People Acknowledge How They Got Revenge By Agreeing To The Terms
18. Won't Return The Deposit? Oh, I Know How To Get A Check Out Of You
“Back in 2018, I had a temporary internship in California at {insert large tech company}, so I took a recommendation from a friend about a room for rent.
It would be living with 5 other people, but otherwise, it looked fantastic with spacious common areas, multiple huge TVs, full amenities, community rec center with pool, short drive times to multiple places of interest, all for $650/month, utilities included.
I contacted the landlord, whom I will refer to as CrappyLandlord. He seemed fine on the phone, so I sent him my security deposit to move in a month later.
When it came time to move in, I discover a few caveats that came with this low rent price. The common areas were all dusty; none of the 3 large TVs worked properly; if we wanted access to the rec center and pool, we’d need to pay the $80/mo membership fee; and all of the ‘short drives’ time estimates were exaggerated unless you were speeding at 2x the speed limit.
Whatever, it’s not the end of the world, especially at the relatively low price. I’ll survive.
But then it got worse in the coming months. CrappyLandlord decided to charge us an extra $20/month for ‘paper towels and public cleaning supplies.’ CrappyLandlord only checked the community mailbox once a week when he was in town and refused to trust anybody with the mailbox key.
As it starts to roll into the summer, in June, CrappyLandlord decided that A/C costs too much and we were using too much, so he removed the thermostat from the wall.
Um, ok. One day, some of us tenants confronted him when he was at the house (since CrappyLandlord also slept at the house about <1 day/week), and I’ll never forget his words as he rushed out of the house:
“It’s legal for me to do it, and I don’t care since I don’t have to live here.”
Well, sir, screw you.
I’m tilted as heck at this guy’s obvious coin grab from 6 tenants.
Well, it turns out he’s right; he legally doesn’t need to provide air conditioning. So, the next day, I purchase a high BTU free-standing portable air conditioner that exhausts out the window.
Holy crap, this thing was luxury. Of course, I pump my room to 65°F, the lowest setting.
We have a couple of other minor disagreements that wind up with CrappyLandlord texting me that it’s fine if I wanted to break my lease and move out early.
Perfect.
When CrappyLandlord finally gets a whiff of my A/C setup, he comes to my room to complain about my A/C unit.
I reply curtly:
“It’s legal for me to do it, and I don’t care since I don’t have to pay for electricity.”
He leaves and later sends me a text. Yea, ok. Unbeknownst to CrappyLandlord, I’m taking his move-out offer seriously, and this whole time, I’ve been rallying the troops.
All the tenants have been upset about everyone’s living situation, so with some minor encouragement, I manage to convince two of the other 6 tenants to move out at the same time as me.
(They were on a month-to-month arrangement.)
I finally submit all our ‘Notices of Intent to Vacate’ at the same time, barely a week after my previous conversation with CrappyLandlord. He’s livid. He was just trying to get me out of the house, but now he has 3 rooms to fill instead of just 1.
I ask about my legally mandated pre-moveout inspection. In no uncertain terms, he told me to go screw myself.
He said he’s too busy to perform an inspection. Hm, well, that’s illegal, but ok.
Time comes to move out. I found another room for rent much closer to the office for only $100 a month more. We all move out, and I text CrappyLandlord about my security deposit.
No response.
I text again.
No response. Ok, I see where this is going.
I spend days and days reading the law, compiling evidence/screenshots, and listing the laws that were broken.
The smoking gun was the statute that requires a pre-move-out inspection and a list of things to fix and itemized list of deductions within 21 days or else CrappyLandlord loses the right to withhold any of my deposit.
In addition, he would be subject to treble damages if he’s found to be acting in bad faith.
I text again and again. I give him plenty of leniencies, and I even cite the laws, so I can prove in court that I’m acting ‘In Good Faith,’ and CrappyLandlord intentionally ignored the laws that I made him aware of.
CrappyLandlord probably thinks I’m a young, push-over college student who won’t follow through with legal threats.
Well, sir, we’re going to court because I’m petty as heck when it comes to people trying to screw me over.
I file in small claims for $650 plus treble damages, plus court costs. CrappyLandlord files a counterclaim of $2,000 for ‘damages to the property’ claiming I caused flooding, and I broke the microwave.
Ok, buddy.
In response, I gather testimonies from 3 of the other tenants, and I build my case into a 40-page packet of evidence, complete with page numbers, a table of contents, and descriptions for every screenshot and photo.
I make 3 copies of everything and submit it to the court and the defendant CrappyLandlord.
The court date is set for November, and I leave the state just before Christmas, just in time to appear in person since my internship ends, and I fly home in December.
He starts filing requests to postpone the trial. He cites a doctor’s appointment, and the motion is granted. The court date is rescheduled for a month later in December but still before I fly home.
New court date approaches, and he files another request to postpone, citing another doctor’s appointment. Somehow, that motion is granted as well, and we’re rescheduled yet again to January.
Darn.
January rolls around, and surprise, surprise, guess who’s got another doctor’s appointment conveniently on the same exact day of the trial? Denied. The court finally got off his bullcrap and denied the motion because he can’t prove he scheduled the doctor’s appointment prior to the court date being moved.
Welp. I’m not in CA anymore; I’m across the country on the east coast. CrappyLandlord thinks if I’m no longer in the state, he’ll automatically win since I’m not willing to fly back to CA.
Well, unbeknownst to CrappyLandlord, California courts offer an option to appear by telephone. Haha.
Court day comes, and I get the call. I’m sworn in and then connected to the court. I’m given time to present my case.
Unfortunately, I didn’t prepare a script, so I kinda summarize the events and explain why I deserve moolah. Then CrappyLandlord gets time to defend himself and explain his counterclaim.
He doesn’t prepare anything either, and he ends up rambling about random stuff that doesn’t help his case at all.
For example, he spends a lot of time explaining how another one of the tenants was crappy and so his behavior was justified.
He doesn’t even have a sliver of evidence for his counterclaim when the judge asks for it. The judge asks a few more questions and announces that he’ll review the evidence, and we’ll get the decision in the mail.
A couple of weeks later, I get the judgment saying I’m owed $650, and CrappyLandlord gets nothing. Well, darn, no treble damages for me. However, it’s just my luck that CrappyLandlord is a piece of garbage that won’t accept defeat.
He files an appeal for who-knows-what. It’s granted. The re-do trial is scheduled for May.
This time, I’m 10x more prepared. Once again, I’m sworn in and then they connect me to the courtroom speaker.
This time, I have a hashed out script that I read, making sure to emphasize how often I informed CrappyLandlord of the law, how often CrappyLandlord knowingly broke the law, and how I offered so much leniency and so many opportunities to do the right thing.
Once again, CrappyLandlord doesn’t prepare anything but instead rambles on so much that even the judge tells him to get back on track multiple times.
CrappyLandlord claims I caused water damage and had to replace all the carpets. The judge asks for an invoice or receipt. He has none. CrappyLandlord claims I broke the microwave, so the judge reads him the 3 witness statements that all state I didn’t break the microwave.
CrappyLandlord says they’re all lying.
He still has no evidence whatsoever. At this point, the judge clearly sounds done with his crap and says we’ll get his decision in the mail, and the call ends.
A couple of weeks later, I get the judgment. I’m owed $1,800, and CrappyLandlord still gets nothing. Well, darn, would you look at that? His appeal did not quite work out for him.
He goes from owing $650 to owing me $1,800. Being the poop head that he is, he files for a mistrial, claiming I was not sworn in and that I lied in my testimony.
Denied.
Outside of court, CrappyLandlord offers a payment plan of $20 per month which will take 7.5 years to pay back, or otherwise, he refuses to pay up.
Ok, I see how collecting my moolah is going to be.
I figure out he banks at BoA by looking up the checks I gave him for rent and seeing where they got deposited. I file for a writ of execution that will allow me to perform a bank levy.
It’s granted, so I prepare a packet for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department to go to BoA and take his moolah. LACSD serves him with papers and orders BoA to freeze his account.
After his allotted time (30d) to contest the seizure, LACSD seizes his dough, plus 10% APY interest, plus Sheriff fees.
I finally get the glorious check in the mail 20 months after moving out.
I’ll probably frame it.
Total: $1,893.91
Don’t expect the process to be quick.
It’ll take a while for your landlord to get their comeuppance, but it’ll be worth it. At the end of the day, the courts want you to win; it’ll just take a while.”
17. A Police Chief Loses His Job A Decade After An Incident
You’re not so safe now, Mr. Officer. Even the high and mighty can lose their careers.
“July of 2002, when I was 16, our neighbor who was a brat with a capital B decided she wanted to have satellite TV installed.
The house she lived in had a very small yard in back, smaller in front, and the fence that my mother had installed a couple of years ago was only about 5 yards from her side door.
The only place the satellite could be installed was on the back of the house, but there was no way the vehicles could make it to her back yard.
So, in her infinite wisdom, Brat decided to have them tear down our fence and drive over our property to get to her back yard.
This starts a huge fight between her and my mother. Brat tries to claim that my mom built the fence too close to her house anyway, and mom produced the land description to prove the fence was in the right spot.
Turns out, they were both wrong. We knew the woman had built her house too close to the property line, but it seems it was closer than we thought.
She was only feet from the line. That fence should have been almost touching the side of her house.
Her uncle was the deputy mayor of our small (~2,000 pop.) town, and she tried to get him involved. Nothing came of it, so we thought it was over.
Late September or early October that same year while I was in school, my mom was taking a shower when our two dogs alerted her to someone at our door.
She put on a bathrobe and went to see the police chief and about a dozen officers on our lawn, claiming they had been tipped off to a lab on the property and demanded to be allowed to search.
Mom realized that Brat had to have been the one to call them as the chief of police was known to be a personal friend to her family.
Mom demanded a search warrant, and they didn’t have one, which triggered several hours of them refusing to leave until they searched the property. This all started around 9 or 10 in the morning. Nearing 3 pm, mom tells them she needs to pick me up from school and take me to her mother’s house because I couldn’t drive yet.
They refused to move their vehicles to let her leave and say that it’s fine and that they’ll send a squad car to pick me up, which would have just humiliated me.
Mom calls her lawyer who informs her that if they don’t produce a warrant to tell them to leave.
So, the chief tells her if he goes for a warrant, he’ll tell whoever issues them that he can smell homemade hard “stuff” wafting on the property and will be given a warrant for ANYTHING he asks for.
He will then return, kick our door out of the frame, and if our dogs even LOOK at him for that, he’ll shoot both of them in the head and kill them both.
Yes. He actually said that to my mother.
Mom called my grandma to pick me up from school nearly an hour after it let out and let the police search the house.
They find my mom’s firearm safe. This safe was one of those made of steel with a circular lock, kind of like on a soda machine, and had the key sitting on top of it.
Before anyone says how ‘unsafe’ it is, it was just my mom and step-dad in the house most of the time. I was an only child and lived with my grandparents and only visited on weekends, and mom kept the door to her room locked with a key.
There was no way anyone under 18 was getting near her weapons.
The cops proceed to take a crowbar and pry the safe open, even though the key is right there, and it’s clearly the key to the safe.
They then take the weapons outside and divide them up. They even take my mom’s firearm which she had a concealed carry permit for.
This continued for HOURS until mom relented and opened my step-dad’s shop building.
He was using it to house his motorcycle while he slowly restored it from a wreck about 15 years before. They barely got over the threshold of the door before screaming ‘LAB!’ and pointed at the cleaning agents and bottles that were all scooted together.
Nothing else.
No other signs of homemade hardcore stuff other than some cleaning agents and empty mason jars sitting near one another.
They brought out heavy spot lamps and more cops. By 1 in the morning, my mother had been sitting outside in the cool, fall weather in nothing but a bathrobe this entire time – they claimed to have found a green “special” plant behind our 6-foot tall privacy fence that kept people from seeing us in our hot tub.
When I found out about this, I was upset.
I was 16 and went to school in a small town. EVERYONE would know about it. The next day, Saturday, I was piddling around on the internet when a friend messaged me to ask what had happened and asking why was my mother in jail.
My mother was NOT in jail.
Friend: “My mom said it’s on the news right now.
[Mom] and [Step-Dad][Last Name] are sitting in jail this weekend without bond for running the largest lab den in your town’s history.”
When mom called the news to ask them why they’d run that story without checking, they apologized and said they’d been contacted by [Town] police and were told to run the story. The next night they issued a public apology for it.
I refused to go to school that Monday.
It’s very important to note that I had not been to school since Friday.
On Tuesday when my grandpa dropped me off, the stuff-sniffing dog was at the school. However, as it was close to ‘Straight Edge Week,’ I thought nothing of it.
My business teacher told me she’d seen the article in the local paper but that it looked like it had been staged, and if I caught any crap for it, to let her know.
I went to my locker as the officer walked out of the same hallway, but since that was the hall the principal’s office was on, I didn’t think anything of it. I noticed a locker standing completely open, and when I got to it, I realized it was MY locker. I blew up on the principal. I understand now that it’s not my property, and the school can authorize it being searched, but it was just bullcrap.
Why was I being searched?
Principal: “No, you weren’t searched. You must have left your locker open last night.”
Me: “[Friend 1] and [Friend 2] have their lockers next to mine, and they have basketball practice until 4! They shut my locker if I leave it open! I haven’t been here since FRIDAY! Are you telling me that EVERYONE in this school left a locker STANDING OPEN for ALL OF MONDAY?”
I called my mom and was pulled out of school for Tuesday, as well.
Ultimately, all the charges were thrown out because of that tall, special plant. The chief of police put in his official report that it had been 8 feet tall, and when questioned about it when they tried to press charges on my mom, he clearly said, ‘Yes, your honor, it was 8 feet tall.’ The judge asked him when he found it, and he said about 1 in the morning.
The judge then said if there really had been a tall, special plant that was 8 feet tall behind a 6-foot-tall fence, he would not have needed to demand permission to search the property. The charges were thrown out.
And that’s where it stood for ten years.
Mom waited and played the long game because she wanted to make fully sure the statute of limitations ran out.
She didn’t want to give him any legal reason to retaliate against her.
She waited and waited. Then, on the first town council meeting after the statute ran out, she made contact with one of the council members.
In a small town, you don’t screw with the council members. Everyone knows them, and everyone listens to them. Or, they do here at least. This was the head of the council, too, and at the time his grandson was my coworker, so he knew of me and he liked me well enough since I worked for the largest business in our area.
He listened to mom’s story and told her that the last he’d heard, there was nothing in the evidence locker at the station at the moment, meaning none of the firearms they had confiscated had been entered.
When she told him most of them belonged to me and were basically family heirlooms (they were), he nodded and asked her that if he could produce those firearms and could she prove they belonged to us.
Mom said she had a notebook of descriptions of the weapons, their serial numbers, serial numbers on the hunting rifles that had scopes, and that two of them had distinguishing marks that were hidden from sight but she could find them and show them off because my mom loves having a paper trail on everything.
He told her she would get them back that Monday.
We found out that he went to the station and told the same police chief that because they had never successfully charged us with any crime and that now the statute of limitations had run out, all the confiscated property had to be turned back over to us, but there was a rumor that the firearms weren’t in evidence.
He would be in on Monday to have it checked. The police chief went pale, and on Monday, they were all in the evidence locker.
However, one of them was missing a scope.
It came out somehow that the chief of police had never intended to enter them into evidence and had sold them to his friends. He’d been thinking he got away with it for a decade until mom turned back up with proof that they belonged to her and legally had to now be returned.
He had to go and buy back every one of them, sometimes paying more than twice what he’d been paid because some of these ‘friends’ had not been speaking to him for some time, and one of them had taken the scope off a while back.
He was immediately fired and arrested for it.”
16. Dock Pay? I'll Dock Your Company Thousands Of Dollars
“So this all happened years ago when I was still in college. I worked for a delivery joint. The company seemed super cool because they provided vehicles instead of forcing you to beat down your own car. Huge perk right?
Well in this case no. The owner of the company used this as justification to take a percentage of the driver’s tips. Often this would result in an employee making below minimum wage. If you made below minimum wage, you would have to come and pick up your check-in person and sign a document attesting that “you did make minimum wage, due to undocumented moolah tips”.
Or some such nonsense.
Now, this was a problem for two reasons. Number one, in the state I was in, employee tips belonged to the employee unless part of an employee tip pooling agreement. This was plain as day on the Department of Labor website. So that 20% gouge was already crossing a line. Number two, you cannot just hand wave and or force employees to say they made above minimum wage.
So pretty shady stuff right?
Now, most people would see this situation and run for the hills (which probably explained the delivery driver turnover being so high). I on the other hand saw the potential. See I am pretty well versed in labor law and decided that I was gonna ride it out. I wanted to see how long they would keep this crapup.
Here and there I would make comments to the managers about the legality of their practices, and was often told “Our lawyers said it’s ok, so it’s ok” (would love to meet these lawyers one day).
So I patiently waited for a year, documenting every red cent they took from me and encouraging the other drivers to do so. Every new driver that came through that door got a little pow-wow with me, and I would give them the skinny. Unfortunately, my plan must have leaked because sooner than later the joint decision to fire me after making up three bogus infractions.
This wasn’t a problem though, as my plan was already in action. See in this state, unpaid wages collect interest. So What was 20-40 dollars a night, 5 nights a week, over one year; quickly became a decent sum.
So I began collecting the names of current and previous employees who had been screwed over by the company and collected their documented data then sent it off to the department of labor.
At the end of the day it took a couple of months, but the company was eventually required to pay a decent chunk of change to all parties and a pretty hefty fine on top. Overall I believe it came out to a little under 100k. I wasn’t done though. See those shady little documents they had us sign claiming we made over minimum wage affected how the company was reporting its payroll tax.
The IRS eventually came in and hit them for a ton of back taxes, and I received a small portion of the settlement (the irs used to pay people who tipped them off, don’t know if they still do). Finally, I was increasingly aware of the companies under the table agreement with their health inspector. Which I decided to go ahead and tip-off to the health department.
This resulted in even more fines and a temporary closure for the joint.
All together it ended up costing this dumb little delivery joint a ton of just to stay open, all because they wanted 20 percent of their driver’s tips. The moral here is this. Know your labor laws, it’s degenerates like these who profit off the ignorance or fear of a workforce. The more you know about your rights, the fewer idiots like these will be able to survive in the wild.
Thanks for coming to my ted talk.”
15. She's Not Allowed To Bring Her Service Dog? Tell That To The Judge
“Not really my story, rather that of a friend’s, but it’s still one of my favorites when it comes to mistreatment of the disabled.
So, I was a part of this fan comic group that was making a My Little Pony story, and we’d all decided to get together at Brony Con, so we could meet face to face and just have some fun.
One of the artists/writers had an art booth, and since she was sharing with one of the big-name content creators of the fandom, her stuff sold pretty well. In keeping with the theme of the con, I’ll refer to her as Starlight since, like the character, she has anxiety issues.
Starlight was good friends with the guy who brought me into the group, and he knew all about her severe anxiety.
We’ll refer to him as Turner, as it’s a reference to a really famous roll he used to have in a well-known project, and that was how we met.
Since Turner knew Starlight for so long, she trusted him to take care of her when she had an episode. I only know bits of pieces of what happened, but he knew the whole story and could explain it way better.
The gist of it is that she was abused in more ways than one when she was younger, and the trauma left her with severe anxiety. Because of this, she had to have a service dog who was trained to identify when she was about to have an attack and to help her calm down when needed. We’ll call the dog Winona to keep with the theme.
Mind you, despite the common misconception that Winona would be considered “emotional support” and therefore not protected, the ADA actually defines Winona as a service dog, not emotional support. She had a vest, paperwork, and everything. Even if she didn’t, I can tell you from my own experience working food services, retail, AND hospitality that you’re not supposed to ask anything other than, “Is that a service dog” and “What services do they provide?” My food service job even had a sign in the break room explaining the whole ADA rules and restrictions regarding service dogs and what we were and were not expected to do.
Unfortunately, even though Winona did so much good for Starlight, she could also sometimes be an indirect source of stress. People often assume that only blind people can have service dogs, so a lot of times when they would go to the store, Starlight would return to her car to find nasty notes on the windshield. They were usually along the lines of how she “didn’t need a service dog” and was “stealing them from people who REALLY needed them.” I don’t know exactly how much this affected Starlight to be honest, but it was clear from the stories she told that it was definitely an issue.
After the first day at the con, Starlight had all but sold out of most of her prints, and the special printer she’d brought to try and print them out was just not cutting it.
She and Turner decided it would be worth it to just go to a nearby store, let’s call them Sideblues, to have a whole bunch printed out in a fraction of the time.
When they got there the Sideblues clerk stopped them at the door. I heard all this secondhand from Turner, so I’ll try to fill in the blanks.
Clerk: Excuse me, but you can’t bring that dog in here.
Turner: (points to Winona’s vest) It’s okay; she’s a service dog.
Clerk: No, it’s against company policy to allow animals in here.
Turner: It’s the law. She’s protected by the ADA.
Clerk: I don’t know what that is, but I could be fired if I let you in.
This goes on for a few more minutes before Starlight has an anxiety attack.
The clerk calls for security, and honestly, this is my FAVORITE part of the story.
Security: What’s going on here?
Clerk: They’re refusing to leave the store-
Security doesn’t even let her finish her sentence. He takes one look at Starlight and Winona, before turning on the Clerk.
Security: You. Go to the back. Now.
Clerk: Excuse me?
Security: Backroom! NOW!
She scurries on the back room, and Security takes a bottle of water and hands it to Starlight. He made sure she got the prints she needed and sent her and Turner on their way.
They told us the story when they got back and immediately started planning their lawsuit.
And in case you were wondering, the clerk was fired, and Starlight wound up with a nice settlement.”
14. I Have To Submit Tickets For Everything? Fine, Here Are Hundreds Of Tickets
“Ok, I have been meaning to type this up for a while. This happened at my last job back in 2018. To give some background, I was working as a Data Analyst at a company in the ed-tech sector. For one of my projects, I created a report that we could give to the sales team, that they could then use when asking clients to renew their contract.
Clients were typically school systems or individual schools. The report was all graphs (even adults like pretty pictures), and it showed the clients data on how teachers/students were using the product. Then our sales guys could show, hey X% of your students and teacher are using this X times a week, so you should sign a new contract with us. I developed this report for our biggest client and had the top people in sales all put in input when developing it.
The big client renewed which was great! They loved the report and wanted to use it for ALL renewals, and we had 5,000+ clients. I had to automated the process, and everything seemed peachy until I hit a problem.
The data for the report was pulled from our database (MSSQL if you are curious). Now I was in the research department, and I did not have access to the database.
Instead, our IT team had access to the database. If I wanted data, I had to put in a ticket, name all the data points I wanted, and I could only name 1 client per ticket. Also, IT did their work in sprints which are basically 2 week periods of work. The tickets were always added to the NEXT sprint, so I ended up having to wait 2-4 weeks for data.
This was fine for the big client report, but now that I was running this report for all renewals the ticket system was not going to work.
Now if you have worked with sales, you know they don’t typically plan out 2-4 weeks ahead (at least they didn’t at this company). I reached out to IT and requested direct access to the database, so I could stop putting in tickets and just pull (query) the data myself.
Well, that was immediately denied, all data requests will be filled by ONLY IT, and as a research person, I needed to stay in my lane. You might see where this is going.
I wasn’t happy, and the sales team wasn’t happy with the delay, but there was nothing anyone could do. Soooo, I reached out to one of the sales managers to discuss a solution.
Since data was going to take 2-4 weeks to arrive, could he please send me EVERYONE that has a renewal coming up in the next 2-4 weeks. With 5,000+ customers, that averages about 100 renewals a week. He smiled and understood what was going on and happily sent me a list of 400ish clients.
Quick note, the IT team spends the day BEFORE a sprint planning the next sprint, and all tickets submitted BEFORE the sprint had to be completed during the NEXT sprint.
The sprint planning time was always Friday afternoon because the least amount of tickets rolled in. During the planning session, they would plan all the work for the next 2 weeks (for the next sprint). Any tickets that came in before 5 pm Friday, had to be finished over the next two weeks.
Time for the MC! Armed with my list of 400+ clients, I figured out when the next sprint started and cleared my schedule for the day BEFORE the new IT sprint started (aka their sprint planning Friday).
At about 1 ticket a minute, it was going to take about 6 hours and 40 minutes to submit all the tickets so that’s what I spent my whole Friday doing.
Let’s not forget, they had to get the data for all the tickets during the next sprint as long as I submitted them before 5 pm on Friday. That meant they had to take care of all 400 tickets in the next 2 weeks plus I submitted tickets throughout their spring planning meeting, so they couldn’t even plan for it all.
If you are not tech-savvy this might not make sense, but if you are, let me add an extra twist to this. They used JIRA at the time and the entire IT team had the JIRA app on their laptops. Most of them had push notifications set up so they got pinged every time a ticket was submitted. I would have paid big bucks to be a fly on the wall during that meeting watching a new ticket pop up about every minute.
Ok, tech aside done, I didn’t hear a peep from them at all that Friday. To their credit, Monday I started getting data from my tickets. Now I had automated the reporting process on my end, so each report only took me a few minutes to run. I was churning out reports as quickly as I received the data without an issue, and sales was loving it.
I saw tickets coming in from every member of the IT team and during the second week many tickets came in after working hours, so obviously they were struggling to keep up. Again, I will give them full credit, they fulfilled every single ticket, but there were a lot of long days for them (everyone was salary so no overtime pay either). This is of course on top of all the other tickets they needed to complete, so it was quite a stressful sprint.
Undeterred, I met with the sales manager again right before the next sprint and asked for the next set of clients with renewals. Then the day before the next sprint, I began submitting tickets again… My workday started at 9 am, and by 10 am, the head of IT runs over to me. He is bug eyed and asked me how many tickets I was planning on submitting.
I told him the same amount as last time (I only had 200 this time, but he didn’t know that), and I am pretty sure I saw him break on the inside. I did feel bad at this point, so I said, “Alternatively you could just give me access to the database and I could query the data myself.” I had the access before noon.”
13. Try To Get Me To Pay Up $10,000 Over A Mistake? Nah, Lady
“So, it’s been about 4 years since this happened. I was about 18 at the time, working for a security company. There were constant call-offs and no shows, have no idea why. But being so young and naive, I was constantly working 16-hour shifts and not coming home until 8 am. Also, I lived with my father at the time.
The time frame of this was around the 4th of July. I finally had a day off, and my best friend was back in town for vacation. We decided to get together and chip in on some good ol’ American fireworks. To be fair, I have had nothing but bad experiences with fireworks, so I had no idea how this would be any different.
We got home with the fireworks, and we laid them all out on the floor: Sparklers, Bottle Rockets, Cakes, and Roman Candles.
I say, “Why don’t we mess around with some sparklers since it’s still not dark yet.” Great idea! We go into my backyard, where it hasn’t rained in well over 2 months, and it is extremely dry. You see the problem here?
One of the little sparkies from mine and my friend’s sparkler made contact with the ground and made two small fires that quickly spread to a large area.
I ran as fast as I could to grab the garden hose and quickly started spraying down the fire. It was no use; it was spreading faster than I could spray it.
I handed my friend the hose and called 911. What felt like hours was only 4 minutes, and the fire was spreading to the neighbor’s fence. The neighbor came outside, and they were fairly calm to grab their hose and spray down the fence, along with the dead grass in her yard.
The fire department shows up finally, and I tell my friend, “Only one of us needs to get in trouble. You should leave.” He was reluctant to leave because he felt equally responsible, but I convinced him. I didn’t want him to get in trouble and have to drop out of college.
My neighbor was super chill about the entire situation at first. I told her that we could talk about replacing the fence and get some quotes to repair it.
She was just super grateful that everyone was okay. About 2 hours after the fire, the arson/fire investigator came to question me about the fire. I told him the “truth.” I said I was in the backyard by myself playing with fireworks and accidentally lit the ground on fire. I had gotten off that day without being hit by any charges and was commended for being honest.
Here is where it goes downhill very fast.
About a week later, I get a knock on the door from the neighbor. I opened the door and she handed me 2 pieces of paper for me to look at. There was a quote for the fence valued at around $4,000 and an estimate for lawn-care valued around $6,000.
These were really shady and just typed out on a Microsoft word document (no logo or company name).
She then adds, “I will also be having you pay my water bill for 3 months because the new yard will need lots of water.”
Now, the fence this woman had before was raggedy and falling apart. Her yard? Dead grass, weeds everywhere, never mowed it. Now looking at this paper, she wants a mahogany fence and a brand new back yard with flowers and trimmed hedges?
I said, “I need to get an estimate myself; this doesn’t feel right.” She says, “Remember, you agreed to replace my fence, and a real man keeps promises.” I shut the door and called my dad to tell him about what just happened.
He flipped the heck out and told me, “Son, don’t you give that woman a single dime.” He gives me the number to his handyman and tells me to take care of it.
The next day, I had the guy come out for an estimate, and the neighbor ran outside flailing her arms, “I did not give you permission to get an estimate on my fence.” Technically, it separates the property line, so it’s both of our fences. She calls the cops on me for having a contractor, and they ultimately can’t do a single thing because I’m on my property.
He quickly finishes the estimate off at $1,200.
I also knew a guy who did lawn care from my time working at the grocery store.
He estimated the lawn re-seeding while she was away from the house to be about $800. After I get these estimates, I give copies to the woman, and she is having none of it. “I don’t know these people. I don’t want them near my house.
They’re probably really crappy contractors.” I said, “No, I know them personally. They are really nice people and do great work.” She shut the door in my face, and I went on my way.
I ended up working a 16-hour shift that night and got home at 8 am, and this woman comes knocking on my door at 9 am and demanded I speak to her.
I explained, “I would really love to do this, but I just got home, and I have to be back at work in less than 5 hours. I need to sleep.” She goes, “What kind of lazy person sleeps in until 2 pm?”
At this point, I had about lost it and told her, “You can either accept my $2,000 for my quotes or kiss my butt and get nothing.” She stood there for a while with her mouth gaped open, but she accepted my offer and planned to meet down at the notary the next morning.
I spent that night after I got off work writing a contract and gathering the $2,000.
The next morning, I wake up and grab this contract to meet down at the notary. I was thrilled to finally be done with this broad and never speak to her again. I waited for her for over 3 hours, and she didn’t show up.
I get a call from her saying, “I’m sorry, the $2,000 isn’t enough.
I’m having my guys start work on this project, and you will be paying me the full price.” Oh really?
After that, I did not say a single word to her, and I watched for a few months as these guys turned her backyard into an oasis, complete with a small pond, brand new sod and flowers, the whole 9 yards. Come to find out, she had plans to remodel these things for a long time and was just waiting for the opportunity to go through with it.
Also in this time, she used her remodel funds to go on a trip to Hawaii. You know how I found out about this? She was bragging about it on the neighborhood social media group and didn’t know I was in it.
I have a different social media name than my real name.
Are you ready for the revenge?
Now 4 months after the fire and all the remodels, I get served papers to go to court for $10,300.
At 18-years-old, I’m having to hire a lawyer to work my case. When we finally do get into court, I lay everything out: the quotes, being harassed multiple times, not showing up after agreeing to a deal, not wanting me to get my own quotes (required by law, by the way), and her bragging about screwing me out of moolah, and I have proof of all of this.
The judge looked at her and said, “Ma’am, with all due respect, you’re out of your mind. Not only did this young man tell the truth of what happened, he offered to pay you more than he was supposed to. Your lawn was already dead before the fire occurred; therefore, he is only responsible for the fence of $1,200. I will also deduct from this his lawyer fees,” ($800).
So, I burned this woman’s fence down, and all I’m having to give her is $400? Cool.
She took a huge financial loss from this. Not sure how much the Hawaii trip cost her, but she was in serious debt. She ended up having to sell the house because of it and moved into a smaller house. Haven’t heard anything from her since.”
Another User Comments:
“I wonder if when the fire started she was like, “My goodness, the stars have finally aligned! I’m going to Hawaii.”” SnugAsARug
12. Exposing An Office Lunch Thief
“This took place when I was still a teen fresh out of university working directly under an engineer.
The office I was doing my 4,000 hours in was fairly large 5 floors of a large office building (a Toronto construction firm).
Well, I was lazy and always picked up lunch from Whole Foods, usually sushi on my way to work my floor had its own break room and fridge, and for the first 6 months, nothing ever went missing until we got a batch of university office interns in (paid interns).
Then wouldn’t you know? Lunches would go missing, and it wasn’t just mine; any lunch in store packaging was gone if there was a name on it or not. Well, after two weeks of our lunches just walking away, we’re all getting angry. (Don’t mess with my salmon sashimi.)
One of the engineers comes up with an idea and asks everyone to throw in a couple of dollars to solve this problem.
The following week, he sends a text to the storebought lunch people to meet in the break room before work and sent a text to everyone in the office to not touch any of the packaged lunches.
We meet up, and he hands us this little spray bottle to spray the packaging. It was this blacklight reactive spray (glows from a black light) but completely undetectable.
Lunch rolls around, and guess what? Every single packaged lunch is gone. And this guy brings out a black light and starts looking for fingerprints. He found them on the door down the hall to the elevator. Now imagine 5 of the most super nerdy engineers you have ever seen going down a hallway with a black light like something from a discount CSI. Well, there are fingerprints everywhere right up to the elevator on the buttons down to the 2nd floor.
Down the hallway, at this time, I figured some of the interns are nicking our lunches. But I was wrong.
We followed it right to the head of the sales department’s desk. And well we demand to see his hands, and they were freaking were glowing like crazy. Not to mention, he had touched his face, so there was this glowing mess covering his face.
The guy knew he was caught, and we made an agreement not to go to HR but to get a picture and pizza for our floor every Friday for two months.
We stayed extra that day to print out the glowing mess that was his face. We printed at least a hundred of them with the caption, “Dirty, dirty lunch thief.” Those darn things went up everywhere: the bathrooms, all the entryways of the building, every office door, and desk in sight.
Needless to say, the lunches stopped going missing, and I was able to eat my sushi in peace.”
11. Don't Ask Me To Do A Task When I Don't Even Work Here
Yeah, he’ll do it just like you asked, but you won’t be happy with the results at all.
“So… I live in Australia, and we have a supply chain of hardware stores here called Bunnings Warehouse. Picture a hardware store for everyone: both for tradesmen and your average Joe. I was a teenager at the time, and I was dressed in work clothes.
I was working for a carpenter. Steel cap boots, work pants, the whole deal.
The most important thing about this all is my work shirt. My company uses a black button-up shirt with short sleeves and a collar. (Search FXD SSH-1 if you are interested). My company also had our logos plastered all over these things. Now, the people who work at this hardware store, they wear red polo shirts with green writing, the logo for their company.
Now, I was riding shotgun with my boss. He had gone into the store while I was in the timber yard collecting some bags of concrete for the footings we were about to put in. I was moving some of the bags one at a time to my boss’s work truck. These bags aren’t overwhelmingly heavy, 20kg. (45 Lbs for the imperial readers).
But I was only moving one at a time.
The walk wasn’t far, and this was at the start of the day. The last thing I wanted to do was injure myself before the real work has even started.
I was on my sixth bag out of 13 when this man came up to me. He was your average DIYer, certainly not a tradesman, just your average bloke: 50s, balding, and wanted to show off that they could successfully screw together a garden shed. He was just staring at the pile of concrete bags.
(For context, there are several different kinds of concrete for different purposes: rapid set, mortar, cement, etc.) He then asked me what concrete he should use to put in some fence posts.
I told him he would be looking at the rapid set; it would suit his needs perfectly.
Considering he needed to ask what kind of concrete, I imagined that he hadn’t actually done any sort of work like this before, so I gave him the lowdown: dig your hole, pour the bag directly into the hole, wet it with your hose, dome it off.
Pretty simple. So, he said thanks. No issues here. So, I grab my next bag and begin to take it to the truck.
Here is where the fun begins. “What? Where are you going?” He asks. Now, I’m quite confused at this point in time, and then I respond with, “Oh, I’m going to go put these bags on the back of that truck.
Is that a problem?” He replies with “Mate, my car isn’t over there. I’m the white Camry over there.” It’s always the dudes in the white Camry at Bunnings. Any tradesman who goes to Bunnings knows exactly the guy I’m talking about.
Anyways, I stand there trying to figure out what is going on. “Well?” He asks. I figure out that he thinks I work there.
“Oh. Sorry mate, I don’t work here. I’m getting concrete for my job, and I’m on a tight schedule. Sorry mate.” Now, usually, if I didn’t have to be somewhere, I would have given anyone a hand. Moving these bags sucks. But he doesn’t seem to believe me. “What? Look at you! Of course, you work here! You got the right clothes and everything!” I try to reply, and he doesn’t want to have a bar of it.
He goes off and says as he’s walking away, “You better have all 30 bags on my car before I get back. Step on it.”
Well, my dearest friend, be careful what you wish for. It didn’t matter that I was busy; this was the new priority. Cue the malicious compliance/petty revenge part of my story. His exact words were, “You better have all 30 bags on my car before I get back.” His car had a box trailer.
I knew exactly what he meant. But no. No, sir. I tried to tell you otherwise. But you did not listen.
I needed to move, so I started moving the bags, two at a time. I placed them all over his car: 12 on the bonnet, 6 on the trunk, and the rest, perfectly layering the roof.
I see him walk out. He sees his car, and this man’s jaw hits the gosh darn floor.
He nearly had a heart attack. “MY CAR! WHAT THE HECK HAVE YOU DONE TO MY CAR???” I had a grin from ear to ear. “I put all 30 bags ON your car, just like you asked.” I was giggling like a toddler.
Now, after much screaming, I told him to can it, and he could move it himself. I was late as it was, and my boss was getting impatient; however, he watched this all and was laughing too.
“Sorry mate, I have to go to my ACTUAL job now, so you’re going to have to move these yourself.” He was not happy, but hey, at least the bags were now significantly closer to his car.
He sucked it up, and began to move them. I was walking back to my car when I heard him yell.
The thing about these bags of concrete is that if you don’t support them underneath and just grab them from the sides, they tend to split, clean down the middle, dumping all the contents of the bag in a messy pile directly underneath the bag.
He had split a bag, clean down the middle whilst trying to take it off the roof. This thing spilled its contents all over the roof and windshield of his car, and it was the funniest thing to happen yet. He got the job done eventually but not before splitting 3 more bags. His car was covered in concrete dust.
I left him there, car covered in concrete, whilst he admitted defeat.
This one’s on you Camry guy. This one is on you.”
Another Users Comments:
“Used to work for a similar company to Bunnings. What I used to do to the rude customers was stack the bags just behind their rear wheels. The end result was always something like the back sagging and the front coming up. ‘/’ is a bit exaggerated, but it’s basically what would happen.” jimmyjoejimbob
10. Steal My Dad's Parking Sticker? It's Game Over For You
“I live in Iowa. My father is a professor at the University of Northern Iowa.
We have a parking system at U.N.I, and it starts with “A” stickers which professors, staff, and graduate assistants have.
Below A is B and C.
Each parking lot has a huge sign that tells who can park where.
My dad, the absent-minded professor, often forgets to lock his car, and one day, he called me to ask if I had borrowed his parking sticker.
I told him no, and he started to freak out.
Background about me:
I went to college for security and private investigations but was working at the time as loss prevention.
I only lived a few blocks away from his office and knew he would be raging and going a little off the wall at the indignity of having his sticker stolen.
When I got to the building, I went up the 6th floor and to his office. He was busy calling other professors asking them if they saw anything.
I asked if he called campus police, and he said no. (Facepalm moment.) I told him what’s where we needed to start because they have the tag number, and as classes don’t get out for another hour, we should have time to check all the A parking lots.
He looks at me and says, ‘How do you know this?’ I say, ‘Dad, this is what I do for a living. People steal things, and I track them down. I’m especially good at catching employees.’
We make our way to public safety and explained what happened. They said they didn’t have the time to track it down, and I said, ‘No worries; that’s why I’m here.’
We went back to the parking lot with the tag number and started walking down the rows looking at all the tags hanging from the rearview mirrors.
I found the car 4 rows over and 3 slots west. Dad called campus police, and an awesome officer arrives and matches the tag to my dad, not this car.
Class was due to get out in about five minutes, and we elected to wait for the thief and confront him.
My dad is the epitome of, you’re only worth the deeds you do, and takes everything very personal and is the kind of professor you either love or absolutely hate.
We wait for quite some time making jokes and watching the students exit the building into the parking lot. I spot the thief first as he’s walking to the parking lot, earbuds in, nose deep in his phone when he glances up and sees us standing around his car.
He stops mid-step and does an about-face. I point him out to the officer, and the officer yells for the student to stop and talk.
The student stops and turns around. The officer asked if this is his car. The student pauses, shrugs, and says yes. The officer asks him if he knew the tag was stolen, and he, of course, said no. The officer asks where he got it and what year he was.
The student claims he’s a sophomore, and he bought it at the campus parking office.
The officer says nope, impossible because you don’t qualify for that tag. ‘Where did you get it?’ He said he bought it from a friend this morning. Officer asked who the friend was, and the student refuses.
The officer says he’s heard enough and that he needs to give the tag to my dad and apologize.
He does so and thinks he’s free to go.
(Lol, nope.)
The officer then proceeds to write tickets.
-illegally parking
-improper use of a parking tag
-possession of a stolen tag
The kid’s face is going from white to green at this point. He asks if he can leave, and the officer says no.
The officer has the car towed away at the student’s expense.
I ask the officer how much that all adds up to, and he says that after the towing, violations, and impounding, probably over $2,000. My dad only asks one question….
What was that kid’s name? The officer tells him, and we all shake hands and go our separate ways. Dad and I go grab lunch, and I can tell he’s not letting this go.
I ask him what he’s going to do. He tells me he’s going to send an email with the information to the other professors on campus, the dean of students, and overall just blast this kid off-campus.
I say, ‘Remind me never to steal from you,’ and he reminds me that I had growing up several times, and it never worked out for me either.
We laughed.
A few weeks go by, and I ask dad for an update. He tells me that the student was expelled three days after the incident and that I did a great job spotting and tracking down the student and tag.
I said, ‘Dad, I might not be a rocket scientist or teacher, but tracking people is what I do.’”
9. Sure, I'll Get That Candy Stocked Up, Even If It Means Customers Have To Wait
“A few years ago, I was working at a fabric store.
One of my favorite places to be, but there was one manager I didn’t get on with. Not sure why but this manager had some sort of problem with me. Since day one, the main boss would put me somewhere in the store, and this other one would come in, counter the big boss’s orders, and then spend the rest of the shift coming up to me and telling me to stock the candy every 5 minutes.
And I do mean every 5 minutes.
Ordinarily, this takes about 3 minutes, and it’s just basic busy work to do between customers. Not this time.
So, it’s the day of darkness in the retail world, more commonly known as Black Friday. Not only are we slammed, but we also have to upsell this new promotional item. We were literally getting marks against us if we didn’t sell a certain number that day.
The lines were long, and it was just one customer after another, with no lull in between.
By the end of the sales time, every shelf was empty.
Now, I am by no means perfect, but I try to make sure I do all of what my job entails. Part of the cashier’s job was keeping the front shelves stocked, and everything for that was behind the counter.
There was nothing in the mythical back room, and even if there was, the Xmas stuff had started coming in, and for some reason, this manager thought the best way to store it would be to put it in the direct middle of the hallway that was the backroom and effectively blocks all of the regular merchandise.
There were about 2 feet of aisle to walk down one side of the room, but that’s it.
Not relevant, but annoying.
So, the other cashier and I had cleaned up everything, restocked the shelves, and there was nothing left upfront but one box of Necco wafers and seasonal soaps. The candy was decimated, but there was nothing to put there. So, we both chalked it up to a job well done, but we weren’t allowed to leave the register that day.
It’d slowed down considerably, and we both had about 2 hours of shift left. So, we were just talking, attending to the few customers that still trickled through and generally attempting to wind down from the insanity.
So, of course, this manager comes through and tells me specifically to stock candy. I try to explain that there isn’t any backstock, and she waves me off and repeats to stock candy.
I spend a few minutes double-checking that there isn’t more stock, but nope, it hasn’t magically reproduced behind the counter.
Ok, guess it’s stocked.
Apparently not, as the manager comes back a few minutes later and tells me to stock it again. My coworker tries to explain and gets cut off with a, “Temp, YOU need to stock it. I want those shelves full, don’t stop until they are.”
Ok. Sure. Full shelves.
Now, this has been months of her generally trying to get me to do most of the work in the store. This manager was having me do a lot of her own work, double if she found out I was having a health issue, and I was tired of it.
My doctor was already telling me I had to leave for my own health, so I wasn’t feeling generous.
I told my coworker what I was going to do, and she backed me up. I stocked those shelves. These tiny little candy shelves were stocked full of anything I could find behind the counter. Those NECCO wafers, soaps, various items from the promo shelves, I even fit a couple of steam irons on the top ones.
I apologized to customers for the wait because I couldn’t stop until those shelves were full.
The manager came up, red in the face, and ready to start yelling, but I was saved by the fact that there were customers there at the time. I checked my watch, grinned, waved, and my coworker and I walked to the back and clocked out. I never went back. Shopped there a few times since and that manager is gone.”
8. Don't Park There? Ok, We Won't And We'll Get You Towed
“This story primarily takes place between me and my stupid neighbor (SN) who is a member of my community HOA.
As a bit of background, my three roommates and I moved into a housing community that is basically just a bunch of cookie-cutter townhomes. All of these homes have garages that open onto streets that wind through the community (this is important later) with your front door opening to a path on the other side of your house. There are also some free parking spots on the edge of the community where there are no houses.
When we first moved in we quickly found out that parking could be a bit of a pain during the day, especially when people had guests during the weekend. Now my roommates and I admittedly have more cars than the average family. Because we usually have to commute for work we each have one. We try to make parking easier by using the garage but we all have tons of sporting equipment so we can usually only get one car in the garage.
When all the parking in all the free spots is full we’d just park our cars right up against the garage and leave them there during the day or overnight. We’d seen other neighbors do it and it still left ample room for people driving on the street to get by.
Well, one day SN comes up while my roommates and I are in the garage organizing some stuff and tells us that we can’t park there overnight as it’s against community rules.
Before we had a chance to respond he added “and if you do it again I will personally make sure you’re towed.” His first comment was pretty reasonable. We’d just moved in and didn’t know that rule. But his second comment really just made him sound like a butthead and wasn’t necessary. One of my roommates simply responded that we didn’t know as we’d just moved in and we wouldn’t park there overnight anymore.
Wall SN, clearly trying to assert his dominance, responded with “Good. You better not because I’ll be watching.”
Well from then on we did follow those rules. If we parked in front of our garage during the day we would make sure to move before we went to sleep. This worked out for a while until one faithful day. One of my roommates stopped by quickly after work to grab some dinner and clothes before heading to his girl’s place.
This was around 7 PM so he just parked up against the garage as it would be quicker than the parking spaces. Plus it was early enough that he didn’t think he’d get towed.
Around 8 PM he went to head out and his car was gone. Guess who was there though? SN standing right outside. Immediately he said to my roommates “told you you were going to get towed if you parked here again.” SN and my roommate argued for a bit before my roommate came back inside and calls the car lot.
Well, it ends up they’re closed so he’ll have to get his car in the morning. The kicker? They’re going to charge him an overnight fee. All in all, it comes out to $500 which isn’t a small amount of for us.
This neighbor has been a jerk to us since we moved in and even though it wasn’t my car that was towed, I took this personally.
To make sure we didn’t get towed again, we decided to read the community rules and lo and behold we found out that the street in front of the garage is actually considered a fire lane, and no one is supposed to park there at any point during the day. Between SN treating us like crap and the fact that we could get him yelling at his wife every night (not a big detail to the story but just wanted to say to add to my point that this guy just sucked), I start to plan my revenge.
Since quarantine started I’ve been able to work from home and my desk conveniently looks out onto the street between the houses. This means that I can clearly see SN’s garage. I start to take notice of when he parks his car out in front of his garage. For about two weeks I noticed that he would come home around 1 PM and leave again at 2 PM.
In the third week, I decided I would begin the revenge.
On Monday, true to his schedule, he stopped by around 1. After about 10 minutes I gave the tow company a call and said that he was parked in the fire lane and if they could come and remove his car. 20 minutes later a tow truck rolled up, hooked his car up, and towed it off.
About 15 minutes later SN came out and I could hear him start to yell back into his house, presumably at his wife. He then left and didn’t come back until later that evening after he’d gotten his car. Now it was funny to do this and I made sure to send snaps to my roommates who don’t work from home, but I wasn’t done yet.
See this jerk apparently didn’t learn the first time because literally the next day he parks in front of his garage again. What do I do? Well, the exact same thing as the day before of course. Again, SN comes out, realizes his car is gone, yells at his wife, and then goes to get it.
Now after this time he is a bit smarter and parks in an actual spot before going in to get his lunch or whatever it is he does there mid-day.
He does this for about two weeks before he decides that it’s okay to park in front of his garage again. Well, who is still sitting at their desk every day and notices this immediately? Well, me of course. And being the concerned resident that I am, I immediately call the tow company, and off his car goes again. And again this is met with yelling.
I wish that this had a more satisfying ending but after this third time, I decided I would stop because I genuinely felt bad for his wife who he seemed to do most of the yelling at as if it was her fault that he was a dummy. What I can tell you is that it definitely cost him over $1k.
If he hadn’t gotten my roommate’s car towed then we wouldn’t have ever found that fun little rule.
The best part was that a number of my neighbors would have their cars parked there at the same time and they’d never have their cars towed which made it all the better when he was. We have had a number of other encounters with him in the time since this happened and I have another story that involves the actual HOA that I’ll probably write later.
That one is still ongoing though so we’ll see how it ends up.”
7. Go Ahead And Fire The Good Employee
“So, this happened about 5 to 6 years ago when I worked as an assistant bar manager for the worst bosses ever who we will call ScumBoss and LessScum.
BACKSTORY
These 2 are bankers who had too much moolah and decided to buy a bar whilst not having any hospitality experience between the 2 of them.
When they employed me, I was only the assistant, but because of their scumminess and micromanaging habits, it made the bar manager and assistant bar manager quit, and I rose to my position.
(I was good at my job and have always been in hospitality, so I was qualified to be promoted.)
Our bar is open from 10 am till 2 am, so when I became the manager, I didn’t have anyone to do split shifts with as it took them so long to hire someone else. I’d be working from 8 am till 3 am 6 days a week without any complaints.
I liked my staff, but I hated my bosses. I was able to form good relationships with customers, so we had loads of regulars coming in when we were open.
So, ScumBoss and LessScum had no idea how to serve tables, let alone, run the place, but they refused to listen to any of our suggestions and still wanted massive profits. One way was to keep tabs on big party reservations.
When the customers in these parties were wasted beyond belief, they wanted us to add items in their orders that they didn’t order and manually increase the price for any liquor that they bought by the bottle so that their bill would be higher. The previous staff were compliant in following their orders, but I had my morals, so I refused to do wrong to customers.
ScumBoss wasn’t happy that I wouldn’t listen to him, so he made sure to make it known that he didn’t fancy me.
He’d constantly berate me in front of new staff or his guests (he’d constantly bring his coworkers in to show-off that he was some kind of bigshot in the bar), saying that the only reason why some of our regulars came was that they wanted to ogle at my body.
LessScum would try to diffuse the situation and apologize for his friend, but when he’d get intoxicated, he’d end up doing the same thing.
So, finally, ScumBoss decided it was time to get rid of me so that they could replace me with a yes-man who wouldn’t question them, so they decided to sack me and accuse me of stealing tips, giving away free drinks to my regulars, and abusing the staff.
By this time, I already had another job lined up as I had had enough of them, so I wasn’t really perturbed by losing the job.
My issue was that they refused to give me my last paycheck because they had to give my severance, any overtime pay, as well as pay any outstanding annual leave I had. I worked 19 hours a day when I only had to work 8 hours, so I had lots of overtime and had loads of annual leave left as I couldn’t take any vacations because no one could cover me, so they had to pay me a good $6,000-7,000 for firing me.
THE REVENGE
After holding my rightly deserved cashback for 2 months, I decided to report them to some government agencies.
I reported them to the manpower department, telling them of my work hours and only being given 30 minute break times, the treatment of their staff, as well as their habit of hiring people on tourist visas. (If you’re on a tourist visa, you’re not allowed to work; otherwise, you’re classified as illegal.)
I also gave the Environment Agency a ring and reported the horrible environment of the bar (we had roaches and rats, and when I told the bosses, they just ignored me and said I should just keep it to myself), in addition to most of their staff not having the proper prior food handling training. (My staff resigned when I got sacked, so most of the leftover staff were their yes-men who loved sucking up to them.)
I then met up with some of my regulars who have become my drinking buddies and learned that ScumBoss and LessScum have been telling customers that looked for me that I quit.
So, when I told them the whole story of what transpired, they got furious and told all their friends and colleagues to not frequent the bar anymore. (They didn’t like the bosses as well but came to the bar because of me.)
Last I heard, manpower agents audited them and discovered that 80% of the staff were illegals and that they were overworking their staff as well as mistreating them. An environment agent came unannounced the following week and discovered the pest infestation, hence making the bar’s cleanliness rating as D. They got fined about $20,000 for this negligence. And because my regulars stopped coming to the bar, they only had 20-30% of their usual customers.
They ended up going bankrupt and closing the bar.
I, on the other hand, got my moolah as well as a good story to tell.”
6. Scream At My Lady Over A False Accusation? I'll Mess With Your Business
“I was 24, and my lady was 23. One night after attending a basketball game, we and about six of our friends (all older) went out to a bar for a couple of drinks.
We all sit down, order a round from the owner of the bar who serves us himself, and start talking. After about five minutes, I hear the bar phone ring and notice the owner talking and getting agitated and worked up.
He slams the phone down, looks quickly around the bar (only about 15 other people in the place other than our table) and makes a b-line for our table.
He then gets about two feet from my lady, points his finger directly in her face, and literally screams at her, “I need to see your ID right the heck now, or all of you are out of here.”
I said something like, “Dude, chill out; she’s of age.” This is while she is getting her ID out of her purse. The owner loses his mind and grabs my drink from me and screams at me to leave, or he is gonna kick my butt.
Now I am not a big guy, but I have been known to get in a scrap or two, so I didn’t say another word, just walked to the door, looked back, and said, “Come on out.”
He politely refused my offer but told all of my friends who were still in there that he would love to fight me if I ever sobered up. (I didn’t find out about that until later… and that was my first drink of the night, so I was about as sober as I would ever be on a Saturday night back in the early 90’s.)
Well, it just so happens that I had the next two weeks off work, so I used my time productively as follows:
Day one: Ordered pizza, Chinese, and chicken take out to the bar and told the guys taking my order that Tom the owner would pay for everything… and make sure not to deliver it until 9:00 p.m. (when they were busiest).
Day two: Superglue in all outdoor locks about six in the a.m. when the place was deserted.
Day three: Went to work and designed a “free pitcher” coupon and printed off two hundred copies, then distributed them in the rough part of town that afternoon.
Day four: Drove the countryside with a buddy and collected all the road kill we could find and filled the outdoor patio with the corpses.
Day five: Put an ad in the local Penny Saver Newspaper that said his bar’s parking lot would be a “used Christmas tree recycling center” on this Sunday only.
(It was the only day his bar was closed down.) The instructions in the ad said to just leave the trees anywhere and that staff would sort them out on Monday.
Word on the street was that ole Tom was gonna shoot whoever was screwing with him if he found out who it was.
After I heard that, I kind of cooled my jets and didn’t mess with him, except for once or twice a month, I would collect call his bar from random payphones from across the country.
(I traveled a lot back then.)
Fudge you ole Tom… serving us legal drinks, then getting in my woman’s face like that. Screw him twice.”
Another User Comments:
“Did the bartender not card you guys before he served you? To be fair, he could easily have lost his business if the bartender hadn’t, and your woman had been 20. The guy obviously overreacted, but since your woman had already had the drink, he may have gone into full-on panic mode.” arkangelic
Reply:
“You are totally correct, but the owner himself is the one who served us. He failed to card before serving in his own bar.
Heck, I have owned a bar myself. I know the danger of serving a minor. Buuuutttt, if I were in the situation where I got a phone call warning me of a possible underage sting going on, I would have politely asked my woman for her ID, not screamed at her and pointed in her face.
The pointing is what made me mad.” oldtruck
5. Think You Know The Most About Chocolate Making? Have It Your Way, Princess
There’s a reason she’s the student and not the teacher or some professional chocolatier: she clearly doesn’t know what she’s doing, but her ego thinks she does!
“So, this happened a while ago when I was getting a certificate in chocolate making.
I go to a chef college, and other than my daytime program (I’m studying baking), I also take these extra classes.
Now, in these classes, it’s a hit or miss on who you get as a class partner. I took a course called Chocolate Confections and got a cool female partner WW (short for Witchy Woman).
At first, it was smooth sailing. Our chocolates always came out perfect. The teacher gave us full marks for good temper and shine. The world kept spinning.
However, in our last class, poop hit the fan.
We were making goat cheese and goat milk caramel chocolates and also rosewater lychee chocolate bonbons. It got really stressful due to the amount of time needed to cook down the goat milk and the number of things to juggle.
I tried to be calm and just go with the flow. WW, on the other hand, was straight up panicking.
Then our goat milk caramel burned.
The teacher took one look at it and told us that we can salvage it…if we don’t mind the bitter taste. And do NOT mix it.
So, I stop mixing it and WW sees that.
WW: “What are you doing? Keep mixing it!”
Me: “But Chef said that if we mix it, it’ll just bring back more burned bits–”
WW: “I DON’T CARE, KEEP MIXING.”
So, I kept mixing. And the caramel brought up more burned bits in. WW didn’t apologize at all; she just blamed it on me afterward.
The last straw came after I tried to give some helpful advice about the caramel for next time.
She says, “Just because you’re in the daytime program and I’m not doesn’t mean that I don’t know things.
STOP GIVING ME ADVICE.”
Oooooook.
See, when she told me that, she was filling up her chocolate with the caramel and goat cheese cream. (We got extra filling from Chef.)
Now the bonbons we did had three steps:
Make the chocolate shells
Make the filling and pipe it in
Cap the chocolates with tempered chocolate.
Here’s the thing…after we pipe filling into the chocolate shells, we have to put it in the fridge to allow the filling to set.
After 10 minutes, we take it out of the fridge and leave it at room temperature so that when we cap it, the chocolate will not set before we can properly cap it.
Capping means that we take a ladleful of melted/tempered chocolate, place it on our mold, then use a scraper to flatten it so that our chocolate bonbons have a flat surface.
When I placed my chocolate molds in the fridge, I noticed that not only were hers not in there, but it was RIGHT NEXT TO OUR PORTABLE STOVE.
That means that her chocolate filling won’t set properly and will take a long long time to do so.
But, hey, she told me not to give advice, right?
So, I kept quiet for the whole thing.
I watched as she capped her chocolate onto her mold. She had capped it while the filling was not set, AND the white chocolate she used was out of temper by a few degrees.
When it was time to take out our chocolates, she SLAMMED her mold onto the table several times, but no chocolate came out. The few that did ended up being smashed because she didn’t notice that they came out and had smashed it repeatedly.
Everyone was staring at her. We all knew what happened; her chocolate wasn’t coming out because she didn’t temper it properly and was too impatient.
The wet filling made the chocolates go out of temper and not contract properly.
The best part was that when MY chocolates were done, I only tapped the chocolate mold gently and about 60% of my chocolates came out perfectly. I didn’t have to smash it or anything.
Her face when she saw that was scathing.
She ended up having to take her mold home because most of her chocolates wouldn’t come out.
And the ones that did come out were smashed.
Revenge is sweet.”
Another User Comments:
“I don’t understand why she wanted you to keep mixing when the instructor said not to? She literally thought she knew more than the instructor?
(And you did it despite knowing it wouldn’t work…!)” KPilkie01
4. Steal Antiques? We'll Take Your Business
“I work for a large scale tourism business consisting of a museum, various gift shops, online stores, and handcrafted artisanal goods.
We pride ourselves in being 100% family-owned, although I’m personally not related to the owners of the business at all, but my family is very connected, and my whole family has worked here for a number of years.
The museum was originally run as one unit by the whole family, but there was a feud, and they split, leaving the museum to one half of the family and the merchandising company to the other half.
I won’t give any more details for privacy and legality reasons. I’ll just call the merchandising company, Company B, for brevity.
After the feud, the two businesses operated under one roof with Company B paying rent to the museum to stay in the facility, but in 2018, they made plans to move out.
They decided that they were going to build a brand new facility next to the museum, and as a result, they needed to bulldoze a couple of historical houses that the museum owned. We let them tear the houses down as long as we could take the artifacts stored in the basements because they were rightfully ours anyway.
This is where it gets interesting.
At this point, Company B wasn’t being owned or operated by family at all. They had previously fired every single member of the family shortly after the feud, and the company is now being run by a man who married into the family and then divorced out of it. He’s seriously bad news. We caught him in the museum after hours in the women’s restroom for having an affair with a cashier.
He also does some shady business practices, doesn’t pay employees enough, doesn’t follow safety regulations, the works. All around bad dude. We’ll call him BD.
Anyway, the historical houses had to be torn down. It was sad as they were some of the oldest houses in the area, but we were able to take the molding out and recover some really nice fixtures before construction started. The houses went down, and construction on the new building started. Honestly, it’s not that bad looking of a building.
My boss always joked about how it would make a nice restaurant if it ever went under.
So, BD is getting things ready to be moved out of the museum, which means the entire first floor needs to be moved out.
It takes them about a week, and due to some heavy equipment being moved, we couldn’t operate during that time for safety reasons.
No biggie.
Then we returned to work. Everything was gutted. I mean everything. They stripped the floor down to the cement, they took the light fixtures off the walls, they tore out outlets and lights switches, literally everything was gone. My boss was reasonably mad, but she decided we would remodel anyway after that.
A couple of months go by, and we realize Company B is doing….
oddly well. We had a coworker investigate to figure out what was going on.
They stole every artifact we kept in the basements of those houses: antique furniture, commando knives from WWII, an antique bicycle, historical documents, Native American carvings, and arrowheads, essentially advertising themselves as the new museum, stealing our customers, and displaying our artifacts that they stole as their own.
Very colonial of them.
Obviously, my boss sued the crap out of them. I don’t know the specific amount because it was never really talked about outside of rumors, but apparently, it was in the tens of millions. We won the lawsuit, obviously, as theft is pretty frowned upon in court.
This was during the final stages of construction, so Company B couldn’t pay the construction company on time, and they got smacked with all kinds of fees.
They took out a loan of a couple of million dollars to be able to pay their employees about a year ago, which they haven’t even begun to pay off. They still don’t have a parking lot either because the construction company refused to build one for them when they were late on their payments.
The last remaining family member affiliated with Company B sold his shares to outsiders, and because they aren’t run by anyone in the family, we can copyright the family name and make them change their branding.
Looks like in a couple of years, we’ll have a nice restaurant.”
3. Yeah, Don't Try To Pick A Fight With Me
“My best-case happened to me.
In college, I was at a fraternity house and having a drink on the front porch when two guys tried to pick a fight with me.
I don’t remember who they were or what I might have done to offend them.
I was a bit tipsy and minding my own business as I recall. I was not a member of this fraternity.
Unlike my brother, I was also not athletic — I had no talent at sports. I wear glasses and have astigmatism: if someone threw me a baseball or football it was more likely that it would hit me than that I would catch it!
These fellows approached me and struck up a conversation that made it apparent to me that they were looking to start an argument and, ultimately, a physical altercation.
When I realized that they wanted to provoke me, I started laughing and asked them with incredulity, “You want to fight ME?” I was genuinely surprised and candid — it struck me as a ridiculous proposition.
My relaxed and amused reaction confused them, and they were put off guard. They looked at me with some expectation of an explanation. I told them, “You REALLY don’t want to fight me here.
I have friends.”
Ultimately, they walked away.
One of the fraternity brothers was a guy who grew up with me at the orphanage. His nickname is “Bull.” He was my older brother’s best friend and played on a few sports teams with my brother.
Bull was a great high school football player on a championship team. He played for Georgia until his knees were injured, then transferred to my college.
He has always been a weight lifter — even to the present day. In high school, he bench-lifted many times his weight and more than anyone at The Citadel (South Carolina’s State Military College).(I later practiced law with a graduate of The Citadel, and he told me that any person who worked out in The Citadel gym wrote on the wall the weight they bench-pressed if it was higher than the last high weight written on the wall.
He told me he remembered Bull’s name and weight and that it stood for a long time. Bull had written it when at The Citadel for a high school All-Star football game. And yes, it was witnessed, because with high weights the lifter must have a spotter for safety.)
I had no doubt that, had these fellows been successful in starting a fight, Bull would have intervened and thrashed them.
He is a great guy and, at that point in his life, he was a wild man and never too shy for an adventure. So, they might have caused me some pain, but they would have experienced a bad time for having done it.
These fellows were fortunate that they eventually moved on.
By the way, another fellow who grew up with us at the orphanage also attended another party at the same fraternity.
He was athletic and strong but not the kind of fellow to pick a fight or get into a fight. Somehow, he did get into a fight and, though he was handling the matter capably, Bull intervened to help and thrashed the antagonist. That frat was not a particularly contentious place.
It was just a coincidence.
When you grew up at the orphanage, the other orphans were like brothers.
You look out for one another.
Two of our orphans, a few years older than I am, joined the Marine Corps after high school. They enlisted together and were assigned to the same unit. They looked nothing alike but were as close as brothers.
Last summer (2018), I had a drink with one of these Marines, “PC,” and he told me a story. The other orphan Marine was made a squad leader or something like that.
As a leader, he was strict with his fellow Marines. PC was in his unit and heard another Marine complaining about his leadership. That Marine was saying something to the effect that, when the leader was not expecting it, he would jump him and make him sorry to be so strict.
Well, PC leaned in and whispered something to the effect that, if anything like that happened to the leader, PC would come for him and he might not survive the encounter.
That put a stop to that nonsense.”
2. Insult Your Bandmates? Watch Your Bandmates Turn On You
“My sister has been actively involved in the local music in our city since she was a teenager. She’s an amazing guitar player and now a veteran of several bands. She’s a really sweet, caring and helpful human who is highly respected by other musicians in our area. The band she’s plays was at that time gaining popularity.
Unfortunately, their beloved lead singer had to move cross country for a job and the band was left with a void to fill.
Step forward a man who shall be known as Diva- because that was precisely what he was! Diva was a singer who was known for having a very powerful voice and also being a little difficult to deal with. He was one of those hipster’s who took himself far too seriously- if you told him he was a great singer, he would spend the next half hour berating you and screaming that he was ‘an artist, not a singer’ and would then proceed to blame you for the decline of modern music.
Diva had been booted out of his last band for bickering with his bandmates. Also, he had proved to be a little unpredictable on stage, the problem with his singing was that he would try and phone it in too much and thus ended up sounding like a Josh Groban wannabe. Another issue was that he was trying all manner of quirky stuff on stage which disrupted performances.
In short, enough was enough for his ex-band and he was thrown out.
When he got word that my sis and co were looking for a singer he naturally approached them. The guys were reluctant to take him due to his reputation. Diva, however, assured them that everything has been blown out of proportion and that he was ready to knuckle down and sing. Although they didn’t trust him, the guy’s had no option because they needed a singer.
For a time, things went along smoothly and the band really started to sound great. Diva’s vocals blended surprisingly well with their music and again their shows started getting bigger crowds.
Inevitably, the honeymoon period soon soured and Diva reverted back to his old ways. After each show, he would come up with at least one backhanded compliment/insult for each band member. Every time the drums would be off, bass playing sucked, the guitar sounded crap.
Never once did he ever criticize himself and then he began missing band practice frequently. When the band confronted him about it he would shrug and say he already knew the songs so what was the point of rehearsing! Finally after one really bad tirade, the band decided they’d had it with him. In short, they told him to either leave or shut the fudge up!
Knowing Diva’s past history they should have maybe figured he’d try something but he apparently seemed sincere enough at the time.
At their next show, the band started playing their opening song, and then to their frustration, Diva began singing the vocals in Italian! They stopped the song and asked what the heck was he doing. Right then Diva stormed over to the mic and started yelling to the crowd that his band was ‘parasites’ who played ‘crap commercial stuff’ and then started throwing insults at them.
He was particularly vicious about my sister and spewed some misogynistic bullcrap about how ‘chicks suck at guitar!’ and referred to her as a ‘freaking brainless witch.’ I was about to jump on stage and knock the guy out. However, a fan chucked his beer over him and Diva then jumped into the crowd to attack and was then swiftly hurled out by security.
My sister finished the gig doing guitar and vocals and sounded pretty darn impressive. The band wanted to throw out Diva and let him go make other people miserable. Lil’ Sis on other hand had a far craftier suggestion! Rather than making him join another band, they would see it that no bands would touch him after this stunt. For their next show, they were playing at a popular local spot with several other hot local bands on the same bill.
Also, word got around that a known music writer for our local paper would be covering the event. When Diva got word of this, he played the apology card and even shed a couple of crocodile tears to seem serious. My sis and others agreed to take him back- but inside they must have to laugh like crazy.
As they arrived on stage, the crowd at the venue was pretty packed and they were only the second band up.
Now remember how I said Diva was missing rehearsals- this would come back to bite him severely in the ***. Before they began the first song, my sister said to the crowd “We’re gonna open with a new one tonight- you guys wanna hear it!” there a big cheer to indicate yes. Without a beat, they started playing this entirely new track and Diva quickly drained of color!
He stood there completely still looking clueless because he literally didn’t know a word of the song. Right then I realized that this was a plan of such evil genius that Dr. Evil would probably approve! My sister sang the first song and again was on dynamite form!
For the second song- once again they played a completely unfamiliar song and Diva soon realized he’d been royally screwed!
All he could do w***tand there and awkwardly shuffle to the music while I laughed my *** off in the audience! For a while, they took it easy on him and played some familiar tracks. However, for the final song of the night they ended playing another completely new track. Once more Diva ended up looking like a complete buffoon standing there wordlessly while my sister was rocking it on stage.
The review the next day praised the band’s sound but absolutely savaged Diva! They mentioned him several times by name and made out that he looked completely lost on stage and wasn’t able to sing a word and w***aved’ by the vocals of my sister. After that, all credibility he had with local bands went down the toilet and they wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.
After all, who wants a singer who can’t actually remember the words to his songs and chokes on stage? My sis continued as a vocalist and lead guitarist from then on, but she’s now showing more of an interest in the producing side recently. Last I heard of Diva, he was working in some hipster coffee shop still complaining about modern music. Well, at least he won’t be gracing a stage anytime soon!”
1. I'll Give You A Stomach Infection
This is probably one of the easiest and most sly ways to really make someone sick!
(Do not try this at home.)
“In my dumber days, I was briefly seeing somebody who, nicely put, was not mentally at the top of the food chain. He put on a pretty clever facade at first of being semi-intelligent, but it became clear very quickly that he was putting on a complete persona to impress me. It lasted 3 weeks until he showed how terrible he was.
And, after leaving him for his combination of white trash addiction, closet racism, and bigotry, he sent me death threats.
I could, in a situation like that, chalk it up to an emotional toddler in a man-husk having a tantrum. However, this guy had a domestic violence felony already in West Virginia. Look, I know. It was a dark time, and I was just not into the idea of some jerk walking around harassing his partners.
So I did what I had to. I made a plan.
I befriended his friends and eventually got invited over to the place where he was staying. The entire night, I had to tell myself that I would be safe, that I just had to keep my cool. I brought materials for this night; proper execution would be crucial.
At the house of dudebros, I acted so calm.
Just drinking, shooting the crap. He tried to apologize the whole night because his ‘friends might find out’ – it only solidified my plan.
I still knew which toothbrush was his. After excusing myself to the nasty bachelor pad bathroom, I dug through his personal bag and found his bright orange, opaque bristled-toothbrush.
And after that, I opened the toilet lid to what looked like a year’s worth of dark brown ‘toilet caramel.’
My knees went weak; I felt a smile distort my face into some kind of toilet-fueled ecstasy as I, with nitrile gloves pulled from my pocket, meticulously scraped and packed the crusted, gelatinous poop pudding into the toothbrush bristles. GG Allin couldn’t have been this excited over something like this – the God I once believed in sent me to a mischievous path to heck via p********t and a dollar store toothbrush.
It all took no more than 5 minutes. This wouldn’t be the only time.
Going back out into that living room gave a rush unprecedented by anything once experienced. It felt great taking out my hatred into this guy’s mouth second-handedly and with semi-wet feces. My freaking butt muscles spasmed. I got to smile in his face and play along with his embarrassing attempts at validation, knowing he was going to eat his own IBS poops whenever he got around to brushing his corn-kernel teeth.
This went on for 2 weeks. I tried as best as I could to go over often, gritting my teeth and pretending to be friends with an emotional monster who was a walking OSHA violation. I kept my goal in mind, and eventually it paid off: he complained to his friends about his health getting worse; eventually going to the doctor’s with a severe stomach issue.
He could never figure out why.”
