Human behavior is heavily influenced by emotion. When we feel that we've been wronged, we can choose between two options: taking the high road or getting even. The problem with the latter is that sometimes we take our meanness too far and end up doing more damage than initially intended. Below, people share the meanest things they’ve done to another person, and their stories will make you think twice before you act:
When I was 19, I was out with my best friend, looking for a parking spot near the pubs. A couple of girls our age cut us off and rolled into the spot that we were obviously waiting for (we had our turn indicator blinking and everything). They nearly hit our car leaving the spot, then got out and laughed at us. Their car was a nice, new Lexus and they left the driver’s side window cracked open about a half-inch.
It was the perfect setup for our revenge—my best friend and I urinated through the window crack, along with three inebriated dudes who were passing by, apparently liked the idea, and joined in. We told them what happened and they promised to tell others to keep the flow going. Not my proudest moment, but it still makes me laugh.
When I was really young, around six years old, I took a sand pail (like the ones you use at the beach) and scooped up some ants at a nearby ant hill. Then, I carried out my "sinister" plan—I walked over to a girl that had angered me and dumped the contents of the pail all over her head. She ran away crying and she never wronged me again.
A couple of years ago, I was hanging out with my best friend and I realized that he left his Facebook open on my laptop. I just had to do something about it. I didn't want to post a "coming out of the closet" status update because that was so overdone. So, I decided to change his relationship status to “Engaged.” My objective was to cause his notifications to explode and watch him deal with the barrage of awkward phone calls.
I was the first to like and comment on the status update, which made it more believable since we are best friends. Little did I know that it would cause such chaos—my little prank eventually led to his break-up with his girlfriend. Apparently, I had opened a huge can of worms.
I was really angry at my brother, so I decided to tick him off in the best way I knew how. I opened up his account on Netflix and scrolled through to massive spoilers in random episodes of all of the TV shows he was watching.
There was this boy who was in my class. He was really awkward and did a lot of goofy stuff that he had seen in various anime shows. I teased him a lot. I eventually started getting my other classmates to join in if they hadn't already. The boy had pretty much no friends other than a boy that was also bullied (but less severely).
It got to the point where he would stop coming to school because he was so afraid of being bullied. One day, I managed to find his home phone number on the teacher’s desk and we started calling him at home to tease him. He would always put up a tough guy act and claim that our teasing didn't get to him. Maybe he thought one of his anime heroes would have done the same. I don't know.
Anyway, on about our fourth call, one of our classmates was talking to him, saying something mean. I'll never forget the moment I heard him break down and scream. It tore me in half for some reason and from that day forward, I couldn't continue. After hearing him cry, I just couldn't keep doing it to him. Fast forward two years to high school and he is now one of my best friends.
His mother knew what I had done and didn't like it when I came over, (couldn't blame her) but for some reason, he was able to forgive me.
I was one of the popular kids at school and I invited this nerdy girl to prom. While she was standing outside her house, all dressed and ready to go, we committed a most vicious act—we drove by, threw eggs at her, and drove off. I regret it to this day.
At some point, my parents got divorced (not a big deal) and my dad got married to a woman who was the closest thing to a demon that I have ever personally met. I hated this woman with every fiber of my being. During the years that I knew her, she would constantly beat me down verbally, physically, and emotionally.
We are from a relatively small town in California and we had an average-sized house, but only one bathroom. One day, as I was about to take a shower, I noticed that her shampoo was left out in the open (she usually hides it from me for some reason). I also noticed that we had a bottle of Nair under the sink. Keep in mind that I was probably no older than 13 at the time. The gears in my head started turning, and...
I decided to put some of it in her shampoo. Not enough to burn her scalp or anything, just a little. About a week later, she began freaking out, screaming, and running through the house. My dad tried to figure out what had happened, and then he saw her. She had started losing her hair and to this day, she has bleach marks on her head. She and my dad divorced a few years later, but every time I see that small bald spot, I laugh.
I have absolutely no regrets.
I convinced a guy that he should lather his body in Icy Hot before he worked out to prevent from getting sore muscles afterward. Fifteen minutes later, he shocked everyone in the gym—he came running out of the workout area towards the showers, looking like a cooked lobster.
I got frustrated one day and I told an unpopular co-worker the cold, hard truth: "People just tolerate you." She started crying and I realized how messed up that was to say.
I went to a concert with a friend. He's a nice guy, but that night, he just wouldn't stop talking. I liked the music and I couldn't enjoy it because of him. I knew I had to put a stop to it—so I told him I was too tired and that I wanted to go back home, but I'd drop him first at his home so he didn't have to take a cab. So, we got in the car, I drove him home, and then I went back to the concert, alone. He never knew.
When I was living in China, we had a live-in maid, as many households did. She came from a very poor and rural region of China, but we paid her okay. She had her daughter over one day, which was very rare, as her daughter still lived in the rural region. At the time, her daughter had never tried ice cream or any of the foods that city kids enjoy, so her mom bought her an ice cream bar from a convenience store.
Imported ice cream brands aren't exactly cheap in China, so understandably it was a splurge on her salary. When the daughter bit excitedly into the ice cream bar for the first time, she seemed to enjoy it so much. When I saw that, an evil grin appeared on my face—I just went over to her and snatched the ice cream from her hand, because I wanted it for myself. I was around seven to eight years old at the time.
Obviously, as I was her employer's kid, our maid couldn't really protest. So, she just looked really sad at her daughter as I finished the rest of the ice cream. It was the first time that girl had a chance to eat something so luxurious, and I just completely ruined it. I still remember the look on that girl's face as I ate the food her mom bought to spoil her since they didn't see each other often at all.
To me, it was just a $5 ice cream bar, so I didn’t understand the big deal. Thinking back on it, I still can't believe how cruel that was.
One time, I borrowed a pencil from a teacher. Before I returned the pencil, a totally mischievous idea popped into my head—I ended up going to the bathroom and rubbing it between my butt cheeks.
One day at the bus stop, I told my brother to stick his tongue on the stop sign post. What ensued was horrifying—it got stuck, he ripped it off, and there was a ton of blood. His taste buds were also visibly stuck to that sign. They were gross to look at and I felt terrible. I had no idea that it would truly be that bad.
In elementary school, there were two girls who were best friends, I once approached them for no good reason and whispered that I wanted to tell them a secret. When they got closer, I did the unexpected—I smacked their heads against each other and left. It was the early ‘90s, so I got away with it. Had it been today, I'd be in deep trouble.
When I was a young teenager, my friends and I would sometimes sneak out late at night and do things we thought were funny. The one I feel guilty about to this day is when we dumped a random person's bag of raked leaves all over their yard.
This was in the early ‘90s. I had a computer class in high school with a teacher who clearly did not understand computers. Meanwhile, I was rocking a custom PC at home that I built myself. So, the class was easy for me. I would finish our worksheets that were supposed to take the whole period in five minutes. Then, I would just fool around.
In the beginning, she didn't mind. But after a while. she started to resent me and she would send me out into the hall a lot. A few times, she even kicked me out of class and gave me bad grades for no reason, stuff like that. She was petty and stupid. Despite our problems, I was one of the few computer-literate people in that class, so she had me do a lot of TA type of stuff when I would finish my work early.
She would later regret giving me all that power...One day towards the end of the year, she asked me to format and copy files on 40 or so floppy discs for an assignment next year. What I did instead was open the little metal slider and just scratch the disc surface. I painstakingly did this for all the discs she gave me and didn't say anything. I left it as a nice surprise for her next year.
I got dumped in a heartbreaking way by a girl I had been seeing. It was serious in that we knew each other's families and our families knew each other. It wasn't a harsh breakup with words; it was more of a break of contact. Enough time had passed and I had humiliated myself by making numerous attempts to contact her.
She never once responded to me, but eventually, she had one of her friends tell me it was over. So I sent her one last message: "Why didn't you just tell me?" Again. no reply. That just wasn't right. At the time, we shared a membership at a vintage video rental store. In fact, it was entirely her membership and I just had a copy of her card. I knew a few things about classic and rare collectible movies, so I rented out four of them.
The replacement cost was roughly $3,200. I kept them safe. I also kept them well past the due date. At first, she had her friends contact me, but when the store threatened her credit rating with collections, she deigned herself to call me personally. This was the first I'd heard of her in close to four months. She was livid. I told her to calm down and to call me in three days, no sooner.
The serial calling that followed went on for several hours. I finally told her to calm down and call me again in seven days —no sooner or I'd make it a month, and after that, I'd cut her off. The calls ended at that instant, for a week. When she called again, I let the machine get it. My roommate spoke to her by name and instructed her to leave only one message and wait by her phone for my reply.
I called her back the next morning and got her machine. I told her I'd try again in two days at a precise time, and that she was not to return my call. Two days later, I called. She picked up. I uttered three words to drive my point home: "Read my mind." She didn't understand. I told her we would try again the next day and I hung up. The next day, I did the same thing. She understood this time.
She acknowledged that the way she handled leaving me was unfair. She also agreed that involving her friends and shaming me was wrong especially since I had done nothing wrong. Then, I told her to start apologizing and not stop without my permission. I made a few rules: no repeating the same phrase over and over, no long pauses, no crying, no asking permission to stop, and no excuses.
She began. I listened closely for the first 20 minutes. She said she was sorry and that she handled it badly. She also said that she was immature and had a heart of stone. I took a bathroom break and quietly set the phone down. When I returned, she was still going. She was saying that she was cruel and selfish and that she wished she could take it back.
She promised to tell her friends it was her fault and that she would apologize to my parents in writing. I set the phone down again and walked to the video store to return the tapes. I paid the late fees of about $36. Then, I returned home and picked up the phone. She was talking for more than 90 minutes in total so far. I knew I had already crossed the line, but a part of me wanted to take it even further.
I said to her: "I never want to hear from you again. That includes snide messages from your callous friends. No accidental passing of messages when our mutual friends get together." Never once did I mention or acknowledge the videos. She didn't ask. I hung up.
In my high school, there was this walking space between the hallways and the courtyard. It was essentially a room for me and my friends. Sometimes in our senior year, this random girl just started coming into the room, and none of us liked our territory being invaded. Later on, one of us brought chocolate chip cookies with Oreos baked inside and we gave them out.
About five minutes later, the random girl came in, saw the cookies, and asked where we got them. I had to get rid of her, so I came up with a little white lie: "The cafeteria is selling them," I said without a moment's hesitation. I wasn't the only one who wanted her gone, but I was the only one who did something to get rid of her. I still don't regret it.
My sister and I have always been sworn enemies. One time, I wanted to get back at her for something she did to me, but I went way too far—I covered a piece of wood with mud and told my baby sister it was a chocolate bar. She bit into it.
When I was little, my cousin and I were pen pals. One time, she sent me a letter and I couldn't help but be petty—I corrected her spelling and grammar in red pencil and sent it back to her. She never wrote me again.
This is recent and I don't really regret it. So, one of my housemates always steals everyone's food and drinks. He recently drank my orange juice and that was the last straw for me. I got some prank-grade laxative and a quarter-filled bottle of Sunny D, mixed it, placed it in my fridge, and waited. Lo and behold, it was gone in two days.
I didn't see anything happen, but he mentioned he had a really bad day and didn't want to talk about it. Somehow now, the world feels more in balance than it did before.
My college roommate's phone is always charging on the kitchen table when he's in the shower. One morning, he was taking too long in the shower, so I took his phone and edited his contacts so that his girlfriend's name matched his ex-girlfriend's number and vice versa. The day went by and I heard no tell-tale signs of the prank hitting its mark, so the next morning, I checked his phone to make sure I'd done it right.
It turns out I had. No longer feeling in the mood to keep the joke going, I quietly changed the numbers back and didn't mention it to anyone. Three days later, he came to me on the verge of a breakdown and he let me in on a shocking new development—his girlfriend dumped him. Turns out, he unwittingly sent intimate messages to his ex-girlfriend that night. She must not have been over him yet because she replied to him.
He swore to me that he thought he was messaging his girlfriend. As I saw his ex's name on the conversation header, I feigned outrage, called his distraught girlfriend "to see how she was holding up," went over to console her, and got with her that night. That should show him not to take so long in the shower.
I had a professor in college who was a nightmare. She was in the criminal justice department and she always talked about how she used to be a cop. I wrote on her teacher evaluation that I understood why she was fired from her cop job (even though I have no idea if she actually was) and that those who can't do, teach.
The evaluations were anonymous and I was leaving the department at the end of the semester (in part because of her), so I considered signing it, but I eventually decided against it. The aftermath of my actions was beyond what I expected—there was a huge rumor the next week that one of her evaluations made her cry. She canceled classes for two days after the day she received them. I don't regret it.
My ex ran over a cat after leaving my house one night. She was devastated. As anyone who owns a pet knows, your cat or dog is as much a part of your family as anyone else. She called me from the side of the road to help her as she was in a total panic. "Should we call law enforcement? Should we put up fliers? Should we leave a sign someplace? What if someone did this to my cat? I would want to know!"
When I got there, I checked the cat for a collar. Turns out, the cat did belong to someone and its name was Miffy. I confirmed the cat was, in fact, not alive, and then I pulled the collar off the cat and put it in my jacket pocket. I didn't tell my ex about the collar, as I figured it would just upset her further. My thinking was, should someone be missing Miffy, it was better if the cat was never found and for them to think that the cat simply got lost.
Two weeks later, my ex and I were going for bagels in her car one morning and she was giving me an attitude. I left her in the car to go to the store and my jaw dropped—I passed by a "lost cat" sign on the window of the bagel shop, and sure enough, it was Miffy. Miffy belonged to a sweet little girl who was missing Miffy so much. Miffy was her best friend...she loved her, and she was heartbroken, according to the flyer. She offered a reward for Miffy's safe return.
I got back in the car with our bagels and coffee and she started giving me attitude again. She literally wouldn't shut up. So I responded: "Oh, yeah?! Do you have a problem with me? Well, at least I didn't kill some little kid's cat!" And I handed her the flyer. She looked at it and she asked, "How do you even know Miffy was the cat I ran over?!" I then reached into my jacket pocket and tossed the collar in her lap.
At that moment, she absolutely lost it. She was uncontrollably sobbing, but at least I didn't have to hear her nagging at me anymore.
An old boss of mine was the painful, passive-aggressive type. She also had the big boss convinced she was a key part of the operation. So, I organized a small clique of people and we spent the next year sabotaging everything she touched, turning other colleagues against her and subtly breaking down her business contacts outside of the office. What we did was rather diabolical.
For example, someone would almost always call in sick on her shifts. As one of the most junior employees, I orchestrated about 18 months of unrelenting and almost invisible pressure. Afterward, she resigned from the position that had taken her 27 years to get. I, on the other hand, got promoted and moved to a different site a couple of months later. From what I hear, her career has spiraled down to the point where she now does the jobs usually reserved for apprentices.
I don't regret any of it either. She deserved it.
I put glitter on my sister's ceiling fan on a hot day when I knew she would use it.
In my former job as a software developer, we had to deal with a thoroughly unpleasant junior manager. The guy in question was in his late 50s, and he was prone to fits of extreme rage directed at anyone in earshot. To top it off, he was a million miles from competent, and indeed had a very small niche role of almost no real merit.
He was universally hated in the office since he was a jerk of massive proportions. One day, after an especially torrid rant, we decided to play a little game with him. Knowing his propensity for rage, I wrote a small driver which hooked the keyboard buffer, and every 50 to 200 characters, it would "hold" the last one typed and swap it with the next.
In practice, it caused him to make a lot of typos. Two of my colleagues went in early one day to install it on his machine. We awaited the results. The angry man arrived at 9 am. 25 minutes later, the first furious scream emanated from his office. Then, about five minutes after that, a (surprisingly loud) cracking sound and a lot more swearing could be heard.
His office door slammed open, and he went to fetch a new keyboard from IT, red-faced and sweating. He apparently blamed the keyboard and had broken it in half, presumably over his knee. The second keyboard lasted no more than 10 minutes. At that point, he was beetroot red, sweating profusely and verbally lashing out at anyone he could see.
A third keyboard was destroyed by 10:30 am. After that, he stormed out of the office looking like he was about to end someone. I contemplated uninstalling the driver at this point, in part because I was having trouble containing my sides, but I couldn't resist seeing what'd happen next.
He didn't make it back to the office until 2 pm. Apparently, he'd been home (I believe he lived quite some distance away) and had returned with his own keyboard. He hadn't changed, and while the sweat had dried, he definitely didn't smell good. Overall, he looked pretty well deranged. His personal keyboard lasted five minutes.
I've never seen someone so furious. A filing cabinet bore much of the physical brunt and apparently, it remains in the office to this day as a severely dented reminder. He wasn't seen again in the office for three days. The driver was uninstalled in the meantime, and I was silently praying he hadn't had a heart attack. He did eventually re-emerge, unharmed.
I was hoping that the event would teach him some humility, but if anything, he seemed angrier than ever.
So, I was studying at a prestigious university over the summer a few years ago. I'm making the point that it's prestigious not to show off, but to get you thinking of the arrogant jerks that run around with their daddy's credit cards in their pockets. So, there was this one guy I shared a suite with named Simon, from England. We each had our own rooms and we shared a common area.
It was the middle of the summer in New England and it was hot, so I had a stockpile of Gatorade in our fridge. Simon walked into the room while I was on my computer, took one of my Gatorade bottles, and walked out. At first, I had an Arthur Dent reaction, but eventually, I confronted him and said, "Simon, stop taking my drinks please." "He agreed.
I noticed that I was running out of drinks quickly and I suspected that Simon was still stealing my drinks. So, I came up with a plan to get back at him—I decided to use an empty Gatorade bottle as a urinal for the next 18 hours, and soon enough, I had a bottle of yellow "Gatorade. " I placed it in the fridge and took out all the others, justifying to myself, "If he takes it, he'll deserve it."
I sat in my room and a few hours later, I heard the fridge open and close in the common room. I waited. Ten minutes went by. Then all of a sudden, from the room next to mine, I heard a loud cry: "WHAT IS IN THIS GATORADE?!"
I was transferred into an English class and I sat next to this buff wrestler to my left. He had a nerdy kid sitting in front of him. Day after day, I would reach over and tap his left shoulder so it would appear that the wrestler was tapping him (the wrestler didn't know I was doing this). Time after time, the nerdy kid would get extremely annoyed.
One day, he finally exploded. He turned around, grabbed the wrestler kid’s collar, and told him to stop. This resulted in him being punched in the face twice while getting his face mashed into the desk. The wrestler kid told him not to ever touch him again, then he released him. I had a poker face the entire time.
My sister is completely deaf, so that set her up for a lot of teasing from me. The meanest thing I'd do to her? I'd often turn off the vacuum when she was cleaning the house. She'd do a room before looking up at me swinging the power cable around with a stupid grin on my face.
Back in the third grade, there was this kid in my class who I didn't like. Both of us happened to have birth dates that were just a few days apart. So, I found out he was hosting his birthday at this bowling place that was right next to a local version of Chuck-e-Cheese. I decided to host my birthday party on the exact same day and time as him.
But I decided to host it at the Chuck-e-Cheese that was next door. The day of my birthday party rolled around and my parents dropped me off at a friend’s house so they could go to Chuck-e-Cheese and help set everything up. We arrived a bit late to the party because my friend's dad missed an exit. By the time we arrived, all of the guests were there already.
When I walked past the bowling center, I came across a totally unexpected sight—my rival was crying into his mom's chest. When he saw us, he perked up a bit, undoubtedly hopeful that at least two people would show up to his birthday. But, when it was clear we were going next door, he burst into tears again.
It was a wonderful party. I got a ton of gifts and everyone in my grade showed up. I got my first kiss that day from the girl I liked too. Later that night, I laughed myself to sleep, thinking about him crying. I actually can't even remember what he did to anger me so badly. He moved away in Grade 10. He was basically a social outcast and struggled with social interaction.
I can't remember anyone ever really being his "friend." I'm sure what I did had something to do with it.
I once posted someone's number on Craigslist saying they were selling a car for very cheap. It still makes me laugh to this day.
When my crybaby cousin was seven, my friends and I would play the game of who could make him cry the fastest. The rules were simple: first, when the game started, he had to be in a neutral or happy state. Second, there was to be no physical contact and no angry shouting at him. You had to make him cry by just talking to him. I may have gone a little too far with what I did...
I'm not proud to say that I won the game with the record of making him go from happy to crying in less than 10 seconds. I told him that his mom doesn't really love him and it's all an act.
When I was younger (about eight years old or so), some friends and I were playing games outside on a hot summer day. I had a pool in my backyard at the time, and we were up to our regular shenanigans. I don't know how or why this idea started, but we decided to tie one of my friends to a table in my backyard. Keep in mind that he went with it willingly.
We then put a towel over his face and then strapped a bicycle helmet to his face (not to his head, but the straps went behind his head). We then poured water through it and sprayed him with water guns. I still can't remember why we did any of that. After a while, we untied him and he got up, visibly upset. He didn't say a word to us, dried off quickly, and went home. We didn't understand what the big deal was...until we learned the shocking truth a few years later.
There were news reports about waterboarding in Guantanamo Bay. That was when I learned that what we did to our friend was called waterboarding—it simulates drowning and is considered one of the worst forms of torment.
I set up a fake MySpace account and trolled some jerk at my high school posing as a hot girl named "Carrie." It went on for about six months. He fell in love with her—he tried to send her things in the mail and even sent her dirty photographs (doing whatever "Carrie" requested). I still hated him, so I let it go on for as long as I could. At one point, I took things to the next level...and what I did was plain evil.
I told him "Carrie" was going to drive 100 miles to pick him up from school and that she would try to be there early. The kid waited outside in heavy rain for five hours. When he finally came inside, he sat in a hallway and cried 'til school was out. He had a week of in-house suspension and ended up missing a major test that almost made him fail the class.
I felt kind of terrible when I saw him blubbering, but then I remembered that he was a horrible human being.
When I was driving home one night from work, a bunch of kids hiding above a heavily wooded train viaduct threw snowballs and rocks at my car. It was around midnight and dark, so I was obviously surprised and I almost got into an accident because it was icy. I lived two blocks away from the viaduct, so when I got home, I put on my full-body snow camouflage.
I also took my paintball machine but that fires on full auto at around 24 BPS. I snuck back to the viaduct and the kids were still there. The kids seemed to be around 15 years old and there were five of them. The moment I had them in my crosshairs, I unleashed my fury. I unloaded two full hoppers (400 rounds) at them from a distance of about fifteen feet away. They all dropped to the ground and one tried to run away.
There was nowhere to go except to jump off the high viaduct. Their screams still make me laugh to this day. They had no idea what was happening to them or where I was because there is no muzzle flash on a paintball machine. As they were lying there in shock and pain, I went home. I didn't say anything to them. I just unloaded and then went back home.
I almost felt bad because, at close range, a paintball machine will leave bruises and easily break the skin. But, in my mind, I was justified and they deserved it.
When I was 22, some kid kept starting issues with my girlfriend, so I followed him home. He was easy to tail, with his old blue Corolla with the green replacement door, dark tint, ridiculous spoiler, loud stereo, and even louder exhaust. You know the type, the kind of car that catches the eye of every officer. He was 25 and still living with his mom when I got the idea.
I waited for a rainy night, then went over at 3 am and took the license plates from his car because no one ever looks to see if their license plates are still intact. Sure enough, two days later, he got pulled over for not having plates. With proper registration, he was able to avoid a ticket, but only by filing a law enforcement report that his plates were stolen. He probably thought that was that, but he was so wrong.
Not to be outdone, I waited another week or so for another rainy night, when I took his new plates and put his old plates back on. A week later, he was pulled over when a cop ran the plates and they came up stolen. He got nailed for possession of substances and he was also charged with filing a false report. I won.
I was in a poetry class with my girlfriend’s best friend. I sat next to her and we worked together, passing each other notes and just generally getting along with each other. One day, we got an easy assignment to write a sonnet by the end of class. I finished mine quickly and turned it in. She was writing furiously; erasing, rewriting, all that jazz.
Five minutes to the bell, she asked me to look over her work and it was a long poem filled with descriptions and imagery about her and me. She mentioned how I was always there for her, how she wished I were hers, and how I deserved better than my girlfriend. She rhymed with things near to my name and hinted at my name throughout.
I read it over, while she's watching me, fidgeting with tears in her eyes. Then, I handed it back to her and I uttered a sentence that wiped the joy off her face completely: "It's not a sonnet." The bell rang and I walk away as she begins sobbing. She changed classes that afternoon.
I was a junior in a freshman biology class because of bizarre scheduling decisions on my part. I had a final "group lab" with these three ditzy sorority girls, and they did not like me one bit because I kept getting on them for skipping steps and fudging numbers. Anyway, they basically said, "We're not doing this. You do it."
Okay, neat idea. They thought they could use me to their benefit, but there was one key piece of information they failed to consider. It was the end of the semester, I had an A in the class, and I knew they all had borderline C's. So, I knew that if I completely tanked the assignment, I'd get a high B at worst, and they'd fail. I didn't object when they demanded that I do it.
Then, I fooled around on my laptop for a week and a half while they gossiped about their sorority sisters. In the end, they asked to see what I had done. I handed them a blank sheet of paper, smiled, and left the classroom. We got a 0 on the assignment, and they had to retake the course. I feel absolutely zero regrets for that decision.
For no reason at all, I slapped some dude I knew in the back of his head as hard as I could with a piece of gum in my hand. The worst part? He had long, curly hair. I laughed at that time, but now I feel kind of bad.
When I was in middle school, we had a computer lab class. I have no idea what we even worked on in there; my friends and I just played flash games mostly. One day, we spied on a girl in front of us looking up the Playboy bunny logo. I have no idea why, but we just started whispering to her, "Are you a lesbian?"
She, of course, denied that and looked at us with hate. I remember fully well. Now, this girl wasn't very popular; she was way smaller than the rest of us, and that made her an easy target. I wasn't a troublemaker in elementary school and I had never been teased previously. I don't know what came over me in that computer lab, but I became a bully at that very moment.
It got so far that I actually snitched on her for being a lesbian. I snitched on her! That's three kinds of low and probably more. And that's not even the worst of it. I continued to refer to her as "the lesbo," even when speaking to her. I was a jerk. I never saw her after middle school. She left before we graduated, but I'd like to believe she was stronger than she let on. She'd cover her ears and shout at me when we would harass her.
At one point, I asked her out in front of the entire school in "hopes" of turning her straight or something. I don't even remember what my intention was. I knew it hurt her though. It wasn't until high school that I recognized the monumental damage I had caused. From then on, I promised myself I'd be a better person. I realize I'll never be able to make up for what I did nine years ago, but writing this apology is the best I can do.
Katie, if this somehow ever reaches your eyes (and I hope it does), please know how truly sorry I am. I wish to tell you this in person, but I've found no trace of you anywhere. I remember you, forgive me, please. I'd understand if you wouldn't.
I was on the red line T in Boston. Two middle school kids were messing around and slamming themselves into people every time the subway took a corner or changed speed. The adult with them wasn't doing anything about the fact that they were knocking into people or crushing shopping bags. I was sitting down near them when the subway took a sharp turn and they intentionally went flying across the aisle falling into people with their exaggerated movements.
One of them fell onto the floor in front of me when the other one pushed him as they skidded across the aisle. His hand was right in front of my foot. That's when I took my chance to teach them a lesson. I stepped on it, hard. He tried to get up and I just increased the pressure while staring into his empty little eyes. He looked at me kind of helpless. I just shook my head and mouthed "no" and kept my foot there until my stop.
My stop came up and just got up and walked out of the subway car. I get kind of happy when I think about it.
I locked a live raccoon in a buddy’s car on his prom night. He was surprised when he found it, to say the least.
My mother-in-law hates me with a passion. She has been nothing but vicious and cruel to me in the 22 years since I have been married to her son. She is also a self-proclaimed born-again Christian, but she definitely doesn't act like one. Each Christmas, the whole family (at least 10 to 15 people plus their guests) would get together and exchange gifts.
Year after year, I would get the same themed gift from her. I am overweight, so she felt the need to emphasize it by doing things like giving me individually wrapped cans of slim fast, or a box of diet pills. My personal favorite was when she gave me one of those neoprene waistband things that are supposed to make you sweat like a goat until you have a slim waist.
Each year, I would hand-make a blanket or quilt for each person, and they would take me all year to create. My blankets and quilts sell for a very nice sum, so these aren't thin, generic things one would throw away. They are very well made and very high quality. One year, my mother-in-law went a step too far with me.
She bought me a single scratch lottery ticket and said, "If you win, you can get that bariatric surgery where they cut your guts out and you can't eat! Then your problems would go away!" I was crushed. I scratched off the ticket and it was one of those joke $20,000 instant winners that were fake. She acted all excited.
I excused myself to another room and just cried for hours. I couldn't believe one person, who claimed to be so religious, could be so evil when I had never been anything but kind to her. That spring, she was hospitalized with an awful allergic reaction where she broke out into hives the size of golf balls, and had a swollen face, as well.
It turns out she had been cuddling with her neighbor’s cat and she had never known that she was deeply allergic to cat dander. That's when a lightbulb turned on in my head. For the next eight months, I spent at least an hour each day brushing and combing my six cats quite thoroughly, collecting every single hair I could get my hands on, and spinning the whole mess into the prettiest, and softest balls of yarn you ever saw.
That year, I produced my finest matching hat, gloves, scarf, and shawl out of this gorgeous, soft yarn and had it professionally gift wrapped and put under the tree. When everyone started opening gifts, they all were amazed at the effort that went into the set she had received from me.
Each person touched it and commented that it was such a unique set, asking where I got it. I told them I made it from scratch, spun the yarn, and produced each piece by hand, all from love for the woman that gave me the greatest joy in life—my husband. She was choked up and you could see in her eyes that she was rethinking her gift to me, which turned out to be a $10 gym membership to a month-by-month exercise outlet here in town.
She gave me a great big hug and said thank you for such a gorgeous and thoughtful gift, put each piece on, and wore them all for the remainder of the day. Within a few hours, her eyes began to swell, her skin became blotchy and she started to itch uncontrollably. I'll never forget the year that she spent Christmas in the emergency room trying to figure out what she had eaten that could have given her such an allergic reaction.
After all, the only thing she knew she was allergic to was cats, and no one in the family had them. I have been collecting fur from all of my friends, a groomer, and of course, my own cats for a year. I'm hoping to be able to get enough yarn spun by next Christmas to make her a bedspread. I regret nothing.
Definitely not proud of this one, but I was a kid at the time and I genuinely do regret it. There was a kid down the street who was really weird. We decided to knock on his door and tell him that a kid named Chandler who lived down the street wanted to play. Keep in mind this was in the seventh grade. Anyway, after we told him that, we hid and waited for him to come out.
That's when we saw him come out in full cardboard armor with a duct-taped sword. He ran out as if he was in battle. We saw him run into the street, and after I saw the look on his face, I regretted it. He looked so defeated and he started crying. After we left our hiding spot, we were approached by his older brother. He knew it was us and basically asked us why we did that. We lied and said that some kids paid us to do it. He believed it.
We already felt bad, but later on, we were made aware of a fact that made us feel even worse. It turned out that the kid we pranked was autistic. In high school, I told him about it and apologized. He forgave me, but you could tell it really bothered him. He ended up taking his own life a year or two later. I feel horrible knowing that I probably had some part in that.
When I was 13, there was a guy in my class who was extremely annoying. He was a guy who liked to act stupid to get laughs during lessons. Anyway, during recess in school, he did something to really get on my nerve, so I kicked him as hard as I could square in the shin. But that's not all—the thing is, I was wearing steel-toed clogs. He just folded over right on the spot. I was still angry, so I didn't care and went on my way.
He limped for more than a month and I seriously still feel bad about it, 15 years later. He's a decent guy and I know now that he was just desperate for people to acknowledge him and talk to him. I get a horrible gut feeling every time I remember this.
When I was in the fifth grade, there was this girl in my class. Everyone (and I mean everyone) would make fun of her because everyone said she was a hairy Armenian. Of course, being the childish little kid I was, I followed. I can't remember a single day that she wasn't being tormented.
I should add that people always said she had a huge crush on me, which led to me making fun of her even more. Anyway, one Friday as class was ending, I was about to leave when I saw her. I went up to her and said, "See ya later, hairball," and left. I remember seeing the disgusted, insulted look on her face as if her heart had just been ripped out.
The next week I came to school, she wasn't there. She wasn't in class for three or four days. I didn't really think anything of it. Then, the next day as class was getting started, a bunch of teachers was in our class. Our teacher told us the devastating news that left everyone frozen—she said that the little girl and her father were fatally shot the previous weekend.
I remember being in disbelief and shock. I didn't really know how to react until it hit me that my last words to the girl were a gruesome insult straight to her face. I remember breaking down, crying, and throwing chairs. I know that was kind of selfish because just a week before, I was belittling her. I felt extremely guilty.
To this day, I feel really guilty about it. I think I've only told two people in my life my side of the story (none of which are my family members). Now, from that lesson, I try to keep all my hatred for someone inside because you never know if that would be the last day you see them. I'm so very sorry for my harsh words, Lusine.
We had a gross roommate with a filthy room and a cat whose box he never cleaned. After repeated reminders to clean the cat box and seeing no action, that's when we finally had enough. We removed his pillow from its case and filled the case with the soiled kitty litter. He never said anything and we assumed he got the message. Instead, he got meningitis a week later. Like, life-threatening meningitis. We went too far.
Back in college, I had a roommate named Stephen who was dating an absolute monster. She was a manipulative leech. The time she spent at our place usually involved her eating all my food, drinking all the good drinks, and occasionally raiding my closet when I wasn’t around. The last straw came when she ‘borrowed’ my Wolford catsuit—she proceeded to ruin it by wearing it to a foam party.
At that moment, I resolved to take the only thing of value that she had—Stephen, her boyfriend. I started doing yoga and encouraged Stephen to join in. I made a point of wearing next to nothing, and she frequently dropped by our place to find me contorting around her boyfriend in nothing but short shorts and a sports bra.
She'd get all upset about it and pick fights with him over it. Stephen, who was a fairly oblivious 21-year-old guy, was forever telling her it was no big deal and that she didn't need to be jealous. I suggested he invite her over to yoga along with us, but she staunchly refused to do so because she hated me. Sometime later, I then started playing bartender when she stopped in.
Stephen and I got drinks that were suitable for human consumption while his girlfriend got strong, cheap drinks. We made fun of her for not being able to keep up with us. She got sloppy and was put to bed early, while Stephen and I went out. She missed out on a lot of good times, while I, the ever-faithful sidekick, had an absolute blast with him.
I also started spraying my perfume on the side of the bed she slept in, prompting several arguments between them. One night, after I got her plastered, he went to put her to bed and that's when she totally lost it. She started screaming about how she refused to sleep in a bed that smelled like me. Things got really exciting when she started yelling about how she was going to go through all my perfumes, to prove...something.
He literally had to hold her back from leaving the room to confront me. Eventually, she passed out and Stephen came back to the living room where I was waiting with a cold beverage and some sympathy. Over a long talk, he finally decided it was time to dump her because she was accusing us both of some really awful things.
The next day, he dropped her off at her house along with all her things. Then, about two weeks later, he and I started dating and I happened to run into his ex at a bar. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t be alive.
A friend of mine who is not very good with the ladies once left his Facebook open on my PC when I was not sober. BIG mistake on his part—I found the profile of this cute girl he was crushing on, went to her pictures, scrolled back two years to a summer album, and liked a picture of her in a bikini. I don't think she ever spoke to him again.
My mom never told me how her best friend died. Years later, I was using her phone when I made an utterly chilling discovery.
Madame de Pompadour was the alluring chief mistress of King Louis XV, but few people know her dark history—or the chilling secret shared by her and Louis.
I tried to get my ex-wife served with divorce papers. I knew that she was going to take it badly, but I had no idea about the insane lengths she would go to just to get revenge and mess with my life.
Catherine of Aragon is now infamous as King Henry VIII’s rejected queen—but few people know her even darker history.
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