People Share Their Stories Of “Ask And You Shall Receive” Revenge

I think most folks are inherently good. Sure, we have bad days where we don’t feel our best, and therefore don’t treat others as nicely as usual. But generally, people share common courtesies like opening the door for the person behind you. Not taking an eternity when backing the car out of the parking spot in a bust lot. Asking for things nicely when you need something or are looking for a favor. These are just general rules of thumb. Stick to these, and nine times out of ten, when you’re dealing with people, you’ll have a smooth experience.

And then there are the people who think they are the exception to the rule. The folks who are chronically having a bad day, and do what they want. Those who tend to be a little unreasonable which elicits an act of malicious compliance from those around them. Take the woman who knows exactly what a caramel macchiato is. But when she’s yapping on the phone and ignores the barista who’s trying to communicate an important piece of information to her, things go sideways. Or the kid who does exactly as she’s told when Grandpa says she can’t leave the table until the food on her plate is all gone.

He obviously forgets that stubbornness runs in the family. If you’re ready for some more hilarious tales of people who take to heart what they’re asked for and do it to a tee, this is for you.

16. A Bank That Doesn’t Make Change?! I’ll Be The Bank Then

“15 years ago, I was working at a large national chain restaurant as a Manager. I was asked to temporarily re-assign to a location in a city about an hour away, and accepted…they put me up in a hotel, the whole 9 yards.
The first weekend I was there, I discovered that the GM had screwed up and not ordered any change (small bills/rolls of coins) for the safe.

To make matters even more complicated, the local branch of our bank would be closing in the next hour. I also happened to have a personal account at the same bank, and had, in the past, gone and gotten change from the branch back home.

Since time was tight, I quickly looked up the address of the bank, grabbed $800 dollars, and jumped in my car. I get to the bank, wait in line, and then ask them to make change ($400 in $5 bills, $300 in $1 bills, and $100 in assorted rolled coins). The teller tells me that the bank doesn’t make change.

Me, thinking it was because they didn’t know me, informed her that our restaurant had an account she could look up. She then told me, ‘No, we don’t make change at all.’ The thought going through my brain was, ‘***? You are a BANK!!!’ I tried explaining the situation, but was quickly shot down. I left, went back to my car, then had an idea.
I went back inside the bank with my personal checkbook. Got to the front of the line, and (luckily) the same teller. Before she could even greet me, I told held out my checkbook and told her, ‘I would like to close this account since this bank is no longer customer service-oriented’.

She kind of rolled her eyes but went about my request. Then she asked how I wanted my cashback (an automatic response, I’m sure, and one I was counting on). I said $400 in $5’s, $300 in $1’s, $70 in rolled quarters, $25 in rolled dimes, $4 in rolled nickels, and $1 in rolled pennies. The rest can be on a cashier’s check.’ No reason for her to deny it, so I got my chance.
And the following Monday, I returned, closed out the other 2 accounts I had there, and I opened accounts at a different bank where I have been banking ever since.” captainp42

15. Let All The Old People Cut In Line, You Say? Step Right Up!

“On the way to my vacation with the family, the terminal agent calls for boarding.

We get in line (my wife, 13-year-old daughter, 16-year-old son and myself). We’re somewhat near the front of the line and it quickly grows to a couple of hundred people.

I see an elderly couple, the woman was using a cane and both were slow-moving, but they apparently didn’t want to board during the assisted boarding time. I leaned out as they walked near me and asked if they would like to take our place in line. They looked a little surprised but happily accepted.
As I was helping them into the line I hear some guy, about 5 people back, sighing and making comments under his breath.

I was just about to leave the line and head to the back with my son when the couple behind us insisted we stayed. I told them it was no problem for us to go to the back but they weren’t having it.

The sighing ****** overheard our conversation and decided to interject. ‘If he wants to leave, let him. Otherwise, he may as well let all the other old people cut in line.’

I look at this little toad, not even as big as my 13-year-old daughter. Images of me tossing him, and his festering Napoleon complex, into a trashcan are dancing in my mind.

Instead, I decided to give him what he asked for.
I sent my son back in line to find any elderly people who were behind us. In a minute, he returned with a lovely couple, about 70. They slipped right into line. A moment later, he found 2 women traveling together. Right into line. The couple behind us were almost in tears, not sure if from laughter or just enjoyed watching a teen escort elderly people towards the front of the line.

Napoleon Complex is having a silent tantrum as the line is going slowly, even without ‘old line cutters.’ He walks from the line, complains to the agent and boards immediately.

The squeaky wheel got his grease after all.

It took about 10 minutes for us to go through boarding check and enter the plane. It was 2 rows of 3 seats on that plane. As we near our row number I realized my wife is supposed to sit opposite me…in the same row as Napoleon complex!

I called an audible and she sat with the kids while I took the aisle seat with Napoleon complex. He looked like he was going to pee in his pants and just stared out the window. I made sure it was THE most uncomfortable 5-hour flight of his life.

Strange how bullies never shut up until they’re afraid.” Fr1dayThe13th

14. Double Scoop Of Sherbert? Coming Right Up – On The Floor

“I was working at an amusement theme park during my first year of college. There were three adjacent food shops near the park entrance and we would often switch between them as our schedule changes. One is a bakery, the second an ice cream parlor, and the third a hot dog spot. I worked a ton of nights at the ice cream parlor, which by far is the stickiest, most hectic place compared to the other two.

We worked the earliest and latest shifts out of all the areas because we’re at the front of the park.

I was at the end of a 16-hour day and my hairnet was fraying. (My employer pays out overtime like Tic-Tacs.)
People would stand in a long line and wait up to 45 minutes for our ice cream. It’s not that our menu is to die for. It’s because that’s all people know in theme parks. Lines. You wait in lines. Occasionally, we have guests complaining to us about the line but haven’t taken that time to look at the menu and know what to order. Other times, we have guests who have special requests for their desserts. We fulfill their orders as best as we can, but if it’s not a good idea, we’ll try to suggest an alternative.

We had a loud and sticky kid who was screaming ****** murder in line. Nobody was into it. Her family was over it. She made a beeline to my register without waiting for me to call them over. My guest left and I was still counting my change when the kid let out a demanding ‘HE-LLLOOO!’ to call for my attention as her family made their way over to my spot. I asked her nicely to wait while I finish up. She said I should be done by the time she comes up. Her parents were out of earshot when I replied, in a pleasant but stern tone, that she should have waited until I called her over.

She was a little shocked to hear anything said back to her. But on with the transaction.
The parents ordered their waffle bowls, two siblings ordered their sundaes, then the kid in question. She asked for a double scoop of rainbow sherbet in a sugar cone. Now, think of rainbow sherbet and whatever memory you have of it. Soft, mushy, and never in a stiff or hardened state. And as delicious as they are, sugar cones are teeny tiny compared to our traditional waffle cones. I asked if she was sure. She shouted ‘YES’ in exasperation and complained to her parents. They were tired and told her to ‘just finish ordering.’ I warned her that it might melt and asked her if she wanted me to turn the double scooped sugar cone upside down in a cup so she can eat it without worrying about it spilling off the sides.

She grumbled and gave me a resounding ‘NO.’ Said a couple of other unruly complaints to me. Her family didn’t react.
So I went ahead and gave that sweet, sweet girl the biggest double scoop of rainbow sherbet I can fit over the small sugar cone. I couldn’t even bring it to her fast enough across the counter before it began melting and falling over the sides. She ambitiously tried to lick it while walking away. It was time for my break but I saw her cry over the fallen top scoop as I got my till out and left. A louder scream echoed through the shop and I turn and see that the second scoop had dropped as well.

I know, I know. This is a KID. But sometimes need to learn a lesson and all we can give them is exactly what they ask for.” BestSpaghettiWestern
13. You Want The Exact Weight? Stand Back And Watch Me Go

“It happened a few years ago when I was working at a grocery store deli. The main part of our job was to use a slicer to cut cold cut meat and cheese for customers. One day, an older gentleman walked up to the counter and you could just SEE the bad day he had been having on his face. It looked like someone had kicked his puppy before peeing on his lawn.

You know the kind.

Anyway, he walks up and asks in a really disgruntled voice ‘I need exactly 0.66lb of such-and-such (forget what kind) cheese, in a solid block. And YES I know you can’t get it to the exact weight, I don’t care, just get it done.’
Now, normally I try and be as polite as possible; one thing you’re never short on at a deli is rude customers. But something about this guys attitude kinda twisted something me the wrong way, and I thought to myself.

‘You know what? Challenge accepted….’

Now, if you’ve never worked in a deli before, something that might not really have crossed your mind before is not all cheeses weight the same.

Some are pretty light, others are dense and heavy. Normally this isn’t a big problem since you weight as you cut and can adjust the thickness of the slice as needed. When it’s a solid chunk though, things become a little harder.
More so if you have some angry dude waiting on you who looks like he’ll tell you to recut the chunk if its .01lb off. And if they do THAT, you’re now stuck with a 0.65/0.67 chunk of cheese that you’re probably not going to be able to sell and have to either cut it up and mark it down or throw it out.

So, me being the mildly OCD kid working at a deli for the past 5 hours, go into full engineer mode; weighing out the total weight and length of the “chub” (the term for the large block of cheese or meat that is cut into smaller slices), doing the quick calculations on a piece of spare paper, and measuring out the exact size needed to get the weight required, before using a knife to chop off a chunk from the end (the mechanical slicers were not big enough in order to fully cut it, but the total work only took about 45 seconds.

I’ve always been good at math).
I put the cheese up on the scale, it blinks for a moment as it’s weighting and pops up with a beautiful 0.66lb on the dot.

The older gentleman just looks down at the scale with a frown and squints his eyes, huffs like He’s disappointed, then grabs his cheese and walks away.

Though as he was walking away, I couldn’t help see a slight smile/smirk his face and hear him murmur ‘Good Job…’

Overall, I was pretty proud of the work, I still remember that moment years later, even If I couldn’t tell you any of the other hundreds of people I’ve served.” TheRealOsamaru
12. Can’t Leave The Table Until I’ve Eaten Everything On My Plate? Game On

“Let me paint a picture. My grandfather, rest his soul, is the most stubborn person I have ever met.

My grandmother and he are devout Roman Catholics very much from the era of what the man of the house says goes, no matter what that is, to the point I had never seen her argue with him except two times in my entire life, which is the time I will be referencing and a time he straight up called me ugly (he was a gruff grump of a man, obviously) for black fingernail polish. He did apologize for that, but my grandma tore him up beforehand. That tongue lashing was nothing compared to the time in question.
My grandfather, being old fashioned, was big on the ‘you eat what you are given, you don’t leave until your plate is clean’ mentality.

Now, I was under six in this story, but I remember it so clearly, mostly because my grandma still seethes about it and brings it up regularly. It was one of the first times I was staying with them without my parents due largely to my parents divorcing, meaning it was their (Read: grandpa’s) first time making my plate.

The plate I was served was huge. I mean, thinking back the plate they served me matched theirs. That’s HUGE to someone as young and tiny as I was (I was born premature and incredibly petite until puberty, and still petite after that.) It was dinner time, and grandpa would not budge in his ways.

I was crying, he was angry, and all because I was so full I could not eat anymore. My grandpa yelled and berated me, as a child, that I WAS going to finish my plate and I would not leave the table until I did.
Okay. I don’t leave the table. He sits there, expecting me to fold, but the problem is I have always been just as stubborn as he is if not more, but only if you give me a reason to be, which he did. My bedtime was supposed to be around 8 pm because it was the summer.

I sat at the table, growing more and more irate (tiny tot unable to move and exhausted level temper tantrum) all the while. I do not eat. I do not leave the table. I follow his instructions.

Grandpa finally gives in around four in the morning, per my grandmother, and lets me leave. Ah, but of course, only if grandma saves my now ten-hour old plate for tomorrow. I didn’t finish it, so now I would eat nothing else until that plate was finished. Whatever. Grandma does that and happily takes me to bed at last.
I think I slept basically until lunch, but grandma convinced him to allow me to (he was also the ‘everyone gets up at six in the morning’ type).

True to his word, he served me the plate. True to my resolve, I ate nothing. You don’t leave until you finish the nasty plate, so I don’t leave.

Cut to the chase, this went on between us so long that my grandma, pillar of patience and everything that is good and woman who has hidden all but two arguments between her and her 50-year husband behind closed doors, freaking LOSES it. By the time she does, mold has grown on this plate. I haven’t eaten, at six or fewer years old, in actual days.
You can imagine how my temperament had deteriorated.

You can imagine how far my grandfather and I had pushed my grandma. You can imagine how long this went on, how long it took to crack my grandma at long last.

My grandma absolutely lost her everlovin’ mind. She took the plate and flung it, moldy food and all, across the room and SCREAMED at my grandfather. I was silent, stunned, terrified. Grandpa was the same. I had followed instructions, she tells him. I had told him I couldn’t eat that much when he first set the plate in front of me, as had she repeatedly when he was making it apparently, and he had pushed the issue too far.

She had tried to lightly stop this for days now, but lightly hadn’t worked and she went all out.
Eventually, terrified and starving, I completely deteriorate and am full-on sobbing, and she’s basically force-feeding me Poptarts and that Honeycomb cereal (I remember because it was the only cereal I ate for three years following this incident for whatever reason) while going absolutely berserk on my grandfather and telling him that he’s the adult and he shouldn’t have pushed it so far just to be right and if anything is wrong with me he is explaining to my father, their son and a VERY overprotective father at the time due to my mom literally trying to kill and kidnap me which was why I was in their care, to begin with, what happened and why he refused to feed his only granddaughter.

When my grandma every now and again brings this story up, mostly when I end up not finishing my plate which is rare but certain foods make me sick and my family still goes by oldest male makes the plates for holidays, she makes sure to hit three points hard.

1.) I followed every rule my grandfather set forth like the stubborn, spiteful, hellish little gremlin I am.

2.) My grandfather was undoubtedly in the wrong, because the reason I didn’t eat the food that next day was because it had already basically gone bad and tasted poorly after sitting out for so long, plus my picky eater behind had already been force-feeding myself, to begin with, the night before.

3.) She has only ever met one person in her lifetime as stubborn and absolutely unmoving in resolve as my grandfather, and that’s me.

I distinctly remember my grandma made all of my plates, outside of holidays when for a while my dad did instead of my grandpa which was a BIG DEAL with our traditions until I was old enough to make them for myself if I was staying alone with them.

And yes, grandpa got chewed out again when dad found out about it.

RIP grandpa though, he’s still one of my favorite family members and I miss him every day. Grandma is still my favorite female family member, though.

Grandma got my back and turns out she’s a straight-up savage when pushed.” warricrsmind
11. No Tattoos? Ok, I’ll Just Wear These Printed Sleeves

“About a year ago I worked for the largest healthcare provider in my state. Specifically, I worked in a smaller rehabilitation facility as a supply chain technician, where I was responsible for making sure the doctors had all the supplies they needed.

Now the way this medical organization worked, is that the department leadership had the ability to set policies for all employees who fell under their jurisdiction. For whatever reason, the department chair for the supply chain department had some kind of personal vendetta against tattoos.

Word on the street was that he had an issue with a stubborn employee refusing to cover his inappropriate tattoos, so he banned any and all tattoos from anyone in his department.
This was frustrating because us supply chain guys were the ONLY ones who had to cover our tats. Nurses and Doctors? No problem. Foodservice? You’re golden. IT Guys? They were fine. But for us in the supply chain, we couldn’t have visible ink.

Now I should mention that I didn’t have a tattoo when I first started this job, I got my first one on my inner forearm a few months into my employment there.

It was only when I went into work after getting it and proudly showing my coworkers that my manager pulled me aside and told me about ‘company policy.’ She said that all visible tattoos had to be ‘covered.’
As I’m having this conversation with my manager, I was reminded of an interaction I’d had a few weeks ago. You see, I was based in a smaller peripheral facility, but we were in the vicinity of one of the main hospitals. This hospital was also where the main supply warehouse was based. Whenever we would have an urgent need for supplies, they would send me over there to pick it up from the warehouse.

One time when I was there, I noticed another supply chain guy that had two LA Lakers themed tattoo sleeve covers (for those that don’t know, Lakers colors are bright yellow and purple). There was absolutely nothing subtle about these. I assumed he was using them as an extra way of expressing himself and didn’t think much of it at the time.
However, back in the present, this started the gears turning. I asked my manager if I could get a compression sleeve to cover my tattoo. She said that was fine. I then asked if it could have a design or pattern on it, as I had seen on the guy with the Lakers sleeves.

She said that was also fine.

That night, I went home and ordered one of these.

Needless to say, my manager was not amused when I walked into work the next day wearing it with a huge smile on my face. My coworkers certainly got a kick out of it though. She made me take it off and cut a piece of tube gauze to wear on my arm instead.
$5 for a bit of malicious compliance? Money well spent in my opinion.” AMagnificentBiscuit

10. You’re The Boss On This Project Now? Ok, Tell Me What To Do

“So this story happened around 2003 or 2004.

I was in the military working for a new boss who was afraid to look incompetent. I understand his position, but the equipment we were working on isn’t used anywhere else in the world, so there’s no reason he should have been self-conscious about it. Literally, everybody posted into this job is starting from ignorance of the kit in question.

For your knowledge, we are technicians. Our job is fixing electronics and performing 3rd line maintenance (board level, replacing components on equipment).
The equipment we were working on is 1.5 metric ton cameras used to acquire telemetry information from our aircraft on bombing ranges.

They’re really, really old though. Like, they were installed in the late ’60s.

Due to this, we needed to start trialing a new system, so the government opened up contracts and a bid was won. We were finally going to get upgrades!

At this point, I was an expert on the systems. Our boss went on a leadership course required when you reach his rank, and he dumped everything he had on his plate onto the lap of his second in command, who was understandably frustrated. I offered to take on the biggest project so there would be less to do, and because I wanted to show I had the skills.

He agreed.
So, I contacted all of the necessary people, P-MED, supply, engineers, and transport, in order to orchestrate the removal and disposal of these cameras. After two weeks of careful planning and research, we were ready to go. The 2 I/C grinned at me on the day of the move and says, ‘Grab the white hat. This is your project, you’re in charge here.’

Beaming with pride I grab the site supervisor hard hat, throw it on and start the ball rolling. Everything is going well and according to plan. The dome housing the camera has been cut off and the truck with a crane arm (HIAB), capable of lifting up to a metric tonne is on site.

I am about to go dismantle the camera (they are capable of being split into 3 pieces, all weighing under a tonne each), when my boss gets out to the range.
It’s his first day back at work after his course, qualifying him to be a ‘leader’ for his troops. Instead of asking for a brief as to what’s happening or just letting it play out, he decides to puff out his chest and display his newfound levels of authority and command.

Loudly, in front of everybody, he says, ‘Why the **** are you wearing a white hat? You aren’t the MCpl.’

Turning red with embarrassment, and not having much of a spine back then, I capitulate and apologize, attempting to stammer out that I was assigned this task.

He cuts me off, ‘Whatever. Take it off and get back to work.’ He exchanges hard hats with me, and I’m wearing my yellow worker hat now, he’s wearing the white site supervisor hat. Smugly content, he turns to me and says, ‘Carry on.’
Here’s the malicious compliance bit. I’m the one who did all of the work. I know exactly what needs to be done next. As the person with all of the information, the reason I was supervising it should be obvious.

So I decided it was time for some Malicious Compliance. Did he want to embarrass me in front of everybody? Turn about is fair play, my friend.

I nodded and said, ‘No problem boss. What do you want me to do?’

He said, ‘Keep removing the camera.’

‘I’d love to. How do I do that?’ my vapid response came back, ‘As you are the site supervisor, I’m awaiting your instructions on how to proceed. What exactly would you like me to do next, boss?’
He turned to beet red as he realized this means he would have to publicly state that he, in effect, chewed me out for supervising the project I put together as I should have been doing. He swore at me a bit and waved his hand saying, ‘Just finish the job,’ turning redder by the minute as higher-ranking people caught on to what had just happened, so they started clustering around him asking pointed questions about the project and process.

The absolute glee I felt when the range Chief asked him where we were bringing the cameras, and the look on his face as he realized he was going to have to call over to me to answer the questions was priceless. But not as priceless as the malicious gleam I caught in the Chief’s eye when he turned to me. It said, ‘I understand. I’ve got your back.'” ReaperCDN
9. Don’t Want To Listen To Me? Pay For Bill You Asked For Then

“So recently I started working at a bar and a few people came in and ordered 2 mai tais.

The girl who usually makes cocktails was sick so I had to try and make them myself just following instructions off the cocktail card we had. It wasn’t surprising that they didn’t turn out quite as they should have and the people returned them to me saying that they don’t want to drink them.

No problem there, as I already printed the bill that included the cocktails, I just gave the whole table the next round of beers (that they ordered) on the house, which was slightly more expensive than the cocktails.
As they were leaving and wanted to pay, they saw the mai tais on the bill and the man who was paying told me that he won’t pay for that.

I tried to explain to them that it isn’t advisable for the staff to cancel bills that have already been printed so I didn’t charge them for the 5 beers they had later, but he insisted that they won’t pay for the cocktails. So I got back to the register, canceled the cocktail bill, printed out a bill for 5 beers and got back to their table. The man got confused when he saw that the price is higher now as if I didn’t explain it to him 2 minutes ago, but after a bit of mumbling in his beard he finally paid for the bill he wanted to get.” duckymcswag
8. You Know What It Is? Ok, Get Off The Phone And Drink It

“Years ago I worked at a local coffee shop.

We served the standard coffee shop menu of coffee drinks and pastries we made in house. One of our coffee drinks on the menu was a macchiato. We served a traditional macchiato, which is a double shot of espresso with a touch of steamed milk and milk foam, but since a certain chain has named a very different drink the same thing I would always try to clarify what the customer was ordering when they asked for one.

One day a woman came up to the counter on her cell phone. She briefly pulled the phone away from her head long enough to mouth ‘caramel macchiato’ at me.

I started my spiel about how we serve a traditional macchiato, which is quite small, did she want that or one like the other place makes. She cut me off three words in and dramatically said ‘I know what it is! Just make it!’ So I rang her up and made it.
I made her a tiny drink with espresso, caramel syrup and milk foam. When I gave it to her she finally got off her phone call and told me I clearly made it wrong. I explained I made what she ordered as she told me she knew what she was ordering.

She now said she wanted one as she would get at the national chain, which I happily made and charged her for. She did not get a refund on the first drink.” vassago1376

7. Berate The Front Desk Ladies? Thanks For Making Me Look Good!

“I was just a customer. I had a hotel room booked for two nights, from a 5-star well-known hotel chain. The room was smallest/cheapest, with 2 double-beds, probably even located below the parking garage. That was about the only room available, so it would have to do.
About a month later, I arrive with my buddy to basically drop our stuff in the room, so we can take off right away, while the sun is still up.

In the lobby, there is about 200-person group shouting all at once to the two ladies at the front desk.  The desk attendant notices us, as we clearly were not part of the huge group, so she waves us over, past the large group, and starts to handle our check-in.

She politely asks us to fill the traveler forms while she’s looking up my reservation. I thank her and try to make pleasant conversation about this and that, complimenting their uniforms and the hotel, trying to improve the sour atmosphere the angry mob has been generating all around.
While we are filling the forms, the angry man next to us, who was apparently the leader of the lobby-mob, keeps shouting, loud: ‘I demand that you arrange us an extra room with two double-size beds! We had a late addition to our travel, and they need a room with two double-size beds! RIGHT.

****. ******NOW!’

Apparently, the arguing has been taking place for quite a while already. She tries to get a word in, but gets interrupted: ‘I don’t care if your stupid *** hotel is full, it’s your job to give us a place to sleep! Stupid woman. Get. Us. Another. Room! And double-size beds! Don’t try anything else, I’m not interested in anything else! You are an idiot… I wonder how you can keep your job if you can’t even arrange a room for us.’
Every time the main desk attendant tries to talk to the angry man, he rudely interrupts her, with more and more shouting.

Only thing I can do, is to keep smiling at the ladies, sympathetically.

She: ‘We don’t have double-size beds available, but we do have—‘

Him: ‘I don’t want to hear! Just do your job and press the buttons to make it happen. You must be mentally slow. Two. Double. Beds. Or is that too difficult for you?’

The clerks share a tired look with each other, but suddenly both seem to have an idea.  They converse for a moment (using their native language) while pointing at their screens. One lady starts speaking to me. ‘Our apologies sir, but unfortunately, we don’t have your room with two double beds available for you, which you had booked for.

As you see, we are a bit full today,’ while she is gesturing to the mob in the lobby.
What?! I don’t have a room anymore?! My heart sinks a bit, but she continues: ‘So, because we are fully booked, the only room we can offer to you, is the executive suite on the 24th floor, obviously for no extra cost. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have two double-sized beds…’

She makes eye contact with the angry man and continues: ‘…but it has 4 king-size beds. Each with their own en-suites.’

Angry man drops dead silent and is just staring at us, bewildered.

While looking at me again, she continues: ‘I hope you accept the free room upgrade, with our most sincere apologies on behalf of the hotel management.

And of course all the room service is free, including the refreshments available in the suite kitchen and suite bar areas, and all hotel VIP facilities are at your disposal 24/7. Please do enjoy your stay and let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.’
She dings a small bell and the support staff takes our bags while gesturing towards the fancy separate elevator at the side. I’m so shocked that I can mutter only a little bit of thanks.

While we are making our way towards the elevator, the main-desk is explaining to the angry man: ‘Sir, I’m happy to inform you that we were able to make arrangements to have a single room with two double-size beds, available to accommodate your extra guests.

That will be 199€ added to your bill.’

The man snaps out of his trance-like state, and shouting resumes: ‘What the f**k!? I don’t want some single room with double-size beds! I want a free executive suite too! Why the f**k does those f**kers get the f**king suite and I get some sh*tty single room!? This is unacceptable! Why did you give my better room for those two f****ts instead of to me!?’
She now has a much more commanding tone, and she responds: ‘Unfortunately, Sir, our “free executive suite” is not available. It is booked now. I tried to offer you king-size, but you were having none of it.

So will you take the single room or not?’

I can’t tell accurately what was said next, but I’m quite sure it is lots of cursing and throwing more insults from the man (using the man’s native language). I can’t help but have the biggest grin on my face.

Maybe half an hour later when we head out to check the city, the lobby has been cleared. We go to the desk to thank the two attendants and give them both good tip.  The executive suite was absolutely fantastic. The only downside was that I would have needed to bring my own helicopter to use the helipad on the roof, to fully enjoy the privileges included with the room.” Berthole
6. Grounded With No Electronics? No Problem!

“So it all starts in primary school.

I had done something to p*ss off my father off (neither he nor I know what it was as it has been over 10 years). He was angry enough to forbid me from using electronics for a month. My mother, as well as myself, found the punishment to be excessive for what I did but my father had a row of bad days and exploded easily if you pushed him far enough.

Here comes the malicious compliance. He forbade me from using any electronics. So being the smarta*s I am, I packed every electronic device in a box and put it under my bed with all of them turned off.

I could get up early without any alarm, but it never worked all the time. Some information about the situation: I used to wake everyone up by getting up in the morning and going to take a shower. And I made breakfast for me and my brother.
So after a week with no electronics, it finally happened. I woke up an hour late, I woke my father up an hour late and I did not have time to make breakfast for school. My father was not happy to be late but accepted it as a mishap that would happen rarely anyways. But all continued after I arrived at school for the 3rd period.

My teacher was very angry because I arrived so late and I was punished by having to do extra homework.

Now comes the best part. This day was a project day right before the fall break. We had the same teacher for the day. One part of this day was a movie that was important for the lessons to come after it and the teacher would discuss it with us over the last week before the break. She got the TV and switched it on. But I left the room. The teacher followed me and tried to tear me a new one for leaving, but I told her that I had been forbidden from using any electronics for three more weeks and that I wouldn’t do anything until I was not punished anymore.

My teacher was strict but knew that I was a stubborn ******* and that she would have to call my father to lift the punishment. So she called my father as I refused that as well and instead of doing it to me tore him a new one for not being specific. My father then asked to be put on speaker and lifted the punishment entirely. It seems that he had had enough of me being a smarta*s at that point.” Zylly

5. Want To Count Down To The Minute? So Will I

“So I had some ‘attendance’ issues at an old job.

Not really, the policy was that within five minutes of the shift is still considered on time. Well, I had a manager who wanted to abruptly change corporate policy and define clearly that late = late.
So background, it’s retail and I’m in my senior year of college. I’m not making a career out of this job, and I’m five years older than all of my coworkers. My immediate manager felt threatened by me, as I had previously declined leadership positions to finish school. He always had something he needed to ‘fix’ about me even though I had seven straight months of ‘Rockstar’ performance (exceeding metrics by +10% above goal) and I frequently aided in training new employees.

Once again, this was a college filler not a career move for me.

I’m not a bad employee. However, I was a busy employee. My last semester working there I had five classes and would be usually within a minute or two to my shift.
So manager one day specifies I’m late (it’s 3:01 and my shift starts at 3:00) to which I said ‘marginally.’ He, in front of other coworkers, decides he’s gonna put his foot down. ‘no, combustablegeoduck one minute late is late.’ So I stopped my task and calmly asked him, ‘then what does it mean when I’m staying 45 minutes after my shift to help when we’re short-staffed?’ And he said, ‘we don’t even want to have this conversation right now,’ and left.

To be fair he’s not wrong but he did handle the situation wrong. If he wanted me to change something we could have talked in private, he wanted to swing **** in front of the new hires.
So I complied. I made it a point to clock in and out exactly when my shift starts and ends. It’s glorious. A couple of weeks later he tells me I need to do something two minutes before my shift ends. So I start the task, and two minutes later I said, ‘sorry manager, my shift is over!’ clocked out and left.

My mindset is, ‘go ahead, try to fire the best-looking employee on paper for working exactly his shift and not a second longer.’ He didn’t want to swing **** after that.”
combustablegoeduck

4. I’ll Show You What Customer Service Dictates

“I work in a grocery store that includes a post office station.

It’s in the middle of a community and a lot of our customers are regulars.
It was a day just like any other and I was serving on the store side of things when the last customers in-store came up; a woman and her granddaughter.

We were chatting away, the granddaughter was showing me her most recent toy and grandmother was telling me what they were off to do that afternoon. As I was giving the change over a woman stormed past towards post office. Grandmother noticed, at this point, that we had some nice deals on an end facing the tills so she grabbed a pack quickly before they left (bearing in mind that I still hadn’t said goodbye yet).

I proceed to scan the item through for her when this other woman at the post office pipes up ‘Excuse me!’ She exclaimed in a very rude tone ‘I was here before them.’ I responded that I’d be with her in a minute and that these customers were here before she came into the store.

I was particularly p*ssed at the woman’s attitude given the fact that she’d behaved in such a way, without real reason, I’m front of a sweet little 2-year-old girl who is very impressionable at that age. Anyway, I scanned them through and said my goodbyes, waving and smiling as I always do.

I then made my way to the post office where this woman, hit me with the line ‘Customer service dictates that you serve me first if I’m here before them.’

I calmly smiled and told her, ‘Customer service also dictates that I can reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.’

Her face dropped, still furious, she asks, ‘Are you refusing to serve me, then?’

I looked her right in the eyes and said, ‘Certainly seems that way.’

Genuinely one of my favorite interactions with a rude customer to date.” Shadiekins

3. How Stupid Can I Be? Drink This

“The coffee shop I worked at was a small local shop.

Definitely, no Starbucks that’s for sure. However, we also had a bar and served beer and wine at night. The people were usually very friendly and we had a ton of regulars.
However, my employers asked me if I minded working an opening shift (I usually work nights, but I was a poor college student. So why not right?)

So I open around 6 am and the shop is slow. The first customer comes and I respond with the usual greeting, ‘Good morning! Welcome to (the place I work) what can I get for you?’ He was an older gentleman mid 50’s and dressed as most golf players do.

He tells me he wants a coffee frappuccino (which is a Starbucks drink, they have a special mix for it.) So I explain that we have other options for frappuccino’s, but we can’t make just a coffee-based one without a binding agent which Starbucks specifically carries.
Even after a demonstration, he insists that ‘it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to make coffee, I mean how stupid could you be?’

I’ve worked with the public for years. Yet, being called stupid set my malicious compliance into action. Wielding my espresso wand-like Thor’s hammer I began pouring shots and made this crystalized mess of milk, espresso, ice, and coffee in the blender.

I scraped it with a spoon into a cup and handed it to him. This alchemist’s abomination of watered-down espresso looked okay but tasted like God had abandoned it. (I sampled it in a smaller separate cup).

I ring him up for a frappuccino and he pays and goes, ‘See that wasn’t that hard’ So trying not to reveal my smirk. He takes a huge sip and contorts his face like a stroke victim. He comes back to the counter and says ‘this is really bad, I’ll take a vanilla latte instead.’ So, of course, I make a vanilla latte and charge him for that as well.

When he asks why I charged him for both I said ‘it isn’t rocket science that you pay for each drink you order.’
He left immediately after and never came back.” TheBarberBeast

2. Want Me To Come In Even With A Doc’s Note And Open Sores? I’ll Show You Exactly How Able I Am To Work

“This happened about 15 years ago. I was working as a server in a chain-restaurant during the summer while I was home from college. I had gone to a party one night, gotten hammered, and wound up passing out near the bonfire in the brush by a treeline of this big field.

I woke up the next morning feeling pretty rough and gradually saw large patches of poison ivy popping up all over my body. By the end of the day, it was absolutely horrendous – head to toe – and I realized I had slept in a patch of poison ivy. I could barely move. I went to the doctor, who put me on steroids and bed rest. I was scheduled to work the next day and called my supervisor to let him know that aside from not being able to move my limbs because of the swelling, itching, and pain, I looked AWFUL and should NOT be serving food to customers.

He was a jerk about it, asked me questions trying to poke holes in my ‘story’ and then demanded a doctor’s note. I called my doctor and had one sent to him. The note cleared my from work for at least a week.
A few days later I get a call from my manager. They are slammed on a busy weekend night and need me to come in. I remind him that I have a doctor’s note, it hasn’t been a week, and while I’m feeling better, I am covered in oozing sores. He tells me, ‘You’ve had long enough. Come in now or you’ll be fired.’

Fine.

I put on shorts, my polo shirt with company logo, name tag and apron and head to the restaurant. I get to the hostess stand everyone around me stares at my skin with their jaws dropped. I tell the hostess I was called into work and would like to check with the manager about where my section will be. She tells me he is busy in the party room helping out with a VERY large group and that I probably shouldn’t go in there. She offers to go get him and tries to get me to move to a more conspicuous place.

‘NO.’ I insisted. ‘I was told I would be fired if I didn’t come to work today.’ I walked straight back to the party room, tapped my manager on the shoulder and cheerily said, ‘Hi Manager! I’m here for my shift! How can I help??’

His eyes opened wide in horror and he told me immediately to go back home. I loudly protested that I was feeling better, that my sores weren’t THAT bad and I was worried about being fired, like he told me on the phone. He told me to go home, which I did. This was not the first incident where the manager was an absolute jerk, and I called to quit the morning of the next legitimate shift I was scheduled for after the poison ivy cleared up.” Lootylootylalala
1. Want To Change How I Address You? Ok, Me Too

“Years ago, I was working for a university as a secretary for a rather large department.

I was told by the chair to call everyone by their first name rather than the formal Dr. SoandSo. I complied and life went on with me using informal names and them doing the same for me. However, about a year later, I called to Dr. Soandso in the next room to ask a question. It was benign enough and still respectful using his first name. Not long after, I received an email. He addressed it to Rissilly and stated that I needed to call him Dr. Soandso and not to use his first name. I knew this was a way to establish his superiority over me but I would not have it.

I may have been the secretary but I was still a human being who deserved respect too.
Here is where the malicious compliance came into play. I wrote him an email back addressing him as Dr. Soandso. I agreed to call him by his formal name but I insisted that he do the same to me. I am no longer Rissilly but Mrs. Doe. I copied the department chair and executive aide so all were in the loop. He went to the chair to complain but she sided with me. And so it began. From then on out, it was Dr. Soandso on every correspondence and when I spoke to him.

If he addressed me as Rissilly, I would remind him that I wanted to be addressed as Mrs. Doe and would not answer until he addressed me as such. This really got on his nerve. He did not want to be the only one to call me by the formal as it messed with his need for superiority over a peon.
It only took less than a week before he wrote to me again. This time, it was to say to please call him Paul instead of Dr. Soandso. No apology to me just a resounding white flag surrender. I took it as a small win for the peons and proceeded to call him Paul.

I worked in that department for 8 years and we never had another problem like this.” rissilly

Another User Comments:
“I know a story like this where a student was arguing with their landlord, along the lines of

Student: Look, Phil…

Landlord: *interrupting* That’s Mr. Bennett to you, James

Student: Then that’s Lord Stafford to you!
(The student wasn’t kidding, he had a title, although I’ve changed all the names here).” JJBrazman

How’s that for a healthy dose of small-time revenge? Maliciously complying may not be the most dramatic forms of revenge, but the intent is still there! And it happens way more frequently. Sometimes, you don’t even know you’re doing it, but it’s safe to say, that most of the time, you definitely do! Got some to share? Tell us everything!

Want more? Click here for additional REVENGE stories that just like these.