of a major snoop. If my wife leaves her phone sitting around, she will just pick it up and start going through it.
My wife has kind of laughed this off as a remnant of her mom being controlling when she was a kid. I'm not a fan of this because my wife and I will sometimes text about things that simply don't involve her mother and I don't feel are her business at all. So over Christmas, I saw my wife set her phone down on the kitchen counter, and I had a brilliant idea.
Her mom was still in the kitchen and I sent my wife the most racy and depraved text about all the things I was going to do to her when everyone left. Honestly, most of them are things we haven't even done, but I had to make it extra scarring. I sent this text from the bathroom. And maybe it was my imagination, but I could swear I could hear an audible gasp shortly after her phone went off.
When I went out, her mother absolutely would not look me in the eye. Then not so discreetly, she asked her daughter to come to talk to her in the other room. When my wife came back into the living room, I thought she had been crying, however, upon closer inspection, she was laughing. Her mother had questioned her about me “harassing” her and asked if I always talked down to her like that.
My wife had told her kindly that what we do is between us and us only. Probably the best gift this Christmas.
I used to work at a pizzeria. There was this one customer who everyone hated. She was rude as heck, complained about everything. And she wasn’t a normal customer, no, she would order essentially groceries from us by ordering disassembled sandwiches. For example, she’d order a chicken sandwich but with all of the ingredients separate.
It all had to be in particular amounts, with cutlery, butter, a side of grated cheese, 3 plates, oil and vinegar on the side, “medium rare” toasted bread, extra packets of ranch, you get the idea. But because it was all technically part of a “sandwich,” she didn’t expect to be charged for any of the extras and would complain if she was.
She also refused to answer the door when the delivery drivers got there and instead would leave the money in an envelope (exact change, no tip) under the doormat and wanted the driver to leave the food on her doorstep. She also had weird specifications about where the driver could park: Never in her driveway, only on the street, even when it was raining.
Also, she didn’t want them to announce their arrival in any way. No knocking, no ringing the bell, no beeping their car horns. They needed to be silent, or she’d complain. She was a nightmare, this woman. And every time she complained, she’d try to weasel some free stuff out of us for next time. Because of course she would!
So one day she says she needs the driver to make change and she wants him to just leave the change in the envelope and not take a tip because “he gets paid already.” So I tell my driver this and he says, “Ohhh I get paid, do I? No problem, I’ll take care of it.” He goes on the delivery and comes back pleased as punch, doesn’t say a word about how he “took care of it.”
I get distracted, keep working. Minutes later, I get a phone call that makes everything clear. It’s the crazy lady and she’s FURIOUS because apparently my driver left her the correct change of $5.85, in the envelope like she asked.....IN PENNIES. Genius. I had to put her on hold so I could laugh. I get back on the phone with her and I said, “Ma’am, I think you’ll find that pennies are legal tender. There’s nothing I can do.”
After explaining that I am, indeed, the manager and the highest authority present, she got fed up and hung up on me. That driver is still a king to me.
I’m in a class where a group research project and presentation is a huge chunk of overall points. Everyone knows that in group projects, you always have that one slacker who doesn’t do anything that you have to compensate for. However, I got stuck with possibly the worst three people to be in a project with in the class.
I did the entire research, presentation, poster boards, etc., among many other annoying things myself. I tried talking to them and telling them they needed to put in their share of effort. Ignored. I’d send them tasks to do, ignored. I’d try to schedule meetings, they’d say they were coming and then leave me alone at the library.
This happened from the get-go. It was abundantly clear that they expected everyone else to do the work, but “everyone else” turned out to be just me. So here was one rule: We couldn’t have things 100% memorized word for word, and we couldn’t read off of anything. Basically, we had to actually know the subject we were discussing.
I was fully prepared to do most of the talking and even wrote down a small script for them and told them to know what to say during their part, at the very least. The night before, I told them we had to meet to at least go over the whole thing one time. Once again, none of them showed. At this point, I’m livid and decide they can just do it themselves.
This means they’d get up there, not know a darn thing to say other than the small info I gave them, and they couldn’t even make up anything because they did no research. Thing is, if we miss the presentation without an excuse, we fail the project. If you have an excuse, you have to have documentation. That’s when I came up with the perfect solution. I commute and live an hour away, so I decide that I’ll conveniently have a flat tire right before class.
I went out and actually bought a tire so I could have the receipt to prove it. I emailed the professor, who said I could present by myself during his office hours. Turns out, they COMPLETELY tanked, and not only probably failed the project but since they’re bad students, the professor might even make them fail the entire class.
I worked in an emergency room (ER) for six years. Every person who has worked in the ER knows that Mondays are the busiest days of the week, and also when all the crazies come out. This day was no different. I worked as a nurse in triage, where you initially get assessed in the front before going to the back. Here we determine who needs to go back first and who can wait.
It's NOT a first-come, first-serve situation as most people think. We had a few stretchers in the front for people who needed to be monitored a little closer or needed IVs, blood draws, labs. There were six stretchers, but this day was so busy that all stretchers were filled, plus five more in the hallway. This lady comes in on an ambulance but because her symptoms did not indicate an emergency she was put in stretcher triage to wait her turn.
To be fair, she was in a lot of pain. After an assessment, I recognized her symptoms as being caused by gallstones (painful but not life-threatening). We put her on a stretcher, started an IV, drew labs, and hooked her up to the monitor just in case. A few minutes later, the patient’s daughter comes in the front door. One look at her and we knew she would cause problems.
She had everything from the shoes to the haircut. A classic rich Karen. When she saw that her mom was still in the front and hadn't seen a doctor yet she started screaming that she knew the CEO of the hospital and that we would all be fired if we didn't get her mom back to see a doctor RIGHT NOW! We explained that her mom has a history of gallstones and even the patient was saying that she has had this pain many times because of the gallstones.
We explained about being really busy and that there were no rooms available in the back and will get her back as soon as we could. She eventually calmed down but was still antsy. About an hour later another patient comes in and was put on the stretcher beside the mother and her daughter. This patient had worrying complaints, but on initial assessment, we could not find anything wrong.
However, as a nurse, you learn to ALWAYS trust your gut. When your gut sounds an alarm, you listen. Something about this patient was setting my alarm bells off but all his vitals were normal and I had no solid evidence to declare him an emergency. I hooked him up to the monitor and kept a very close eye on him. I let the charge nurse know of my concerns and she said to let her know as soon as something changes.
Not five minutes later, something changed. Now, at this time I should explain that this hospital was a level 1 trauma center, meaning we get all the bad cases from car crashes to shot victims. Since we had to be ready for any traumas, we had a room with three beds that was closed off from the rest of the beds because traumas usually involved a lot of people and a lot of blood.
Even on busy days like this one, those rooms were empty unless there was a trauma patient. Now, back to the second patient. I was taking the vital signs of the mother when I looked over to the second one. I noticed a worrying change in his rhythm and stopped with the woman to start assessing him to see what was going on. Well, that did not sit well with the daughter.
She actually grabbed my arm and told me to finish with her mom. I jerked my arm free and said I had to make sure the man was OK. As I turned around, his rhythm went life-threatening. I called the charge nurse to inform her of his condition, all the while unhooking him from the monitor and throwing his bed into drive. This is where the crazy ramped up.
As I started pushing him back, the daughter actually jumps in front of the stretcher and stops it. She's screaming that her mom was here first and needed to be seen before. She kept screaming that I was a liar and that she was going to get me fired. I'm usually a mild-tempered person, but knowing this guy was literally minutes from crashing, I said to the woman, "You have a choice: get out of my way or get run over."
I started pushing the stretcher forward. Now, I'm really good at pushing stretchers fast and getting the patients where they needed to go in a hurry. The daughter tried to stand firm but she saw I wasn't going to stop and jumped out of the way just as I was an inch from hitting her. Unfortunately, she did not move fast enough and I ended up running over her foot.
At this point, I didn't care and got the patient back to the trauma room, leaving the daughter screaming and lying on the floor. We spent about 30 minutes on the patient but he ended up coding. By the time I got back up front, the mother and daughter had been taken to the back to see a doctor. Still, my charge nurse warned me that they were filing a complaint against me.
A few days later, the actual CEO of the hospital came to visit me on my next shift. He was known to be a kind and fair man. Since this happened during a time before cameras were put in the ERs, he had to take what happened from word of mouth. Apparently, the daughter said I attacked her several times and put her mom's life in danger by not assessing her properly and that I should be fired.
It turned out that the mother did actually have gallstones and nothing else. However, the daughter’s foot was broken due to me running over it. I calmly explained exactly what happened and that the daughter’s action might have ended up in the patient dying because of the delay she caused. When I got to the part of what I said to her and running over her foot, the CEO actually started laughing.
He then tried to cover his mouth to hide his laughter. He explained that the daughter was a friend of his sister’s and he knows exactly what kind of person she is. Not only did I not get fired that day, but he also put a personal note in my file praising my actions. On my next review, I got a large raise and a bonus thanks to the CEO's note.
My uncle was a prominent, busy doctor. My aunt, a stay-at-home mother of two. My uncle was very rigid and authoritative, and had to have things just so: a certain breakfast at a specific time every morning, his clothes folded or hung in a particular way, a specific drink waiting for him upon his return home, and a specific dinner at a given time every night, based on a rotating menu.
This went on for decades until he eventually passed. Regardless, one night was meatloaf night, and after years of no complaints, my uncle erupts, screaming at my aunt that her meatloaf is simply garbage, how could she not be able to cook something so simple, all of this, and literally fires his full dinner plate across the room.
My aunt, his submissive, quiet, loyal servant over their then twenty or so years of marriage, simply apologizes and cleans up, promising to improve her recipe. It was only after my uncle passed on—they were married for 52 years—that she admitted to my mother that she’d fed him meatloaf made solely of Alpo (wet, canned dog food) for the past 30 years with nary a complaint.
I don’t mind when my roommates borrow my stuff. We’ve all been there. All I ask is that they replace what they take. You drink my milk? Just buy me new milk. It’s as simple as that. Unfortunately, my current roommate doesn’t seem to get this. She keeps taking my stuff and when I ask her to please replace everything she takes, she’ll buy one new thing and “forget” to do it the next time despite having more money than me.
I finally snapped when I wanted to wash my clothes but only found an empty box that used to contain my washing powder. I don’t buy fancy or expensive stuff and I don’t care about brands. After using the last of my powder a week earlier, she could literally have bought the cheapest no-brand powder in the world and I would have been fine. So I just snapped.
I had told her over and over to not use my washing powder if she wasn’t going to replace it and I just had enough. I bought a new box of washing powder, some Dylon machine dye, mixed it with a bit of the washing powder, and dumped it into the old box. When the dye is dry, it looks like washing powder, especially if you’re not expecting it.
I took my new box of washing powder to my room and waited. A week later, I came home from work and saw her laundry hanging outside, all with a mysterious pink color. She stomped up to me and demanded to know what I had done. I told her I was going to dye my own clothes and someone had told me the shade would be lighter if I mixed it with powder (lie), then asked her why she had used it when it had clearly been in a box with my name on it when I had told her not to use it because she never replaced it?
I don’t think she believed me, but she finally got the message. She almost never takes my stuff now and when she does she’s quick to replace it.
Once upon a time, I was a newly married lad. We purchased my grandparents’ house from their estate as our first home. We didn’t have kids yet, so we both had full-time jobs and hectic schedules. Incident The First: One day, I came home from work to find my dog out, going nuts. She rarely barked, so I paused for a second, trying to find out was going on…
I then watched as a bright yellow sprinkler came flying over the fence. There was a bunch of stuff lying around my back yard, where the neighbor kid, let’s call him Evil Son, had been throwing it at my poor dog. I walked next door and banged on the neighbor’s door. The boy’s mother, let’s call her Witch, came to the upstairs window (not even to the door) and yelled, “What are you doing on my property?” at me.
By the way, this is my very first interaction with this woman. So, I introduced myself, and tried to explain what was going on. She immediately jumped to “Do you have video of my son throwing stuff?” Then, inexplicably, Witch started blaming my wife and I. “If you weren’t such hermits, everyone wouldn’t hate you so much.”
Odd, all of my other neighbors waved when we went by…but we didn’t interact more than that. She was the only one I didn’t know. Anyhow, she went on, and it turned out that she was upset that I didn’t tell her that my grandmother had passed. Yeah…I hadn’t told someone I didn’t know about a family matter. Fine, whatever. I dropped the matter and left. But that was just the beginning of the nightmare.
Incident The Second: Shortly after, I stopped working a regular 9-5 and started my own business, working out of my home. I noticed some mail went missing. One day, I see the mail truck go by, and put on shoes to go pick it up from the mailbox. When I get down there, I find the box empty, and Witch walking away from it with my stuff in hand.
I yell at her, and she drops it in a pile on her driveway. Proceeds to yell at me that it was blowing around her driveway, and that I should be more careful. Yeah, so I call the authorities. They are reluctant to do anything since I didn’t actually see her take the mail from my mailbox, but they still go over to talk to her. I can hear her yelling at them from inside my house. The next day, she runs out and stands in front of my car, trying to confront me as I am leaving. I tell her in no uncertain terms that I am OK with running her over.
Incident the Third: A neighbor’s pet bunny went missing from its outdoor hutch. Another neighbor spots Evil Son down at the end of our cul-de-sac, looking suspicious. Bunny is found, strangled and mutilated, where Evil Son was seen. Officers are called, denials, the works. Incident the Fourth: We were getting our house ready to sell. Part of that included stripping and repainting our attached deck. I come home from work, and find a can of paint has been opened and thrown across the deck, some furniture, and the side of the house.
There are a few child-sized footprints through the paint. Officers come, but don’t care once more. Then Evil Son is expelled from his elementary school. He was found with a “Kill List” containing most of his classmates. Then the Witch has an “extinction burst,” as they call it, blaming everyone for everything bad in her life.
She puts fliers in everyone’s mailboxes, talking about a conspiracy against her. Did you know that that’s actually punishable by fine? She does now…so then Witch takes a different neighbor to task out in the street. Turns out, she doesn’t have any friends anymore. Other neighbors join the fracas, ganging up on her.
Turns out her kid killing their rabbit, or her kid throwing rocks at their cars, and various other events, made her no friends. Witch then gets kicked out of a city alderman meeting where she tried to have the entire neighborhood condemned for various imagined slights. Results: So, after years of dealing with this woman, we prepared to move to a new house. We threw one last blowout party, as one does.
I get a little inebriated and went on a rant about how little I was going to miss having that neighbor. That’s when we came up with an amazing revenge. A friend decided that payback was in order, so we went down into the cellar and looked over my grandfather’s shelves of Stuff He Never Threw Away. Among it all was a bottle of weed killer. Great Depression era, block letters. I have no idea what was in that stuff. Now, this is where the story gets a little hazy.
My friend disappeared for about an hour, and then came back as if nothing ever happened. I never saw the bottle leave the shelf. But, a few days later, parts of Witch’s lawn started to turn brown and die. Big block letters spelled out “I am a Witch,” but meaner. I ran into her a week later, as I was getting my mail. Contractors were tearing up her lawn, laying down rolls of sod.
She stomped over to me and complained about my other neighbor’s kids. She clearly saw them apply lighter fluid to her lawn, and light it on fire to burn the awful message into it. Funny thing, whatever was done to her lawn, within a week the same thing happened to sections of the new sod, and the message reappeared. Honestly, screw that woman.
So I’m at Costco, in need of dog food, and it’s ridiculously busy for a Monday. Barely any parking spots, until I spot one at the end of the lot. I make my way down the aisle and am about to turn into the parking spot when a lady RUNS OVER THE CURB and almost hits me to take the spot. Thankfully, I tapped my brakes in time or she would have taken off my bumper.
I look up and she is shaking her head and wagging her finger in a “no” motion at me. What the heck? I was like okay, I’ll just wait for her to back up since I’m obviously turning into the spot. She doesn’t. My girlfriend is with me and was so angry that the lady wasn’t budging. So I gave her my Costco card and just sat in the aisle in a face-off with this lady.
My girlfriend goes inside, gets the dog food, comes back out, and loads up the car. She then pushes the cart into the spot we were waiting for and hops in the car. The look on the woman’s face was enough to give me satisfaction for a week. She had to get out and move the cart so she could park once I reversed through the entire aisle. Worth it.
My friend, we'll call her Susie, finds out that she has herpes. The only guy she has ever been with is Brad. Naturally, she is devastated to find out he's been cheating. We find out that she is not the only one he infected. There are in fact at least five other women we find out about. What's more, we find out Brad has known that he is positive and is still going around hooking up with people and saying that he is healthy.
Susie is just devastated and can't get out of her funk and what she now has to deal with health wise. Now, there is an urban legend where as revenge a woman hid, I think, shrimp in her cheating SO's curtain rods when she was forced to move out of their apartment. This story has been featured on many shows about urban legends. It just so happened to come on late one night when me and Susie were watching TV.
It gave us a truly devious idea—Brad would regret ever meeting her. The only problem was, Brad had five roommates. So no way that was going to work. But wait, Brad has a car. And Brad is too broke to afford a new car any time soon. She knows the door code to unlock the vehicle and I just so happen to know how to remove certain vehicle panels to access holes in other panels that it would be impossible to get shrimp out of.
Plus, he worked the early shift on Wednesday. Lucky us, it's Tuesday night. So off we go to the store to buy the clearance section of meat and seafood out. We're talking ground beef, shrimp, imitation crab meat, various kinds of fish and deviled eggs. Oh, and during this lovely time of September, our little town was experiencing a triple digit heat wave. So off we go in the middle of the night, when it’s still 90 degrees out, and get to work.
Luckily for us, Brad lives in an apartment with no security cameras and other tenants who don't care about two women working on a vehicle at 1 AM. Sure enough, the door key code still works. So we pop out these little covers on the door’s panels that access the interior of the door. In go the tiny little shrimps. Then we remove the plastic panels from the wheel wells, and in goes some ground beef and deviled eggs. Next was his lift gate. Anyway, you get the idea.
We put his car back together and off we go. Over the next few days, the smell just got worse and worse. The apartment complex manager asked him to move the car off the grounds because of the smell. Our town also has some mean feral cats that roam around, they just loved hanging around his car. So not only did it stink, but he risked being attacked by some mean feral cats. He would have to always have the windows cracked open at least a little.
Best part is, Brad and I have the same major. So over the next three years, I saw him a lot. He became notorious for his horrible smelling car. He couldn't afford to replace it, no one would buy it, no matter how many times he had it cleaned, the smell remained, and no one could figure out where the odor was coming from. Even if they had figured it out, most of the panels would need to be completely replaced because the only access is tiny holes.
To this day, people still ask him about his car on Facebook. Like, if he says he will pick people up, they ask him if he has a new car. Nope. Still the stink-mobile. He currently works at Starbucks, so that thing isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Kind of like his herpes. I like to think of this as my ultimate Sherlock Holmes-level petty revenge/prank. I will never top the awesomeness of this one, it was my masterpiece.
I was in line at a grocery store cashing out a 12-pack of drinks. A woman walks towards me and takes her place in line, however instead of standing behind me in line, she decided to stand right beside me. The woman in front of me finishes her transaction and what do you know, the lady beside me actually pushes past me and tries to cut me.
Honestly, in my head, I was about to just let her go because she clearly was in a much bigger rush than I, and I personally didn’t mind waiting an extra two minutes. No big deal to me. However, the awesome cashier (who has cashed me out frequently) says to her “Uh, I’m sorry but she was waiting here before you.” The lady scoffs and steps aside.
With a huge smile on my face, I make sure to have a nice and lengthy “How’s your day?” “Yeah thank god it’s Friday!” “Did you do anything fun on Halloween!?” chat with the cashier. She knew, I knew. The lady knew. The whole time I felt the lady in a rush’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, and I was just loving every minute of it.
Boss paged me on my wedding night. He did it as a joke, but it came at an...inappropriate...moment. We had a "page only if something's on fire" policy, so I had to call in even though I had just gotten married and was about to go on two weeks' vacation. When he answered, he laughed so hard I just HAD to do something about it.
So when I got back, I programmed the mail servers to call out on their phone lines and hit his pager with dial-back numbers for phone “call girl” services. At 4 AM. Every day. His wife got this pager before he did one time and saw a text message with something like, "I loved how you described how you would screw me, Jerry. Call back when your wife's gone for the day."
Wife was NOT amused. She thought he'd been calling call girls and tore him a new one. He knew it was me, but he was too stubborn to ask me to call it off. So it kept up for weeks until he finally figured out where the script was running from and used it to page me instead. We had a back-and-forth pager war for a while, but then it all messed up when an actual data center emergency happened and one of us ignored the page, thinking it was the other pranking him.
That ended the fun.
My little brother and his girlfriend came to stay at my house for the weekend, and the girlfriend was super self-centered and obnoxious. When they left, she forgot her clothes and toiletries because she left them sprawled all over my bathroom. About a week later, she and my brother moved into an apartment together.
After he paid for the moving truck, deposit, and utilities, she cheated on him with her ex and kicked him out of the apartment. This left him broke, homeless, and heartbroken. In the days after the breakup, she kept calling and emailing him several times per day, demanding that he ask me to ship her clothes and toiletries back to her. “It’s really important, it’s my North Face.”
My brother called and pleaded with me to ship them to her so she would stop having a reason to contact him. Being the loving sister that I am, I gathered up the Really Important sweatshirt, shorts, underwear, shampoo, conditioner, soap, and razor. I folded everything nicely. I then wrote a nice note apologizing for taking so long to mail them to her, and let her know that I hope all is well.
The note was written in permanent marker, and the paper happened to be resting on the Really Important Northface when I wrote it. Unfortunately, the ink bled straight through the paper and onto the shirt. Also unfortunately, the shampoo, soap and conditioner caps were not tightly secured on their bottles, and the contents leaked out all over the clothes, further spreading the ink.
The most unfortunate result, though, was that her razor didn't have any sort of protective cap or container and left little slashes all over the front of the Really Important Northface. She received the package, and my brother never heard from her again.
I was trying to find a parking spot at my university. The lot was notoriously crowded but my campus didn't have a lot of options. While searching, I saw a Corvette taking up FOUR prime spots near the front of the lot. After about 10 minutes of waiting and looking for a spot, one opened up towards the back of the lot finally.
Furious at the nerve of the Corvette driver being so inconsiderate, I then wrote a note saying, "Sorry I hit your car, you probably won't even notice the damage," and left it on their windshield. When I got out of class and was headed back to my car, I saw a very stereotypical college-aged Corvette owner frantically searching their vehicle while yelling into their phone.
I don't know who they were talking to, but I feel bad for them having to deal with this person.
This was petty revenge executed on me by a friend. Executed flawlessly. At some point back in the late 90s, early 00s, my friends and I started pranking each other by sending each other links to what were supposed to be legit pictures but were actually pictures of plant stands. It got so bad that we started refusing to click links sent around, and coined the phrase "don't plant stand me."
Flares up and down for several years as my friends move away from NYC and around the country, but continue to share pictures/funny links/etc. We would also keep track of who had gotten who most recently, and I don't even remember what I'd done, but I'd plant standed one of them particularly badly. Fast forward about a year, I'm getting married.
Everyone is invited, including this friend who is going to stay at my place during the wedding. She drives up in a rental and asks me to help bring her bags in. I'm so excited to see her, I rush out and grab a couple and carry them into the guest room and get her all set up. It's a great wedding and my wife and I head off to our honeymoon for a week, saying goodbye to everyone before we go.
When I get back to my house, another week or so goes by before I have to get something from the closet in the guest room. And that's when I find it. A huge, wrought-iron plant stand, smack in the middle of the room. This friend of mine found, bought, disassembled, flew to another country, reassembled and left a plant stand in my guest room. And I helped carry it into my own darn house! Needless to say, she won. We don't plant stand anymore. There's no point.
So a few weeks ago my brother, sister, and myself (all in our early-to-mid 20s) took a little siblings vacation to California for a week. It was the first time we’ve ever done anything like this. A few nights into the trip, we went to a basketball game in Sacramento, after a day where we had been drinking on and off.
As we took our seats, I took my jacket off and placed it on my seat. Knowing I have a penchant for being somewhat forgetful, I asked my sister if she could remind me about it as we left, to which she looked absolutely disgusted and remarked, “I’m not your mother.” Well sheesh, we were having a very nice trip to this point and I had no clue that kind of reaction was coming.
But whatever, I figured she was cranky or something and let it go. Wellllll, wouldn’t you know a few nights later we had gone out to eat, and she was the first one to stand up and walk away from the table, leaving her purse on her seat. I did what any responsible older brother would do and quickly snatched it up and hid it inside of my jacket.
After we had walked about 7-8 blocks away from the restaurant, I made some remark about how weird someone else’s purse looked and she immediately realized what she had forgotten, and began running back towards the restaurant. I filled my brother in and we took a nice casual walk back to the restaurant where my sister was freaking out because her purse wasn’t there.
I simply held up her purse, looked her straight in the eyes and said, “I’m not your mother.” It was gloriously cathartic.
I had a “friend” named Jimi who I played music with. I had to go out of state for several weeks for work and during that time my only roommate moved out with the help of Jimi (I owned the house by the way). Jimi, knowing that nobody was there for another week or so decided to let himself in through the dog door and rummage through everything in my room. Thank god for my nest cam.
He was in my room for about 10 minutes going through every drawer. Left and came back a few minutes later to do a final sweep. The last image on the camera was him noticing the camera and a literal jaw drop before he unplugged it. As revenge, I took the video, posted it to Facebook, and tagged all of our mutual friends.
Got a call five minutes later with the most frantic apology and him begging me to take down the post. I no longer talk to Jimi.
This happened to me last night. I got in my car to pick up my girlfriend and my tire pressure light came on. I have a 12v air compressor in my backseat, but it’s loud and fills up sort of slowly, so I opted to drive to the local Wawa. For those who don’t have Wawa, it’s like if 7/11 got sober and went to college. Wawa’s air pumps are free to use, which usually means there are at least a few cars lined up, but when I pulled in there was only one other car.
Score. I pulled behind the guy filling his tires, and an older gentleman in a BMW pulled in behind me. After about three minutes, a woman in a brand new Lexus pulls up directly next to me and puts her window down. “I only have to fill one tire, do you mind if I go in front of you?” she asked. I said, “Actually I do, we’ve been waiting here for a little bit, sorry.”
She muttered something while rolling her window up and I put up mine. About a minute later, the guy at the pump was done. He backs up, and before I can even put my car in gear, the Lexus woman pulls her car in front of mine diagonally, blocking me from pulling into the spot, and then pulls straight in after the first guy has moved.
She climbs out of her car and gives me the MOST INFURIATING little wave. At this point, my anger gives way to a ninja-like calm, and I know exactly what must be done. I pull my car forward and stop ~6 inches from her rear bumper. The air pump is in the corner of the lot, so Lexus woman has a curb in front of her, a curb to her right (where the pump is), an open spot to her left, and now my dirty car right behind her brand new one.
She is busy filling her tire and doesn’t notice that I’ve pulled right up to her car. I step out of my car, grab my air compressor from the back seat, and start setting it up to fill my tire. Mr. BMW, who has remained completely still and silent this whole time, sees what I’m doing and asks if I can fill his tires, too. I say “of course” and motion for him to park in the empty spot to Lexus lady’s left.
As soon as he pulls in, she notices what’s happening and starts yelling. I flip on my air compressor and begin filling my tire, her cries drowned out by the sound of 250psi of justice. She comes and stands in front of me, face beet red and little flecks of spittle popping out from between her teeth as she calls me all sorts of names.
I calmly say “Ma’am, I only have one tire to fill. You don’t mind, do you?” Mr. BMW is absolutely loving this, and as I finish my tire and move to fill his, she starts up again. I finish Mr. BMW’s tire and he thanks me for my help, climbs in his car, and pulls away grinning. I wrap my compressor up nicely, pick a good song, and set my climate control to a balmy 82 degrees, all while Lexus lady is trapped in front of me.
I calmly back up, give her a little wave, and drive off into the night.
My co-worker sometimes throws out her lunch in the garbage can at my desk instead of her own, because she claims she can't stand the smell of old ketchup that's been sitting out for a couple of hours. I've asked her several times to stop, but she will then just wait until I get up to go to the bathroom and do it, and hide my garbage can under my desk so she thinks I won't see it.
Every time she does it, I wait until she goes to the bathroom, take out the little plastic container that she had ketchup in, and put it way in the back of her bottom desk drawer. There are 6 in there now, and the oldest is over a month old. So far, she hasn't noticed the smell. Going to keep doing it and see how long it takes her to notice.
Many moons ago, after my divorce, I saved up enough money to move from my apartment, which was a building with 12 units, and buy a house. I was really excited and told my favorite neighbor about it. That’s when I made a disturbing discovery. He told me not to even bother trying to get my security deposit back, because the landlord never returned security deposits.
I turned in my notice. The landlord didn't even bother to do a final walk-through. After 30 days, I emailed her and asked about my deposit. No response. I filed a small claims court case for the deposit. This lovely lady's strategy was to hire a lawyer and bump it up to the next higher court. Most people quit after she bumped it up to the next higher court, but I’m not most people.
I had some spare time, and have always loved a good game of strategy. I double-checked with the court to make sure I could represent myself (FYI—anyone can). I then sent a certified letter to her attorney asking for a full disclosure of the evidence being presented. A huge thank you to all those TV shows that explain what full disclosure is, by the way.
A week later, I received a call from the lawyer, asking what I wanted in order to avoid court—settlement accomplished. Ok, but here’s the really petty revenge. I let my neighbor know how to get his deposit back when he was ready to move. He let the other tenants know how to get their deposits back, too. Me: +1, Landlord -12.
I used to be kind of an idiot. I’ve really mellowed out since. But sometime around 2001-2002, I had an incident in my university dorm laundry room. Anyway, I’m a freshman living in the dorms, it’s the weekend, and I’m doing laundry. We had an unwritten rule in the dorm laundry room: if you don’t attend to your laundry, it’s totally cool for someone to pull it out and throw it on the table (wet or dry). If you don’t like it, just promptly attend to your laundry when the washer or dryer turns off.
I don’t like people touching my laundry, so I always set an alarm to be there when it’s done (on my digital watch, not my phone!). I wash my clothes, throw them in the dryer, and set my timer. Soon after, my watch goes off and I walk back to the laundry room only to find my dryer load completely wet and on the table. Oh heck no! Someone pulled my stuff from the dryer, only to dump it out and dry their stuff for free.
Well, good news: I had more quarters, so I could dry my stuff just fine. Actually, I had enough quarters for my anonymous friend too — why didn’t they just ask? So I grab their clothes and throw them in an open washing machine with six of my spare quarters. Actually, wait — I can drop another quarter in for a heavy cycle, which entitles you to an additional rinse and spin! I happen to have another quarter, so I do. The heavy cycle takes over an hour and a half to complete.
Now’s a good time to mention a nice feature the washing machines had that the dryers didn’t: they locked while in operation. The homie would have been stuck for about 100 minutes waiting for another chance to dry their clothes. I hope they made better choices the second time. I was kind of a petty jerk as a baseline, and I look back with a bit of a shock that I didn’t dump in some bleach or turn the water hot.
I’m glad I’ve outgrown that kind of thing, but I look back with some pleasure at that little guy standing up to some random inconsiderate person.
We live in an apartment block, and occasionally have new people move in and out, yesterday we encountered a new resident, a short red-haired lady. My boyfriend greeted her with a simple "Hello." He also tried to say "welcome," but she cut him off with, "Shut up, I don't know you." Okay, not the sociable type, neither are we, let’s not get friendly then!
Today when returning from grocery shopping, we found her trying to pick the lock with what looks like a piece of a paperclip, because you know, that's going to work. She's apparently been at it a while, because before we could open the door with our key, a patrol car stopped and an officer called out to her. We stopped to watch because, well, it was happening.
The officer asked her why she was breaking in. She responded that she lived here. She then turned to us and said that, "They know me." My boyfriend smiled and said, "I don't know you." We entered the building after the officer asked us to confirm, and mu boyfriend repeated, "We don't know her." Can't wait to have more contact with her...
I was at a subway station a couple of days ago getting back from Uni. As I got off the subway to line up and go up the escalators, this middle-aged lady nudged me out of the way just as I got on to the steps, and made me trip over and fumble my bag. She stared at me and went on her way. I was right behind her going up, and she probably saved like 0.01 seconds getting on the escalator before me.
As we made our way to the exit and I got up to the door frame, she went out of her way to nudge past me again. She gave me another stare as she went through the exit and stood there looking at me like she couldn’t believe I tried to go first or something. There’s a bus terminal that connects to the subway on the street level, and we ended up waiting at the same stop. She was the first in line, and I was right behind her.
When the bus finally arrived, she really took her time fumbling through her purse, talking on her phone, and looking for her bus card. As she was searching for her card, she ended up dropping it right at the tip of my boot. She was still busy talking on the phone while searching through her wallet. I thought about it for a second and decided to lightly slide her card underneath the bus with my foot.
Eventually, she realized that she might have dropped her card, so she packed her wallet back in her purse, hung up the phone and looked around for her card. As she looked, she began getting increasingly worried, scanning everywhere for where she could have dropped it. I nudged her out of the way, gave her a stare, and made my way on to the bus.
I sat happily on one of the seats. I saw her flustered and panicked, as the next bus was coming in half an hour. The bus started to depart, and I opened the window and told her with glee, “Maybe you should check under the bus!” I watched her for as long as I could until she was out of sight, and enjoyed the rest of my commute home.
I had a neighbor that had a dog that, I kid you not, barked from bout 7 pm until 5 am NON STOP. They worked nights, I believe, and they kept it outside. I knocked numerous times, and they only said: "Dogs bark, what do you expect?" Their house was directly behind mine; we shared a divided wall. So I recorded their dog for a full day.
The minute they brought him in, and I felt like they were sleeping, I popped my phone into the dock and played it on my stereo full blast facing their yard at 9 am. They came over raving mad to my wall by about 12 noon, asking me to shut my dog up. I said "It’s your dog. I recorded him, since you miss out on what dogs do. I'm just playing the radio at normal allowable city time, and I will do this every day."
They started bringing the dog in at night after that.
I work in an office with flexible hours. We can start anytime from 8 am to 9:30 am. I’m always in the office at 8:15 am. Usually, if work comes in urgently in the morning, my supervisor gives it to me to complete since I’m one of the few in the team presently in the office. Well, yesterday I came into the office at my usual time and one of my colleagues was working on an urgent task given to him at 8 am.
He had to pause the task for 20 minutes so my supervisor told me to complete it while he’s away from the office. I couldn’t even have my breakfast or even drink water because of how urgent this task was. I was still working on it when he came back. He asked “how are you going with the task?” and I explained that I’m still working on it and that I found a few mistakes and showed it to him.
He puts his hands up in the air and says, “Nope. Not my responsibility anymore” and walks off. Really? I was livid. But this needed to be done and I have no time for drama. I finished work 5:30 pm that day. Before I left, my supervisor told me that she got a HUGE workload given to her and that she will need to give it to someone urgently in the morning to complete.
I knew that my colleague would be in the office at 8 am again. Guess who is walking in the office at 9:15 am today with a cup of fresh coffee and breakfast?
This happened to a family friend, let’s name him Sean. His parents are American but lived in South America when he was born, he was also raised there so naturally, he grew up speaking perfect Spanish, though he obviously didn’t look Hispanic. He was blond with green eyes and fair skin. Fast forward a couple of decades, he’s now in his late 20s and has moved back to the US, where he’s lived since his teens.
Both his Spanish and English are perfect at this point. He goes to a certain “Mexican” fast food place, let’s call it “e. Coli,” where employees add your ingredients down the line and you pay at the end. As soon as he starts ordering his food, two of the workers, both Hispanic, start to make fun of his hair, his skinny jeans, and essentially his entire appearance.
I remember him mentioning them specifically wondering where his balls fit in those tight jeans and concluding he probably didn’t have any, all while subtly laughing and still maintaining a professional demeanor as they fill his bowl. Sean was able to stay composed and quiet and acted completely oblivious to everything they were saying and just carried on down the line ordering.
By the time he gets to the cash register, the cashier, who was not one of the two employees, rings him out. That’s when he calmly asks the cashier to call over the two employees, which they did since there was no line at the time. When the employees come, wondering what was up, Sean says, in English: “I really appreciate the service both of you provided. Your commentary was also top-notch. Now if you could be so kind…”
And then without missing a beat he says, in perfect, zero accent Spanish: “Me pueden llamar a su jefe?” Which translates to: “Could you call over your boss?” He says their reactions were something he will never forget. The manager comped his meal and gave him 10 gift cards to the restaurant. He lived close to that specific location, he never saw those two employees again.
So I’m on the way home from the shops and I decide to take the bus. Really, it’s only about three stops away and I should probably walk, but it’s the middle of Australian summer, I’m wearing thongs, my bags are heavy and, most significantly, I’m lazy. So I jump on the bus home and it’s pretty full. No problem — as I said, only going three stops, not far, more than happy to stand.
I’m shuffling through the aisle past other standing people though when suddenly, about halfway down, I see it. A middle-aged woman hogging a whole seat to herself. Now I catch public transport every day and let me tell ya if you take up a whole two-person seat by yourself when other folks are standing, mate, that’s 5 years gulag in my book.
Not only is this woman not sharing the seat, but she’s also moved herself to the aisle side so as to discourage anyone else from sitting down. Not on my watch. Now previously I had been perfectly content to stand, but that’s all over now. I walk on over to this woman, look her straight in the eyes and with my nicest young man voice, broad smile and most unwavering gaze ask if I can please sit there.
She glares daggers at me but relents—but not by shuffling over though. Instead, she stands in place with a huff and turns her shoulder a few centimeters to the right to indicate that yeah, there’s a seat, but if I want it I can squeeze past. I am not in the least bit dissuaded. Happily, I squeeze past the standing woman and gosh, well I sure am a big clumsy boy carrying some bulky shopping aren’t I, and there is just not a lot of room between these seats.
It takes me a few seconds to shuffle my lumbering butt all the way in, by which time the lady’s taken a few whacks of the old green bag and my grocery-laden backpack, not to mention been stumbled over once or twice by my big ol’ un-coordinated feet (it’s so hard, walking in thongs). I sit down in contented silence, she lowers her huffing self down next to me, I spread out and brush up a little with my hairy legs, she fixes me with a glare.
We sit in silence for two minutes. And then, wouldn’t you know it, my stop arrives and this woman is forced to get to her feet once more so we can do the whole dance again on the way out. Slap, go the grocery bags. Slap, slap, slap. I hope you enjoyed your personal space, witch. Next time just shove over.
My ex-husband and I bought our home from his parents. They had the house built in the 50s. For years, my father-in-law wanted to install a shutoff valve in the utility room to, you know, shut off the water to the whole house to do some repairs. The plumber told him it would cost a large amount of money because they could not find the shut-off from the city water main at the street, the "buffalo box,” AKA the water main shut-off valve.
Since the buffalo box was MIA, they would have to freeze the pipes to stop the water before installing the shutoff valve. It was an expensive process to freeze the pipes, so it never got done. When we bought the house, we decided to get the shut-off valve installed. We called the water department and they sent two workers to shut off the water.
When they arrived, I explained the problem. They went out to the front yard, walked around a bit, and told me there was nothing they could do for me. According to the two workers, it was my problem that they could not find the buffalo box and that I should call a plumber to dig up my front yard, sidewalk, and city easement to find MY buffalo box.
Well, I have a background in residential real estate construction and I was familiar with how water mains and buffalo boxes are installed, and I told them it was the city's issue, as they were responsible for the buffalo box, not the homeowners. According to these guys, as a woman, I did not know what I was talking about and they left.
They were incredibly rude about it, but peons like these think they can get away with being rude to an “ignorant” woman like me. They were so, so wrong. Fast forward to a year or so later. I get a call from the city manager asking why I hadn't paid my water bill for over a year. I told him that I wanted to pay my water bill, but I wanted them to first turn off my water.
He was a bit taken aback that I WANTED them to turn off the water. So, I explained what the city workers told me about locating the buffalo box and their attitude about women not understanding those type of things. I also told him that if the city could not turn off my water, I would be happy to have free water forever, because I would never pay another bill.
We had a nice long chat about the situation and he said that he would resolve my concerns. The next day, these same two guys show up at my house with some digging equipment and spend the whole day digging up the sidewalk. Their attitudes were rather somber, because the city manager told me he was going to give them a talking to about how they mishandled the situation.
I even got an apology! They found the buffalo box, under the city-owned sidewalk! They fixed the buffalo box so it would be accessible and came the next day to fix the sidewalk. They asked if I wanted the water turned off. I declined, and I told them I would have my plumber take care of it when we had him install the interior shutoff valve. And then I paid the water bill.
So flashback to grade 1 and little ol’ me was happy being a little child. Until this girl in my class, let’s call her Mary, uninvited me to her birthday party so she could invite someone else. I was such a sad little nugget after that! Anyways, for the next 10 years, Mary and I end up going to the same schools since we lived in the same school district.
In elementary and middle school she would torment me and anyone not in the “in” crowd, but would get away with it because her dad was a teacher. Needless to say, Mary was not in my good books. A few years later, it’s grade 9 and I am part of my middle school’s yearbook class, where we got to design and create the yearbook from photos taken at school events.
One of the pages that we need to create was a talent show page. Mary happened to participate in the talent show doing a singing performance. I saw an opportunity. I browsed through the photos of Mary singing at the talent show and found the one where her face was the most gloriously contorted and screwed up, as she was singing her high note.
I blew that photo way up and placed it in the middle of the page, carefully choosing background colors that wouldn’t take too much attention away from that moment in time where her visage was disheveled and distorted. And that’s how we published the yearbook. I’m 21 now and almost have an undergrad degree, and I still think back to that glorious moment and pat myself on the back.
I bought a copy of that yearbook so I will always have that revenge as a treasured memory.
I’m a 20-year-old girl, and I’ve been teased all my life and have been in recovery for a multitude of things for the past year or so. I go to university in the same city I grew up in, so there's a high chance of me coming across people who I went to previous schools with who hurt or tormented me. I was well known for being bad-tempered and easy to wind up when I was younger.
What happened: I was in the pharmacy waiting to pick up my prescription when someone shouted something at me. I pretended to not hear them and they shouted again. They ended up getting frustrated and tugging on my arm. I twisted around and immediately recognized who it was—a guy around my age who had teased me for over 10 years.
So rather than get angry, I thought I would mess with him and see what happens. Him: Hi, heard you were in around here. Me: I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are, do I know you from somewhere? Immediately he deflated. It was glorious to see, and I had to stop myself from smiling. Him: It's me, [his name], from school. Come on, you know me.
Me, with a confused face, acting 100: I'm really sorry, but I don't know you. Did we go swimming together perhaps? Him: .....no, I don't think so Me: I'm really sorry but I just don't know who you are. I think you should go to the back of the line, sir. I then went on my phone and just blocked him out of everything we could possibly be connected on.
He looked lost and eventually went to the back of the line. I got my prescription, ignored him, and went to my car and drove off. I literally screamed for joy and also because I was about to break down. It was a wonderful feeling, to see him like that and to feel like he had nothing against me. To make him feel like he hadn't had a large effect on my life, even if he had.
Years ago I was working for a company where I had an office and the neighboring department was all open plan. We shared coffee facilities so I would often speak to the people in this department over a coffee. There was one idiot called Trevor in that department who would only talk to people on his desk phone on a conference call — every conversation.
Needless to say, the rest of the department were annoyed with this loud and obnoxious person screaming on the blower. As a senior guy, I casually raised this with Trevor. He responded by saying “you can go and get [bleeped]!” Now, as he was in a different department I had no authority over him and his boss was a moron too so I would have got a similar response.
After Trevor went home, I went to his desk and accidentally dropped some glue into the microphone on his phone. The next day it was set rock hard. Of course, the phone rang and he answered it on a conference call, but of course, the person couldn’t hear him. He started screaming into the mic, but they still couldn’t hear him. They would then hang up and try again.
This went on for a couple of calls until he answered the phone in the manner appropriate for the office.
When I was hired for the job where I currently work, I was hired to work on Tuesday through Saturday from 2 pm to 10 pm. This had been my schedule for months, never changing. I was verbally told that this was my set schedule, and I even clarified this because I had to arrange for childcare. For example, one week I was accidentally left off the schedule entirely and was told to just work my normal schedule.
Around Thanksgiving time, we closed down for a week. The company policy is that you have to work your last scheduled shift before the break and your first scheduled shift after in order to get your holiday pay. On the Monday following Thanksgiving (remember I’m normally off on Mondays), I got a call saying I was scheduled to work and that because I didn’t come in, I wouldn’t get my holiday pay.
This kind of ticked me off because I had been told I would work Tuesday-Saturday and thus had only arranged childcare those days, so I couldn’t even come in that day if I wanted to. The exact phrase I was told over the phone was, “It is your responsibility to check the schedule every week because we don’t have set schedules.”
Fast forward to this week. While checking the schedule, I noticed that my schedule is the same as normal with the exception that I am off the schedule on Saturday. So, I decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and just take the three-day weekend and don’t mention to my boss that she left me off. So Saturday (which I normally would work), I don’t go in since I’m not scheduled.
I got a call from work and didn’t answer, and they didn’t leave a voicemail. Then I receive a text from my boss saying that my schedule “never changes” and it will be a no call/no show on my attendance record for not coming in to work. I reply that I am not on the schedule and so I’m not required to come in, as it is my responsibility to check the schedule every week because we don’t have set schedules.
I received no further reply and am looking forward to seeing how work goes on Tuesday. I also took a picture of the schedule to make sure that I can prove I was off on the schedule in case my boss tries to write me up. By the way, I do have a new job lined up and am just waiting for my start date before I quit this one.
I’m a server at Denny’s. Today I had a grown woman come in with her two little kids and ask for a booth. I cleaned one and sat her down. She then looks at me points at a booth across the restaurant and says she wants that one instead. Okay, whatever. I move her. I sit her down and then seat someone else at the booth she was in originally.
Not two minutes later she comes up to me and asks for the other booth back because “I was there first and it’s nicer.” Yeah, I know lady: that’s why I sat you there. I tell her I can’t make other customers move and she can keep the one she’s in now or wait until a new one opens. She then says, “No, I want that one. I was there first they have to move.”
I told her, ” I’m sorry I can’t do that.” She asks for the manager. I get him and explain the situation. He then tells her exactly what I said. She sits down crosses her arm and pouts like a child. I proceeded to walk to her table with a huge smile on my face and hand her three children’s menus. I looked her dead in the eyes and asked what color crayon she wanted.
She goes, “I’m an adult!” I gave her green and walked away. She walked out, but the satisfaction of not getting in trouble or having to serve her was worth it.
I am a light-skinned Latina American and I lived in Korea for a couple of years during university and grad school, as my major was Korean Interpretation and Translation. During my time in Korea, I was lucky enough to attend music shows from time to time. For the K-pop uninitiated, music shows are free to enter, provided you have at least one of three items.
They would be: A) a copy of the album of the group you’re coming to see, B) proof of purchase of the album digitally on one of the approved music vendors in Korea, or C) the official lightstick from the most recent concert. Priority entry was always given to official fan club members who had all three, then fan club members who had two of the three, and then fan club members who had one. After that came non-members in the same priority tier.
The group I had come to see hadn’t opened official fan club registration in almost a decade, so the group’s management decided to do away with the fan club priority and did it on a first-come, first-serve basis, but kept the whole three items go first, then two then one thing. I had all three and I got there early, so I got a good spot in line.
These queues often had us waiting outside for hours while the previous round of filming finished up. The thing about these music show venues is, they’re very small. They have limited capacity and allow two-three groups’ fans in to watch them film at a time, so not all people who queue for a group get in. In this particular instance, there was trouble with foreign fans causing trouble by taking pictures, not listening to instructions, etc.
So the venue staff literally went through and QUIZZED each foreigner in line on their Korean. If you couldn’t understand, you were booted. I passed with flying colors and kept my spot in line. Here’s where the revenge starts. Because of the aforementioned issues, a lot of Korean fans HATED international fans with a passion.
For this group in particular so many people were VERY ANGRY that they had to wait in line behind foreigners because they’d done away with the official fan club priority. Now here’s me, sitting alone in a queue outside on a hot summer day. A group of Korean girls sat in front of me, and a lone Korean girl talking on her phone sat behind me.
I was minding my own business, playing games on my phone after passing my Korean quiz with the staff, when I heard the girl behind me talking trash. She was chatting with a friend I suspect because she was dropping a lot of curse words, and specifically mentioned “these foreign roaches ruining things for us. I want to kill them.”
She mentioned me in particular and said that she bet I’d paid the staff to keep my spot in line even though I couldn’t understand Korean. Okay so. It’s harmless trash talk, I don’t know this girl and I don’t know her friend. In the long run, it doesn’t affect me, right? But it really rubbed me the wrong way, especially because she was talking quite loudly.
So I grabbed my wallet, politely and quietly asked the Korean girls in front of me to watch my bag and hold my place in line, and went to the convenience store. I bought a round of water for everyone. It was heavy. I had about a dozen bottles of water. I get back to my spot in line, thank the girls in front of me for holding my spot, then gave them each a water.
I gave water to the group in front of them, too. Then I kept one for myself and turned around and handed one to the girl on the phone with a smile. Immediately she lit up and thanked me in English, smiling bright and taking her phone away from her ear. As I hand her the water, I say in perfect Korean and still smiling, “The next time you loudly trash talk the foreigners, make sure they can’t actually understand you.”
When I tell you it went silent in the immediate area, you could hear a pin drop. Her smile melted off her face faster than an ice cream cone on Florida pavement. She turned beet red and muttered to her friend on the phone that she had to go and sheepishly apologized. I accepted, she had water, and I felt better about myself. Bonus: The girls in front of me heard the whole thing and adopted me into their group for the day. Fun was had all around.
I was at a restaurant for lunch and I got “the urges.” I dash off to the bathroom and it turns out to be tucked away and single stalled. I get in quickly, notice the sign that reads “please lock the door while in the restroom.” Weird. Why wouldn’t anyone lock the door? But anyway, I lock it but the moment I sit down someone starts knocking.
I say, “There’s someone in here.” But then the door starts shaking like I’m in a horror movie. I’m literally sitting on the toilet trying to do my business. The knocking and shaking don’t stop. Then whoever is on the other side starts KICKING the door OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER again. Many people have told me stories about getting attacked in restrooms, so I’m panicking while sitting on the toilet.
Is this just a ploy to get me to open the door? What was I going to do? Open to the door to a violent crazy person? Then I thought to look at the situation in a funnier light. I’m standing on the side of the locked door. They can’t hurt me. If they break the door, the restaurant will make them pay. I take a few deep breaths (albeit in a nasty bathroom) but I kind of just brush my hair and wash my hands really clean for another five minutes.
The door is being kicked to no end and the knocking doesn’t stop. I get a text from my friend asking if I’m okay. I text my friend to see if she can take a peek at what’s going on. And she tells me it’s JUST A LITTLE GIRL. And it’s the same kid who screamed at her father in the restaurant earlier. I had noticed she was the kid that screamed at her father, “I WANT TO ORDER SOMETHING NOW!”
See I would never do this to a child. But I—as a child—also would never kick and scream on a stranger’s door, let alone the public bathroom door when it’s only been less than a minute. It’s infinitely rude. I finally open the door and I see that she went to the server. And I catch the server saying, “Oh, look you can use it now.”
When I get out, I glare at the mom who just looks at me with a deer in the headlights look.
I've been enrolled in a cooking school for over a year and my mom has never been supportive, mostly because I dropped out of a nursing program to get into this cooking school. She's always making snide comments about how I should've been a nurse or a lawyer, or how I'll only ever be a subservient housewife with this profession.
When I do make something, she always criticizes it. Like she's Gordon Ramsay or something: "Oh, too much salt." "It's undercooked." "It looks disgusting.” Even though pretty much everyone else says the opposite. She's looking for any little thing she can critique about my cooking. She keeps telling me I can't cook and need to get into a real career.
I've cooked three-course dinners for the family and they always get positive reviews, except for her. She had a party for her work friends, I made a whole tray of my specialty take on homemade meatballs. It’s a recipe I conceptualized myself, and my signature dish. Everyone kept going back and getting more, so many that they ran out.
I asked mom what she thought, and she said, "They were drinking, they couldn't taste anything." So I figured if I wanted to get her to compliment my cooking, I'd have to trick her. I cooked her a meal, one of her favorites from scratch, which was her biggest weakness that she can never resist. I dressed it up to look professional and put it in a generic To-Go Box and had my boyfriend take a video of me preparing it, start to finish.
I called her and told her that my boyfriend and I were eating at this diner (that doesn't exist), and made up a fake name for it and everything. I told her they had her favorite meal and asked if she wanted us to bring her one. Of course, she said yes. I brought the dish and told her more about the fake diner. She started eating it and complimented how good it was.
She even said how she wanted to go to the diner and get another one. After she was almost through with the meal, I asked her for her honest opinions, so we could write a review on Yelp. She went on for 10 minutes about how great it was, and then I sprung it on her. I had cooked it. Her tone changed. She put the fork down and said she was lying, that it tasted like garbage.
My boyfriend showed her the video, and she googled the restaurant and it didn't show up. She then started pointing out flaws with the meal, like how there was too much sauce and it was really spicy and burned her mouth. I asked her why she almost finished the whole thing if it was so spicy. She didn't say anything, so I just asked her if she was ready to admit it.
She said no, so we left, but I spotted her eating it from the other room. I asked her again and she laughed and finally told me yes, that I'm a good chef. So, after a year of doubting I was a good chef and holding my dreams back, she finally admitted it.
So years ago I delivered jugs of water to homes and offices. My work truck was fairly big probably about 35ish feet long. I had a building I delivered to that had 8-10 stops in it and was one of the few places that had a loading bay for delivery vehicles. This bay was wide enough for 2 large trucks side by side and long enough for my truck to mostly fit with a bit of the cab sticking out in the alleyway (not so far as to block traffic).
On the other side of the alley was another building, and the dumpsters for said building. These dumpsters were in a position that it could be a little tight to get into the dock but it was doable. This day I pull up and see a small courier car (size of a Honda civic) pull into the bay and stop right at the entrance. This position is just enough that I cant get the angle I need to be able to nose up to the dumpsters and back into the open spot in the loading bay. If I tried I’d likely hit the car.
Luckily for me, the driver was just getting out of the car. So I politely asked if she could back up a couple of feet so I could get into the dock. Her: I’m only going to be a few minutes… Me: Yes but if you take 5 seconds, we can both do what we need to do… Her: I’ll be a few minutes… Then she just walks into the building.
So I’m kinda stunned at this point. I’ve been in the delivery industry for almost a decade most other drivers get that it’s a tough job and we can all do what we need to do and there’s kinda an unwritten code even amongst competitors. So I maneuver my truck nice and tight to the building so as not to block the alleyway while parking perpendicular to the loading dock entrance and blocking her car in.
I start loading the first of 2 or 3 cartloads into the building. She comes out and sees my truck… Her: Well isn’t this cute… You need to move… Me: I’ll only be a few minutes. Her: I need to go. Move your truck now… By this time my cart is loaded and I tell her, “It’s okay, I’ll only be a few minutes.” And I walk into the building.
Some years ago, we had some new neighbors move in next door. Nice enough people, but we had a problem with them. The husband traveled a lot and his wife was afraid of just about everything—the dark, thunderstorms, you name it. The problem was the floodlights over their garage doors. She would leave them on all night, every night, even though you couldn't see them from inside of their house.
They were positioned such that they would shine into our bedroom at night. We were not able to block them effectively with our curtains. We asked them politely several times if they could turn them off at night since they served no effective purpose. They adamantly refused. I offered to pay for a timer that would control them.
No way they would consider it. I thought about taking the bulbs out, shooting them out with pellets, etc. The solution that I arrived at was to simply loosen them up enough that they wouldn't come on. Since they couldn't see them from inside the house, it was about five-six months before they realized that they were not working. They screwed them back in. I waited a couple of weeks and unscrewed them again.
Another few months went by. Finally, one day, my neighbor asked me if I ever had any trouble with my outdoor lights. I told him yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I said that they would loosen up occasionally and I would have to retighten them. I blamed it on vibration from the traffic on our street. He said that he had the same problem.
I told him that I finally just gave up and left them off. He eventually did the same. We were happy with the final outcome and we were able to keep pace in the neighborhood.
In my old department, there was this dispatcher who probably shouldn’t be a dispatcher. We’ll call him G. One day, G needed to stay home for the gas and electric people to do some work on his home. Instead of taking a whole day off, he made the mistake of telling our boss that he’ll be at work no later than noon, but he could be there sooner if it’s really busy. G said he’d call to see how we were doing to see if he needed to come in early. I was left to dispatch for that day.
I came in at 6 a.m. Starting at 7 a.m., he called numerous times. By the time it reached 9, G must have called at least 20 times. Each time he said the same exact thing: “Is it busy? How does it look? Do I need to come in?” By the 20th call, I got fed up and told him that it’s really busy and we could use the help if he’s able to show up. He hesitated because he had no one to watch the house, but eventually agreed and said he’ll be at work in a few minutes.
When he came in, I let him know about the workload. He realized that it wasn’t that busy and asked why I did that. My response? “Because you called me more than a psycho ex-girlfriend would. I had to stop you somehow.” Our boss wouldn’t let him leave and thought the whole thing was hilarious especially since G knows better than to do things like that to me.
A couple of months back, my boyfriend and I went out for drinks one night at this cool little "speakeasy" in Montreal. It's actually quite an interesting place. You come in through a nondescript entrance and the place has a really nice vibe going on once you get inside. Note: this is one of those bars where the server comes to your table and serves the drinks rather than one where you order at the bar and take the drinks back yourself.
The server seated us at our table, and we ordered a couple of cocktails. And then a couple more, and then a couple more after that. Each time we had to order, my boyfriend or I would have to go fetch the server so he would take our order or go up to the bar, order, and then bring the drinks back ourselves. Then, when it came time for the bill, I went up again so he would come to our table.
The server came and thought we were going to order again despite me clearly asking for the bill when I went up. So, he went back to get the card machine and it was another 10 minutes before he was back. At this point, I was quite ticked off at the not-so-great service and was debating whether or not I should tip him. The screen had an option for 10%, 15%, 20% or "other."
I decided to just leave 10% as I wanted to avoid an argument with the server. Montreal service employees are pretty darn notorious when it comes to the expectation of tips. Now, he prints out the receipt, takes a look at it, and sees I left 10%. He then asks if we had a nice evening, to which my boyfriend responded that we did.
We both thought it was just a standard question servers ask, so we didn't bother telling him about the poor service we received—especially because it wouldn't really make a difference at this point. The guy then says, "Oh, well if you had such a nice time, then you should've left at least a 15% tip. Because, in Canada, it's customary to leave a minimum 15% when the service is good."
I'm guessing the reason he felt the need to outline that's how it is in Canada is because I'm a brown guy. Now comes the petty part. I responded, "Oh I didn't know, why don't you cancel this bill and redo it so I can tip you properly?” He said, “Sure thing, just give me a second because the manager has to approve bill cancellations.”
Again, we waited a good 10 minutes for him to come back with the new bill. I was happy to wait, though, because once he came back, I put in the PIN and then selected the "other" option for the tip and left him 0%. He printed out the receipt and his look of disbelief was well worth it. We got up and my (white Canadian) boyfriend said, "Our only tip for you is to give better service and not be so much of a jerk. In Canada, we don't really like jerks.”
One of my biggest pet peeves is when somebody buys something, but instead of handing me the money, they plop it down on the counter. So one guy came up and was being… undesirable. Grown man. When it comes time to pay, he grabs a wad of crumpled cash and throws it on the counter in front of me. I stare at it for a few moments and eventually, the guy says something along the lines of, “The money’s right there, you can count it!”
So being the petty little guy I am, I pick it up, thumb through it incredibly slowly (about 30-45 seconds without exaggeration), and this guy is giving me the ANGRIEST look. I open the register to grab his change and I go to set it on the counter. He tries to dip his hand beneath mine to grab it so I slide my hand to the side and drop it on the counter. I slide the item he bought across the counter and look up and smile with a, “Have a very nice day sir.”
He storms off and I ask if he’d like his receipt. When comes back and tries to snatch it out of my hand, he instead rips it in half and it took all of my energy not to bust out into tears. I will go to any lengths to anger people if they treat me like I’m subhuman.
My old college roommate didn't know how to cook or do dishes and didn't go food shopping much. This led to him eating my food, especially my leftovers as those were prepared meals. Now, I would use my leftovers to meal prep for the week and told him to stop as it was expensive as well as inconvenient. The behavior did not stop and he actually seemed to be eating more of my food out of spite.
To punish him, I baked a chocolate cake with habanero peppers and mixed the frosting with wasabi. I labeled it with my name and a bold "Do Not Eat" and waited. This guy has a very low tolerance for spicy foods, so I thought he would take one bite and quickly realize the error of his ways. About two days later, him and a couple of his friends got to drinking while I was at work and decided to dig into my food.
Somehow, they ate about a third of it before realizing it, and when they inevitably went to throw up from over drinking and eating spicy foods, the cake hit them a second time. I don't know for sure, but it couldn't have felt good coming out the backend either. When he asked me why I made this monstrosity, I told him I found a chocolate habanero recipe online that I wanted to try. He stopped eating my cooking after that.
Now, we all like the occasional garden party with noise. However, my neighbor seems to be “an entertainer.” That is, every weekend evening they like to host a party, often in the garden, and have friends and several families with kids over. This family and their guests, rather than having civilized discussions, like to shout over each other, and generally whoever shouts the loudest gets to talk for a while.
Let alone the kids who start screaming for attention. I used to let this go at first, but after a whole summer of them being louder than my TV or stereo in my own home, I had to do something about it. So now I wait until they serve up the food and everyone’s plated up…before I crank up the lawnmower and drown them out so they can no longer hear each other.
They then scuttle off inside, having to carry everything in and relay the table. Sometimes they come out after I’m done and set up and continue. It just so happens that I’ll then find a bush or tree that needs tending to with the hedge trimmer. Petty as heck, but it does make me feel better.
Four years ago, I'm working the register as a cashier. It's 10 pm and these two young men in their early 20s come up to the counter. They have three random novelty items (I don't remember they were), but it was strange and unusual to get odd items this late at night. Maybe it was for some fraternity, I don't know. It's a college town, so I get weird stuff from frats a lot.
I scan the items and tell them their total is $22.31. Grinning at each other, they reach into their jackets and slam down two-gallon zip-lock bags. When I saw what was in them, my eyes rolled back into my head. They were full of only pennies. I stare them in the eye, but they didn't even look back at me. Everyone else in line groaned and went to other registers.
These two kids knew what they were doing, but they didn't know what they were in for. I prepared for this. I knew this was going to inevitably happen. I grinned with them, because I was gonna get paid during this, while these pranksters were only here for recreation. This conversation occurs between Me, the Ringleader (the other guy was silent and awkward), and a friendly co-worker of mine.
Me: Is this $22.31? Ringleader: ... Me: Did you count it? Ringleader: Nope. Me: Are you going to? Ringleader: Nope. Me: Is it at least $22.31? Ringleader: Don't know. Me: Nice. Co-worker: Hey! You guys can use the self-checkout. It can take all of your coins at once. Me: Oh, don't worry about it— Ringleader: Nope, don't trust them, lady.
Co-worker: What? Why!? Ringleader: Doesn't count all your change right. Co-worker: I've used them before. It really works! Me: (to Co-worker) I got this. I unpacked the Ziplocs and threw all the pennies on the counter. It was a beautiful, massive mess. And I dug in. The two, still avoiding my gaze, start chuckling as if they were taking away my dignity. They whisper to each other "Dude oh my God," "Dude yeah," "Dude, hilarious." I counted each penny, one by one.
My co-worker comes up to me. Co-worker: Guess I'll help you count this. Me: Don't worry about it. (She looks at me confused. Then she puts on her “get down to busy” look.) Co-worker: I got your back. Me: *Oh...*ok. We worked up a system where we counted ten, put them in a pile, then with ten stacks of ten pennies we separated them, making $1 piles.
We made progress slowly but surely. Some customers came to the line, but we advised them to get to another line. Some of them looked at us confused, but when they saw the counter full of pennies they understood. Some decided to wait, but when they realized it wasn't going to take just a few minutes they took their leave. Another register opened so it wasn't too bad for other customers.
We get to about $12 (about 10 minutes in). Then I enacted my revenge. I "knocked" over the piles. Co-worker: Hey! Me: Oops. Sorry. (Co-worker looks at my grin. I give her a wink and tilt my head, motioning her to leave) Co-worker: You know what, I think I better let you do this. Me: Ha, alright. (Co-worker leaves. I look at the two guys. They are absolutely stunned at the fallen piles of pennies.)
Me: (To Ringleader) Yeah, I'm going to have to count all of this again. Ringleader: ....Ok. I started from zero. I count slower than ever, and made my way back up. The duo is entirely silent. I get to about $7, when suddenly I say: Me: Drats. I lost count. I better start all over again. Ringleader: Really? Me: Oh yeah man.
Ringleader: Why!? Me: I lost count, sir. I could be in trouble if my register doesn't have the right amount of cash, and I don't want to rip you off. Ringleader: ... Now it's about an hour later. My manager walks past, looks at me. I smile at him, and he looks at the counter. He walks away without a word. I eventually count all the change. Here comes the best part.
Surprisingly they had only $18! Me: Hmm, I think that this is $18. (The duo has been completely silent. They look done for the night.) Me: I'll recount it. I freaking recounted it. Me: I think this is actually $19.23. (Without a word, the Ringleader whips out a $5 bill) Me: Seriously? You had cash? Ringleader: Needed to get rid of my change.
Me. No problem. I'll just recount this again. I want to make perfectly sure that this is $19, since I counted $18 the first time. Ringleader: Are you kidding me? (I shake my head no, completely serious) He then takes out a $20 bill straight out of his pocket and throws it at me. My co-worker gives the biggest WHAT THE HECK face.
Internally, I’m disappointed, because they were smart enough to have a backup plan. And the fact that he was touching his cash in his pocket the entire time kind of messed with me. I take the cash, do the transaction, give him his change, thanked him, and wished him a good night. The two start to put their pennies back in the Ziploc bags and I didn't help them at all.
I watched them just how they watched me. Lots of pennies dropped to the floor, but they didn't care to pick them up. It looked like their souls were sucked out of them. It was past midnight and I clocked out way past when I was supposed to. A lot of my co-workers gave me a thumbs up or told me good night. Even my manager told me “good job,” the only two words he ever said to me.
Went to bed at the dorms after such a great petty penny night and crashed. Strange to say, but I'd love to count pennies again.
My roommate enjoys nice long showers in the morning using all of the hot water. Recently, I realized that he literally jumps out of bed and runs into the bathroom when he hears my alarm. I started putting my alarm on silent for a while and this was working well enough, but I still missed my morning shower several times because of his unreasonably long showers.
So I just started moving to two alarms, with one alarm about an hour and a half before I normally get up. This has caused him, for about two weeks now, to get up really early to run the hot water out, yet he’s still out of the shower with enough time for it to be warm again for me when I jump in. Small victories are nice.
This story takes place in my third year of college. I was taking a class where the entire grade was determined by a semester-long final project. We were supposed to be in groups of three on the project, but the third guy in our group had more sense than me and bailed early. This left just me and Lazy Girl, hereafter known as LG.
LG didn’t do anything the entire semester. I would ask her to work on pieces of the project, but she always had an excuse for why it wasn’t done yet (or in her case started). Now, I didn’t want any confrontation with this girl, as she was my friend at the time, but I finally lost it one night towards the end of the semester.
I’d asked her to meet at my house to work on the project, but “something important came up.” Fed up with this one-sided partnership, I decided to air my woes at the local bars that very night. And guess who I run into? LG and her boyfriend out drinking together! She made up some stupid excuse for me—so I made a plan to get even.
I powered through the entire assignment, except for the conclusion, which I asked LG to finish. I held out exactly zero hope that she would finish this section, so I quickly finished it myself and turned in my project with a little note to the teacher. The note detailed how I had done literally everything for the project and that despite my best efforts, I could not get LG to contribute.
I said that I was turning in my version and that our conclusions section may differ, as I’d asked her to actually do that part herself. So here’s a little tidbit about our final projects: We each had to turn one in. LG here not only didn’t do the conclusion, she didn’t turn in a project at all! She tried calling and complaining at me for not “giving her credit,” to which I went off on her for not doing anything on the entire project.
I mentioned how I even gave her the opportunity to turn in my work for a grade if she’d only do ONE thing! She hung up after that, and that was the last time we spoke.
I was on a transatlantic flight and was sitting on the first row of the plane. The woman next to me had a baby in a carrier and a small child. She sat on the opposite end of the row from me and sat her toddler right next to me leaving an empty seat between her and her kid; I had no issue with any of it until food arrived and the child started moving around a lot and kicking my computer and was making it impossible for me to eat.
I asked her politely to do something about this and her reply was that it is known that those seats are for people with children. I was so angry I couldn’t eat. I took my tiny wine bottle to the bathroom and filled it up with water. Then I waited. When she took the kid to the toilet I proceeded to pour the water on the seat next to me.
They came back and after 10 minutes the kid said to the mother that he is wet. She sat the child in the other seat and put a towel on the wet seat and sat there. Didn’t say a word to me. I think I slept the rest of the flight.
Several coworkers and I noticed that our lunches and drinks would constantly go missing, even when clearly marked. One of my coworkers was a diabetic and it ended up causing him to have a hypoglycaemic incident due to having his food taken. So after that, things got serious. He brought in a lunch that was laced with laxatives and a Carolina reaper extract oil.
The previous diabetic incident was well documented and HR at this point was now aware of the food bandit. Luckily, that day, he hit the jackpot. Turns out it was someone from HR who was taking people’s food. We heard a blood-curdling scream when the guy took his first bite and he was caught red-handed. It only got better from there.
He stayed in the office the remainder of the day as things were sorted out. However, he ended up in the bathroom suffering even more. So not only did he get his mouth burned, he was pooping his brains out at the same time.
I knew this lovely German lady who I will call Heidi. She was married to a man who I’ll call Jerk. The jerk was a jerk for a number of reasons. He worked with my dad in IT, who said he had a hero complex where he would cause disasters at work and then try to be the hero and “save the day.” We even suspect he caused a huge IT disaster at our national airport while he was working there.
He was also really creepy. He creeped on my younger sister, calling her randomly and asking to pick her up. He was the exact opposite of his wife, who was lovely and sweet and charismatic, and I have no idea how they ended up together. Unfortunately, a while after we made friends with them, Heidi got very sick. Her colon stopped working, and she almost lost her life.
Thankfully, she was in a country with stellar healthcare that saved her life, but she found out she has Crohn’s, and she had to get a colostomy bag. While she was recovering from her surgery, her husband committed a horrific betrayal. Jerk announced he wanted to divorce. His words were, and I quote, “I didn’t marry a sick woman.” Ugh.
He left her high and dry, and very soon was seeing someone else. He lost all the friends he had made in our country with his awful behavior, and my family told him he was no longer welcome near us as we were there for Heidi. He finally screwed off back to home; apparently, he had got into quite a bit of debt and skipped off to avoid paying.
Good riddance, we all said. Heidi found her feet eventually. She took up photography and went to university to study it. She did very well for herself, and lived a happy life free from Jerk. After about a year, Jerk contacted Heidi, and she told us the whole incredible story. Apparently, he was trying to sweet talk her into going over to Israel, where he was from, to go through with the divorce proceedings.
According to Heidi, your marital status is on your identity card in Israel, and it’s one of the first things a girl asks to see when you go on a date. When the girls saw he was married on his card, they’d never go for a second date. So every time he’d call her asking when she was coming over, she’d put on a huge grin and give him the perfect reply.
“Ohhh, I don’t know, I’m not really in a position to fly with my condition and all. Maybe when I get better.” She knew full well he wouldn’t set foot back here because his creditors were still looking for their money back. She would just relish in the knowledge that he was getting rejected by all those women he was pursuing in Israel while she chilled with us having a great time.
Heidi is doing much better now. She went back to Germany, though she still visits my family and her friends from time to time. She’s still her awesome self. I don’t know what Jerk is up to now, but I suspect after all these years he is still a jerk.
This happened a couple of years ago. It had snowed a bunch and so I went out to clear a spot for my boyfriend at the time for when he got home from work. I spent a while digging it out, and as I was finishing up, some girl just drove up and parked in it—while I was still shoveling it! I told her that I had just dug it out intending to use it and asked her to move. Her response made my blood boil.
She just got out of her car and walked away…Turns out she lived two buildings down, so she normally wouldn't park there anyways! Our complex had a mini snowplow and the dude was plowing in the area and saw this all go down. He helped me move all the snow from the pile he just created and put it all around her car. We buried it up to the door handles on all sides.
He then dug out a new spot for me. I saw her later trying to dig out her car, and it turns out she didn't even have a shovel. So, naturally, because I'm petty, I went out and re-shoveled the sidewalk from the lot up to our building, throwing all of the extra snow on her vehicle while I did it. Then I went inside and took my shovel with me.
I used to live on the third floor of an apartment that had its laundry in the basement. This means four flights of stairs for me, no elevator, and I have a newborn so I'm washing quite a bit. So we have cubbies in the laundry room for our soap and stuff. I've lived there a year and never had an issue leaving my soap down there.
Apparently, some new people had moved in that were using my soap. When I realized it, I left a note asking that they stop. Nothing. They kept using. Okay. Now I’m angry. So I got two bottles of soap. A blue-colored one, and a clear colored one. I marked the bottles CLEARLY that they belonged to me (so they couldn't accidentally say they thought they were theirs), and filled the blue soap with blue Rit dye.
I then filled the clear soap with unscented bleach. And waited...Didn't take long. The next morning, I hear screaming coming from the laundry room. Four floors up I heard it. I waited a while and ventured downstairs. In the laundry room, I found a bunch of wet clothes in the garbage that were bleach stained. Four days later, I saw a young man get into a car with a blue stained t-shirt.
I work as a bartender in a small cocktail bar for some time now, and I'm usually chill. But bullies still push my buttons in the wrong way. Before starting, I may be in the wrong for doing this, but it is what it is. A week ago, a bunch of guys came for a few drinks. They seemed like okay dudes, early 20s, but the group dynamic was kind of off.
Now, introducing the main antagonist. He was an obnoxious guy, too loud, snapping his fingers at me when ordering (don't snap fingers at bartenders kids, we're not dogs), punching his friends in the shoulders all the time. Basically, a sportier, really aggressive version of a David Spade character. Next to David Spade sat the victim of most of his "playful" teasing.
I really felt sorry for this fellow. He wasn't a drinker, and he looked like he would rather be drinking from the toilet than continue sitting next to this macho maniac. He was really uncomfortable. David continued to bug him to take a shot at least, "Come on, one with me, don’t be a wimp.” Until, after a whole night of persuasion, finally my dude waved the white flag.
Ok, let’s do one shot together, then leave me be. "Two of your most messed up shots," Spade shouted, snapping his fingers at me, while I imagined snapping his neck. Oh, you'll get a messed up shot, buddy. I gave him a very “special” present. I made two shots, but while looking almost the same, they were different. David got stuff like Red Jacques absinthe, Tabasco, etc. Really nasty business altogether.
The other guy got mostly syrups and juices, harmless stuff. They looked almost identical, nonetheless. They took their shots and all heck broke loose. The good guy chugged his shot like a champion, not even flinching (why would he, he drank juice). But David Spade...Boy, oh boy. He looked like he'd have a brain aneurysm.
Tears pouring from eyes, coughing like his lungs want to come out, he had a face and a posture of a man who just got tormented with some sort of chili sauce. The other guy looked surprised until he caught a wink from me, but David Spade and the rest of the crew, now roaring with laughter about his misery, suspected nothing.
They got their shots on the house, poor dude was left alone, and David was a good boy for the rest of the night, defeatedly enduring small mockings from his fellows. Now, I may have used my powers in the wrong way, but this is the first and only time I messed with customers’ drinks. And I regret nothing. He was rude, aggressive even, to everyone around him. Screw you, sporty David Spade.
This may be the pettiest thing I have ever done. So in my city, there is a pub that's attached to a donut shop that serves the best donuts in the city, which always causes a long line. Because it's attached to a pub, it doesn't close shop until 9 pm, as there is a solid flow of business rolling in. Anyway, my girlfriend and I get a serious hankering for some snacks one night so we decide to head to the donut shop, and arrive out around 8:30 pm by car.
Now, there are only three parallel parking spots a little up the street from the place, and they are all 15-minute spots, which are usually full. We see up the street that, count our lucky stars, a spot is free! My girlfriend pulls a little ahead of the car in front of the spot, turns on her indicator, and begins backing into the parking spot…when this little white Vespa driving behind us whips into the spot.
I roll down our window and call out to the driver, "Scuse me, we were just backing in.” The driver, who seems to be a pretty university student, shrugs her shoulders and calls out to me, "Sorry, first come first serve!" while she and her friend share a good laugh. My girlfriend suggests we just get donuts another time, and I tell her she can drop me off here, I’ll buy the donuts since I know what she likes, and she can loop around.
She agrees, and I pop out of the car, pass the little white Vespa where the girls are still gathering their things, and head to the shop. As always, the line is super long for donuts and since this is the last batch, the donuts are slim pickings. Wouldn’t you know it, those same girls are behind me now, looking at the five or so different flavors that are left.
They’re talking about which ones are best and which ones they haven’t had yet. I hear one of them jokingly mention, "Thank god we got a parking spot," and they burst out laughing. Here’s where I got my sweet, sweet revenge. I get to the front of the line, and when they asked for my order, I request two dozen donuts, which is every last one remaining.
The girls behind me didn’t listen to what I ordered, but eyebrows of confusion started to form on their faces as they slowly saw each donut loaded into the boxes and their options dwindle. One of them (the driver) in desperation asked the baker who was loading them in, "What, you’re not even gonna save a few for us, though?" My response was perfect.
I turned around and said, "Sorry, first come first serve." She honestly looked like she just simultaneously solved a movie mystery and pooped her pants. It’s difficult to put into words but truly an expression I can never forget. Best donuts I ever tasted, and there were also enjoyed by the rest of my office the next morning.
I was at a gas station putting air in my tire. This gas station required you to pay $1.00 but came with a pressure gauge. The gas station across the street had free air but no gauge. As I’m filling my tires, a lady pulls up beside me and starts asking questions like how much it was to use, how much time, etc. I answered her questions as best I could but really was more focused on filling my tires since there was a time limit.
My car has annoying warning lights that let you know if a tire is low, even the spare, and I hate when these sensors are lit up. The lady is still waiting there and is getting visibly annoyed. This lady yells out, “Will you hurry up! I’m in a rush!” I was confused for a second but quickly realized that she just wanted to use my time without paying.
I did what any gentleman would do and proceeded to move slower. I pulled out of the spot and into a gas pump. She almost hit my car swooping into where my car was. She jumps out and as she puts the air pump to her tire, it shuts off. I guess I was smiling way too big because as she jumped into her car and sped off she yells, “screw you” at me.
I was so pleased with how it all timed out I didn’t even care. Such a great moment.
When I was 15, I began working, and by the time I was 17 I had enough money to buy my first car. Me being young, when my egg donor (my bio mother, who doesn’t deserve a different title) and stepdad said they were titling it in their name, for insurance and registration purposes, I didn’t question it. Six months later, they’re divorcing.
When the divorce is finalized, my egg donor informs me that MY car, that I paid for, was going to my ex-stepdad in the divorce, since it showed as joint property between them. I was furious. The car looked nice on the exterior, but burned through a quart of oil every two days, and drove horribly, but it was still my car.
So the week before my ex-stepdad was due to pick it up, I quit putting oil in it. I drove around town extra that week, and I was that smoke cloud in town of burning oil. Then I topped off my revenge. See, my friend had a goldfish die. It was a pretty big fish, 3-4 inches long. I asked for it. The morning of the car being taken, July mind you, I cut the yellow foam beneath the passenger seat.
The foam was sticky, abrasive, and resealed easily due to the stickiness. I cut the foam, and stuffed the fish corpse into the padding, pushed it as far over as I could, then the foam stuck back together nicely. My ex-stepdad showed up with his girlfriend (girlfriend was the mistress, thus causing the divorce) and he made a big show of giving her MY car as a gift to her. I just smiled.
I wish I knew how well the car went over, hours later, in the hot July weather, but I can imagine.
This happened a couple of Christmases ago. About four months before Christmas 2018, my boyfriend at the time accidentally spilled a drink on his laptop and wrecked the thing. He couldn't afford a new one and it was his main source of entertainment, so I said he could borrow mine since I didn't use it that often. Everything was fine until Christmas that year.
He still hadn't gotten a new laptop by that point, but I assumed that was because he was saving up to get himself a decent laptop rather than a bad one he could just about afford. Anyway, he handed me my gift…and to my surprise, it was a brand new laptop. I assumed that he bought me a laptop to replace my old one and was going to take my old laptop for himself. Nope.
His gift to me was buying himself a new laptop so that he didn't have to use mine anymore. Nothing else. Just that. I was outraged. But then a petty thought crossed my mind. Little did he know that I'd fallen into a bit of money so I had decided to surprise him with a top-of-the-range gaming laptop which was easily more than double the price and quality of the one that he bought himself.
So I decided to “give” him his present. When he opened it, his eyes lit up and he looked so excited at the prospect of his new laptop. But when he started to open it, I took it back from him and told him that it was actually for me and my gift was letting him keep his new laptop without me trying to use it all of the time.
Of course, we got into a massive argument and that eventually led to us breaking up. I returned the laptop and used the money to go on a spontaneous holiday with my friend for New Year’s Eve. No regrets.
I was waiting for my flight to board at a major east coast airport. In walks this young, slick, LOUD business kid on a conference call, shouting into his Apple earbuds. Drops his bag on the one free seat and starts pacing the floor, up and down the aisle, oblivious to dozens of folks eating lunches, working quietly, and babies sleeping.
He continues pacing and shouting, “Yup, yup, we’ll upload that into the system…blah blah jargon jargon acronyms and business,” annoying everybody around and making everyone else get out of his way. Folks start giving him the stink eye, but his shouting and pacing continue, his circuit widening until he’s walking out of sight, then circling back, still shouting into the air.
After 20 minutes of this, I’m over it. The kid stalks off in a hurried pace, abandoning his backpack for the three or so minutes it takes him to pace the terminal. So I walk up to a TSA guard and point to the bag, “Sir, there’s an unclaimed backpack on that seat!” Then I walk away. TSA starts making announcements, trying to find the owner of the bag, but business kid is too oblivious, pacing and shouting.
TSA is already removing the bag when he realizes and chases after them. Too late, he’s a suspect and he has to follow them out of the terminal for a bag check. And now it’s quiet again.
This happened in the early 90s and at the time this teacher had been teaching for 30-plus years. It was a rural area, so many of my friends' parents had also suffered through at least one year of primary school with this awful woman. I've seen a grown woman cry recounting memories of her experiences—this teacher really was really that bad.
My second-grade teacher took pride in being a mean old witch to her students. Wielding control over our tiny little bladders was something that gave her particular satisfaction. One day during cursive lessons, this kid named Joseph asked to use the bathroom. She told him he should've used the bathroom during morning recess and would have to wait until lunch.
A little while later, he started squirming in his seat and again asked to use the bathroom, this time with more urgency. At this point, our teacher starts berating the kid by telling him he is a little baby for not holding his bladder like a big boy and suggesting that he should wear diapers. Joseph gets tired of her, stands up from his seat, stares her directly in the eye, and proceeds to unleash the most epic man-sized pee he could muster.
As fate would have it, he was wearing those mesh material basketball shorts, so the pee just flowed unobstructed down his legs and pooled on the carpet beneath him. A wave of giggling quickly spread through the classroom, which was basically the second grade equivalent of a slow clap. Our teacher just stood there dumbfounded for a moment before grabbing Joseph by the arm and dragging him off to the principal's office.
As they exited the room, Joseph glanced over his shoulder with a big grin on his face. A legend was born that day and we all enjoyed our newfound bathroom privileges for the remainder of the school year. The teacher retired the following year.
My petty revenge story is a little gross, so I apologize in advance. I have a sensitivity/intolerance to most meats. Red meat is the worst, and beef is particularly bad. Doctors recommended I try to get my protein from alternative sources if possible, so I’ve happily been a vegetarian since I was 13 or so. When I was younger, my aunt did not believe the doctors, and thought I was just being fussy.
We come from a meat and potatoes town, so she had plenty of friends backing her up on this. This is the same aunt who convinced my parents I was faking asthma (turns out, I wasn’t...shocker), and also refused to get her own daughter glasses because she thought she just wanted them for attention. She later discovered her daughter’s eyesight was atrocious...another shocker, I know.
The whole family regularly had dinner together, taking turns hosting. When it was my aunt’s turn to host, she assured me my burger was meatless. As you probably guessed, it was not. I was starving that night and gulped down my (beef) burger first. My aunt was smiling, and I thought it was simply because I liked her cooking. Looking back, I realize her little smirk was because she thought she had caught me in a lie or achieved whatever her end game was. She would come to regret it.
Well, a few minutes passed and I got that familiar, unpleasant feeling in my stomach. It was then that I realized what she had done, and why she was smiling. When I eat meat, I almost always get sick. I just can’t hold it down. So, when it came time to kneel before the porcelain throne, I decided to stay put. I instead took aim at my aunt, who was seated beside me at the head of the table.
I was out to a movie with my friends last night. We come and sit down, and I realize pretty soon that this girl in the row behind us has her feet up on my friend David's seat. She's there with one of her friends. So David turns around and he says something like, "Uh, do you think you could put your feet down?" And I think they say something in response but I didn't hear it.
The feet didn't go down. A few minutes later, David says, "Hey, will you get your feet off my chair? It's extremely rude." And they still don't budge. So I tell David that he should go find an employee and get them to talk to this girl. He does exactly that, and after a couple of minutes, an employee comes and talks to this girl.
She is obviously pretty peeved but begrudgingly agrees to put her feet down. After the employee leaves, she puts her feet right back up. At this point, I'm teed off. Why is it so important to you that you have your feet up on someone's chair? You're just being a brat. So I get out of my seat, walk up two rows, sit down in the seat directly behind this girl, and stick my foot on the back of her chair and push it forward.
They both turn around and try to say something to me, but I can't really hear them since the movie had started by this point, so I just say "just watch the movie." I kept my feet up there the entire movie. It felt like I had done wall sits for two hours but I'm glad I did it.
Back in the early 90s, supermarket cashiers had to type every price in by hand. I was at a Vons in San Diego, walking toward the only open check stand with a single bottle of soda in my hand. Suddenly this hoity-toity lady with a cart stacked to the top flew out of one of the aisles like a freight train and cut me off.
"I'm in a hurry," she said, then looked away like she was annoyed that I'd been born. I looked at the cashier. He rolled his eyes and got to work. Five minutes later, she's walking out the door and it's my turn. “You're good," says the cashier. "I put your soda on her tag." Darn, that felt really good. Never forgot it.
My boyfriend and I were both in high school, and at the end of the relationship he told me he was "just in it for the sex,” that he "didn't really mean any of it," and that I obviously "just wanted him for the same reasons.” He then went and had a hot and heavy make-out session with my best friend and came back and told me I was "a bad kisser compared to her."
Yeah, he was a jerk. Well, flashback to a few months previous. I was angry at him because he was being really hot and cold, and so I wrote an angry poem about him. The magazine he had been trying to get into had a website and would publish poems based off of popularity on the website. He had gotten me to join a few months previous and I only had a few poems up.
I decided against posting it then because it would "be too mean." Well, after he had pulled that stuff, I decided I wanted a little revenge. So I posted the poem. And suddenly it was getting A LOT of popularity. And I get a notification from the magazine saying they want to publish it. So what was the first thing I did? Messaged him that I got published in this magazine.
He got excited for me and congratulated me, until... he read the poem. Several million people have read the poem in the magazine, and to this day, he still hasn't gotten published.
I used to deliver pizza for Dominoes. It was my last shift and there was this house that was always rude. For example, I called to ask what the house looked like and they said, "I gave you the address" and hung up. They never tipped, etc. I got to their house and they gave me a check for 1 cent less than what the total was.
I said, "I am going to need the extra penny." They grumbled off and took their time, hoping I would give up, but I just sat there holding the pizza. They finally came back all angry and gave me the penny. So then I really enacted my revenge. They gave me the penny and I chucked it out into the street and left. They saw me do it. It was SATISFYING.
I work from home. I receive a notification on my phone that my Amazon package has been delivered. It's a couple hundred-dollar item, so I immediately go outside—but no package anywhere. I was outside as the delivery van was driving away, so there was literally no way someone snatched it in 20 seconds. The Amazon driver is two houses down.
"Excuse me. I received notification that my package was just delivered, but it's not there." Driver looking shocked, stammering over words. "Oh, uh, what's the address?" I give him my address. "Yeah, I just delivered it to you." "No, you didn't. I'm calling Amazon and y'all can sort this out." I start walking away. Driver calls out, "Oh I found your package. But it says there's an issue and I can't deliver it. It's likely a duplicate and another driver will be by later to deliver the correct one."
"Then why did you mark it as delivered?" "Oh, because I didn't see there was an error. The other driver will be by later." "No, I'm calling Amazon now." I walk away and called Amazon to report the incident. They say nothing is wrong with my package and it's marked as delivered. I tell them about the interaction and they say the driver should've given me the package.
Even if it's a duplicate, the driver is not supposed to withhold a package. They'll investigate and get back to me in 24 hours. Two minutes after getting off the phone with Amazon, my doorbell rings. I happened to be next to the door, so I open it within five seconds to see the same delivery driver hauling his butt down my driveway.
He jumps in his delivery van and speeds off through the neighborhood. I look down and my package is there. I call Amazon again to let them know that I just got the package and it was the same driver who hauled tail. They said they would be opening an investigation into the driver. I also told them about how fast he was driving through the neighborhood.
I felt like a Karen calling to complain, but I truly believe this driver was running a package scam. He marks a package as delivered, the customer says they never received it, the driver says "Well, someone probably took it before you looked for it."
I used to work shifts many years ago, including regular night shifts. My boss was an unpleasant person, to say the least. He would leave his keys on top of his locker. One night I took a small file to work and filed down one or two teeth of his front door key. The next day, he was telling everyone about how he got home and his door lock was broken and he had to get a locksmith out.
Happened again a couple of months later. Then his car key got some treatment. I stopped after that, as I heard him mention it was getting suspicious that all these locks stopped working. But that’s not the best part. Unknown to me, other colleagues also disliked him. One night his locker disappeared entirely. Rumor has it that it's part of the foundations of an office block in London now.
I noticed my Spotify had a PS4 with a German name connected to it, which is odd because I don't have a PS4. Spotify was unable to disconnect me from it using my account, so I decided to take it into my own hands. I blasted heavy metal at full volume on their PS4 at midnight Germany time. I think they may have been in game since they let it go for a few seconds then attempted going to the next/previous songs and pausing it a few times, to no avail.
Eventually, they uninstalled Spotify and I changed my password, but darn that felt good.
A horrible former co-worker always claimed she worked way more hours than she actually did, and when she was at work she just browsed Facebook all day. The doctor/owner was very hands-off and just let her do whatever she wanted, despite me going to him with proof, so I finally decided that it was time for me to get revenge on her.
She was not computer-savvy at all, so I removed Internet Explorer from her desktop and installed an identical icon that, when clicked, would instantly restart the computer. It was so satisfying when she would forget and click it, losing anything that she was working on. She would always grumble and complain about the issues with her computer.
One of my best friends, "Alex," was a staffer in a legislative office. His boss was head of a key Senate budget committee, so there were always people coming to solicit the senator’s support for a particular project or grant or whatever. Someone representing an arts program that was looking for a $250K grant is waiting. I'll call her "LobbyAnn.”
She comes up to the reception desk and asks for a pen. The Senator keeps giveaway pens with her name on them in stock—reasonably nice ones—so Alex reaches over to the can where the pens are. LobbyAnn says something along the lines of "Well, then the Senator will know that I showed up without a pen." (So what?) She looks across the desk.
Alex has some work spread out with his own favorite pen, an expensive one with lapis inlay and engraved with his name and term of office of a campus organization. LobbyAnn reaches over, snatches it up, and drops it in her purse. Alex, who is a very polite person, is completely gobsmacked and then tells LobbyAnn that's his personal pen and it’s not up for grabs.
In a few minutes, the senator comes out to get LobbyAnn. As they're walking past Alex's desk, he stands up and says in a very clear voice, "I'm going to need my pen back." LobbyAnn stops in her tracks, as does the senator, and Alex says, calmly, "That pen is precious to me, you took it right off this desk, and I want it back."
The senator kind of gasps and says "She took your lapis pen?” and then she turns to LobbyAnn, who is frantically fishing around in her purse and stammering something about just borrowing it, and says, "Give it back." Once the pen is back in Alex's hands, the Senator says to Alex, "Come on back, I need you," and turns and walks back into her office, leaving LobbyAnn standing there as the Senator shuts the inner office door in her face.
Then the senator picks up her purse, smiles a big bright smile, and says, "Want Starbucks?" So she and Alex go out the side door and across the street. They could see the front door of the office from the Starbucks. It apparently took LobbyAnn about five minutes to realize how bad she'd messed up, and that she was not going to see the senator that day or any day.
Indeed, the project that she was going to ask for money toward was probably doomed as well. She'd lined up strong support in the House, so it might have made it through, though it was not the kind of project the senator favored. When she came slinking out, she almost certainly saw Alex and the senator sitting there drinking their drinks. Alex always ends this story with, "That was the best coffee I've ever had."
My sister and I once applied for a summer job. I was in charge of dropping the applications off to the company one day. I got there after a 40-minute commute. It was closed, so I just drove back home. My sister was mad at me for not dropping them off regardless of the circumstances. She told me she was going to go there herself and drop her application and not mine, since I didn't do it right the first time.
My parents found out about this and made her drive a second trip to drop off my application as well, since she was being petty and wouldn't take it the first time.
We bought a house a couple of months ago, and the sellers insisted that we pay several small fees that are customarily covered by the seller. The total was $187 and in comparison to the house price, we weren’t going to walk away over something so small. We renovated the house and there was a table/credenza thing that had been built into the entryway.
After demolition, we were planning on throwing it out. When one of the neighbors noticed we had put it outside to be thrown out, they texted the old owners to see if they wanted it, as it was something they said they had loved about the house. The old owners text me, since we were getting rid of it anyway, that surely we wouldn’t mind if they came by and picked it up instead?
I told them interestingly we had recently gotten an offer from someone else to buy it...for $187. Since it was theirs originally, I told them we’d be happy to part with it...for $188. They dropped the check off and picked it up a week later.
My wife stayed up late binge watching Narcos the other night and woke me up by being really loud when she came to bed. I couldn't get back to sleep and I was super irritated about it. I mean, just be quiet when you come to bed. You don't have to "THIS IS SPARTA!!" kick the door open, turn on both lamps and the overhead, and then come to bed.
Anyway, I'm a commercial helicopter pilot, and I had a 6 AM flight that morning. So I decided to take a short detour and flew a few laps right over our bedroom to wake her up. When I landed, I had a text from her calling me a huge jerk. Vindication feels pretty sweet y'all. Though I’d like to say, sorry neighbors.
I come from a family of six: my parents, my older sister, my older brother, my little brother, and me. Often, in order to encourage us into good behavior, our parents would buy us our favorite candy to munch on in the car. Now, I've never exactly been a giving person, and I’m not huge on sharing just for the sake of sharing.
My parents, however, were trying to raise respectful and generous kids and often forced me to share things even when I didn't want to. That's all fine and good, except that my sister manipulated this system. See, she would say she didn't want a bag of candy, then once we were on the road she'd start taking candy from all three of the brothers.
That really annoyed me. I didn't get candy often, as my mom didn't like feeding us sugary food, so when I got my own bag of Sour Patch Watermelon I wanted to eat every last one myself. Besides, my parents would always offer to buy her a bag of candy for herself, she would just refuse because she knew she could leech off the rest of us.
So after a point, I started refusing her requests for candy. But that didn't fly with my mom, because that was being selfish, so she would force me to hand over the candy. One time I even said when I purchased my bag at CVS to my sister, “I'm not going to give you any of my candy. If you want Sour Patch, buy your own right now."
"I'm fine," she responded, "I don't want a whole bag of candy." Fast-forward 20 minutes into the car ride, my father was requisitioning a candy to give to my sister, as I sat fuming. This went on for years. My whole life, really. And I hated it. I would hide my candy when I got it, I would try and keep it out of her reach, but always a parent would intervene.
Fast forward to my sister's college graduation. She is now 22, I am a senior in high school at this point, and we're up at her school at a fancy restaurant celebrating after she had graduated that morning. In attendance are all immediate and some extended family, some close friends of my sister, and her long-term boyfriend who I was meeting for the first time.
So, enough people for the following to be embarrassing to my family. Our meal ends and my mother offers to buy a nice dessert for anyone who wants it. My brothers, my dad, and I all take her up on it. I ordered a vanilla bean cheesecake with a burnt sugarbird’s nest on top. My mother repeatedly offers to buy my sister anything she wants, but my sister says she couldn't possibly eat a full dessert right now and turns it down every time.
The food arrives, and everyone is staring at mine. I'm sitting right at the head of the table in full view of everyone, so it's hard not to look, and aside from the cake slice being large and delicious looking, the burnt sugar bird’s nest is huge and ornate, hollow on the inside like an old-timey brass globe. Honestly, it was pretty impressive.
And right as the food gets placed in front of us, my sister says, "I'll just have a bite of everyone's." At this point, I'm seeing red, having flashbacks to all the times my food has been taken. Logically, the right thing to do would've been to just hand over one bite. I mean, it was her graduation, it was a huge cake, it would've been no loss. But it had become a matter of principle.
So, the moment she says this, in one fell swoop, in full view of everyone at the table, I sweep up my slice of cheesecake and stuff the entire thing into my mouth at once, shattering the sugar nest, crumbs falling everywhere, in front of my whole family and some college students close to my sister who, again, I’ve never met in my life.
My sister stares, appalled, and says, "Did you do that just so I wouldn't get any?!?" And I look at her, cheeks ballooning out like a chipmunk, face covered in cheesecake and graham, and nod. There was a fair bit of shocked silence, at that moment and in the very tense car ride home. But to this day she never asks for anything from me anymore.
This hasn't happened yet, it should commence in roughly three hours. My current job is not all that great, small company cronies and all that. But what makes it truly bad is the management and ownership attitude. We are treated like throwaway items, not people. We've had a fair amount of people let go recently, most of them for cost-cutting reasons.
When some of these terminated employees pointed out that the holiday season is a really awful time for planned reductions, they literally got told "Not my problem, that's your problem." When we are forced to perform jobs without adequate equipment, funds, parts, etc. "Not my problem, make it work." "Lie to the customer if you need to, it’s your issue, not mine."
I'm the last surviving member of my department. I'm doing the jobs of three people, just to keep operations running. I'm by no means vital to company survival, but there will be pain if my workshop sits idle. I'm turning in my final timesheet today, without notice. My new job starts next week. I think it's petty revenge, but that's ok. Not my problem, right?
I was helping my friend move last weekend and we're driving down a double lane highway, speed limit 50, at about 10 at night. A jerk in a lifted truck and blue, blinding high beams and fog lamps comes speeding up behind. It’s fairly common for people to race down this stretch late at night with few others on the road.
I'm following my friend in the left lane coming up on another car to pass that is in the right lane. At first, I'm like whatever, moron, I'll just merge back over to the right and let him pass. I'm too tired to deal with this and had been going back and forth all day. Well, even though I signal and I'm starting to merge over into the right lane, the truck decides to cut around and ride the other car in the right lane so I can't complete my lane change.
Okay, idiot. So I decided to just keep going and pass the guy on the right. He swerves right back around and rides me again. My friend in front of me eventually sees what was going on and he moves over to the right lane and I pull up beside him. We both smile at each other and decide to screw with the truck. We both talked before about how much we hate jerks in lifted trucks driving like idiots.
First, my friend speeds up a bit and the jerk cuts over like he's going to weave through, then he slows down and I speed up and he cuts back over. We do this for about two miles until the speed limit drops to 25 right before a center lane opens up. We both slow down to exactly 25 at the "reduced ahead" sign well before the actual sign, which makes this guy even angrier.
He decides to floor it past us in the center lane, through the intersection RIGHT PAST A COP SUV. The officer does a quick U-Turn, flips his lights on, and nabs the truck going probably 70 in the 25. We finally get to my friend’s house and the whole time we're unpacking we can't stop laughing. It provided us with the morale boost we needed to finish up that night.
I was at a guitar store once. I'm not a very good guitar player, but I was shopping for an amp and decided to try a few out. I pulled a guitar down from the wall, plugged into an amp, and started tweaking the settings to my liking. A guy in a wheelchair came up, plugged into the amp next to me and pumped the volume, then proceeded to play some metal licks right next to me.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt, powered off the amp that I was testing, and walked across the room to another amp, plugged in and started fiddling with settings again. Again, he rolled himself over, plugged into the amp directly adjacent to mine, turned up to 11 and proceeded to go to town on the guitar.
A second time, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, walked away and tried a third amp without saying a word to him. He rolled over, plugged in, turned up and started playing as loud as he could. I asked him if he'd mind giving me a few moments, as I was considering buying one of the amps, and he responded with, "I don't know why you bother, you're a bad guitarist and I can do anything you can do ten times better."
I looked him in the eye, said, "Not quite anything," and reached up to hang the guitar from the top rack, all while maintaining eye contact.
A few years ago, I was heading to class to take a final in my music history class and I forgot a scantron. I stopped by the college bookstore, grabbed a scantron, and ran up to the counter. This is when I met "her." "Her" was a mid-50s woman with wrinkles on her face that can only come with holding a constant scowl on your face for decades.
When I pulled out my card, she pointed to a sign that said $10 minimum. Yes, $10. The scantron was about 20 cents. I can totally get a $5 minimum, but 10? Come on. Well, I didn't have any change in my pocket, but there was a take a penny, leave a penny jar. So I reached over and grabbed a couple of dimes someone was kind enough to leave.
"Her" put her hand over the jar and said you can leave change, but you can't take change. At this point, I figured I could either get really upset or play the game she wanted. I told her I understood and that there were a few more items I still needed. I proceeded to go to the furthest corners of the store and pick up about $200-worth of small items from the highest, lowest, and most inconvenient spots in the store.
I walked up to the counter with my basket, and the entire time "Her" had a wicked smile on her face like she'd won. Welp, as soon as I signed for the items, I told her "I'd like to return everything but the scantron please." She was livid! People don't usually yell at me, but she completely lost it. She ended up calling campus officers.
When the officers arrived, they informed her that what I did was completely OK. "Her" couldn't handle it, but had to refund me for everything but the scantron. The officers told me with a smirk to please not do that again. I said yes sir and headed to my final. I was about 20 minutes late for the final, but ended up making an A.
I was dating this girl. Thought she was the one, so I gave her the keys to my apartment. I worked late for my job, and I was just happy there was someone in my bed when I got home at 2 in the morning. Came home one night, and she was awake. She then suddenly confessed to using my apartment to cheat on me with 7 different people. So I packed her stuff up, since she was still living with her mom anyways.
Then I lied to her and said I moved to Seattle. I moved to Hawaii instead. Three months after being in Hawaii, I get a phone call from her. I answer, and to my surprise, she's called me from the Seattle airport. She flew out there to try and fix things between us. The dialogue goes as follows: "So you're in Seattle?" Her: "Yeah! Weren't you listening? I came here to fix us."
Me: "Oh...well, that's bad." Her: "What's bad?" Me: "I'm in Hawaii!" I then hung up the phone. She calls back immediately, and I answer. Her: "YOU LIED TO ME!!" Me: "Huh, how does it feel?" I hang up again. To me, that was a good revenge.
My neighbor is a retired 70-something former preacher. He's also a judgmental jerk who makes weekly rounds through the neighborhood looking for any minor code violations. Things like flowers that are overhanging onto the sidewalk by an inch or two, etc. He can report it to the city to get the owners fined. He also mows his lawn twice per day during the summer and has a bed of green that would make Hank Hill proud.
I take pride in my yard, but it's 70% native plants and wildflowers with a small patch of grass in the front. I don't water the grass because pouring water on the ground seems stupid to me, but it (along with a healthy mix of other stuff) comes in pretty full and there aren't any bare spots anyway. I mow every five days, less if we're in a dry spell and it grows slower.
Anyway, when I get out there, I cut all the grass, but with a focus toward leaving a path that is as baffling as possible. Sometimes I will attempt a checkerboard and then veer off into spirals, other times I will approach with an even more abstract eye. The grass doesn't seem to mind and I enjoy the challenge of thinking of new ways to traverse the lawn.
Today, I saw my neighbor standing out front with his grandson who got sent to live with him for some reason. He was complaining to him about something, throwing his hands up in the air, clearly very exasperated...Then he gestured toward my lawn and then made a little spiral gesture while contorting his face in disgust.
I don't know exactly what he said, but I imagine he was lecturing him about how if he didn't get his life together he'd end up like me, the neighbor with the weird lawn. Small victories, you know?
When we were kids, we stayed at the seaside on holiday with our family. My little sister would always make a pretty sandcastle, and the next day it would have been kicked down and she'd cry. We wanted to find out who was doing it, so one day we stayed behind to spy. We watched as a bunch of jerk older boys came by and kicked her castle down, laughing smugly.
So the next night, we covered a big beach rock in sand and decorated it. Like clockwork, the jerk kids came with their smug faces and this time kicked a solid rock with all of their might. The yowl and the look on their faces was the best revenge ever.
There's a new truck in my apartment's parking lot. It’s always taking up multiple spots—ALWAYS. Weird angles, close to the stairs, all over the place for months. I drive a much smaller car than that, and I'm very petty and passive-aggressive. I've been waiting for my chance. A few days ago I finally got it. I got home quite late and there were zero spots open in my lot.
The big truck was double-parked again, but there's juuust enough room on their driver's side for me to sneak in there with my little clown car. I carefully pull in, making sure not to touch anything, no damage, no nothing. My passenger side mirror is not even half an inch from their driver side door—so there’s no way the guy could open his door or get out of the spot without a ton of effort.
I giggled to myself all the way back to my apartment and set an alarm and waited. The following morning, I wake up before the alarm to the most beautiful sound. It's a loud door slamming and stomping around. I look out my window and see the double parking culprit walking around both vehicles, taking pictures, texting someone, taking more pictures—I'm shaking with glee.
They then swallow their pride, let out a visible sigh, and climb in the passenger side, clamber over the center console, and do an Austin Powers-esque 20 point turn out of the spot and go on their way. I've never been so proud of myself.
This happened a few months ago as I was driving my work van, which is the biggest Mercedes sprinter you can drive without a commercial license, around Amsterdam delivering groceries. This story takes place on a single-lane road with high curbs on both sides that takes you from one neighborhood to another. The speed limit is 50 km.
Now, I've driven here so many times before that I feel comfortable doing 60-ish, just a bit faster than normal without the risk of getting caught speeding in an urban area. Suddenly I hear a loud beep behind me, and wouldn't you know it, it's a BMW! "What a surprise!" I think to myself. I was quite impressed by my ability to guess the brand of this automobile, because everything forward of the rear doors wasn't visible in my mirrors.
The tailgating and honking continues for a little while until I spot the perfect opportunity to teach this IKEA-pencil-equipped jerk a lesson: a long straight section in the road. For those of you who haven't been to the Netherlands before, our government loves two things: taxes and using those taxes to build speed bumps.
As such, we have a wide variety of speed bumps, and this straight section was equipped with my personal favorite: the bus bypass variant, a trapezoid block just wide enough that a normal car has to pass over it with at least one wheel, but a bus can pass over it unobstructed. I've had plenty of practice with these obstacles and line up for a flawless pass while accelerating to a mind-numbing 70 km.
The BMW is still glued to my rear bumper. I pass over the obstacle without the slightest inconvenience. The oblivious BMW driver, however, hits it in the worst possible way, launching himself into the ceiling of his car and grinding his oil pan as the suspension compresses on him. After that little incident, he kept a good distance.
I live in New Jersey and we just had a snowstorm so I thought I could make some quick cash by shoveling driveways. So I start off and do a couple of houses and make about $80 (pretty good money for me). So I go to this house and this lady says that she will give me $50 for shoveling her driveway and sidewalk, so I start and finish about 20 minutes later.
I go up to the door and knock, but she won’t open it. I go to the back door and knock, she still doesn’t open. Then I see her looking at me through the window but she quickly turns away and pretends like nothing happened. At this point, I realize that I just got tricked into doing a ton of work and I’m not getting paid. I start to walk home all angry—until it hits me.
I remember that my friend who lived down the street has one of those machines that clear snow. Let the revenge begin. I borrow it from him and run down to her house. I turn it on and blast that snow that I shoveled and some more all on her yard. Then she rushes outside and starts yelling at me, but I return the machine to my friend’s house and go home.
My ex-girlfriend’s neighbor was always accusing her of not picking up after her dog. One day, my ex opens her front door and finds many piles of dog poo there on the step—obviously placed there by the neighbor. My ex then takes a bucket, puts all of the turds inside, fills the bucket with hot water, and walks over to the neighbor's house.
When the neighbor answers the door, my ex throws the hot bucket of dog poop water right in the lady's face—and into her house. My ex was arrested. Worth it though.
I used to work at Target. In the break room, we have a fridge which we all use. A couple of days in a row, I would buy orange and apple juice to take home and write a note saying, “Please do not drink”. Of course, by the time I got off and decided to get my juice, it would be gone or half gone. Annoyed after dealing with this for about five days, I bought a large apple and orange juice and the strongest laxative in the store.
I mixed them and left it the fridge with the same note as usual. The next five hours of my shift were the best ever. I mean, just about everyone was going — from the store manager cutting meetings short to cashiers leaving in the middle of transactions.
I have a friend whose elaborate pumpkin display at the end of his driveway would be run over every year by the neighborhood jerk. My friend decided to put a stop to it. He withdrew a bunch of money from his savings account so he would have enough to buy the largest pumpkin he could find, along with several large bags of cement.
He filled that puppy up and made a really pretty display. The idiot took the bait. He broke the axle of his car when he hit that pumpkin. Could not drive away. The cherry on top? My friend then had his car towed.
I used to deliver pizza, and one time I had a delivery to a brownstone house with a small stoop. It was either Christmas or Thanksgiving week and we had snow/ice a couple of days beforehand. Well, I pull up, and there must have been some sort of family gathering at the house because there were a handful of people outside talking.
When I get out of the car, one of the people on the porch opened the door and yelled into whoever was supposed to come out and pay for the food. The woman came to the door as I was walking up the sidewalk. I was carrying a cut pie with a couple of bags filled with wings or whatever inside. I had a decent amount of food in my hands.
But as I was walking, I slipped on ice and fell onto the sidewalk while everyone was watching. The massive pizza fell facedown, box open, onto the icy sidewalk to the horror of the hungry onlookers. I remember being on the ground, in the process of getting up, picking the pizza up off the ground, and hearing this woman screaming at me.
She was so mad that I dropped her food. She didn't offer to help me up, she didn't ask if I was ok, she didn't apologize for having ice on her sidewalk, she just flipped out on me. So now I'm standing there with a mutilated pizza hearing this old woman ream me out in front of her family. I apologized as soon as I fell, but she didn't care. For at least 20-30 seconds she went in on me for dropping the pizza.
So I threw the pizza at her feet onto her porch and got into my car and left. I took her chicken wings with me so I had some sort of proof that I didn't deliver the food and I didn't get paid for it. I have a lot of stories from delivering, for some reason, this stuck with me for like ten years now.
In high school I once had a friend who, whenever I would buy a Pepsi would come up and take it from the table and take a drink without asking. He did this almost every week until I had enough and I wanted revenge. I had a friend who chewed chewing tobacco and he would spit into a water bottle. Out in his truck he’d always have a water bottle filled with his brown spit and chewed up cancer leaves. I asked him if I could have it and with an odd look he obliged.
I went with the bottle of spit and bought a Pepsi. Went to the bathroom and poured out only half of the Pepsi so the can would still be cold. I poured the saliva inside the Pepsi can and went to our before class social hour. I put the can on the table and said “don’t even think about touching my drink. I’m going to the bathroom be right back” well he did what he did every week.
I come back only the room and there is throw up all over the floor and he’s gagging. I start hysterically laughing and he immediately gets so angry. He threw several bibles at me in a fit of rage while I couldn’t for the life of me stop laughing. To this day he thinks it was ketchup in the Pepsi.
Not me but my best friend. She worked at the busiest big box membership warehouse in the area for about 20 years. Everything about that store was total chaos, the parking situation, the busloads of international tourists that were constantly in there buying up all of the vitamins, and the super-rich entitled jerks for whom no rules applied, and that doesn’t even cover her coworkers.
The TV in the break room was always at top volume which caused everyone who was in there to talk over the TV so there was never a moment’s peace when she would take breaks. She finally couldn’t take it anymore and applied for a position at another store that was less busy and closer to her house. On her last day at the madhouse, she went into the break room right before she left.
No one was on a break then so she unplugged the cable connection on the back of the TV and put a piece of fish in the microwave and set it for 10 minutes. Then she clocked out and left and laughed her butt off on the way home. It wasn’t fantasy-level revenge, but it was enough to satisfy her, and that’s all that matters.
My ex-bf was a real bad guy. Manipulative, narcissistic, and really good at gaslighting. When I broke up with him finally he threatened to take my car and report me to my child’s school for having her enrolled but not living in the town (even though my child’s father lived in said town she went to school at…which ex knew). Anyway I was so angry over being threatened that while I took a shower I relieved myself in his shampoo…multiple times over the course of two weeks.
It was in a clear bottle and I was surprised he didn’t notice the yellow tinge to it. When he finally moved out of the apartment (he refused to leave at first because I think he wanted to see how difficult he could make my life…he suddenly needed to move out though after he found out I was dating my husband) he still had the shampoo.
You could clearly tell there was something wrong with it because there was nasty stuff clumped at the bottom of it. Was what I did childish? Yes it was. I do regret stooping so low…but oh did it feel so good at the time.
I was eating dinner at a restaurant with my boyfriend. The table next to us was a group of 7 or 8 young high school age girls. They were making fun of us, saying “only fat people date fat people”. My boyfriend had put his arm around me as he overheard them and noticed I was getting uncomfortable. One girl then put her arm around another girl, mocking us, saying it was a “wide stretch”.
I got up, found their waiter, and paid for their entire meal. When they opened the bill and saw nothing they froze. The waiter told them I paid for it. I remember being a horrible 17 year old. I wanted to embarrass them. It worked.
The Poo Hat. Found a hat in the car that I share with my ex. It wasn’t mine—it belonged to the girl who he had been banging for the last two years of our marriage. I dipped a q-tip in my dog's freshly laid poo and delicately lined the inside rim of her hat with it, then gently placed the hat back on the seat of the car where I found it.
Returned car to ex the following day. Next time I borrowed the car, the Poo Hat was not there. Only regret is that I don't have a picture of her wearing it.
I used to manage a Starbucks , and one of my baristas asked a guy his name. For some reason, he just flipped out, belittling her, calling her stupid, etc. and didn’t give a name. So I take over to hand-off drinks and place his drink just on the hand-off, with no words. I’ll add that it was a busy store with a lot of people waiting.
I just keep putting drinks out for about 10-15 minutes until the jerk walks up and picks up his drink that’s now lukewarm. He then goes, “Is this mine?” I just respond with, “I don’t know, it doesn’t have a name on it.”
Back in 2001, I was cheated on by a guy I dated for a few years. After we broke up, I went to Walmart’s book aisle. I grabbed about 40 subscription postcards out of the magazines and filled them all out with his name and address. I marked the ‘bill me later option’ and mailed them slowly over a few weeks.
Five years later, we hung out via mutual friends, and in the garage, there were so many magazines that the two-car garage was a one car garage. Three years after this, we were talking and he mentioned how his credit was screwed up because he didn’t pay for some magazine subscriptions and they turned him in to the collection agency.
This was about 15 years ago, in college, while I was a host at a crummy Mexican restaurant. It’s a normal, busy Saturday night, and this guy walks in, right past me. He circles through the whole restaurant, comes back, and points out the table he wants to sit at. I do exactly as he asks. I knew what he was doing. He did not want to sit by any kids. Now, what happened next was completely avoidable, but he had angered me by acting like a smug jerk.
I proceeded to surround him with every party that came in that had kids. Loud kids, messy kids, small kids, birthday parties, I’ve got the perfect seat for you! I could see that he was ready to erupt, but it was too dang funny. He came up and yelled at me in front of the entire restaurant for the slights. I played dumb and then went in the back and laughed my behind off with everyone else.
I was the fat girl in middle school, and there was one guy who would moo at me during the classes we had together all year. Afterward, we went to different high schools, and I’d lost more than half my weight. There was a wedding my junior year for a family friend who was marrying that jerk’s older brother, so he’d be there.
The bride called me over and introduced me to her new brother-in-law and said that we would hit it off. He immediately asked me to dance, and I turned him down, not wanting to cause a big scene. He kept insisting, so I said, “I recognize you, we went to middle school together.” He looked puzzled and said he didn't remember me.
I said, “Yeah, you were that guy who used to make cow noises and moo at that girl in some of our classes.” He instantly started to crack up and said, “Yeah, that was me, that chick was nasty!” I looked him straight-faced and said, “Yeah, well now you're looking at the cow.” His jaw dropped, and I walked off happy.
I used to work as a front desk agent at a boutique hotel. A guy who was obviously very full of himself came in with an online reservation that he had booked at a shockingly cheap nightly rate. He proceeded to give me a hard time about EVERYTHING, from telling me he shouldn't have to give me his credit card info since he had prepaid his reservation, to telling me "Um yeah, I'm pretty sure I can find the elevators, I'm not stupid."
He was just being an all-around jerk. About 10 minutes after checking him in, he came down and demanded that we give him a bigger room with a king bed and a view, even though he had booked a standard queen bed online. I complied, as we had extra king beds available. 10 minutes later, he came down again to complain about the size of the room.
He told me, "I'm only going to give you one more chance to make me happy," and asked for the general manager. After much arguing between him and my manager, we ended up giving him our nicest suite AND free parking since we had "Given him trouble." He got all this for a way cheaper rate, like $40 per night! Oh, but he outdid himself.
Get this: He informed us shortly after the ordeal, while on his way out to dinner, that he was not even going to be in the room for the majority of his stay, as he was visiting friends and would be staying at their home. What the heck! So I made it my personal mission to make his life a living nightmare from that point on.
I reset his room keys every time I saw him leave the hotel—which was quite frequently, 3-4 times a day. It was particularly funny when he came back tired from a night out and had to come all the way down to the front desk to get his keys fixed. Needless to say, he was very frustrated by the end of his stay. I doubt he'll be staying with us again.
My uncle is a deputy sheriff, and one time, he was at an airport speaking to my aunt over the phone in Spanish. Once he was done with his call, some nearby Karen who overheard him went up to him and started demanding to see his green card. Huge mistake. My uncle decided to mess with her and said he didn't know what a green card was.
He told her he had never even heard of it. She became more upset and kept demanding to see it. He messed with her more and then eventually went, "Well, I don't have a green card, but I have this," then brought out his wallet and showed her his badge. She immediately walked away while my uncle just kept laughing at her.
My roommate in college had only child syndrome and taped a piece of paper over her clock because she didn’t want to “share it with me.” Never mind that she couldn’t see the clock herself, but she would rather no one see the clock than share the clock with my eyes. So, from then on, I would take one sock from a set once a week.
It was slow enough that she didn’t realize it was me sabotaging her socks, but fast enough for her to be really annoyed and wondering that the heck was happening to all of her matching socks.
My ex cheated on me while I was deployed. She wound up getting engaged to the guy. Before I changed duty stations, she reached out to say goodbye. We hooked up. While she was asleep, I found his underwear drawer and left a note that said, “Cheaters cheat. By the way, I didn’t use protection.” I signed it. Hard not to think fondly on that memory…
When I was 13, so eight years ago, my dad remarried after divorcing my mom four years before. Before the divorce, his fiancée had been his mistress. My mom is completely better off without him, and ignoring the fact that I wouldn’t exist, I don’t think she should have married him in the first place. Even if I think my parents weren’t a good match, that’s no excuse to cheat on your wife.
Even worse, this new woman was horrifically vile in all sorts of ways. She constantly belittled me, made fun of the fact I needed to take pills for my mental illness—despite her being a freaking pharmacist—and was generally awful to my siblings and me. But she was a decade younger than my dad and reasonably hot, so he didn’t care at all how she treated us.
The one time he actually listened to us about her is when they were thinking of having a baby, and my brother said he’d ask our mom to sue for full custody of us if they did. So anyway, they got married. I was a bridesmaid, cause that witch had no real friends. The other two bridesmaids were her sister and my sister. My brother was the best man because she didn’t like my dad’s best friend.
He and my dad still don’t talk to this day, even though the guy was like an uncle to me as a little kid. It was a wedding, though, and everything went normally at first. But at the beginning of the reception, before the first dance, we were taking pictures in front of a chocolate fountain, looking like the happy family we never were and would never be.
I’m on the autism spectrum and have a problem maintaining eye contact. This extends to looking at a camera. So when we had to retake a photo because I wasn’t looking, she leans down and whispers something in my ear. I’m not going to repeat it, but it involved the r-word. I don’t like saying it. I snapped and decided she was going to pay for this.
No one noticed—or at least no one called me out—when I started slowly moving the chocolate fountain towards the edge of the table. When it got to the edge, it makes contact with the back of that pure white wedding dress and slowly drips down. By the time she notices, it looks like she’s pooped herself. But for all anyone else knows, this was an accident.
She has no spare dress, and that stain is not coming out. So first dance, cutting the cake, speeches, everything, this woman has what looks like a poop stain on the back of her dress. It was a small revenge, but it was so worth it. What’s supposed to be the happiest day of this stupid woman’s life, and she’s going to remember that stain every time she thinks about it.
They never did get the stain out. And nobody knew it was me. Until now, I guess. Hi family, if you’re reading this. Suzie, you’re a witch and you deserved that chocolate stain.
This happened years ago, but still makes me smile. I started working in a corporate office in a secretarial position for my first job after college. There were two older ladies who were also secretaries working in the office. One of them was just fine, but I spent most of my time sitting beside and working with Agnes. Agnes was quickly approaching retirement age and wasn’t going anywhere without a big push.
This was in the days where we just started getting computers and she was absolutely hopeless. She’d pull stuff like “I can’t answer the phone—I’m on the computer.” Multi-tasking was not in this woman’s repertoire. She was also super fussy and annoying. If I ever came back from lunch five minutes late, she would exclaim loudly “Oh my god, there you are! I was wondering what had happened to you!” making sure the whole office knew I was late.
Meanwhile, she was usually late coming in in the morning and often left early for various appointments. If I made a typo in a document, she would make sure the rest of the staff knew about it, loudly. She tended to pout when things didn’t go her way, and she would “quit” her job when someone ticked her off, and then my boss’s boss would talk her into staying.
I’d heard about this tactic of hers and one day, our boss did something that annoyed her and she “quit” again. My boss’s boss was away that day, so I took my chance. I quickly advertised and planned a big retirement party for her. It was a done deal by the end of the day. People were dropping by and congratulating her, and everyone looked forward to the party.
At that point, I guess she figured it was too late to pull her usual shenanigans and she actually retired. I told my boss to not bother replacing her because it was darn easy to cover the little work she actually accomplished every day. And guess what? It was.
My mom never told me how her best friend died. Years later, I was using her phone when I made an utterly chilling discovery.
Madame de Pompadour was the alluring chief mistress of King Louis XV, but few people know her dark history—or the chilling secret shared by her and Louis.
I tried to get my ex-wife served with divorce papers. I knew that she was going to take it badly, but I had no idea about the insane lengths she would go to just to get revenge and mess with my life.
Catherine of Aragon is now infamous as King Henry VIII’s rejected queen—but few people know her even darker history.
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