Revenge is sweet, but best the kind of revenge is petty and dirty all the way through. These people chose the most satisfying paybacks possible and proved that petty acts of revenge are quick, brutal, and oh-so-satisfying.
1. Call On Me
A couple of years back, I paid a visit to my doctor's office to schedule an appointment. I figured since I was heading to the adjacent pharmacy anyway, I might as well stop by in person instead of making a phone call.
I was then met with an unpleasant surprise—the front desk assistant informed me they don't accommodate walk-in appointments (which wasn't my intention, to begin with) and guided me to book over the phone instead.
So, standing right there in front of her, I whipped out my phone and dialed the contact number that rang the phone on her desk.
Throughout this peculiar incident, I maintained steady eye contact with her as she picked up the call and successfully set up my appointment.
2. I Don’t Know Her
I'm a 20-year-old woman who's dealt with teasing all my life. Over the past year, I've been recovering from several issues. I'm studying at a university in my hometown, so I often bump into people who mistreated me from my previous schools. I had a reputation as short-tempered and easy to provoke in my younger years.
The incident: One day, while waiting to collect my medicine at a pharmacy, I heard someone call out to me. I chose to ignore it, but they grew insistent and eventually pulled on my arm. I turned and in an instant identified him—it was a guy my age who had teased me for over a decade.
Rather than losing my temper, I decided I'd have a bit of fun. Him: Hey, heard you were around. Me: I'm sorry, do I know you? This instantly took the wind out of his sails and I had to stifle a smile. His reply: It's me, [his name], from schools. You know me.
Perfectly portraying confusion, I retorted: I really don't remember you. Did we perhaps go swimming together? Him: …No, I don't think so. Me: I'm sorry but you must have me mistaken with someone else. I think you should join the queue again. Then I took out my phone and made sure he was blocked from all of platforms we could possibly share.
Looking bewildered, he moved to the end of the queue. I got my medication, completely ignored him, and walked out to my car. As I drove away, I was filled with a mix of ecstatic joy and a sense of imminent emotional breakdown.
It felt great to see him in that state and to realize that he couldn't harm me anymore. Pretending as if he hadn't significantly impacted my life, even though he had, was liberating.
3. That Escalated Quickly…
I was a waiter at a high-end country club when two men came in for lunch. The first ordered, and the second declared, "I want the same dish". I made sure that's what he wanted, and he responded, "That's what I said, didn't I?" When I served their meals, he got upset and was rude because his dish contained onions.
I responded, "Sir, you mentioned you desired the same meal, but I can request the chef to prepare another for you". He retorted, "Listen, you foolish kid, I know what I wanted, and I didn't ask for onions".
So I said, "If you ever talk to me in that manner again, you and I are going to settle this outside". He complained about wanting to meet the manager—but justice has its own sweet way of catching up.
Little did I know, my manager sat right behind these men, meeting with another team member. She'd seen it all. She steps in and tells the man, "Given how you treated my staff, I should let him handle it his way. How about both of you apologize and let it go?"
4. Can You Spare Some Change?
Even though we displayed a clear notice at our store, indicating a refusal to break down large bills, people continue to waltz in with their $50s and $100s, acting like we’re a bank.
The trend puts a dent in our cash drawers and after being on the receiving end of complaints, the higher-ups decided to revoke the policy. They understood nothing about the risks of keeping a fat stash in the cash register.
Our new instruction was left ambiguous, with no specifics about having $20s and $10s. Seizing this opportunity, we hatched a clever plan. We filled our tills with loads of $5s and $1s, and waited for the show to commence.
The first client sauntered in confidently, slid down a $100 bill and required $95 back. Let’s do this! I began counting off the totals like I was performing a Schoolhouse Rock song. He received nineteen $5s. When questioned about the absence of $20s, I explained the constant onslaught of big bills depleted our $10s and $20s quickly.
That trend continued with the next customer who chose to buy a $0.50 cookie with his $50 bill. Just like before, his $45 was returned in $5 notes. When he requested $20 bills, I suggested a trip to the bank would solve his problem. This scenario kept playing out with the subsequent people. Consider that a win for us.
5. It’s A Nice Day For A White Wedding
Eight years ago, when I was 13, my dad tied the knot again. This was four years after he split up with my mom. He had been seeing his now-wife even before their divorce. Honestly, my mom is so much happier without him.
Assuming a world where I still come into existence, I wish she hadn't married him at all. Their compatibility was a question, but that didn't justify him being unfaithful.
To add salt to the wound, his new wife was terribly unkind. She was constantly putting me down, ridiculing me for my mental health medication—ironically, she was a pharmacist—and was generally mean to my siblings and me. But she was ten years younger than my dad and quite attractive, so he turned a blind eye to her behavior towards us.
The only time he paid heed to our concerns was when she contemplated having a baby, and my brother threatened to have our mom fight for full custody. They ended up getting hitched anyway.
I, who wouldn't have been her first-choice bridesmaid, was roped in because she barely had any friends. Her sister and mine filled the other spots, and my brother stood in for best man since she wasn't fond of my dad's best buddy.
Strained relationships from the wedding continue today, like with my dad's friend who had been like an uncle to me. Wedding traditions went on as usual. However, during the pre-first-dance photoshoot in front of a chocolate fountain, things got interesting.
Being on the autism spectrum, making eye contact or looking at a camera can be challenging for me. So when we had to retake a photo because of that, she thought it'd be okay to insult me—using a word I won't even utter. That was the final straw for me, and I decided it was my turn for some harmless revenge.
Seemingly unnoticed, or at least unchallenged, I edged the chocolate fountain closer to the table's rim. Eventually, it bumped against her pristine white wedding gown, spilling down the back. By the time she became aware, it looked like she'd had an unfortunate accident. To the rest of the world, it seemed like just that—an accident.
There was no backup dress, and the stain wouldn't budge. So every event—the first dance, cake cutting, speeches—she had to face with what looked like a mess on her back. It was a small, secret victory but felt rewarding. A stain marring the memory of what she'd maybe call her happiest day.
The stain stayed. No one ever suspected me. Well, until now, I suppose. So here's a shout-out to my family, if they stumble upon this. Suzie, you were terrible, and you deserved every bit of that chocolate mishap.
6. A Real Work Around
I used to work for a company that offered medical transport, which had a contract with Medicaid. They had a ton of rules, including that we couldn't help patients inside their homes.
One of our elderly clients lived in an old house with a tiny entryway that required climbing three steps to reach the main living level. The house had one more access point, but it included climbing two and half shaky flights of stairs at the back, leading to a bedroom on the top floor.
She used a wheelchair and it would make sense to take her through the front door and up those three stairs to her main living level. But according to Medicaid, we had to take her up the risky outdoor staircase, drop her off in her upstairs bedroom and leave her to figure out on her own how to get down to her living room.
We decided to bypass their policy and took her through the front door anyway. During a surprise inspection, we were caught not adhering to the rules. The inspector who found us made us wish he hadn't. We tried to make an appeal, but when the inspector checked out the situation, he ruled against us.
He insisted we use the outside staircase. We decided on a workaround: when the driver reached her house, he would help her out of the van onto the sidewalk, then radio the boss to say he was quitting.
Because he was then no longer employed, he could assist the lady into her home and up the stairs without breaking the rules. Job done, the driver would return to the van, tell the boss he'd changed his mind, and ask for his job back.
The boss was always lenient, rehiring them, but made sure to record the 10 to 15-minute lapse in employment, to prove we hadn't violated the rules.
In the aftermath, we found fun in competing to see who could deliver the most dramatic resignation. Despite Medicaid noticing our antics, they couldn't concoct a way to stop us.
7. Snowed In
I'm from New Jersey, and we recently had a snowstorm. I thought, hey, there's an opportunity to make a little extra money by shoveling driveways. So, I did just that for a few houses and pocketed a cool $80—not too shabby for me.
Then I approached this one house, and the lady said she'll pay me $50 to clear her driveway and sidewalk of snow. So, I did the job, and it took me around 20 minutes to finish.
I went to her front door and knocked, but she didn't answer. Tried the back door—no response there, either. Then I caught her peeping at me through the window, but she quickly looked away and pretended nothing was amiss. That's when it hit me—I'd been scammed into doing a lot of work for no pay. Fuming, I began my walk home.
Then an idea struck me. A friend of mine who lived nearby had a snow blower. So, time for a little harmless revenge. I borrowed this friend's machine, rushed back to the lady's house and blasted all the shoveled snow, plus a little extra, back onto her yard.
She ran out and started shouting at me. Still, I just gave the machine back to my friend and went back home—a satisfied smile on my face.
8. That’s A Wrap
It's 2006, and I'm serving cocktails at an after-party for a soon-to-be blockbuster film. The lead actor decided it was acceptable to sneak his hand under my skirt. My reflex? To dig my stiletto heel into his foot.
But I wasn't finished teaching him a lesson. Next, I dumped an entire jug of chilly margarita over his head—completely on purpose this time.
He started yelping about the sting in his eyes. To have returned to that table would have been beyond awkward, so I harbor no remorse.
9. Micro-Manage, Huge Problems
My new boss seems to be one of those folks compelled to micromanage. Even if you're a star employee, doing everything right, she still finds reasons for a meeting. Just recently, she called me into a meeting because I was late.
The usual protocol calls for notifying via phone and submitting a tardiness request when we arrive at work. She claimed I hadn't done this, but I managed to prove her wrong. Despite the proof, she still insisted that from then on, I needed to call her directly in case I'm running late. I pointed out that it wasn't part of the process. She retorted that she was creating a new process.
Now, I have to call her at 6 in the morning on her off days whenever I'm going to be late. She's also pulled me aside for a meeting because my performance score was 99/100 instead of the target 50, pointing out the 1 point I missed. I've also been warned about a slight discrepancy in handling call time. Predictably, this has led to complaints about her to higher management.
Following an incident where I was told "If it's not written, it didn't happen", I started asking for written confirmation of everything. I reminded her of this phrase when she claimed she informed me verbally about things. One day, she wasn't present during a scheduled meet, and I used her own rules against her.
She was irked when I left after waiting for a minute for her as her earlier instructions demanded. She called me over again; she wasn't there each time. This happened twice more before my shift ended.
Every time I documented the event timeline and shared it with her over chat. When she asked when my shift ends, I told her I finished working a few minutes prior. She proposed that we chat then. I asked if the overtime pay was approved, reminding her the meeting was outside my work hours.
She brushed it off, and insisted it'll only take about ten minutes. I stood my ground and insisted we meet when I was on the clock. She was clumsily trying to find the right words to reply. Her anger was palpable. She tried to intimidate me by suggesting we make it a formal meeting—code for involving HR for potential misconduct charges.
She seemed to believe she had won over me, but she had in fact painted herself into a corner. I agreed to her proposition without hesitation and insisted on knowing when the meeting was 24 hours in advance, and that I'd bring a support person with me.
I collected digital evidence of all our conversations before logging out and leaving. When I found out the next day that she scheduled a meeting, I immediately informed my union representative, who decided to attend.
When HR tried to paint a false picture of the incident, I clarified the facts and presented my proof. My union rep challenged them with a pointed question about uncompensated HR meetings and incorrect misconduct investigations.
HR concluded it was a misunderstanding, and said I could return to work. I requested and received a written confirmation that I have been cleared of any alleged misconduct. Shortly after, we were informed that our team leader had left and a new manager was on the way.
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10. A Bump In The Road
A few months ago, I was driving my large Mercedes Sprinter—the biggest one you can drive without needing a special license—through Amsterdam delivering groceries. I found myself on a narrow, curbed road that connects two suburbs, where the speed limit is set at 50 km/h.
Despite being quite familiar with this route, I was feeling bold enough to drive at around 60 km/h. Any faster, and I'd be risking a speeding ticket. Suddenly, I hear a horn blaring from behind and saw a BMW in my rear view mirror. I was pretty amused by my ability to identify the brand, given that I could only see the back half of it in my mirrors.
The BMW continued to tailgate and beep its horn at me, until I saw the perfect spot to teach the ever-annoying driver, a straight stretch of the road. In the Netherlands, our government has a penchant for two things: collecting taxes and using this money to install speed bumps.
We hence have a plethora of speed bumps here, and my personal favourite was on this straight stretch of road—the type of bump designed to slow down regular cars but allow buses to go over smoothly due to their wider track. I've had plenty of practice with such 'road acne', and I positioned myself perfectly to glide over at a thrilling 70 km/h.
The BMW was still clinging to my back as I went over the bump smoothly. However, the BMW driver didn't anticipate it and hit the obstruction badly. His vehicle bounced, resulting in him hitting his car's roof, and his oil pan scraped as the car's suspension squashed against the bump. After this little escapade, he made sure to maintain a respectful distance.
11. The Grass Is Greener On The Other Side
So my neighbor is this retired pastor, probably in his 70s. But he can be a real stick-in-the-mud, going around the block every week hunting for any little neighborhood rules we might break.
You know, like if your flowers hang out over the sidewalk a bit too much, that kind of thing. Then, he reports it to town authorities who can fine people. He also likes his lawn perfect—mows it twice daily in summer—it's so green it would make Hank Hill jealous.
I'm proud of my yard, but it's mostly native plants and wildflowers with a small patch of grass out front. I don't water the grass because it feels wasteful to me, but between it and the mix of other stuff, it still grows pretty thick with no bare spots. I mow about once every five days unless it's a dry period and then it's less often.
So when I do mow, I cut all the grass but I try to leave a path through it that is a little bit random. Sometimes I'll start with a checkerboard pattern and then divert into spirals, or other times I get more abstract. The grass doesn't care and I enjoy the creative challenge it gives me.
Today, I saw my neighbor out front with his grandson who has moved in with him for whatever reason. He was really laying into the kid about something, gesturing wildly, looking pretty wound up. Then, he points at my lawn and twirls his finger around like a spiral, making this grossed-out face.
I'm not sure exactly what he was telling his grandson, but I bet it was something like "pull yourself together or you'll be like that crazy neighbor with the messy lawn." It's one of those small victories, you know?
12. The Monster Mash
Here's a story about my mom's old workmate. This person once worked in a hamburger restaurant. During an incredibly hectic evening, a particular group ordered mashed potatoes.
The waiter explained that they didn't serve mashed potatoes, but baked potatoes were available. The customers persisted in demanding mashed potatoes, albeit they finally seemed to consent to a baked potato.
Just as the food was served, so was the baked potato they agreed to. Once it was placed on their table, the customers complained, "We asked for mashed potatoes!"
That stretched the waiter to his limit. He retorted: "Mashed?! Is that what you want?!?" And with that, he balled up his hand into a fist and pounded on the baked potato, turning it into mashed potatoes as the customers had wished.
Unfortunately, the bosses didn't appreciate his literal interpretation of satisfying the customer and ended up firing him.
13. Time To Face The Music
Recently, I found myself reminiscing with fellow alumni about an amusing chapter from my first year of college. During our second semester, I decided to take a class in music theory as an elective. The professor was stern and had a reputation for making this class particularly challenging for aspiring Music Education majors looking to excel.
As the semester wound down, I felt she was not too fond of me. Even though I often zoned out during her lectures, I consistently aced the homework, exams, and practical tests thanks to my decade-long experience with the piano.
My lack of interaction in the class seemed to be an annoyance for her, but she couldn't penalize me as I was keeping up academically and not causing disturbances.
Our final assignment was to compose a tune for a poem of our choice. She made it clear that each piece would be performed in front of the class, hinting that we should take the task seriously to avoid embarrassment. I felt her eyes on me as she said it, probably considering me the least engaged in the class. I took this as a provocation.
I picked a poem named "A Minor Bird" and decided to create a song in the difficult key of E-flat minor. This required managing six of the seven notes to be tuned a half-step down, demanding a keen focus while performing on the piano, especially when using both hands.
The pieces were to be submitted on the day of the performance, without any chance for prior practice. I labored for weeks crafting my piece, intentionally making it both high-quality and tricky to play. Feedback from seniors affirmed that my masterpiece was a rather cheeky challenge for the professor, and it turns out, she wasn't particularly popular among students in her past classes either.
Finally, the submission day arrived. Excitement was visible as I turned in my labor of love. The professor came and started sorting through the submissions on the piano. Going through a few pieces, her comments indicated her observation of the effort put in. When she picked up my submission—about 2/3 of the way—she stumbled at the very first chord.
This was my moment of satisfaction. A stern look from her confirmed her struggle to play my composition. She continued plodding through it, hitting several dissonant chords thanks to the less obvious non-flat note. The output sounded as if my creation was poorly composed.
As the performance ended, a timid student with perfect pitch queried, "Dr. , does that piece have six flats?" Amid a tense silence, the professor confessed that she could not keep track of all of them, her exasperation visible.
To her dismay, she ended up marking one of my chord labels as incorrect, resulting in a 97% score for me. But upon showing her that the non-flat note was accurately labelled, I got my score revised to a perfect 100%.
14. Private, Keep Out
Okay, so I'm hitched to an amazing lady. She's intelligent and on top of that, has a sense of humor and a heart of gold. Her mom is usually a pleasant individual with a positive mindset and charming demeanor.
Albeit conservative, she's overall nice to be around. However, she has a knack for poking her nose where it doesn't belong. In case my wife happens to leave her phone unattended, her mom won't hesitate to skim through it.
My wife has been dismissing this by saying it's probably her mom's old habit of being over-involved from her childhood. I don't particularly fancy this because, at times, we discuss matters over text that don't concern her mother and are private. Thus, over Christmas, I devised a fun strategy when I saw my wife place her phone on the kitchen countertop.
Her mom was present in the kitchen and I decided to send a rather provocative and daring text to my wife about our plans when everyone else left. To really throw her off, I exaggerated a bit.
Some of these plans were actually things we had never even considered. I dispatched this text from the restroom. I might be imagining, but I'm pretty sure I heard a sharp intake of breath not long after the phone buzzed.
When I reappeared, her mother couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with me. Then, in a not-so-subtle manner, she beckoned her daughter for a private discussion in the next room.
I initially thought my wife was upset when she returned, but a closer look revealed she was actually stifling laughter. Apparently, her mother had questioned her about me "badgering" her and wanted to know if I frequently spoke to her in such a way.
My wife responded gracefully by letting her know that what happens between us stays with us. Indeed, that was the highlight of this Christmas.
15. At A Loss For Words
In one of my classes, a big part of our final grade comes from a group research project and presentation. Everyone's familiar with the typical team scenario where there's always that one person who slacks off, forcing the others to do extra work. Unfortunately for me, I was paired with three of the worst possible team members in the class.
I ended up doing everything. From carrying out the research, preparing the presentation, creating poster boards, to dealing with countless other frustrating tasks. I tried getting them to contribute by discussing the importance of sharing the workload.
They simply didn't care. Whenever I gave them tasks to complete, they would ignore me. Even arranging meetups was a struggle; they'd commit to attending and then ditch me at the library.
This happened from the start. It was evident that they relied on others to do the work, with the "others" ironically just being me. A key rule for our project was that we couldn't memorize our presentation word-for-word nor use any scripts. We needed to genuinely understand the topic.
Being pragmatic, I was ready to do most of the talking. I even drafted a little speech for them, hoping they might at least familiarize themselves with a few lines for their parts. The night before the presentation, I wanted us to meet for a final review. Again, no one else showed up. By this point, I was furious and decided to just let them handle it on their own.
In this context, "handling it" meant standing in front of the class without anything substantial to say because they hadn't done any research. If we failed to present without a valid reason, we'd automatically fail the project.
Only excuses accompanied by documentary evidence were considered. This predicament gave birth to my perfect plan. I commute an hour each day, so I decided to feign a flat tire incident just before class.
I even bought a new tire and held onto the receipt as proof. I contacted the professor, explaining my situation, and was granted the option to present alone during office hours. Unsurprisingly, my team utterly bombed without my help. I suspect their poor performance might not only get them a failing grade for the project but potentially, the entire class as well.
16. Smells Like Teen Spirit
In 2013, I was finishing up high school in a new city after moving there to live with my dad following my parents' divorce. I'd swapped my old school and my mom in the Bay Area to reside in my dad's small apartment. This decision, while personal, would later play a significant role in my high school journey.
Usually, shifting schools isn't a big deal. However, this change was pretty abrupt. I missed out on my usual AP classes because I'd moved too late to complete the mandatory summer assignments. But it wasn't the worst part. A week into the new school year, we got introduced to a complicated senior project requirement.
The project had a fancy acronym like IMPACT, and we were supposed to write about how this "IMPACT" had shaped our experience at school. Failure to meet this requirement meant I wouldn't get to participate in the graduation ceremony. This seemed absurd to me. I'd barely spent time at the school, so the whole "IMPACT" thing didn't mean much.
I voiced my concerns to the school official in charge of the project. Her blunt reply was I had to "figure it out or don't graduate." My dad didn't mind if I skipped the graduation walk, and so I decided I'd forgo the project. But it wasn't the end of the situation.
A few months in, the school ran a progress check. When it was my turn, I plainly told the official I wasn't doing the project. She seemed startled. The following weeks saw me arguing my case multiple times, even in the vice principal's office. Apparently, my refusal to do the project was perceived as not understanding the assignment.
I clarified that it wasn't confusion—I just didn't want to do it. After multiple meetings and assurances that I'd bear the "consequences," they decided to switch their strategy: they called my mom.
Despite my clear preference for not involving her (for reasons they'd been cautioned about), they used her desire to see me walk at graduation as a persuasion tactic. This act crossed every boundary.
Even more resolved than before, I chose to stick to my decision: No project, no matter what. Every few weeks, I found myself arguing my case with different officials. Finally, the principal himself proposed a modified project.
It was obvious they cared far more about this "optional" assignment than I did. The principal wanted to leave a legacy: 100% participation in the senior project. I wasn’t about to be part of it.
After all the drama ended, to my surprise, they agreed I could walk in the graduation ceremony despite not completing the project. I was given five tickets for my family to attend. In response, I laughed, left the tickets behind, and chose not to attend my own graduation.
17. ER Karen
I've got about six years of experience working in an emergency room. Anyone who's ever worked in the ER knows that Monday is always the most hectic day of the week and it's when we get the most unusual cases.
This Monday was no exception. My role was a triage nurse, the first point of contact for patients when they arrive, so we can see who needs urgent care and who can wait a bit longer.
But contrary to what many believe, it's not a case of first in, first out. To lend a hand, we've got a few stretchers up front for those needing extra attention or medical procedures like IVs and blood draws.
We had six stretchers but this Monday was particularly packed, with all stretchers filled and an extras lining the hallway. A woman arrived by ambulance and since her symptoms were not indicative of a critical situation, we positioned her on a stretcher in the triage area.
To be fair, the woman was in considerable discomfort. After my evaluation, it became clear that gallstones were causing her pain – painful, but not life-threatening. We arranged her on a stretcher, started an IV, drew blood, and linked her to a monitor as a safety measure. Moments later, the woman’s daughter stormed in. Seeing her, we knew we were in for some drama.
She was the spitting image of a high-end 'Karen', from the shoes to the hairstyle. She lost her cool when she noticed her mom hadn't been seen by a doctor yet, threatening us with her personal connection to the hospital's CEO and demanding immediate attention for her mother.
We tried to reassure her that her mom's gallstone history was known and we were managing the extremely busy situation as best we could. The woman calmed down, but was still visibly impatient.
Roughly an hour later, another patient arrived and we placed him on the stretcher next to the mother and daughter. His complaints were concerning but, upon initial assessment, we couldn't find any serious issues. However, my nursing instincts were alerting me to this patient. All appeared normal, but my gut feeling was telling me something different, so I kept a very close eye on him.
Suddenly, the man's vital signs changed dramatically. Simultaneously, we were a level 1 trauma center, which meant we had reserved rooms equipped for particularly severe emergencies involving multiple people and possibly lots of blood. Even on busy days, these trauma bays remained clear unless they were needed, a rule that was about to become crucial.
As I noticed the man’s condition deteriorating, the daughter objected strongly to my shifting attention away from her mother. As she protested, the man's condition quickly became critical.
I rushed to take him to the trauma bay, but the "Karen" obstructed our path, demanding that her mother be seen first. With one swift move, I managed to push the stretcher past her, but not without running over her foot.
I left her yelling on the floor as I managed to get the man into the trauma bay. After working on him for about half an hour, he sadly still became unresponsive. I returned to the front to find ‘Karen’ and her mother speaking with a doctor, and was informed that ‘Karen’ was filing a complaint against me.
A few days later, the hospital CEO himself visited me during my shift. Known to be a reasonable man, he heard the daughter’s side of the story accusing me of being negligent and endangering her mother's life.
Fortunately, he also heard my side of the story highlighting how her interference had delayed the delivery of critical care to the man and had resulted in her foot being run over.
Although the mother's prognosis was as predicted—gallstones—her daughter’s foot was indeed broken. Hearing my version, the CEO tried to stifle laughter. He admitted to knowing 'Karen' from his social circle and didn't seem surprised by her behavior.
Not only did I keep my job, but the CEO wrote a personal commendation in my file which resulted in a substantial pay raise and a bonus at my next review.
18. Cutting Off Your Nose To Spite Your Face
Once upon a time, when 33.6kbps modems were the hot ticket, I was part of the tech squad at a quickly expanding business. This place had humble beginnings—it was independently owned and the highest-ranking employees had all invested their own cash to get things moving.
By the time when this event unfolded, the company's revenue was of a significant 30-40 million a year. But old habits die hard—they still behaved like a lean startup. In other words, they were super thrifty. Our team was designing electronic boards featuring built-in computer systems.
Instead of affixing the microcomputer directly to the board, we'd attach a small computer socket, then connect an "In-Circuit Emulator". This device pretended to be a microcomputer and let coders create essential programming.
This In-Circuit Emulator (or ICE for short) was a product by Hitachi. It slotted into a free PCI slot on your computer, connecting via a strip of wires to the specialized chip that was attached to the socket. It was a complete jungle of cables and gave our small IT team a heap of problems. It cost $15,000, an absolute must-have for many of our best-selling products.
The catch? We only had one. And we were leasing it—for $4,000 a month. After the first month we had it, our CTO and the VP of Marketing plotted an entire new product suite around this type of microcomputer.
At the end of the month, we techies asked management to buy it for us, as we'd be using it for a while yet. After spotting the hefty price tag, the Senior Engineer decided it was best to keep renting it.
We'd wrap things up soon, right? Being pragmatic sorts, we engineers simply shrugged it off and got back to work. Meanwhile, the CTO and Marketing were busily ordering a few million chips. After a year, the figure on the finance sheet caught the VP Finance's eye. He dialed the engineer who initiated the contract.
The engineer promptly sent on the email chain—the Senior Engineer's approval, his subsequent request to purchase, and the Senior Engineer's hesitant reply.
By the week's end, that almighty emulator became our permanent fixture—plus a second one. Finance had realized our product launch was being stalled by limited access to the gear. Hitachi just let us keep the first one.
We paid $15,000 for a second. Nobody lost their job or rank. But at the next team meet, the Senior Engineer tried to say we couldn't afford to update our computers. One engineer chirped, "Would $40 thousand cover it?" Lo and behold, the company found the cash.
19. What’s Mine Is Yours
Sharing stuff with roomies is okay with me. We've been there. Just replace what you take, that's all. Drink up my milk? Get me a new one. It's that simple. However, my current roommate doesn't seem to understand.
She's always using my things, and although I ask her politely to replace what she takes, she just gets one replacement and "forgets" the next time, even though she's financially better off than me.
The last straw was when I wanted to do laundry but found the box, where my detergent used to be, empty. I'm no brand snob, and I don't buy high-end stuff. She could have purchased any laundry detergent, even the cheapest unbranded ones, and I wouldn't have cared. I just couldn't take it anymore.
I told her many times not to touch my detergent if she wasn't going to replace it, but I'd had enough. So, I bought a new box of detergent, added some Dylon machine dye to a little portion, and poured it in the old box. Once it's dry, the dye looks exactly like detergent, especially if you're not suspecting it.
I took the new box of detergent to my room and waited. A week later, her laundry was hanging outside, all in a mysterious shade of pink. She marched up to me, demanding an explanation.
I simply told her I was planning on dyeing my clothes and was advised to blend the dye with detergent for a lighter shade (not true), and then asked her why she was using it, given my name was clearly labelled on the box and I'd specifically asked her not to use it because she never replenishes it?
I don't think she totally believed me, but she finally got the hint. Now she barely touches my stuff and when she does, she's keen to replace it right away.
20. Geography Lesson
I'm part of the team at a flooring business and manage the installations for one of our zones. Most of our workforce consists of workers from Central America, including a few women.
We get an interesting mix of clients due to our location that covers both urban and rural areas. Some of our clients have a more traditional mindset. There was an incident a while back where a customer made an outrageous request: "I don't want any Mexicans working at my place".
We have a diverse group of subcontractors, not all of them from Mexico, but representing various countries of Central America. Respecting the customer's request, we assigned a crew not from Mexico. The customer phoned in irately during the appointment.
Customer: Didn't I say no Mexicans?
Salesman: You did, sir.
Customer: Then why are there Mexicans at my doorstep saying they're with your company?
Salesman: Sir, actually Gustavo, who is at your place right now, is from Honduras.
We all had a hearty laugh at that in the office, forcing the salesman to step out to complete the call. The customer allowed Gustavo and his team to proceed with the floor installation, but we are yet to secure repeat business from him.
21. There Isn’t Room In This Town For The Both Of Us
So, picture this: I'm at Costco, it's a hectic Monday, and I’m trying to buy dog food. The parking lot is jam-packed and spots are hard to come by. Finally, I spot one at the far end of the lot.
I head towards it, about to maneuver into the spot. Suddenly, a woman rockets over the curb, nearly hitting me, just to steal my spot. A quick brake saved my car's bumper from a real catastrophe.
As I glance her way, she's shaking her head and making that "no" gesture with her finger. Seriously? I thought she might give the spot back when she realized my turn signal was on. But she stayed put.
My girlfriend, sitting next to me, is fuming over the woman's audacity. I handled it with a cool head; I handed her my Costco card and remained calmly parked in the lane.
My girlfriend went inside, grabbed the dog food, came back, and loaded up the car. As a final touch, she wheeled the shopping cart into the contentious spot before hopping back into the car.
The triumphant look on the woman’s face turned to shock and frustration as she realized that she had to step out and move the cart so that she could park. Watching from my rearview mirror as I finally drove away was the highlight of my week. Totally worth it.
22. Gimme A Break
Back in 2015, I took a job at a gloomy outsourced call center. We provided customer service for a bunch of UK retailers. There was a high staff turnover, with most of the team on temporary contracts. The lure of a permanent job was often used to keep us putting up with a not-so-great work environment.
After two years there, I was offered a permanent contract in February. They wanted me in their team leader training. The money was slightly better, and of course, job security was improved, but the one big shift was the holiday policy. Temporary workers got paid for unused holidays at the end of the working year in April.
But permanent employees needed to take their holidays or they'd disappear. I had about three weeks of holidays stacked up. So, the day I accepted the permanent contract, I booked three weeks off in March to avoid losing them in April. However, my boss informed me that my March holiday was a no-go.
I told him they could just pay me for them then. But, he shot back that no, one either uses their holidays or they lose them. Over here, I was trying to use them and they wouldn't let me. He just shrugged it off saying it was my "responsibility to manage my holidays smartly, and I should review my contract". Keep in mind, I just got this contract three weeks ago and the holiday practices had changed.
Rightfully irked by this, I thoroughly read my contract that evening. That's when I discovered an overlooked bit. The contract affirmed I simply needed to provide a week's notice, and any leftover holidays would be paid in full to any departing employee on their last paycheck.
Next day, I walked in and declared that I would resign if they neither paid me for my holidays nor gave me the leave. If they endorsed my resignation, they had to include my holiday pay in my final paycheck. My boss challenged me if I would actually leave over this, to which I responded, was he prepared to lose a dependable employee over it?
He didn't change his stance. I guess he assumed I was bluffing. So I resigned. And in my exit interview with my manager's superior, I clearly mentioned my reason for leaving. Sure enough, my final paycheck did incorporate the pay for my unused holiday days.
23. Take Your Time
I was queuing up to pay for a 12-pack of drinks at the supermarket. Another woman approached the line but, instead of standing behind me, she positioned herself right next to me. As the customer ahead of me completed her purchase, this woman tried to squeeze past me to go first.
In my thoughts, I was contemplating just letting her proceed because she seemed to be in a hurry, and I didn't particularly mind waiting a few more minutes.
It wasn't a big issue for me. However, the ace cashier, who had checked me out several times before, stepped in. Politely, he told her, "Uh, sorry but this lady was here first." The intruding woman huffed and stepped aside.
With a large grin on my face, I struck up a pleasant long conversation with the cashier. We engaged in typical banter like "How's your day going?" "Thank God it's Friday!" "Did you do anything fun for Halloween?"
It was obvious to everyone what was happening. The hurried woman was staring holes into the back of my head the entire time, and I was thoroughly enjoying the situation.
24. The Meat Of The Matter
I'm the proud owner of a BBQ joint that also does grilling. We've got a killer deal going on for the Euro Cup: just 6.50€ for a whole kilo of skewers, your choice of chicken or pork.
This story takes place on a Saturday night when we're all gathered to watch the Belgium and Portugal match. One of the attendees is a guy I'll call John—he's infamous among local restaurant owners.
You see, John is honestly the worst—he has a history of bellyaching over his food to snag freebies; either some bonus bites or the entire meal on the house. After putting in their orders, John and his crew receive their food about 20 minutes later.
Soon after, Mary, my top-notch server, storms into the kitchen, fuming and demanding the scales. Confused (I was up to my elbows in grill orders), I gave her the scales without question.
Following Mary outside, I see her march over to John's table and slam the scale down with a triumphant "Let's weigh them!" Apparently, John pulled his customary stunt, claiming his order was shortchanged and demanding an extra four skewers to "make it right."
In any other restaurant, he'd likely have a point. Most places buy pre-made skewers that weigh between 100 and 120 grams, meaning a kilo usually equals around ten skewers. But our joint wasn't just any other restaurant. We pride ourselves on making hefty, in-house skewers that weigh 180 to 220 grams (as clearly stated on our menu), so a kilo is six skewers, tops.
Put simply, John was trying to snag nearly another kilo of meat for free. Unfazed by Mary's challenge, John confidently urges her to weigh his skewers, already imagining his extra serve. Mary gets to work, stripping the skewers onto the scales. John's smirk then fades instantly—the scales register over half a kilo after just three skewers.
Then lo and behold, by the start of the fifth skewer, the scales show a little over a kilo of meat. Mary, brandishing the remaining skewers with a victorious smile, quips, "Looks like you were right, John. The order wasn't correct. We gave you extra!"
Raising the skewers as if in a toast, she cheerfully tells him she'll take them back to the kitchen and bids him to enjoy his meal. We all had a good laugh back in the kitchen, Mary most of all, while John glumly consumed his fair due as his friends had their hoots at his expense.
25. Sibling Rivalry
A few weeks back, my siblings and I (all in our twenties) embarked on a week-long trip to California. It was our first getaway just as siblings. Partway through our adventure, we attended a basketball game in Sacramento, following a day with intermittent drinks.
Once we found our seats, I removed my jacket and draped it over my chair. Knowing my tendency to forget things, I asked my sister to remind me not to abandon it when we left. She, surprisingly bitter, retorted, "I'm not your mother". This response was unexpected, considering until then, we were having a delightful trip.
Regardless, I assumed she was in a bad mood and shrugged it off. Unbelievably, a few evenings later while dining out, she was the first to exit but forgot her purse on the chair. Acting like a dutiful older brother, I swiftly grabbed it and concealed it inside my jacket.
After we'd strolled seven to eight blocks from the eatery, I casually mentioned someone else’s purse looking peculiar and she instantly realized she'd left hers. Panicking, she started sprinting back to the restaurant. I let my brother in on the act, and we leisurely walked back where our sister was in a state of chaos, noticing her purse was missing.
Calmly, I lifted her purse, stared her straight in the eyes and echoed her words, "I’m not your mother". The feeling was immensely satisfying.
26. Appreciate What You Have
During my initial days as an intern at a boutique law firm, I was the Jack-of-all-trades—from setting up computers and buying office supplies, to paying bills and meeting clients. Despite being promoted to an attorney, my responsibilities didn't change much as our underperforming secretary barely carried out her duties.
The boss, involved in some questionable business (tax evasion, for instance), couldn't possibly fire her in fear of her exposing his deeds. Besides, there were no reprimands since we worked out of his mother's house, where the secretary spent most of her time bonding with his mother, leaving yours truly in the firing line.
Often, I was painted as incompetent, pushing me to tears and driving me close to alcoholism with work stress. A disagreement around her picking up stationery (we were running out of staples!) led her to assert her non-managerial role quite rudely. It's important to note that I was senior to her both in position and tenure.
While the boss and his mother sided with her, enduring her negligence, I soon realized that I was practically burying myself in overwork, spending 50-60 hours weekly, way more than the standard 40, without garnering extra pay. I decided it was high time I prioritized my work as an attorney over managing the office.
As soon as I withdrew from managing the office, within two weeks, the office plunged into chaos. Unpaid bills led to a power blackout for ten days, making work impossible. Post accumulated due to lack of stationery, and we lost essential services, unable to serve court documents. I found workaround solutions—like hot-spotting my laptop when our Wi-Fi connection was down—but didn't share these with others.
Eventually, the boss and his mother, driven to desperation, tried to convince me to resume my previous responsibilities. But I declined.
By focusing more on my attorney work, my productivity increased alongside my income. Soon after, I transferred to the firm's secondary office, where the team collaboratively delivered according to their respective roles and responsibilities.
For the past two years, I've been working in this new office (which is part of the same firm, just in a different location) and my experience is remarkably better.
27. Hit And Run
Looking for parking at my school is always a nightmare, the lot's always jam-packed and unfortunately, there aren't many other options. On this particular day, I spotted a Corvette selfishly occupying FOUR decent parking spaces right at the front. After around 10 minutes of circling, I finally found a spot at the far end of the lot.
I was fuming at the Corvette owner's thoughtlessness, so I decided to teach them a lesson. I wrote a cheeky note saying, "Apologies for hitting your car, the damage is barely noticeable," and stuck it under their windshield wiper.
After class, as I was heading back to my car, I noticed what seemed like the typical younger Corvette owner frantically scanning their car while shouting into their phone.
I'm not sure who was on the other end of that call, but I pity them for having to bear with this person.
28. Service With Some Snark
My buddy shared a story I just had to pass along. We live in a place that boasts plenty of traditional British pubs. There's this one pub that's quite regular during the week, but it takes a club-like vibe on the weekends.
It's the only joint open after 12 am so it seems to attract quite a few unpleasant characters. One night, my friend was working there with two other bar staff: another guy and an attractive lady.
Around 11:55 pm, a man walks up. My friend, who at that moment wasn't attending to any other customer, goes to serve him—and they have an interesting interaction. "No thanks buddy, I'll wait for her," he said. My friend attempted to let him know that she was currently helping others at the far end of the bar, and he would be able to take his order instead.
The man stands firm, "I am ONLY getting served by her! No one else!" Well, alright then. My friend patiently waits for his colleague to wrap up with her ongoing customer. By the time she's done, it's around 11:57 pm.
My friend decides to intervene and suggests to her, "Hey, your shift's almost over, with only three minutes remaining. Why don't you head home? We can handle things from here." And off she goes. As per the man's demand, my friend and the other guy refuse to serve him for the rest of the night.
29. Full Of Hot Air
So, here's a story from last night. I hopped in my car to fetch my girlfriend, and I saw my tire pressure warning light flashing. Yup, I do carry a 12v air compressor in my backseat, but boy does it make a racket, and fills up tires at snail’s pace, so I figured I’d swing by our neighborhood Wawa.
Now, for those who're not familiar with Wawa, imagine if 7/11 took a few etiquette lessons and cleaned up its act. The best part—their air pumps come without a price tag. Normally, there's a bit of a line, but to my surprise, when I drove in, there was just one car at the pump.
Sweet! So, I’m queued up behind this chap in line for the pump, and an old timer in a BMW falls in line behind me. Three minutes in, a lady in a brand new shiny Lexus decides to cut the line!
She rolls up next to me, her window lowers, and she asks if she could jump queue because she only needed to fill one tire. Not keen on her lack of patience, I politely decline her request, pointing out we've been waiting too.
She mutters something under her breath, rolls up her window, and I do the same. Then in a flash, the fellow at the pump finishes up, pulls out and before I can shift my gear, fancy Lexus lady vrooms ahead, blocking my path and slips into the spot previously occupied.
Stepping out of her car, she gives me this infuriating wave which strangely brings some composure to my queasy stomach. It's time to execute my plan. I ease my car forward till it sits a whisker away from her gleaming Lexus.
Given the way the pump is situated, she's got curbs on two sides, an open spot on the third, and my car staring at her tail on the fourth. She's occupied filling her tire and she hasn't noticed my sneaky move. I get out of the car, haul out my air compressor from the backseat, and begin to set it up for my tire.
The BMW gentleman, who was all quiet till now, sees me and asks if he could be next. Without a second thought, I give him a nod and point to the empty slot next to the Lexus lady.
No sooner does he settle in, our lady spots the scene and erupts like a volcano. Unfazed, I turn on my noisy little compressor drowning her voice under its roar, and begin inflating my tire.
As he rants and throws insults, I calmly ask her, "Ma'am I just have one tire, you don’t mind, do you?" The BMW guy is having a field day, and by the time I finish his tire and he pulls out beaming, she starts again.
Ignoring her, I get into my car, set up a good beat on the radio, and warm up the AC to feel like a tropical breeze, all while she's trapped before me. With a sense of victory, I back up, wave a little goodbye, and glide off into the dark.
30. Picking Up What You’re Putting Down
Not too long ago, I used to be a bus driver for a campsite in a bustling industrial area. My job mainly involved transporting people from the camp (they lived there for a while—my shifts were two weeks on and one week off) to the plant. I'd drop them off at various stations based on their work duties, and afterwards, I'd pick up those who were heading back to the camp for a break.
We had specific pick-up and drop-off zones—essentially bus stops—meant solely for the buses. However, we faced a major inconvenience because people kept parking their work trucks in our bus spaces, restricting our movement. Despite frequent requests, this became a recurring issue and eventually, it created a major problem.
A senior executive started reprimanding us for picking up passengers outside the assigned zones (since these were often blocked by parked trucks.) We explained the predicament, and despite assuring us that he'd address the issue, nothing changed.
The next time the executive complained, my supervisor advised us—the bus drivers—to inform him via radio and just depart, if it happened again. And that's exactly what I did. To be fair, we didn't surprise our passengers.
We informed them all that if the bus zones were blocked again, we'd have no choice but to proceed without them. Many laughed it off and didn't take me seriously. However, the following day, history repeated itself.
Trucks once again intruded our zones. Like the obedient worker I was, I radioed my manager about the situation and left as instructed. I heard there were quite a few intriguing phone calls afterwards. Interestingly, we never again faced issues with trucks blocking our zones. Imagine that.
31. Justice Is Served
A while back, following my divorce, I had managed to put aside enough money to upgrade from my 12-unit apartment complex to a house. I was thrilled and shared the news with my best neighbor friend. However, he gave me a piece of worrying news—our landlord had a reputation for not returning security deposits.
After notifying my departure, the landlord didn't even conduct a final inspection. Thirty days later, I reached out to her to inquire about my deposit but was met with silence. As a result, I decided to take her to small claims court to recover my deposit.
She escalated the matter by hiring an attorney and transferred the case to a higher court. Many would back out at this stage, but I wasn't one of them. I had some extra time on my hands and a love for a strategic game. So, I confirmed with the court that I could act as my own representative (which, by the way, anyone can do).
I proceeded to send a formal letter to her attorney requesting a full disclosure of the evidence they planned to present. A big shout out to all the TV shows that clarified what full disclosure meant.
A week later, the attorney rang me asking to discuss a settlement to avoid court—victory achieved. But here's where it gets funny, my act of petty revenge. I informed my neighbor on how to retrieve his security deposit when he was ready to move out. He went ahead and passed on this knowledge to the rest of the tenants.
So, the final score was...Me: +1 and the Landlord: -12.
32. Being A Good Samaritan
You know those Amazon sellers who offer gift cards and complimentary items in return for 5-star reviews? Well, what I do is take their offer, give them their 5-star review, receive my gift card or freebie, and then change my review to one star and clearly state what's happening.
I've found myself receiving surprise parcels containing things like headphones, accompanied by a note that promises free stuff or a $10 gift card, all for a 5-star review on Amazon.
As a prolific reviewer, I've written over 2,000 genuine reviews over time. To me, honest reviews are what make Amazon valuable, and nothing aggravates me more than counterfeit reviews that push low-quality products. So I came up with a plan for revenge—and boy, was it petty.
So, I decided to actually write the review, send a link to it to the "con artist", collect my $10 gift card, and then revise my review to plainly tell everyone how this trickster is trying to manipulate the system.
There's really nothing stopping you from doing the same. Not only does it waste these swindlers' time and money, but your enlightening review can help make others aware of these practices.
33. Perfect Strangers
We live in an apartment complex, and people come and go from time to time. Just yesterday, we bumped into a short lady with red hair who just moved in. My boyfriend said "Hello" and tried to welcome her, but she interrupted him with, "Shut up, I don't know you". Alrighty then, no need to be chummy here!
Earlier today, when we got back from the supermarket, we spotted her attempting to jimmy the lock with something resembling a paperclip. Seems like a plan destined for success, right? Clearly she'd been at it for some time, as before we had a chance to unlock the door ourselves, a cop car pulled up and an officer hailed her. We hung back to spectate—it was hard not to.
When questioned why she was trying to force entry, she claimed she lived here and gestured at us, declaring, "They know me". With a grin, my boyfriend chimed in, "I don't know you". We headed into the building after the officer double checked with us, and my boyfriend affirmed, "We don't know her". Looks like we'll be having more colorful interactions with her...
34. An Extra Large Prank
I'm employed at a popular pizza delivery franchise that's yet to outshine Pizza Hut. We're based in a university town, and with everyone currently stuck at home due to evident reasons, we're experiencing a noticeable increase in prank calls. While it was just once a day earlier, now it's shot up to three to five.
Considering our inflating customer-base during this period, it's a real nuisance. What frustrates me even more is the lack of creativity in these pranks. Nearly 80% are either requesting boneless pizzas or jokingly asking if it’s the Krusty Krab.
To deal with the persistent tomfoolery, I began hanging up on these calls as soon as someone started being foolish. Although this upset my boss, he never reprimanded me until a particular event occurred.
One time, I hung up on a prankster who actually wanted to order after his boneless pizza joke. Consequently, my boss lectured me and sent a reminder out on the company's group chat, urging employees not to take the same approach.
He asked us to handle each call professionally, explain kindly if we can’t make what they ask for, and suggest alternatives to keep the customers and the cash flow going. It didn't take long for the next entertaining call to come through.
Answering the call with a courteous greeting, I was asked for an excessively large pizza loaded with three times the regular toppings. I politely explained the largest size and topping quantity we can offer. The lady then asked for twenty XL pizzas of each variety we served while there were evident giggles in the background.
Regardless, I processed the request and told them that their bulk order of 180 pizzas would cost around a thousand dollars (not the exact amount but close enough) and it'd take around three hours. They agreed and dropped the call before promising to pay by check on arrival.
Barely a minute later, my boss stormed past to view the order summary. He could hardly believe the promised payment method and had his doubts if this was another prank call. While I directed him to his own advice to take all calls seriously, I heard roaring laughter as he attempted to call back the customer.
Throughout this commotion, the other staff members were innocently prepping the monstrous order, unaware of the prank. By the time my boss managed to end the call and void the order from the system, five XL pepperoni pizzas were already baking in the oven.
So, we treated ourselves with those, and found another message from the boss in the group chat emphasizing to exercise sound judgment while accepting orders.
35. Instant Replay
One of my neighbors owned a dog that I swear didn't stop barking, from roughly 7 pm to 5 am. I think the owners were night-shift workers, leaving the dog outside all evening. I visited them several times about this issue, only to hear: "Dogs bark, what do you expect?"
Our homes were directly adjacent to one another, separated by a thin wall. So, one day I decided to record the non-stop barking of their dog. Once I felt sure they had brought their dog in and were probably trying to catch up on sleep, I put my phone in my docking station and played the recording at full volume, aimed towards their house.
Around noon, they emerged, furiously making their way to my property in order to tell me to quiet my dog. This gave me the chance to tell them, "That's your dog. I recorded him, so you could witness the noise he makes. I'm just playing sounds during the hours when the city permits it, and I will continue to do this every single day."
After this interaction, they started bringing their noisy pet in during the night time.
36. Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys
"Stay out of your mom's Facebook business," my dad once told me years ago when I got into a debate with her over some biased comments she made online. Facebook seems to bring out a side of my mom that is quite unlike her normally sweet nature—she seems to get caught up in unwise, closed-minded conversations.
And then today, there was this unauthorized protest in town. It was orchestrated by some of the less desirable folks in our community over on Facebook. There's a small group of around 100 misguided individuals in our country who actually stand up from their computer chairs, and cause havoc on public transportation in our city, all under the umbrella of 'the people's cause.'
My parents, who aren't exactly part of this 100, but appear to be leaning that way, attended today's protest. Despite being unsanctioned and being asked to disperse, they refused and as a result, were detained.
With no ID on them, they weren't set free. My dad rang me for the first time today, requesting that I head over to their house, pick their IDs, and bring them to the station.
When I inquired if it was related to the Facebook event, his 'yes' led to my snappy response: "Well, I shouldn't interfere then." I hung up, then ignored his subsequent 17 calls. Later tonight, my aunt went to rescue them.
Now, everyone's upset with me, branding me as a 'traitor'—the only exception being my grandma who dropped a call saying she missed me. That made my day and I haven't stopped grinning since!
37. Spanglish Strikes Again
So, let me tell you about a buddy of mine we'll call Sean. Sean's parents are Americans but he was born and raised in South America. Because of this, he's fluent in Spanish, but with his blonde hair, green eyes, and fair skin, he doesn't look Hispanic. Fast forward to his late twenties, Sean, now living in the US since his teen years, is perfectly bilingual.
One day, Sean stops at a “Mexican” fast food joint where you choose your ingredients as you go along, let's cheekily call it “e. Coli". As he starts to order, two of the Hispanic workers snicker at his appearance, cracking jokes about his hair, his skinny jeans, and even questioning his masculinity, all while managing to keep a professional facade as they prepare his food.
Sean, playing it cool and acting completely clueless to their mockery, just calmly continues with his order. Once he gets to the cashier (not one of the two jokesters), he calmly asks the cashier to call the humorists over, which they do since there's no queue behind him.
As the two employees walk over, puzzled, Sean, still in English, says, “I really appreciate the service both of you provided. Your commentary was also top-notch. Now if you could be so kind…” Then, without skipping a beat, he switches to flawless Spanish: “Me pueden llamar a su jefe?” Or in English: “Could you call over your boss?”
Sean still chuckles recalling their stunned reactions. In the end, the manager not only paid for Sean's meal but also handed him 10 gift cards. And the cherry on top? Sean never saw those two employees at that location again.
38. You’re Hot Then You’re Cold
I used to manage a shop for a popular ice cream chain in New York City called Ralph's. One evening, as I was helping scoop ice cream, I noticed a difficult customer at the front of the queue, badgering one of our young employees. She was upset because she believed the hot fudge on her sundae was too hot and would melt her ice cream.
I go over to calm things down, explaining to her that hot fudge is served warm and it's the norm. Ignoring her complaints, I prepared her a new sundae using magic shell topping, but let her keep the original one too. However, this was just the beginning.
As I came back with her new sundae, she was already getting ready to raise another issue with a sherbet-like dessert she'd ordered. She told me that her "graham crunch" scoop didn’t contain any actual graham crunch, and accused me of deliberately doing this.
I calmly explained to her that I don't make or name the ice cream flavors, but she was having none of it. She demanded a fix, and so I did.
Ignoring her tirade, I went to the back and got an entire container of crushed graham cracker topping. By the time I returned to the front, a crowd had swelled up because of the lady's antics. Keeping eye contact with her, while she continued to tell me that I was wrong, I spread the entire topping on her ice cream—graham crunch was everywhere.
Furious at this, she swore she knew the owner and would have me fired. I replied, "Yeah, Steve is a nice guy," to which she declared, "I’ve known Steve a long time." I retorted, "Well his name is John. Please leave and stop bothering my employees for free ice cream."
Embarrassed and defeated, the lady left swiftly. To my relief, she never returned during my tenure there. Heartwarmingly, the next few patrons gave generous tips, making up for the unpleasant experience. This incident sparked an important realization among my young employees—their manager indeed had their backs.
39. Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls
So here's the story: my ex and I bought our house from his family. It was a quaint home they'd built in the '50s. For the longest time, my father-in-law dreamed of installing a shutoff valve in the utility room, which could turn off the water for the entire household, making repairs easier.
But, because the "buffalo box"–aka the control switch at the road linked to the city's water main – was nowhere to be found, the only option was to freeze the pipes. Unfortunately, this method was quite pricey, and so it remained a dream.
Fast-forward to when we become homeowners. We decide to make the dream a reality and place a call to the water department for assistance. Two workers come over, listen to our situation, have a quick look around the yard and proclaim they can't help. Apparently, their inability to find the buffalo box becomes my issue and they recommend a pricey yard dig by a plumber.
Now, my background in residential construction meant I knew a thing or two about water mains and buffalo boxes. I quickly pointed out that it was their responsibility, not mine. They did not take kindly to this, dismissing me entirely due to my gender, and promptly left.
Lo and behold, a year later I get a call from the city manager because my water bills are unpaid. I explain that I would be glad to pay if they just shut off my water, as apparently, they were the only ones who could find the elusive buffalo box.
After a lengthy conversation and explanation of the mishaps with his workers, he promises to correct the situation promptly. The next day, the same two workers arrive armed with digging tools. They dig up the city's sidewalk (yes, turns out the buffalo box was there all along) and finally make it serviceable, fixing the sidewalk afterward.
After a more respectful interaction, where they even apologized, I told them to leave the water on. I would get our plumber to handle the indoor shutoff valve when we were ready for the installation. After that, I happily paid the overdue water bill. No harm done, eventually.
40. Everybody Loves A Pizza Party
Almost a decade back, while I was fresh out of college in my very first permanent job, I found myself working under a boss who seemed to despise me. I never quite understood why, but she always went the extra mile to make things tough for me. She bumped me down to the night shift for no apparent reason.
She had a penchant for chopping and changing my shift randomly without any prior warning. There was even an instance where she tweaked my next day's schedule after I had signed off work for the day and didn't notify me. Understandably, I failed to clock in on time and she penalized me for it. This made me lose it.
Naturally, I was on the lookout for a new job. Ultimately, I managed to spot one, and I strolled into her cabin to hand in my two weeks’ notice. My timing was impeccable. The company was in the middle of a mass staff walkout, and I was the fifth employee to chuck in my resignation within a span of 3-4 weeks.
Employee spirits were at a record low. Instead of taking a hard look at why the work atmosphere was so inhospitable that employees were dropping out, she opted for a bizarre morale-boosting tactic—buying pizzas for the rest.
After I served my notice to her, she instructed me, "Don't let anyone know you're leaving". So, I kept my word and sauntered out of her room, only to exclaim to my colleagues, "Hey, guess what guys! A pizza party is coming your way!" They instantly got the drift of what had transpired.
She wasn't at all pleased, but I was on cloud nine, to say the least. I spent my final fortnight at that job, and she never spoke to me ever again.
41. Pencil Me In
The job I'm at hired me with the understanding that I'd work Tuesday-Saturday, 2 pm to 10 pm. That's always been clear. In fact, I even confirmed it so I could coordinate my childcare. There was this one time when my name got skipped in the weekly schedule, but I was told to stick to my regular hours.
Things took a turn around Thanksgiving. The company shut down for a week. To qualify for the holiday pay, we have to work our last shift before the break and the first one after. Now, remember, my off days are Sundays and Mondays. But the Monday after Thanksgiving, I got a call saying I was missing at work and, therefore, wouldn't receive my holiday pay.
You can imagine my frustration. I was always provided with a Tuesday-Saturday schedule, and so I had only arranged childcare for those specific days. I couldn't just pop up at work as I pleased. Yet, the call’s message was pretty clear; it's on me to check the weekly schedule as it may get changed.
Jump to this week. I peep at the schedule, and it's my usual pattern except this time Saturday's free. So I think, why question a good thing, and decided to extend my weekend to three days. Of course, I assumed I wasn't needed since I wasn't on the schedule.
Received a call from work on Saturday, which I missed and they didn't bother leaving a voicemail. My boss, however, texted to imply that I'm expected to show up regardless of the schedule as my timetable “never changes”. I defended my stance, reminding my boss that employees are told to follow the weekly schedule, which didn't include me this time.
Yet to hear back from her and I'm pretty curious about how Tuesday will unravel. I even clicked a picture of the schedule, you know, just in case I'm cornered. Additionally, I'm all set to move to a new job; I'm just awaiting my joining date to bid goodbye to this one.
42. You’ve Got To Crack A Few Eggs…
So, my first paying gig was working as a server at a popular, round-the-clock pancake house/chain. We had a wide variety of interesting patrons. One morning, I was waiting on a lady dining alone.
She asked for an omelette when I inquired about her order. We had a selection of pre-made omelettes, but also you have the option to customize one, so she was asked how she'd prefer her omelette. Her response was, "Just a basic omelette, thank you."
"Well, if you're not going for one of our signature omelettes, what would you like to have in yours?" I prodded. "Nothing, just a basic omelette". She curtly responds, seemingly irritated. This type of order was uncommon, but not unheard of. Some folks appreciate a simple omelette made from whisked and cooked eggs.
"Sure, so you'd prefer an omelette sans any filling?" "YES! An unadorned omelette!" She retorts, seemingly annoyed by my repeated inquiries.
So, I placed her order in the system: a 5-egg omelette, void of fillings or toppings. Shortly afterwards, it's served, and she's visibly stunned. "What on earth is this?!" "Your unadorned omelette," I politely respond... “And where are the cheese, the ham, and the onions?!”
She fumes. “Ma’am, you specifically requested an omelette without anything inside…” She arrogantly retorts, “An omelette translates to a roll of eggs with ham, cheese, and onions! All additional ingredients are extras! Someone working at a breakfast diner should know this!”
I maintain a neutral expression and kindly inform her, “Actually, ma’am, the term 'omelette' is French for a mix of whisked, fried and then folded or rolled eggs; adding other ingredients are options".
As my other interesting patrons need attending to, I leave her and continue with my tasks as she signals a manager to voice her grievance. The manager then reiterates my previous explanation, even pointing to a specific menu item—a clear, large picture of a ham, cheese, and onion omelette.
Next, he requires her to place her order again, making her wait for a second time. Unsurprisingly, there was no tip left behind.
43. Lost In Translation
As a fair-skinned Latina American who spent a few years in Korea for university, mastering Korean Interpretation and Translation, I had the chance to go to K-pop music shows occasionally. If you aren't familiar with K-pop, you can go to these music shows free of charge if you bring one of three things with you.
These include: A) an album from the group performing, B) proof you bought the album digitally from a recognized music vendor in Korea, or C) the official light stick from the most recent concert. Fans who belonged to the official fan club and had all three items got the first crack, followed by members with two, then one. Non-members followed in the same priority order.
However, the band I was there to see hadn't had fan club registration open for nearly ten years. So their management decided to use a first-come, first-serve system, but stuck to the three items first, then two, then one priority. I had all three items and was early, so I managed to snag a sweet spot in line.
We often lined up for hours outside while waiting for the previous filming session to wrap up. These venues are pretty small and only accommodate a few bands' fan bases at a time, so not all fans in line can get in. This time around, some foreign fans had been causing a commotion by taking photos and not following instructions.
Because of this, venue staff quizzed each foreign person in line about their Korean language skills. Those who couldn't understand were asked to leave. I was able to answer their questions correctly, so I stayed in line. Here's where things start to get interesting. Many Korean fans had a strong dislike for foreign fans due to the recent disruptions.
This ban, specifically, caused a lot of irritation among people who now had to wait behind foreigners as the official fan club priority was removed. So, there I was, sitting alone outside in line on a hot day, with a group of Korean girls in front of me and another Korean girl on a phone call behind me.
As I kept myself busy with phone games after acing the Korean quiz, I overheard the girl behind me vent her frustrations. Apparently, she was under the impression that "us foreign 'pests' were spoiling everything for them" and that "she felt like ending us."
She mentioned me and said she suspected I had bribed the staff to keep my spot despite not being able to understand Korean. I could have ignored her, as her words didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, but they bothered me because she was being quite loud.
So, I picked up my purse, quietly requested the girls in front of me to watch my belongings, and hold my spot while I popped into a nearby convenience store. There, I bought everyone water. With about a dozen bottles, I returned to my spot, thanked the girls for holding my place, and handed them each a bottle of water.
I shared the water with the group in front of them too, then turned to the girl behind me who was still on her phone, and handed her a bottle with a friendly smile. Her face lit up as she thanked me in English, her phone temporarily forgotten at her side. As I gave her the water, I mentioned in flawless Korean with a smile, "The next time you're going to openly criticize foreigners, be certain they don't actually comprehend you."
The immediate area turned pin-drop silent. Her smile vanished faster than an ice cream melting on a Florida pavement. She blushed deeply, excused herself from her phone conversation, and turned to me with an embarrassed apology. I accepted it, of course.
She had her water, and I felt better about myself. As an added bonus, the girls in front lined caught the whole exchange and invited me into their group for the day. It turned out to be quite a fun day all around.
44. A Whole Lot Of Nothing
In my previous role as a 911 operator, I once got a call from a woman who found a Black man strolling along her street as something to gripe about. Even though he wasn't doing anything illegal at all, she was troubled because, in her words, "he's walking down the street and he's Black".
She was adamant that we send a cop to have a chat with her, and per our standard policy, we had to oblige. Thus, I came up with the perfect solution—I decided to assign the only Black officer available at that time even though he was working in a different region.
A quick computer message to the officer and supervisor made it clear why I was deploying him. When he reached her place, she panicked and rang us again, yelling about a Black man knocking on her door.
I explained, "Yes, that's the police officer you asked us to send over". In the end, her refusal to open the door and her subsequent tantrum on the phone forced me to call the supervisor to intervene.
45. Just Desserts
I've been attending culinary school for slightly over a year now, yet my mum's support has been noticeably lacking. This could be because I left nursing school to follow my passion for cooking.
Often, she makes cutting remarks about how I should have opted for a career in nursing or law. The implication; I might end up as a stay-at-home wife with limited career prospects in my chosen field.
Whenever I prepare a dish, her critique invariably follows in the spirit of Gordon Ramsay: "This is too salty", "It's not cooked enough", "It appears unappetizing". This is despite it frequently being well received otherwise.
It feels as though she is always on the hunt for minor imperfections in my cooking, continually asserting that I can't cook and should reconsider my career path.
Despite her skepticism, I've prepared three-course meals that are met with acclaim, save for her feedback. Once, for one of her work gatherings, I created a large batch of my signature homemade meatballs—a creation entirely of my own. The dish was such a hit that none were left.
Eager for her approval, I asked for her thoughts. Her response? "They were intoxicated, they couldn't discern the flavor anyway". It dawned on me then that I'd have to devise a ruse to gain her appreciation.
And so, I prepared her favorite meal from scratch, professionally presented and disguised in a standard takeaway box. As evidence, my boyfriend captured the preparation process on video.
Posing the meal as a takeaway from a fictional diner, we delivered it to her. To our delight, she found the meal delicious and even expressed interest in visiting this "diner". Probing deeper, I asked for her detailed opinion for a proposed Yelp review. That's when I revealed that the meal she’d been praising was my creation.
Shocked, she backtracked, insisted her earlier praises were untruthful and started picking faults with the dish. When I questioned why she'd almost finished it if it was as unpleasant as she claimed, she kept silent.
We left her to digest the reality, and later I caught her continuing to eat the dish. Finally, when confronted again, she admitted, with laughter, that I was indeed a talented chef.
This year-long quest for acknowledgment finally resulted in an admission: She approves of my culinary skills.
46. Bend, And Snap!
A few years back, while working as a bartender and server, I had this encounter with an all-business-looking bunch. From the instant they walked in and settled, something felt off. Little did I know just how far things would go.
As I wrapped up their order and prepared to depart their table, one of the slick-looking guys in his 30s declared, loud enough for all to hear, “walk away slowly baby so we can watch".
Playing along, I smirked at him and started to make a cheeky, exaggeratedly slow exit, maintaining eye contact and grinning the entire time. As soon as I got a chance, I shared the story with my fellow servers.
Soon, everyone was performing these theatrical, slow motion walks each time they passed that group. The highlight was one of the busboys, who purposely dropped something by their table and executed a tantalizingly slow pick-up—think the iconic “bend and snap” scene from Legally Blonde.
True to form, they didn't linger any longer than necessary.
47. Little Light Lie
A few years back, we got new folks living next door to us. They were nice folks, but we had a bit of an issue with them. The man of the house was often away, and his wife was pretty skittish about everything—night time, thunderstorms, you get the picture.
The real issue was the floodlights over their garage. She'd leave them blazing all night, even though it made no difference inside their place.
Somehow, the lights ended up facing straight into our bedroom, with our curtains offering hardly any cover. We nicely asked them a few times to switch them off at night, seeing as they weren't really doing much. But they stuck to their guns. I even offered to buy a timer for the lights.
There was no convincing them. Thinking about it, I considered removing the bulbs or shooting them out with my pellet gun. The solution I landed on was loosening the bulbs just enough to keep them off.
They couldn't notice it from within their house, so it took about half a year before they realized the lights were off. They rotated the bulbs back in. I bided my time for a couple of weeks and then spun them out again.
Another couple of months passed. Eventually, my neighbor brought up if I ever had issues with my outdoor lights. I let him know that, as a matter of fact, I did. Told him they would unfasten every now and then, needing a retighten. I shrugged it off as being caused by the vibrations from street traffic. Turns out, he was dealing with the same thing.
I let him know that, in the end, I just threw in the towel and left my lights off. He eventually followed suit. We were pleased with how things turned out and managed to find our rhythm in the neighborhood.
48. Dancing Around The Issue
When I was 16 and freshly in possession of my driver’s license, my folks sent me to pick up some groceries. On my way home, I swung by my buddy's place to brag about finally driving solo, reveling in the teenage milestone. That fleeting pit-stop, though, soon turned sour.
My stepmom, Mary Ann, lost her marbles. "Your task wasn't visiting Bill! You were to go shopping and immediately come home!" I reasoned that since they had allowed me to drive to Matt's yesterday, they wouldn't mind me driving to Bill's today. But they wouldn't budge, and they quickly laid down a stern rule.
"You can't drive anywhere except for places which have our explicit consent. Plain and simple. Even if we've let you drive somewhere once, that doesn't grant you unending access. Remember that." Fast forward three days, and my 13-year-old stepsister has not been making things easy. After giving me the cold shoulder all day, she surprisingly drops a sweet note.
"Hey Brian, time to drive me to my ballet lessons." This thrice-a-week routine has been part of my duties ever since I got the license. Observing the scenario, I saw a chance to serve a collective "Take that!" and retorted, "Nuh-uh, Tina. Didn't get the parent's nod to chauffeur you today, and I have no intentions of landing into hot water again!"
Cue her aboslutely epic meltdown—tears, pleas, threats—followed by frantic calls and messages to mom and dad. As the rock anthem goes, "Time keeps on slippin', into the future". Nervousness sets in about whether I'll actually go through with it. But no calls from mom and dad, and the ballet lesson starts without her.
At last, Mary Ann comes home and is startled by Tina. "Why are you here? You should be at ballet!" After listening to Tina's narrative (conveniently omitting her own part in the tiff) they argue before she storms into my room, promising an impending dad intervention.
I attempted to smother a laugh. So, the age-old threat, "Wait till your father gets home!", actually exists! Finally, dad, too, arrives and gets bombarded by their story. Expecting the worst, I retreat to my room—but things took a surprising turn.
Shortly after, dad calls me over. "Brian, you got us," he states. I'm confused, "What do you mean, Dad?" "You've checkmated us all and we've no way out. Now let’s sit down and work out a beneficial deal…" And they did. They admitted their strictness was amiss, recognized Tina's unpleasant demeanor towards me, and moderated the stringent driving rule.
Feeling accomplished, I strolled back to my room, the biggest smile plastered over my face. Dad and stepmom had no idea they were dealing with a scheming mastermind.
49. Just A Tip
A few months ago, my boyfriend and I decided to grab some drinks at a charming little "speakeasy" bar tucked away in Montreal. This place was really quite unique. First off, the entrance was quite hidden and then inside, it had this great buzz. Keep in mind, this isn't one of those bars where you go up and order drinks. Instead, their staff would come and serve you at your table.
So, we snagged a spot and ordered a round of cocktails. Then another and another. But every time, either my boyfriend or I had to hunt down our server to take our order or we had to go to the bar ourselves. This cycle continued even when we asked for our bill.
When our server finally came to our table, he thought we were ordering yet again, even though I had clearly asked for the bill. When he returned with the card machine after another 10-minute delay, I was rather frustrated. I had to decide whether or not his subpar service warranted a tip. The machine had options for 10%, 15%, 20%, or "other."
Given the circumstance, I opted for a mere 10% to avoid any issues. Montreal's service industry is known for its staunch tip expectations. When the server got the receipt, he saw the 10% tip and asked how our evening was. My boyfriend replied, "It was good."
We thought it was just a polite question, so we didn't mention our issues with the service. The server then lectured us, "If you had a good time, you should've tipped 15%. In Canada, we typically leave 15% for good service."
Perhaps he would have avoided his assumptions about tipping expectations in Canada if I hadn't been a person of color. Now for my small act of defiance. I said, "Why don't you cancel the bill so I can correct my tip?” He agreed after alerting us that manager approval was necessary for cancellations.
We waited another long 10 minutes for the revised bill. Once it arrived, I entered my PIN and selected the "other" option for the tip, leaving him nothing. His stunned expression was the cherry on top.
We stood up to leave and my boyfriend, who's a white Canadian, added, "Our only tip for you is to improve your service and be less of a jerk. We Canadians aren't fond of that sort of attitude".
50. We Are Never Getting Back Together
About two years ago, I began a digital marketing role at a company. Quickly, I learned that I was hired to tackle the challenges left by the last marketer who had burned through over a million dollars, achieving only five contracts, two of which were less than $10,000 each.
Naturally, this meant I had my work cut out for me, operating with just a fraction of the previous budget. Luckily, I managed to surpass the previous year's metrics using mostly free tools. Initially, I was impressed with our CEO, whom I'll refer to as "Bossman". His management approach came with some encouraging phrases like, "Your victories are yours, your mistakes are mine" and "We're not aiming for perfection, just get things done".
In effect, I was running my own one-person department, along with some freelancers. As my only colleague, I had to familiarize myself with a variety of duties outside of my digital marketing skill set. Overall, life was good, except for one thing—Bossman had a bit of a temper issue.
While I was usually immune to his tantrums, I did witness him berate and fire others for trivial things. Occasionally, his anger was directed at me, but he would calm down and everything would return to normal. Sadly, in hindsight, this was an abusive relationship dynamic.
As the year closed, I suggested a performance review to Bossman. We discussed my achievements throughout the year, and he was surprised at my accomplishments despite my limited resources.
I requested a raise, given my salary was less compared to industry averages. He promised to look into it, but never did. After repeated conversations were met with excuses, I started job hunting.
During a recent meeting, it emerged that I had made a minor error two months earlier. Bossman reacted explosively, despite the mistake causing no harm to the company and being promptly addressed.
Then, he asked me to pack up my belongings and consider if I still wanted to work there. I decisively chose “No”. As I packed, he became more agitated and threatened to call security—ironically, while I was already willingly leaving.
Here’s the sweet part—my country is stout on employee rights, and Bossman's actions amounted to wrongful dismissal. Legally, I'm entitled to a 30-day notice period, which he didn’t respect. Upon realizing his error, he attempted to conduct a termination hearing, but it was too late, and now, he faces a potential lawsuit, which I'm preparing with my lawyer.
He's required to pay me for the next 30 days, during which I can fully enjoy my salary benefits without needing to work. And, if he tries anything, it would only worsen the legal consequences for him.
Meanwhile, I have several interviews coming up, offering nearly double my current salary, courtesy of Bossman. Plus, since I was the only marketer, marketing operations will be at a standstill for the next month, affecting any potential replacements.
51. Have Your Cake And Eat It Too
Back in my college days, I shared my room with a friend who had a habit of munching on my food, mostly leftovers from my meal preps. Taking into account that it was pricey and inconvenient for me, I asked him to stop but sadly, it only triggered him into eating even more.
As a harmless revenge, I baked a peculiar chocolate cake, adding habanero peppers to the mix and frosting it with wasabi. This was bound to stimulate a strong reaction as he could barely handle spicy dishes. I confidently labeled it with my name and a huge "Do Not Eat" warning.
A couple of days passed and during a night of drinking, they decided to dig into my food, my deceivingly delicious-looking cake. Despite the heat, they managed to finish a third of it and like clockwork, they ended up hugging the toilet bowl due to a mix of excess drinking and the spicy cake. To add insult to injury, they had to deal with the after-effects which mustn't have been pleasant.
Finally, when he confronted me about the 'monster' cake, I shrugged it off as a new, experimental recipe I found online. Following this unsavory experience, he steered clear from eating my food.
52. Trying To Do The Impossible
When I used to live in the city, I was under a contract with an internet provider. After spending one year in my apartment, I thought of shifting into a farm with my boyfriend, who is now my husband. The farm was located on a dusty road, totally secluded.
So, I dialed my internet provider to cancel my internet services. I said: "I need to cancel because I’m moving—" But they interrupted me stating that my service goes wherever I move! They mentioned that I signed a contract for a few years which can only be ended prematurely if they fail to provide service.
I replied stating they indeed cannot provide service as I'm relocating to a rural area. But they dismissed it, claiming they serve numerous rural communities. They asked for my new area's postal code.
After learning my postal code they stated, that it belongs to a specific town and they do have service there. However, I had to clarify that I'll be living on a farm OUTSIDE of that town, not inside it.
They once again recited the contract rules and suggested a ridiculous fine if I wished to terminate my contract early without any valid reason. That’s when I decided to plan my little revenge.
I said: "Alright, I would ADORE having high-speed internet over the dreadful satellite internet! When can you arrive?" The installation guy had to call me thrice from his vehicle because of getting lost twice and getting trapped in a snow drift the third time.
As soon as he managed to reach, it took him less than a minute to understand that there is absolutely no infrastructure to support high-speed internet.
I offered him a warm coffee for the inconvenience he faced and he was more than happy to cancel my service without any fee and took my returned equipment. It cost them about 3-4 hour call when considering the drive, just trying to hold onto an impractical contract.
53. Two Green Thumbs Down
We all enjoy a festive backyard get-together from time to time. But my neighbor? They're a regular party animal. Almost every weekend, they'll throw a party right in their backyard, inviting friends and numerous families with kids. Instead of calm, pleasant conversations, they holler over each other—the louder you yell, the longer you get to speak.
And don't even get me started on the kids who screech just to steal the spotlight. Initially, I chose to ignore it. But after a full summer of their noise levels surpassing my TV or stereo within my house, I had to take action. So, here's what I do: I patiently wait until they start serving food... and then I fire up the lawnmower right as they settle down to eat. The roaring noise drowns out their fuss, leaving them with no choice but to retreat inside, hauling all their food and resetting the table.
Sometimes, they brave it out and return after I'm done mowing, attempting to continue their shindig. And in those instances, I suddenly discover a bush or tree in my garden that urgently needs some good old hedge trimming. Yeah, it's a bit petty, but it sure does make me feel better.
54. Count ‘Em Up
I reluctantly took a job which in turn led to my entire senior team getting sacked. I've been working in an unspecified military branch for half a decade, and as I approach the end of my contract, I care very little about what happens next. I am responsible for keeping track of certain smaller items that multiple people around the office need to use.
Every now and then, these things go "missing." Most of the time, it's mainly because the items are misplaced, but we just finished a phase where plenty of contractors were on site and often things ended up taken. We occasionally conduct a stock-check of these items for auditing purposes. If things are found missing, it reflects poorly on not just me, but my managers too.
I performed a stock-check and was shocked at how much was missing. After completing everything I was asked to, I submitted the inventory to my boss. He was skeptical about the number of missing items and requested a recheck. So, I reassessed, arrived at the same result, and placed it in his inbox. A few months passed, and the same thing happened.
Added to my repeated tasks was the statement: "There can't be that many missing! Do it again." Being fully cooperative, I repeated the process over and over for more than a year.
During this period, it became increasingly clear that my boss was intentionally postponing dealing with it to foist off the issue upon his successor. While I was off-duty sleeping one week, because I work night shifts, I received a wake-up call.
I was instructed by my boss to take an anonymous survey alongside my colleagues which would then be sent directly to the top management. This was supposedly an opportunity for us, the junior guys, to express our concerns directly to the upper management. Even after I reminded him I was on the night shift, he insisted I participate. All right, fine. The boss clearly stated before the survey started that we should all be completely honest since the responses were anonymous.
Perfect. I wrote frankly about the inventory issues and pointed them towards the stored inventory records for proof. A few days pass, and I arrive at work to quite a shock. All my superiors were dismissed, and now I'm answering to new leadership, who are promptly addressing the stock discrepancies.
55. Pennies From Heaven
About four years ago, I was at my job as a cashier and it was late at night, around 10 pm, when two guys in their 20s sauntered up to my till. They had a handful of random novelty objects whose significance I couldn’t discern, unusual purchases for such a late hour. Perhaps it was some kind of fraternity prank, considering we were in a college town.
They owed $22.31 after I scanned their items. Smirking gleefully, they pulled out two massive zip-lock bags bursting with pennies from their jackets. As I realized what they were doing, the other customers collectively sighed and moved to different tills.
This duo knew they were causing a stir, but what they didn’t know was that I was ready for this kind of situation. As I was going to get paid either way, I decided to have some fun with the situation, just like they were. The main instigator, the Ringleader, was the one I had most of my interaction with, while the other remained silent.
Our chat went something like this:
Me: "So this is $22.31?”
Me: "Did you count it?"
Me: "Are you planning to?"
Me: "Do we at least have $22.31 here?"
Ringleader: "I'm not sure."
Me: "Fair enough."
A co-worker tried to advise them to use the self-checkout so they could deposit the pennies directly into the machine. But the Ringleader was suspicious of their reliability. Ignoring my co-worker’s protestations, I dumped all the coins onto the counter, savoring every clink and clatter.
They snickered, seeming to delight in what they perceived as my discomfort. They even made comments like "Dude, this is epic," "Yeah, man," "So funny."
My co-worker offered to help, and we slowly but proficiently counted each penny. Several customers approached, saw the coin-laden counter, and chose to join other lines or leave altogether. Meanwhile, another register was opened to serve others in the queue.
About halfway through – having tallied up to $12 – I decided it was time for my revenge. Pretending to knock over the stacks of coins, I announced that I'd have to start again. Understandably, the Ringleader was surprised and disappointed.
Back to square one, I counted even more slowly this time. Midway through the second count, I claimed to have lost track and needed to restart again. This continued for about an hour.
My manager sauntered past, raised an eyebrow at the scene, then walked off without saying a word. Eventually, I finished the count, only to discover that they were short—they only had $18 worth of pennies! I recounted it, this time reaching $19.23.
At this point, the Ringleader pulled out a $5 note. I played along, claiming I needed to re-do the count to ensure the total was correct. Exasperated, the Ringleader threw a $20 note at me, much to my co-worker's shock.
Although I was disappointed, I efficiently completed the transaction, gave him his change, thanked him and wished him a good night. They began cleaning up their coins, dropping many but not caring to pick them up as they appeared absolutely drained.
Though I finished my shift much later than usual, I was greeted by positive nods and well wishes from my colleagues. Even the manager, who rarely ever spoke to me, acknowledged my good work.
Once back to my dorm, I immediately dozed off, relishing the memory of a satisfying shift filled with petty penny counting. As strange as it may sound, I wouldn't mind a little change like that again!
56. You Get What You Give
My job used to be at a call centre for an electricity provider. Despite being heavily unionized, the bosses would keep track of our login times down to the exact minute.
But their management practies were bizarre—if you clocked in even just a minute or two late, they'd subtract that exact amount of time from your pay. The difference in our earnings was hardly noticeable, and I doubt it saved them any substantial amount.
It seems reasonable not to pay for a delay of 15 minutes, but taking away pay for being three minutes late? That's a stretch. The gathering storm hit when the union found out about this pettiness, incensed that management had made such a disrespectful decision without consulting them.
This set the stage for the union's revenge. They requested all the employees' login and logout records from the call centre bosses. What the bosses hadn't anticipated was that we often had to conclude calls and clear the call queue before shutting everything down.
This typically led to us staying behind after our shifts for a couple of minutes, and at times even 15-20 minutes. The union insisted that the company revise everyone's yearly pay based on actual work hours. And that's not all.
Additionally, the union revealed that staying after shift warranted overtime pay. Surprisingly, it was found that all of us had been contributing more time towards end-of-day call wrap-ups than the time we were late to login.
We were compensated for these additional working hours, and at overtime rates too! This move cost the company a bundle and they put an end to docking pay for late arrivals afterward.
57. The Early Bird
My roommate has a habit of taking leisurely showers in the morning, which often uses up all the hot water. I noticed that as soon as my alarm rings, he bolts from his bed and claims the bathroom first.
To counter this, I started setting my alarm to silent to trick him, and while it did trick him, I still found myself missing my morning shower from time to time due to his prolonged shower routines.
That's when I decided to set double alarms, one ringing about 90 minutes earlier than my usual wake-up time. For the past two weeks, this strategy made him rush into the shower way earlier than usual, exhaust the hot water, yet giving it sufficient time to warm up again by the time it's my turn to shower. These tiny victories do bring a smile to my face.
58. Out To Lunch
While reviewing my spending, my company noticed that I gave a 20% tip during a lunch meal. The bill amounted to $15 and the tip was $3. They claimed the tip was excessive, saying I wouldn't usually be so generous if it were my personal money.
But truth be told, I absolutely would. After all, I occupied the waiter’s time for a good portion of an hour. Parting with $3 seems like a small price to pay for those amenities. It's just three bucks, yet company rules don't seem to agree.
That being said, it's not like my company is stingy. They allot me $75 daily for meals, a stipend I seldom exhaust. Now that appears to be changing course. Today’s lunch went beyond the norm of a quick sandwich or salad.
My palate was graced by a luxurious lobster grilled cheese, a step up from the typical. To complete the meal, the run-of-the-mill chips were replaced with gourmet duck fat fries. Here's to the "savings" they'll make from the remaining 5% of my meal budget during travels.
59. No “I” In Team
My tale unfolds during my junior year of college. I was enrolled in a course where our final grade leaned heavily on one long-term project. Originally, we were organized into trios to tackle this assignment, but our third partner saw the storm clouds gathering and wisely ducked out. This left just me and my teammate for the rest of the semester—let's call her Lazy Girl, or LG for short.
LG basically coasted through the semester. Despite my frequent nudges and pleas, she never managed to contribute to our project. Instead, she showered me with an unending stream of reasons why she had yet to chip in—or even get started.
Even though LG and I happened to be friends, I found myself reaching the end of my tether one certain evening near the semester's conclusion. After she bailed on meeting at my place to pump some elbow grease into our assignment for some "vital emergency," I'd had enough.
I voiced my frustrations over a couple of drinks at the local watering hole that same night. And who should I bump into? LG, enjoying a night out with her boyfriend! She offered me another flimsy excuse, and I decided it was time for some payback.
I tackled the majority of the project single-handedly, leaving only the conclusion to LG. To be honest, I anticipated that she'd drop the ball on this too, so I scribbled my own conclusion, uploaded the project and dropped a note to our professor explaining LG's lack of contribution.
I pointed out that my version of the project will have a different ending since I had delegated that to LG. Interesting thing about our projects, we each had to submit one independently. Ironically, LG not only didn’t provide the conclusion, she fell short of submitting the project altogether!
She had the cheek to complain about not getting due credit. I ripped into her for squandering opportunities and refusing to pull her weight on the project.
I reminded her that I even gave her the chance to boost her grades on the back of my efforts if she just did ONE thing! She ended our conversation abruptly, and that marked the last time we exchanged words.
60. You’re Fired—And Hired
Throughout the final years of high school and early college, I worked a job making solicitation calls on season breaks. Despite cold calling, our practice wasn't shady because we raised funds for organizations such as fire departments. We deducted a part of the donations for upkeep, remitting the surplus directly to the benefitting agencies.
It was a win-win situation. I relished the role as the dialogs were straightforward and the company let me engage in other activities, like reading, during downtime. It also gave me the chance to work alongside several friends, allowing us to socialize during lunch breaks.
Since it was significantly above the minimum wage, it was a sweet deal. I had a certain flair for it on top, ranking fifth in 'sales' among all locations and second in our building.
One summer day while en route to work, my car unexpectedly conks out, leaving me stuck on the road. With no cell phone, I walked to the closest house to borrow a phone. I informed my dad and job of my delayed arrival.
Upon receiving the news, my boss said we would discuss the situation once I arrived. My parents came to my aid with two cars; I took the spare, and my dad towed my broken vehicle home. Though I dreaded the thought of my dad towing behind my mom's car with only ten feet of space between them, I headed off to work.
When I reached work an hour past my starting time, I was informed by reception my boss needed to see me. I instantly got chills up my spine. I always had a good relationship with my boss; we shared some hobbies, and I received positive feedback about my work.
Entering his office, he was busy with some paperwork. He had a few documents prepared for me and initiated a surprising conversation. He was relaxed, asking about my car and stating he needed to discuss two matters.
He reminded me of the rules regarding being over 30 minutes late and classified it as a minor violation. Given it was my first time, he explained the potential repercussions.
I was by then nervous; it was my first time being reprimanded. My boss carried on, explaining that the punishment would be up to him based on my past conduct. He praised me as a valuable worker and disclosed his unsuccessful attempts to increase my pay due to my part-time status.
He then pulled a shocking move—he showed me my termination papers, followed by an offer to rehire me right away. He asked if I was okay being fired. He 'fired' me then offered to rehire me with 25% higher pay as he was able to justify it to the corporate office that he was hiring experienced personnel.
He had been doing this workaround to sidestep the company policy on wage raises for staff working less than 1,000 hours annually. This demonstrative compliance was his mode of rewarding employees who were otherwise disqualified according to the company's stipulations.
He had been waiting for a situation to dismiss me on legitimate grounds. Since all these events took place in a day and I never worked more than the minimum 1,000 hours annually, I never had to worry about losing my tenure.
His laughter accompanying the receptionist's as he introduced the 'new employee' to her remains a delightful memory for me, and it's a fun story I've been sharing ever since.
61. All Tied Up
I once knew a charming German woman, Heidi, who was unfortunately married to a truly unpleasant man—let's call him "Jerk". Jerk was notorious for creating problems at work, where he and my dad worked together in IT, only to swoop in and "rescue the day". He was even suspected to be the reason behind a major IT mishap at our national airport during his tenure there.
In addition, he had a creepy side. He would inappropriately contact my younger sister, sending her random calls and offering to give her a ride. This man was in stark contrast to his kind and charismatic wife, and it puzzled me how they ended up together. Sadly, Heidi fell seriously ill with a dysfunctional colon that nearly took her life.
Fortunately for her, she lived in a country heralded for its excellent health care system that ultimately saved her life. However, she got diagnosed with Crohn's disease and needed a colostomy bag.
While recuperating post-surgery, her husband committed a heartbreaking act of betrayal. He decided he wanted to divorce Heidi, stating he didn't want to be with a sick woman. What a jerk.
He left Heidi alone and hurting, quickly moving on to another relationship. His reprehensible conduct cost him all the friendships he built here, and my family decided we wanted nothing to do with him—we chose to support Heidi instead. Jerk ended up fleeing back home under the guise of dodging some hefty debts.
While we were glad to see him go, Heidi eventually found her strength. She developed an interest in photography and even pursued it at university. Without Jerk in her life, she thrived beautifully. About a year later, Jerk, in an effort to update his marital status in Israel, connected with Heidi.
His newly single status was essential for his dating life, given that women in Israel would check marital status on the identity card before proceeding with a date.
Whenever he'd call to ask about her arrival for divorce proceedings, Heidi, with a big smile, would say something along the lines of, "I don't know, given my health, it's tough to travel. Maybe when I get better." She knew he couldn't return due to his unpaid debts, and she took delight knowing his dating life was in shambles without the divorce.
Fast forward, Heidi is now in a much better place, physically and emotionally. She returned to Germany, but still pays occasional visits to my family and her friends here. As for Jerk, I can't say what he's up to, but I'd wager he's still the same old jerk he's always been.
62. Did You Get What You Wanted?
My work is truly tough on the mind. To add to that, I deal with my own mental health matters. I always strive to maintain a balance, but my eagerness to be useful means I often take on more than I can manage.
I notice a few weeks back that my mental wellbeing is rapidly deteriorating. I've been working on ignoring the red flags and persisting, but anyone at battle with mental health issues understands there's a limit to how far one can turn a blind eye.
In an attempt to intercept an impending mental meltdown, I inform my boss that I need a three-day breathing space (Wednesday to Friday). Given my upcoming weekend off, I believe this should suffice for much-needed rest and recuperation. I brief my supervisor about my reasons (burnout, mental health) and they say they will get back to me.
They revert stating I can probably get Wednesday and Thursday off, but not Friday. I then propose taking off Tuesday to Thursday instead, promising to clock in on Friday, I figured my extended weekend will still be intact. They agree to revert, but shortly ask if I can cover other shifts—which of course, I can't, so I refuse.
The next day, I'm told, "We can cover your shifts for Wednesday and Thursday, but not Tuesday and you have to make up the hours". This was my breaking point. I'm requesting time off due to overwork and the struggle to decline work. Amid tears, I call them (they had me on loudspeaker) to delve deeper into why I need these days off.
I've been undergoing trauma therapy and my mental wellbeing is only getting worse. I disclose that I consulted my doctor who identified signs of burnout and advised a few days off (which is true, as my appointment was just the day before). All they hear is 'doctor' and they request a written note from the doctor. Fortunately, I have a scheduled visit.
Left with no choice, I reluctantly clock in that day as they couldn't find a replacement. Upon consulting my doctor he instantly sees my distress and orders two weeks of immediate leave. Their faces didn't look too pleased when I handed in the doctor's note. Fast-forward two weeks, my doctor extends my leave for at least another month.
To top it off, when I handed a doctor's note indicating a four-week leave period, one supervisor blatantly ignored me and the other uttered a disinterested, "Oh doctor’s note, thanks".
63. If You Can’t Dish It In…
This story is from a couple years ago. We had a heavy snowfall, so I decided to shovel a parking space for my then-boyfriend for when he returned from work. I spent quite some time digging out this spot.
Just as I was wrapping up, a girl thoughtlessly parked her car in my freshly cleared spot—while I was still shoveling! I kindly informed her I had been prepping that spot for my use and requested her to relocate. Her careless response infuriated me.
Casually, she exited her car and walked away. It was weird because her place was two buildings down, so she wouldn't usually park here! Our housing complex had a small snowplow, and the guy operating it just so happened to witness this.
He came to my assistance and helped me bury her car in snow up to the door handles, using the snow pile he had just made. He was kind enough to clear a new parking space for me. Later, I saw the girl struggling to dig out her car.
Turns out, she didn't even possess a shovel. Maybe it was a bit petty of me, but I couldn't resist helping out—by re-shoveling the sidewalk from the lot to our building, conveniently depositing all the displaced snow on her car. Following that, I took my shovel inside with me.
64. Think Fast
I operate an escape room business situated near a trending tourist hotspot and an airport. Hence, we often get reservations from a variety of UK residents and international tourists either enjoying a weekend getaway or passing through to catch a flight. Our establishment is only staffed when we've got bookings because we solely accept online reservations, not walk-ins.
For this reason, our policy states that we offer refunds only if cancellations happen 24 hours before the booked slot. Any cancellation within the 24-hour window permits rescheduling, but no refunds. However, it's worth noting that we are often flexible with this policy during weekdays when it's not as busy, and we try our best to accommodate everyone.
Most of the time, I personally entertain our customers, saving us extra costs like staff wages or loss of potential profits. The cancellation policy is most relevant during Saturdays since we are typically fully booked from dawn till dusk, and we employ other staff members. Hence, any canceled slots could have been occupied by other customers, while we still compensate our staff for the same period.
I should mention, though, that enforcing this rule has been rare since we usually manage to adjust to the needs of a group. Nevertheless, a fascinating incident happened earlier—a man with a distinct Scottish accent called about a booking he had in about two and a half hours.
He informed me that they wouldn't be able to attend as they were delayed with other activities and wanted to move their slot to a later time. Unfortunately, all our slots were already filled for the day. He then requested a refund since their return trip to Glasgow was later that night, and they had no idea when they would next visit.
I carefully explained our refund policy to him and the system limitations due to the short notice, especially considering it was a busy Saturday with staff already scheduled. Since there was no foreseeable opportunity for them to come by soon, rescheduling proved futile. After a brief pause, he inquired if we had any available slots next month.
I skimmed through our calendar and suggested moving their booking to the identical time on November 16th, which seemed acceptable to him. Without prior knowledge of his intentions, I adjusted the booking in the system and let him know about the confirmation email he would receive.
His response was quite shrewd—he began asking if the booking was now over 24 hours away. When I confirmed that it indeed was, he cleverly pointed out that since he wouldn't be able to make it, he should be entitled to a refund as per our policy. As the realization dawned on me, I couldn't help but laugh at his clever strategy.
With a sense of amusement, I processed his refund, recognizing that he had smartly found a loophole in our system that would need some pondering on.
65. She’s Got The Touch
Formerly, my living arrangements placed me on the third floor of an apartment, with the laundry room inconveniently located in the basement. This meant tackling four strenuous flights of stairs, made a lot harder given my newfound responsibilities as a mother of a newborn baby.
Importantly, in that laundry room were storage spaces (or cubbies) where we stored our cleaning products. In a year living there, I'd never had an issue leaving my detergent in the shared space.
Recently, however, new neighbors moved in and started using my laundry detergent without my consent. After noticing my dwindling soap supply, I left a polite note requesting the culprits to cease their actions.
My plea went ignored as the pilfering persisted. This understandably annoyed me, sparking a devious idea. I bought two bottles of detergent—one blue, one clear. For unmistakable ownership, I emblazoned MY NAME across them.
I filled the blue soap with blue Rit dye, while the clear bottle was filled with colourless, odorless bleach. The waiting game started. The trap didn't take long to spring. The next morning, a loud commotion erupted from the basement.
Despite being four floors away, the racket was impossible to ignore. Upon investigating, I found clothes ruined with bleach dumped in the rubbish bin within the laundry room.
A few days passed before I caught sight of a young man wearing a noticeably blue-tinted t-shirt. Revenge served sweetly.
66. See Ya Later
This all began when I was just 15, with a mom who was, sadly, consumed by narcissism—and probably still is. Let me paint a picture of my childhood for you. When my twin sister and I were about four years old, she would be up teaching us to read until 2 am. If my sister couldn't catch on quickly, my mom's solution was to hit her with a sandal for each mistake.
You'd think a little older and things would improve, but no. At seven, my mom made me copy an essay she wrote in my handwriting. Whenever I started a letter incorrectly, like drawing a capital M from the bottom line, she'd hit me with her shoe.
This also took place late at night and when finally fatigue overcame me, she'd wake me up with an icy shower, just to resume the whole ordeal. At 13, I wanted to live with my dad (my parents were divorced), but my mom was adamant I could only leave when I was 18.
It took me a while to figure out her harsh stance—it was all about the child support, which ceased when I turned 18. Fast forward to when I was 15, inevitably, our relationship had its shares of ups and downs.
Living under her roof, I felt controlled and shamed, especially when we had company over. So, I opted to spend such days in the nearby woods. On one such day, when our guests had left, I finally decided to go back home. Met with an icy reception from my mom, I was told to leave.
Although I knew she didn’t mean it forever, she left it open-ended on when I was to return. So, I took the decision to set off to a friend's place a few miles away and stayed for a couple of days.
In the meantime, my mom reported me missing to the local park rangers and thus began a dramatic manhunt. They feared I might have been hurt by a wild animal, kidnapped, or even drowned given we lived on a national park.
When the rangers reached my dad, who was unaware of my location too, our house suddenly got flooded with family, lawyers and officers. The search canines also got involved and traced me to a nearby river but then the trail abruptly stopped, fueling more panic and concern.
Amidst all this, a couple of people noticed our usually neat house reeking of cleaning chemicals, which seemed rather suspicious. As investigations intensified and the threat of police dogs on his property loomed, my friend's dad advised me to find another refuge. I decided to seek help from my dad's family, and they welcomed me back instantly.
As I spilled the beans on the situation at home, everyone was horrified, especially the lawyers. A judge was quick to grant emergency custody to my dad and my mom had to undergo a psychological evaluation before she could fight for it back. Her co-workers, the rangers, distanced themselves from her and she eventfully lost her job. The only reason she lived on the park was due to her employment there, which meant she lost her house too.
The locals, including my friend's father and the search team, also alienated my mom. She lost everything—her job, friends, house, and church community—all because she kicked me out of the house, and I chose to leave.
67. Such A Tease
I've been working as a bartender in a cozy cocktail bar for a while and normally, I'm pretty laid-back. However, some people still manage to really get under my skin. Just to clarify, I might not be in the right for what I did, but what's done is done.
Just last week, a group of guys, mostly in their early 20s, came in for drinks. They seemed decent enough, but something about the group dynamics was off. Now, let me introduce our main problem.
He was a loud and obnoxious man, constantly snapping his fingers at me to order (never snap fingers at bartenders folks, we're not your pets), always playfully hitting his friends. Think of him as an aggressive, sporty version of a typical David Spade character. Beside this 'David Spade', sat the main target of his so-called 'playful' teasing.
I genuinely felt bad for the guy. He wasn't much of a drinker, and it seemed like he'd rather drink unclean water than remain next to this overbearing character. He was clearly uncomfortable. David kept egging him on to take a shot, “Come on, one with me, don’t be a softy." And finally, after a whole night of relentless persuasion, the guy gave in.
Alright, let's do one shot together, then leave me alone. "Get us two of your wildest shots", shouted Spade, snapping his fingers at me again. His wish was my command. The two shots I made might have looked identical, but they were anything but. David got his with ingredients like Red Jacques absinthe and Tabasco—a total unpleasant concoction.
The other man, however, got a blend of syrups and juices, completely harmless. They looked nearly the same, nonetheless. They both took their shots and what followed was priceless. The nice guy, unfazed, downed his shot, not flinching at all (and why would he, it was just juice). On the other hand, David... well, he looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel.
Sporty David was tearing up and coughing as if his lungs were trying to escape, looking like someone who just slurped some spicy hot sauce. The other man looked surprised until I gave him a sly wink. David and his crew, now rolling with laughter at his distress, were none the wiser.
The prank shots were gratis. The unassuming man was left in peace finally, and David became a lot more manageable for the rest of the night, bearing the light teasing from his friends. I may have overstepped a bit as a bartender, but this was the one and only time I've ever tampered with a customer's drink.
And I don't regret it. His rude, even aggressive behavior was unwarranted. So, David, the sporty jerk, this one’s on you.
68. You Only Get One Shot
So, this isn't my story, but it's about my dad and it's one of his best tales. About 20 years or so ago, he attended a multi-day training course to gain some extra skills for his work. The course ended with a multiple-choice exam. On the test day, when everyone was settled, the instructor warned severely against cheating.
If anyone was caught cheating once, they'd get a warning, but a second offense would lead to immediate expulsion and invalidation of the test. The teacher, a bit of an old-school hardliner, was treating these professionals like misbehaving kids—and this really didn't sit well with my dad.
As he started the test, things went smoothly. He only stumbled when he got to the last question; he wasn't certain he had the right answer. Remembering the warning about cheating, he figured he still had his 'free pass.' So my dad just calls across the room, "hey, anyone knows the answer to question 14?" Much to his luck, a fellow attendee hollered back with the answer.
My dad shaded his answer sheet, walked unceremoniously to the front of the room—presumably stepping around the teacher's dropped jaw—and handed in his test before exiting the room.
The teacher later expressed a reluctant admiration for my dad's audacity. It’s unclear whether this led to a change in his no-nonsense policy or the manner in which he communicated it..
69. Caught In A Loop
I used to work at a Subway where it was just a few of us on base-level pay, no actual managers around. There was this particular customer once, the issue she was upset about slips my mind now, but we ended up in an argument and she wasn't liking my responses.
She demanded to talk to the manager. Considering there was no manager present, I took a leap of faith and promoted myself, saying, "You're speaking with the manager, how may I assist you further?"
This didn't please her, as she then realized her query wasn't going to be addressed differently. She then asked for a phone number to escalate it further. The store owner had explicitly asked us to not share his personal number, so I gave her something better—the store's number.
Watching her confident smirk, thinking she was about to land me in some serious trouble... and that's when the store phone began to ring. The look on her face as I answered the store phone, all while maintaining eye contact, before asking her once more how could I help her? It was unforgettable.
70. The Baker’s Revenge
This might be the most delightfully trivial thing I've ever done. Picture this, we've got a local pub in our town with a connected donut shop known for the city's best donuts. It inevitably drives a hefty crowd.
Conveniently, thanks to the pub's late hours, the shop doesn't close until 9 pm, and always attracts a steady stream of dessert seekers. One evening, my girlfriend and I had a sudden craving, so we decided to pop by this donut hotspot, reaching there around 8:30 pm by car.
The parking situation here – a bit of a challenge. Only three parallel spots up the block, and all are, unsurprisingly, filled most of the time. Luckily, we saw an opportunity, one empty parking space just up the street! We pulled up ahead of the spot, switching on the indicator and started backing in, when this tiny white Vespa zipped right in.
Being polite, I rolled down the window and told the driver we were just about to park. The driver, who appeared to be a typical college-going student, dismissively responded, "Sorry, first come first serve!" and she and her friend burst into laughter.
My girlfriend proposed to try another time, but I suggested she drop me off, I'd pick up the donuts since I knew her favorites, and she could make another round for parking. She agreed, and there I went, past the Vespa where the girls were still unloading, and headed towards the shop.
As usual, the queue for donuts was miles long, but thankfully, a handful of flavors were left. Lo and behold, guess who? That same Vespa girls now behind me in line, discussing their preferences amongst the remaining flavors.
I heard them joking, "Thank god we found a parking spot," followed by a burst of giggles. This is when I took my chance to exact a delicious revenge. I reached the front of the line and when asked for my order, I asked for two dozen donuts – every last one of them.
The girls hadn't heard my order, but an incredulous expression began to creep on their faces as they watched the counter emptying out into my boxes. In despair, the Vespa-driving girl asked the baker, "Are you seriously not going to save any for us?" I shot back a perfect retort: "Sorry, first come first serve".
Her expression was priceless, as if she had just cracked a complex film mystery and was scared out of her wits at the same time. It was absolutely unforgettable. These were definitely the most satisfying donuts I ever had, plus they were a hit at my office the next morning.
71. Putting On A Show
Yesterday, I sent a message to my teachers explaining that I'll be receiving treatment at the hospital for my long-term illness—this includes both a regular infusion and a blood transfusion. I asked them if I could switch my video off during our online classes.
All my teachers were fine with this, except my history teacher. She insisted on knowing that I was actively participating in class. I tried to make her understand my circumstances.
I told her that I felt uncomfortable showing myself in the middle of a treatment room with my central line exposed (I usually cover it with a sweater at home, but it feels odd wearing one during treatment) and numerous health monitors attached to me.
But, she brushed off my concerns and insisted that I turn on the video during class. So, I did exactly as she asked. As class commenced, I joined the online meeting.
Everyone could clearly see the central line sticking out of my chest, the IV stand with the blood pack, and the medical monitors attached to me. Throughout, my teacher seemed quite uneasy and sent me a message post-class saying that I had made her uncomfortable and acted unprofessionally.
I reminded her that she had insisted I keep my camera on throughout the class.
72. Perfect Timing
I was at a service station one day pumping air into my tires. This particular station charged a dollar for the air, but it had a pressure gauge. Another station nearby offered free air, but didn't provide any gauge. As I was getting my tires sorted out, a woman pulled up next to me.
She began to pepper me with questions about the cost, how long it took, and so on. I did my best to answer her queries, though I was more concerned about my tires since there was a ticking clock on the service.
The thing about my car is, it has these pesky alert lights that warn me if a tire is low, even the spare. It irks me when they light up. The woman was still lingering nearby, growing increasingly annoyed. Things were clearly getting heated.
Out of the blue, she shouted, “Will you hurry up! I'm in a rush!” I was baffled for a moment, but it quickly dawned on me that she was hoping to use the remaining time on my dollar.
Rather than speed up, I slowed down, a tactic I thought was only fair under the circumstances. I carefully moved my car to a fuel pump. She almost clipped my vehicle as she quickly took my vacated spot.
As she started pumping air into her tire, however, the machine shut off. I must've been grinning too conspicuously because as she dashed back into her car and tore off, she hurled a, "screw you" my way.
Even if I was on the receiving end of her anger, I felt quite satisfied with the outcome. It was a memorable moment.
73. On The Straight And Narrow
My brother has been battling drug addiction for a considerable part of his life. Around five years back, addiction induced upheaval in his family life. He ended up divorcing his wife and lost full custody of his son, which was indeed a justified decision.
He wasn't in a state to be a good father. However, his recovery journey is commendable as he has stayed clean for quite some years now. While he doesn't have legal custody of his son, he does see him occasionally based on his ex-wife's decisions. He's proved to be a good and reliable father in recent years.
Nevertheless, his ex-spouse isn't ready to acknowledge his recovery. She's been giving him a tough time with visitation rights, even planning to take their son away from him for several months for a lengthy vacation with her new family.
Not one to remain silent, my brother quickly took action and applied for shared custody. The court hearing happened recently, and as predicted, his ex-wife attempted to discredit him by referring to his previous addiction and portraying him as a recurring risk to their son. It's far from the truth, given that he has been clean for years, gainfully employed, and even owns a house.
Then, the situation intensified. His ex-wife, stuck in her delusions, demanded that my brother submit a letter from the local drug counseling program's president confirming his regular attendance for the past several years. Calmly, my brother assured the judge he could provide this letter right away.
Intrigued, the judge asked how he could provide it so urgently. My brother replied, "No, your honor, but, as it happens, I am the president of our local chapter". I would give anything to see his ex-wife's face at that moment. Although it's not yet finalized, it seems promising that he will get the shared custody for which he applied.
74. Driving Me Crazy
When I was just a teenager, I landed my first job. By 17, I had saved up enough to buy my first car—a big deal for me. However, being young and naive, I didn't question when my biological mother, who I only refer to as my 'egg donor' due to our estranged relationship, and my stepdad decided to title the car in their names.
They reasoned it was for the sake of insurance and registration, and I went along with it. Fast forward six months, and they end up getting divorced. When the divorce was finalized, my mother casually mentioned that my hard-earned car should go to my now ex-stepdad, as it was listed as a joint property. I was livid. The car, while a little rough around the edges, was mine.
Before my ex-stepdad was due to take it, I decided to get my own back. I stopped checking the oil levels, cruising around town even more than usual. The car burned oil fast, leaving a thick smoke trail everywhere it went. Then, for the final touch, I took a deceased goldfish from a friend. It was a good size too, about 3-4 inches long.
On a day in July, just before the car was supposed to be taken, I cut open the foam lining beneath the passenger seat, tucked the goldfish inside, and then sealed it back up. My ex-stepdad arrived later with his girlfriend—the woman he had left my mother for—and ostentatiously gifted her with the car. I merely smiled.
I’m not sure what happened after they drove off with that car on a sweltering summer's day, but I can certainly use my imagination.
75. Pound It Out
I was a cook at a popular eatery known for its special 'wing night'. On this night, patrons could get a 'pound' of chicken wings at a cut price. However, we didn't measure the wings by weight, we just served up eight wings per 'pound'—that's four drumsticks and four wingettes.
One bustling night, we had a group come in and all order our 'pound' of wings. Not long after the orders hit the tables, the waitress rushed over to me flustered, explaining that there was a problem.
One of the guys from the group had made a fuss, claiming he was "sure" he hadn't received a legitimate pound of wings. He argued it was suspiciously coincidental that coincidentally, everyone at the table's 'pound' had the same number of wings on their plates.
He firmly requested that we weigh his wings to confirm he was 'getting his money's worth'. He was about to regret making such a request. With a sigh, we proceeded to weigh his wings. To our surprise, it wasn't a pound—it was a pound and a half.
We told our waitress to deliver the news and the excess wings to him, but she was having none of it. Maintaining that "He asked for a pound, so that's exactly what he'll get", she tossed two of his wings in the bin and re-weighed his portion. Still too much. So, another wing got the bin treatment, and finally, we had an exact pound of wings.
She returned to his table with just five wings on the plate, and casually told him, "Sir, here are your wings. You were correct, you had received more than a pound. So, we got rid of the excess. Good catch on your part." Funnily, when they ordered another round, he didn't question his eight-wing 'pound' the second time around.
76. Looking A Gift Horse In The Mouth
Here's what went down a couple of Yuletides ago. Roughly four months prior to Christmas in 2018, my then-boyfriend managed to douse his laptop with a drink, effectively rendering it useless. It was his go-to for entertainment and he couldn't afford a replacement, so I lent him mine considering I barely used it. Things went smoothly until that year's Christmas.
He still didn't own a new laptop and I figured he was being wise, saving up for a quality one instead of settling for something just about affordable. So, when he presented me with my gift, I was taken aback—a brand new laptop. I naturally thought he replaced my old laptop and planned to continue using it for himself. But I was so wrong.
His idea of a gift was freeing up my laptop by getting himself a new one. That's all. I was really ticked off. But then, a sly idea crept up. Little did he suspect that I had recently come into some money, and had planned a surprise—a top-tier gaming laptop for him, costing way more and offering better quality than the one he got himself.
I chose to unveil his "gift". Seeing the package, he was thrilled thinking of his new laptop. However, as he started to unwrap it, I pulled it back, telling him it was actually mine. My gift was him getting to keep his new laptop without my constant use.
Unsurprisingly, we ended up in a major disagreement, which eventually resulted in us calling it quits. I took back the laptop, converted that money into a spontaneous trip with my friend to celebrate New Year's Eve. I hold absolutely no regrets.
77. Putting The Children To Work
Back in eighth grade, I attended a trailblazing tech school that was in its first year. Our batch had about 180 students, aged 12-14, and around 10 teachers. Everyone had the same math teacher. During our first semester, we utilized a software named Gage for our coursework. It was passable for most subjects, but for math, it was a total disaster.
The trouble was with math lessons. They were supposed to provide us with lessons, but it just didn't pan out. Mathematical symbols were not displayed correctly, and sometimes the given solutions were incorrect.
Our math teacher wasn't allowed to switch to traditional pen and paper, and the company blamed the problems on our teacher, saying she was too old to grasp the technology.
Their suggestion was to email them if she faced a real issue. One day, I walked into the classroom and saw seven email addresses scribbled on the blackboard.
She announced that we were going to comb through our math lessons that day, capture screenshots of each error we uncovered, and send them to these email addresses belonging to the company executives. For every screenshot emailed, we'd earn a pack of gummy bears—ten emails warranting ten packs!
We had a field day emailing as many screenshots as possible. One of the students ended up with ten packs of gummy bears at the end of the hour! By lunch, the principal kindly asked my teacher to end the emailing spree but she bluntly refused, saying, "Certainly not! My afternoon sessions deserve their turn of fun!"
Long story made short, our school eventually received a complete refund for the faulty software, and that company went out of business.
78. Pay It Forward
I work as a business consultant, and most of our work is done on-site with our clients where we receive compensation for travel, meals, and more.
We're pretty lucky because our meal policy doesn't restrict what we can claim, unlike some other consulting firms. We're free to claim everything from lunches to drinks. There is a guideline in place that suggests a daily limit for food expenses based on the country we're in.
Why did I emphasize guideline? Because that's how it's specified in the policy—it's more a suggestion than a strict rule. Here in the UK, where I'm currently working on a project, the suggested limit is £40 per day.
That's usually reasonable unless you're dining out in central London. As someone who practices Intermittent Fasting, I only usually have one big meal a day, so most days I spend well below £40, averaging around £20.
There are days when I splurge a bit, treat myself to a steak dinner with a couple of scotches, and it bumps the bill up to about $60. But my average for a five-day week usually comes out to around £30 a day or less. I never had issues claiming these expenses in my nine years with the company—until a new project manager came along.
With him, it was a different story: he returned a few of my expense reports because they exceeded the £40 guideline on some days despite the weekly average being way less. I tried reasoning with him, to no avail, explaining the guideline was not a solid cap and I save considerably some days. He insisted I could only claim £40 per day for meals.
So, I started doing exactly that. I ensured I was claiming about £40 every day for food, even buying meals for homeless people near the train station to reach that figure. So, where I used to claim under £150 a week for meals, I now claim £200—and score some good karma points in the process.
79. Peace At Last
I was at a key airport on the east coast, waiting for my flight, when a young, flashy guy walks in, shouting loudly into his Apple earbuds. He dumps his bag on the only empty seat and starts moving back and forth in the aisle, completely unaware of the people around him trying to eat, work, or get their babies to sleep.
As he continues his aimless movement, he shouts things like, "Yes, yes, we'll upload that in the system...blah blah technical terms and business words." He's annoying everyone, making them move out of his way.
People started giving him dirty looks, but he just kept on shouting and expanding his walking route so far that he would sometimes disappear from sight, only to circle right back, still shouting.
After enduring 20 minutes of this behaviour, I had enough. The guy suddenly changes his pace, quickly moving away and leaving his backpack unattended. This happens every time he decides to do a lap around the terminal.
So I approach a TSA guard and point to the bag, "Excuse me, there's a backpack that's been left unattended over there!" I then walk away. The TSA starts calling for the owner of the bag, but the loud guy is too preoccupied, still shouting and pacing.
The TSA is already removing the bag by the time he notices and runs after them. But it's too late, he's under suspicion and has to follow them out of the terminal for a bag check. Suddenly, the terminal is peaceful again.
80. Can I, Or May I?
This story dates back to the early 90s, a time when our teacher had already been educating for over three decades. We were in a country town where many of my mates' parents had also had their primary education under this woman.
I'm not exaggerating when I say she was dreadful. I've witnessed an adult woman in tears just by recalling her time with this teacher. She was my teacher when I was in the second grade, and she revelled in her role as a stern old lady. She took strange pleasure in dictating when we could use the bathroom.
During one penmanship lesson, Joseph, a classmate, requested a bathroom break. She rebuffed him, saying he should have thought about it during morning playtime and he'd now have to wait till lunch.
Not much later, Joseph couldn't take it anymore and pleaded to go. Our teacher started scolding him, calling him a baby for not being able to control his bladder like a big boy, implying he should resort to diapers. This had Joseph fed up. He stood tall, looked our teacher straight in the eye, and dramatically let go of the largest pissoir possible.
Unfortunately (or fortunately), he was in those mesh basketball shorts which did little to obstruct the flow. It simply trickled down his legs and formed a puddle beneath him. The classroom erupted in suppressed laughter, akin to a second grade version of a slow clap.
Our teacher, speechless, finally took action by marching Joseph off to the principal, hand in her iron grip. As they left, Joseph peeked back over his shoulder, a broad smile plastered on his face, no doubt proud of his audacious act.
Needless to say, he became a legend that day, and the rest of us appreciated the loosened washroom restrictions for the rest of the year. The teacher called it quits shortly after that, retiring the next year.
81. It All Comes Out
I'm going to share a little story about a petty act of revenge. If you're squeamish, I apologize in advance. I find it hard to digest most meats, especially red meats, with beef being the absolute nightmare.
My doctors suggested that I look for alternative protein sources, so I embraced vegetarianism joyfully when I was around 13. However, my aunt had a different perspective; she thought I was merely being a picky eater.
We all lived in a town where meat and potatoes were a staple diet, and her opinion definitely struck a chord with many of our townsfolk. This aunt of mine also accused me of pretending to have asthma (which I actually did have) and denied her own daughter a pair of glasses, thinking she wanted them just to seek attention.
She later found out that her daughter's vision was indeed poor—no surprises there. Family dinners were a common affair, with different members taking turns to host. When the baton was handed to my aunt, she assured me she'd prepared a meat-free burger for me. However, she hadn't.
Hungry as I was that night, I ate up the burger, which now I knew was laden with beef. Noticing her smiling at me, I initially thought she was happy that I liked her cooking. Looking back, I now see that grin as an indication that she thought she had outsmarted me or achieved her ulterior motive. But regret was just around the corner for her.
A few minutes post-dinner, my stomach began to churn and I realized what my aunt had done and the reason behind her grin. Consuming meat invariably makes me nauseous, and I simply can’t keep it down.
So, when it was time to run to the bathroom, I decided against it. Instead, I targeted my aunt, who was conveniently seated next to me at the head of the table.
82. A Woman In Uniform
I leapt into the working world fresh from university, stepping into my first role as a language teacher in a private school. It's a story that's almost too unbelievable to be true. I was initially hired to teach pupils from sixth to ninth grade.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I was the only language teacher they had, leaving the school director pleading with me to teach the younger grades of one to five in my spare time, without offering any extra pay.
I dutifully taught my designated classes twice a week and squeezed in the younger ones once a week. On top of that, I was tasked with supervising lunch breaks, hence I barely had a moment to sit. One quirky thing about this school was its preschool counterpart, which was located at a different venue. The preschool staff, all women, had to wear uniforms.
Being the only woman among the staff teaching grades one to nine put me in quite a unique position. One day, the director summoned me and questioned why I was not dressed in a uniform like the preschool ladies.
When I explained that such a requirement was not communicated to me, nor was it imposed on the male staff, she became irritated and instructed me to get a uniform made at my own expense.
Against my better judgement, and after some convincing from my parents, I obliged. Unfortunately, when she saw me in my new uniform, the director bizarrely accused me of trying to entice the boys. She then demanded that I either sew another uniform or find myself jobless. Though my outfit wasn't even remotely indecent, she remained adamant.
A week later, I got fired in the middle of a class in broad daylight, prompting me to leave forthwith. Yet, the very next day, the principal rang me up, puzzled as to why I wasn't at work. They tried to coax me back, speaking of the children who needed supervision during lunch.
Despite the underwhelming salary, I did return, but only after making sure I was paid double. However, I called it quits the following month. A tale for the ages, indeed.
83. A Taste Of Her Own Medicine
Last night, I went to catch a movie with my friends. We grabbed our seats and soon enough, I noticed a girl in the row behind us resting her feet on my friend David's chair. She was with a friend of hers. David promptly addressed her, "Excuse me, can you please lower your feet?" However, his words must've fallen on deaf ears, as I didn't catch their response.
Surprisingly, her feet remained elevated. Minutes passed, and David once again politely addressed the issue, "Could you please remove your feet from my chair? It's rather impolite." Sadly, this plea also went unacknowledged. Seeing this, I suggested David notify a member of the theater staff. He did so, and shortly after, an employee approached the girl.
Although she seemed annoyed, she complied and lowered her feet. But as soon as the employee walked away, her feet found their way back to David's chair. I was irked at this point, wondering why she felt the need to act so immaturely.
Hence, on impulse, I vacated my seat, climbed up two rows, and parked myself behind her. Mimicking her earlier behavior, I rested my feet on her chair and applied a forward pressure.
Both girls swiveled around to confront me. But between the movie's sound and my focus, their words were inaudible. All I managed to say was "Please, just enjoy the movie." Despite the discomfort, I maintained my stance throughout the show. Not the most comfortable experience, but a worthwhile one!
84. Hot And Cold
My high school boyfriend and I broke up under messy circumstances. He pretty much confessed he was never serious about us and only wanted to have some fun. Plus, he had the gall to kiss my best friend, then compare my kissing skills to hers unfavorably. Trust me, I know he was a jerk.
Rewind a couple of months before this. His inconsistent behavior infuriated me, so I decided to get petty. I vented my feelings in a poem. You see, there was this magazine he'd been trying to get into, that hosted a website featuring poems and would select the most popular ones to publish. He'd encouraged me to join a while back and I'd posted a couple of drafts.
I hesitated about posting this poem, fearing it was excessively harsh. However, after our ugly split, I decided I deserved a little payback. So, I shared the angry poem online. Surprisingly, it gained a lot of traction. The magazine was so intrigued that they decided to publish it. Naturally, my first instinct was to share the news with him.
He initially congratulated me on being published, but his elation faded once he read the poem. Several million people ended up reading my piece in the magazine. The funny part? To this day, he's never been published in that magazine.
85. You’re A Big Boy Now
A couple of hours ago, something memorable happened in our community garden! Local school children usually come help us, often turning up on Saturday mornings. Generally, they behave quite well, which is great since our means of controlling misbehavior is limited to serious talks.
Last week, a new kid joined us. We didn’t recognize him, but we made him feel welcomed anyway. However, he only managed to stick around for thirty minutes before he had a meltdown. After we scolded him for the third time about twirling a tool and letting it fly dangerously overhead, he stomped off in tears.
This morning, he returned with a woman who I assumed was his mom. He pointed me and my friend out to her, yet didn’t interact with us, so we acknowledged them with a shout of hello and left them alone. After about 10 minutes, the boy began straying and my friend had to tell him not to wander behind the greenhouse because it was unsafe.
His mom immediately became confrontational, questioning our authority over the garden and our right to restrict her son's movements. We tried to explain it was for his safety, but she was adamant that she could ensure his safety herself.
So, he ventured towards the prohibited grounds which are unsafe due to the unstable compost heap and our large heap of horse manure, which is delivered every fall. By spring, this turns into a hard, crusted exterior with well-rotted manure beneath, that is not as solid as it appears.
Sure enough, after a while, we heard a crunch followed by a squeal. We managed to pull him out of our heap without gloating about having warned him or collapsing into fits of laughter. The poor lad was covered from chest to toe in manure which, despite being well-rotted, remained thick and slimy.
His mom collected him without uttering a word and they headed to the gate. The boy broke down in tears as the shock wore off. My friend respectfully offered some bin bags for their car, to which, to her credit, she thankfully accepted. I wonder if we'll see them again next week?
86. The Whole Package
I'm currently working remotely, and my phone buzzes with an alert—Amazon says my pricey package has just been dropped off. Yet, when I rush outside, there's no package in sight. The delivery van's still in sight, leaving my house and stopping two houses down. Impossible for anyone to have pinched it in that brief moment!
"Hey there! You sent me a notification about my parcel delivery, but I can't find it anywhere," I say. The driver stutters and asks for my address. "But I've just delivered it to your place," he says. "No, you definitely haven't. I'm taking this up with Amazon”, I respond, turning to leave.
Suddenly, he calls out, claiming to have found my package. Somehow, there's supposedly an issue that prevents him from delivering it. He promises that another driver with the "correct" package will show up later.
"But why was it marked as delivered then?" I ask. He blurts out some excuse about not seeing the error. I assure him that I'll deal with Amazon and leave the scene. A swift call to Amazon reveals that there’s no issue with my package at all. It’s marked as delivered when it shouldn’t be and they agree with me—the driver should've given me the parcel, even if it was a duplicate!
An investigation is promptly promised. Just as I hang up, the doorbell chimes. There, racing down my driveway, is the same delivery guy. He vaults into his van and tears off down the street. And lo and behold, my package is at my feet.
A second call to Amazon lets them know of their disappearing, reappearing courier. I express my concern about his excessive speed too. And though I initially felt like a complaining 'Karen', I can't shake off the feeling that this driver was up to no good—marking a delivery as done, then blaming theft when the recipient reports it missing. Suspicious, don’t you think?
87. Noise Complaint
I found a peculiar thing on my Spotify—a PS4 device with a German title was linked, which is completely strange because I don't even own a PS4. Spotify couldn't help disconnect it from my account, so I figured I should do something myself.
So, I played loud heavy metal music at its maximum volume on their PS4, around midnight in Germany. I have a hunch they were in the middle of a game, since they only let it play for a bit before trying to skip songs or pause it—none of which worked.
In the end, they removed Spotify from their device and I updated my password, but boy, that was satisfying.
88. That’s So Random
Many years back, I worked at an outdoor activity center, taking care of the retail section. There were loads of shops scattered around the place. And even though the pay wasn't terrific, I genuinely enjoyed it. One day, I had a serious disagreement with a manager who decided to scold me publicly—in front of colleagues from different departments.
Encouraged by a different manager, I put forward an official complaint. As it turned out, I wasn't the only one with grievances against this manager. Eventually, he was politely asked to leave—but wasn't really fired. Little did I know, my complaint set off an interesting series of events.
Here's some background you need to know. The place had a couple of regulations to prevent theft—notably, staffers could not have more than £10 while on duty. We had to check this before we began work. Anything more had to be informed to supervisors and stored in lockers. And, obligatory locker and pocket checks could happen anytime.
This pocket and locker check never happened to me in my two years there. But with hundreds of employees, the chance was minimal. Strikingly though, after our troublesome manager left, I was suddenly selected for a "random" search. They checked my pockets, my shoes, socks, and my locker too.
They found nothing and I was allowed to get back to work. Surprisingly, the next week too, I was picked for another random search—again, nothing was found. Gossip started spreading that I had angered the remaining management with my complaint against the former manager and now they were out to get me by any means.
Recognizing the situation, I started job-hunting and devised a little strategy of my own. I started carrying a backpack filled with £20—in pennies. I declared this to the management daily, as needed. Soon, almost as a trend, I was called for my weekly "random" search and a security guard along with a supervisor had to count 2,000 pennies.
On finding nothing yet again, I was dismissed. I upped the ante, and next week, brought £30—again in pennies. Soon, I was happily looking forward to my weekly "random" search since I knew what to expect. On the day of the search, as I opened my backpack, the security guard and supervisor dived in, not wearing gloves. And they were pretty horrified to find several pairs of my used period underwears in the bag, along with the pennies.
After yet another fruitless search, they stopped selecting me for the random searches. I soon found a new job and quit after a few weeks. I heard from my former colleagues that the management had set up new rules on what employees could bring to work. This caused many to quit, leading to the shut down of the place a year later due to other reasons.
89. World’s Best Coffee
One of my closest pals, let's call him "Alex," once worked in a political office. His boss was pretty important, running a big Senate budget committee, so there were always people stopping by to ask for their support. One visitor, who I'll refer to as "LobbyAnn," was from an art program hoping to get a $250K grant.
One day, she approached the front desk, asking for a pen. The Senator had pens for guests, but when Alex offered one, LobbyAnn said, "That'll give away I came unprepared." She then eyed Alex's desk.
Alex had spread out his work and was using his special pen, a fancy number with lapis inlay, engraved with his name and a significant role he'd held on campus. Without asking, LobbyAnn grabbed his pen and tossed it in her purse. Alex, being the polite guy he is, was taken aback and had to let her know that his pen wasn't up for the taking.
Not long after, the Senator came to greet LobbyAnn. Just as they were passing by the desk, Alex stood up, looked straight at LobbyAnn and clearly stated, "I need my pen back". LobbyAnn and the Senator both froze, while Alex elaborated calmly but firmly on the pen's significance and how he wanted it back.
The Senator was shocked and asked, "She took your lapis pen?” She then turned to LobbyAnn, who was nervously rummaging through her purse and muttered something about just borrowing it, and told her, "Return it." Once Alex retrieved his pen, the Senator invited him into her office and left LobbyAnn standing there, shutting the door behind her.
Shortly after, the Senator suggested a coffee break. So, she and Alex left through the side door and headed across the street to Starbucks with a clear view of their office entrance. LobbyAnn took her sweet time to figure out she'd blown it—no meeting with the Senator that day, or any upcoming day for that matter.
Moreover, the art project she was hoping to fund was likely out of the question now. She had some support lined up in the House, maybe it could've had a chance, but it wasn't really the Senator's type of project.
As LobbyAnn skulked away, she probably noticed Alex and the Senator enjoying their coffee. And as Alex likes to conclude his tale, "That was the best cup of coffee I've ever had."
90. Mi Casa, Tu Casa
A few months back, we bought a house. Oddly enough, the sellers had us cover a bunch of little costs they usually would have taken care of. It added up to $187. Considering the house price, it wasn't a big enough issue for us to back out of the deal.
Once we got the house, we did some remodeling. There happened to be this built-in table-like setup in the entryway.
We didn't want it so we planned to chuck it. We set it outside for trash, and a neighbor spotted it. Knowing it was a beloved feature by the previous owners, they gave them a heads up. Sure enough, the previous owners messaged me asking if they could salvage it for themselves since we were getting rid of it.
I fired back a message, telling them another folks was interested in buying it for exactly $187. But since it was their piece to begin with, I jokingly said we'd let them have it for a dollar more—$188. They were game, and after leaving a check, they carted off the table a week later.
91. A Real Mouthful
My household was made up of six people: my mom, my dad, my older sister, my elder brother, my younger brother, and myself. Whenever we behaved well, our parents would reward us with a bag of our preferred candy for car trips. However, I've never been inclined to distribute my things freely.
My folks were desperate for us to become respectful, magnanimous adults, so they often insisted I share, even if I didn’t want to. My sister saw an opportunity in this setup. She would decline her own bag of candy, and then raid our stash during the ride, nibbling away at the treats we three brothers had.
This irked me. I didn't often get a chance to relish these sweets, given Mom's dislike for sugar-laden snacks. So, when I had my own bag of Sour Patch Kids, I wanted to savor each one. Besides, our parents always encouraged each of us to get our own candy; however, she’d poach ours instead.
Eventually, I began denying her my sweets. This act was deemed 'selfish' by Mom, resulting in me having to surrender my candy. This situation spiraled into such a routine that once at the checkout line at CVS, I told my sister upfront, "I won't be sharing my candy this time. If you want Sour Patch Kids, buy them now."
"I'm good," she persisted. "I don't need a whole bag of candy." Fast forward 20 minutes into the journey, my dad was distributing my sour gummy candies to my sister, while I simmered with resentment.
This chocolate-and-confectionery tug of war continued throughout our childhood, and I detested it. I'd always try to keep my sweet treats hidden, but it always ended the same way, thanks to parental intervention.
Flash forward to my sister's college graduation. My family, plus extended relatives, close friends of my sister, and her long-term boyfriend (who I was meeting for the first time) were celebrating her big day at a posh eatery. Enough family secrets and quirks were present to make the ensuing event somewhat blush-worthy.
At the conclusion of our meal, Mom offered to order a special dessert for all. Everyone, but my sister, accepted the indulgent proposal. I opted for a vanilla bean cheesecake adorned with a caramelized sugarbird's nest. Although my mother repeatedly invited my sister to choose a dessert, she refuted each time, saying she couldn't stomach an entire dessert then.
As the extravagant sweets arrived, my cheesecake became the center of attention. Placed at the head of the table, my delicious looking cake, with its elaborate burnt sugar nest, attracted many admiring glances.
Just as the dessert was placed before me, my sister announced her intention to sample everyone's dish. At this point, I saw red. Memories of all the stolen candies flooded back. Although the reasonable thing would have been to hand over a piece of cake, a sense of principle restrained me.
So, the moment she let slip her intentions, I promptly crammed the entire slice of cake into my mouth, smashing the delicate sugar nest and causing crumbs to shower down, under the watchful eyes of all present.
My sister gaped in disbelief, “Did you do that only so I wouldn’t get a piece?" I nodded affirmatively, muffled by a mouth stuffed with cheesecake. The subsequent silence was deafening, leading to a distinctly uncomfortable car ride home. However, since then, she's never asked me for anything again.
92. Keep On Trucking
Just last weekend, I was helping my friend move and we happened to be driving down a two-lane highway late at night around 10pm. The speed limit was 50 but often, people would speed along this stretch given how empty it tends to be during late hours.
Following my friend's car in the left lane, we were about to overtake a car on the right lane. Out of the blue, a guy in a lifted truck with blinding blue high beams and fog lights shoots up behind us. At first, I just thought, ignore him, I'm too beat to react to this—we had been moving stuff all day back and forth.
I signaled and started to change my lane to the right, to sort of let him pass, driving responsibly. But, the driver of the truck decided to act stupid—he went around and stayed side-by-side with the other car in the right lane, preventing me from completing my change of lane.
Now this was annoying, so I decided to speed up and overtake the car on the right. The truck driver then again came behind me and started tailgating. My friend saw what was happening, moved to the right lane and I went parallel to him on the left lane. Knowing our mutual disdain for reckless drivers in lifted trucks, we exchanged cheeky smiles and decided to have some fun with this guy.
First, my friend accelerated a bit, only for the truck driver to try to weave through, then I sped up causing the truck driver to swerve back. For around two miles, we kept doing this until the speed limit dropped to 25, right before a center lane opened up. We both reduced speed to 25 at the "reduced ahead" sign, well before the actual speed limit sign, annoying the hot-headed truck driver even further.
Running out of patience, he roared past us in the center lane, speeding through the intersection. Then it happened, all by pure luck—he sped right past a police SUV. The officer quickly made a U-turn, switched the siren on and pulled over the truck, which was clearly speeding at about 70 in a 25 zone.
We eventually reached my friend's house chuckling the whole time during unloading. It was the best laugh and strangely uplifting morale booster we needed to wrap our late-night moving chores.
93. A For Effort
A couple of years back, I was on my way to a final exam for my music history module, and I realized I had forgotten my scantron. I quickly dashed into the campus bookstore, picked up a scantron, and darted over to the till. This is when I first encountered "her". "Her" was a middle-aged woman, bearing the distinctive wrinkles of someone who always frowns.
As I tried to pay with my card, she gestured to a notice stating a $10 minimum spend. Yes, $10. The scantron cost a mere 20 cents. I could understand a $5 minimum but $10? Really? I didn't have any cash on me, but I spotted a take a penny, leave a penny jar. I reached for a few dimes someone had left in the jar.
"Her" immediately covered the jar, declaring I could drop change off but couldn't take any. I was slightly annoyed but decided not to let it get to me. Instead, I told her that I had a few more things to buy. I wandered around the store, picking up nearly $200 worth of items from the hardest to reach spots.
When I returned to the counter, "her" smirked, obviously thinking she had bested me. But the moment I paid for the items, I asked to return everything excluding the scantron. The woman was absolutely incensed! Although it's rare for anyone to yell at me, she completely lost it and called the campus police.
Upon their arrival, the officers clarified that what I had done was perfectly acceptable. "Her" was not happy but was forced to process my refund minus the scantron. The officers, hiding smirks, called it a draw and advised me not to pull that trick again. I agreed and made my way to my exam. Despite being 20 minutes late, I managed to score an A.
94. By Any Other Name
A few months ago, I decided to change my name. Don't ask me why, it's a long story, but I seriously disliked the "unique" spelling of my first name and wanted to get rid of my last one. Everything was fine when I had to update my name everywhere—social security, driver's license, insurance, you name it. That was until I needed to change it on my credit card.
See, this particular credit card is pretty important to me. I'm my own boss and use the card to earn travel points for flights, hotels, car rentals, you know the drill.
But if you've experienced renting a car or checking into a hotel, you know they need the name on the card to match the one on your ID. So, I called my credit card company. They asked me to fill out a form and mail it in with a copy of the legal name change document.
Makes sense. So I wait for two weeks. No news from them. I decided to follow up. They said they didn't get my mail. Then I was told they have a fax where I could send the documents.
So using a phone app, I sent the required documents via fax. Another fortnight passed, still no news. Called them again, got the same response. "Please mail or fax....", you know the spiel.
I did as they asked, yet again. A week went by with no updates. I call...again. Same story. By this time, I was seriously irritated. I had a trip coming up and needed my card to have the same name as my ID.
So I requested to speak to a manager. They gave me some nonsense about no manager being available at the moment. Regardless, I again faxed them the necessary documents.
But this time, I decided to keep hitting send even after each fax was confirmed as delivered. Just to make sure they received it. On the first day, after sending the same thing 25 times, still nothing. The next day, while lounging on my couch watching a game, I thought of sending it a few more times. Before I knew it, I’d sent it over 130 times.
The following afternoon, I received a call from a not-so-happy manager at the credit card company. I acted innocent. "But you guys asked me to fax it in..." Three days later, my updated card was in the mail.
95. The Cost Of Cheating
We were a couple for four years and I believed we had a wonderful relationship. Both of us had secure careers, owned homes in the same area, and had daughters living with us. Her girl was 11 while mine was 16 at the time we got together. We'd even made plans to marry and build a life with our daughters in a brand new house.
The idea of a new house came up because she was diagnosed with a neurological disease that would, over time, leave her wheelchair-bound, so we wanted a disability-friendly home. I started improving her house's landscape and construction to boost its buying appeal, investing about $30K from my part-time construction work for tax and resale reasons.
We had a deal stating payment would transpire once the house was sold, hence I just issued invoices for every project but didn't press for payment considering our agreement.
Six months later, we were planning to buy land and finalizing our new home's design when I fell ill, experiencing eating problems, constant vomiting, and stomach swelling, despite leading healthy lifestyles.
My diet triggered suspicion, so I sought medical attention, simultaneously she started experiencing cognitive issues due to work-related stress, which worsened her condition, forcing her to accept a lower-paying job.
Subsequent tests revealed a stomach tumor requiring chemotherapy. Meanwhile, she and her daughter were spending more time at my house to help out.
Given our situations, I suggested we sell one of our homes, live together, and use both my excellent supplemental insurance and long-term health plan to easily navigate our circumstances. But, this strategy backfired terribly.
Suddenly, she grew distant, offering reasons to avoid spending time together. Her daughter no longer visited, she stopped taking me to my treatments and quit staying over, then she dropped the bombshell, confessing she couldn't take care of a severely sick person, so we should split up.
Honestly, her announcement shattered me. Since my wife's death when our kids were just toddlers, she was the first woman I'd trusted with my life. Despite the pain, I chose to handle the situation maturely, understanding her stance and accepting what I couldn't change. Avoiding awkward conversations, I took her belongings to her place when she was absent.
While dropping her stuff, I noticed her in her living room with a man she'd previously introduced as a long-time friend. I still wish I could erase what I saw that day. They seemed intimate despite being friends with him and his ex-girlfriend, even having vacationed together.
Flash forward several months later, I find out from his ex-girlfriend that they'd been seeing each other since we were making plans for our new home. Fueled with anger, I felt a sense of justice. Now healthier after chemotherapy, I found documents reminding me of the unpaid invoices totaling $32,680.00 for the work I'd done on her house, which I immediately sent to my lawyer for lien action.
Just in time, she was preparing to sell her house. The late payment added hefty interest, alongside attorney fees and our contract's provision that these would be settled upon her house's sale. After paying her mortgage, she barely made $10K, resulting in her canceling her new home's purchase and switching to her daughter's place.
A year later, I bumped into her, wheelchair-bound and seemingly aged. After a brief chat, her younger daughter called, suggesting we hang out. I gave noncommittal responses and moved on. Later, the ex reached out, offering an apology for her actions, to which I politely responded and moved on.
Her numerous texts eventually led to her suggesting we reunite. I replied: "I can't see myself taking care of a very sick person long-term. Remember the box on your back porch? Did you think your 'long-time friend' brought it from my place? Wish you luck. Goodbye".
96. Sign Your Work
While I was on a military assignment, my partner was unfaithful to me. She eventually became engaged to the other man. Just before my transfer, she contacted me to bid farewell. We ended up getting intimate.
While she was sleeping, I found the drawer where he kept his underwear and left a note in it. I really dropped the hammer on him: "Once a cheater, always a cheater. By the way, I didn't use protection."
I signed my name on the note. It’s kind of hard not to look back at that instance with a certain amount of satisfaction...
97. Sounds Wrong
My uncle, who's a deputy sheriff, had a rather interesting incident at the airport. He was talking in Spanish over the phone with my aunt when a misguided woman nearby overheard him. Once he hung up, she confronted him, asking to see his green card. She picked the wrong person to bother.
In reaction, my uncle decided to have a bit of fun, playing innocent and saying he didn't understand what a green card was. Even as she grew more flustered and insistent, he continued to play along, increasing her frustration.
Then, he had the perfect punch line. He casually mentioned, "I might not have a green card, but I do have this," and out came his wallet. As he flashed his badge, her face fell—she promptly beat a hasty retreat. The sight of her retreating back left my uncle in fits of laughter.
98. That’s On You
I produce and edit marketing videos and share them on my company's YouTube channel. One day after I posted a pretty standard video, my boss asked me to come to his office because a director, who seems to have a dislike for our department and enjoys casting me in a poor light, sent an email to my boss and a few executives.
That's when things got awkward. In his email, he claimed that I had messed up the promotional video, as it had "all these offensive videos linked to it". As evidence, he shared a screenshot of the video's ending, where all the suggested videos featured barely-dressed Asian women striking provocative poses.
Both he and my boss seemingly didn't understand how YouTube's recommendation algorithm operates. He failed to understand that these videos were recommended because either he, or someone else using his account, had watched similar content prior. I'm not sure of how my boss explained this to him.
99. The Grass Is Greener
In the first home we owned, my spouse and I found ourselves with a neighbor who seemed to have it in for us right from the get-go. It turns out the previous homeowners were close companions to this grumpy neighbor.
After their split, they had to sell their house and we bought it. The neighbor was pretty petty and often rude to my wife, who is not one for confrontations, and he'd go out of his way to annoy her.
For example, he'd purposely block our driveway before my wife was due to leave for work. He'd toss scraps of wood onto our side of the fence, and let his dog do his business on our lawn without bothering to clean it up. I had tried to have civil conversations with him more than once, yet was met with a rude dismissal.
That was the breaking point for me—I decided to retaliate. Knowing how proud he was of his well-manicured lawn, I waited for a stormy day before tossing a whole container of oxo cubes into his yard, allowing the rain to dissolve them into the grass.
Needless to say, his dog went nuts trying to find those salty smells, causing havoc to his beloved lawn. I took pleasure in bringing up the chaos inflicted on his lawn every chance I got. Not long after, we found a new place to live.
100. Watching The Clock
At my previous job, when I joined, I'd log in right away upon arrival and wrap up any pending work before I left for the day. It didn't bother me to stay a bit longer, as I consider myself a team player. This meant unpaid overtime of around 20-30 minutes every day, but I didn't mind since I enjoyed the company culture and keeping my desk tidy.
But things changed after two years when my father-in-law became terminally ill. When we got an urgent call from the hospital, I had to abruptly tell my manager and rush out at 3:45 (our fixed hours were from 10 am to 4 pm).
To my surprise, my pay the following month was short by half a day. And even though I'd already put in two extra unpaid hours that week, I was simply told that they couldn't bend the rules and that doing additional work was my own choice. Well, that made it clear what I needed to do next. From then on, I was punctual to my clock-in and clock-out times.
I maintained this new schedule for five years, strictly adhering to my contracted hours. One day, my manager was having a chat with a new employee and mentioned, with me in earshot, how she despised "punctuality freaks" who leave just when they're supposed to, considering it a sign of low company loyalty.
I calmly reminded her that loyalty is a two-way street, and docking a half-day's pay when I needed to be with my family on a critical day, especially after I'd already put in extra hours, felt harsh and insensitive.
So, I decided to mirror the level of compassion they showed me during the most challenging period of my life. After all, no exceptions, right? The new guy took my lead, along with the rest of the staff, and began doing the same. I can only imagine how many overtime hours they may have lost across the entire department over the subsequent years.
101. Office Space
This is a throwback to my first job at a corporate office, right out of college, working as a secretary. Among my co-workers were two senior secretaries. While one was pretty decent, I found myself largely working side by side with Agnes. Agnes was nearing her retirement age, and she seemed to have no plans of leaving without putting up a bit of a struggle.
Back then, when computers were just finding their way into the office, her tech skills were, to put it gently, lacking. She'd invent excuses like, "I can't answer the phone—I'm using the computer". The concept of multi-tasking was alien to her.
To add to this, she was incredibly picky and bothersome. If ever I came back to work a bit late from lunch, she made sure to make a big fuss, alerting the whole office to my tardiness.
Strangely enough, she wasn't exactly punctual herself, often strolling in late in the mornings and sneaking out early. Any minor slips on my part, like typos, were announced by her, quite loudly, to everyone else.
Agnes had a knack for throwing fits when things weren't going her way, and she often threatened to "quit" her job when she was upset. Each time, it would take our boss's intervention to convince her to stay.
Knowing her track record, when she threatened to "quit" once again, upset with our boss, I seized the moment. With our boss's boss conveniently away, I immediately organized and announced a big retirement celebration for her. By day's end, it was all set, and people were visiting her desk, congratulating her on her retirement and looking forward to the party.
I suppose she realized it was too late to revert to her old ways. Much to everyone's surprise, she actually retired! Seeing how her workload was pretty light, I suggested to my boss not to bother finding a replacement. And funnily enough, we managed just fine without her.
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