People Share The Vengeful Moment They Got Even With Their Bully
19. He Wouldn't Stop, So He Got The Reaction He Didn't Want
He was warned.
“There was a kid named Matt in my school who, in eighth grade, had developed a rating system for the girls based on the size of their chest and kept getting away with saying gross things to them.
He had been reported to the guidance counselor and faculty repeatedly, but they kept saying ‘We can’t do anything about it if we don’t personally see it happening,’ which is like — do you think he’s stupid enough to do it in front of you?
He also kept calling me Mimi, after the Drew Carey Show character. I was getting sick of it after a few months and fruitlessly talking to the guidance counselor about that, as well.
I finally realized that none of the adults were going to do anything about it. One day at lunch, he called me Mimi, and I turned around and told him, ‘If you call me that again, you’re not going to like my reaction. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but you’re not going to like it.’ Which was true, I just figured I’d react at the moment.
Thirty minutes later, he called me Mimi in the hallway and I turned around and gave him a big, open-palm roundhouse slap across his face. He was completely taken aback. All I had to say was, ‘I told you you weren’t going to like it.’
I got suspended for a week. My parents were furious at me. My mom is hyper into respectability and my dad is kind of a hippie.
Also, it was a private school and they were paying a lot for tuition, and a lot more proportionally to their middle-class income than the other parents, so that probably factored into it. I honestly didn’t care who was mad at me, and I’m still convinced it was the best choice I could’ve made given everyone else’s inaction.
However, Matt never harassed anyone again. He was totally polite from that day forward.
I don’t generally advocate violence, but I still feel like it was a proportional response to months and months of gross behavior on his part, especially in the absence of adults who were willing to hold him accountable. I told the administration and my parents as much when I received my suspension.”
18. Make Ridiculous Accusations About Me? I Know How To Thwart Your Bullying
And he sure stopped his bullying ways pretty quickly.
“This story took place on a Sunday afternoon, July 2013 at Lafayette Square, New Orleans, Louisiana. My wife and kids were combing the grass near the statue where I thought I last remembered having one of our credit cards.
While they searched the ground, I went to check my phone for the nearest restaurant and to cancel that lost credit card.
My son followed me. I said loudly but not angrily, “Stay with mom.”
One Caucasian male, early 40s, about 5′10″ and 200 lbs. was out walking his two medium-to-small-sized dogs. He approached me and asked, “So, you come to mongrelize our women?”
By the way, I’m 5′3″, 127 lbs., and looked in my early 20s. I was 32. I’m Asian and still look much younger than I am. My (now ex-)wife was Caucasian, dishwater blonde, blue-eyed, thin, and we had four children together.
I thought he was upset with how loudly I responded to my son. I replied, “Oh, hey, that’s just my son. He was trying to follow me to the road…”
He interrupted with, “This is the Deep South… [something… something…] you Yellow, Ch*ngy-eyed, mother *****…” and I realized what he meant. So I walked away in the middle of his beautiful poetry.
My phone, which was not a smartphone then, needed to calibrate.
He took offense to me not properly excusing myself. He followed me again, ranting. I wanted to change the channel. But couldn’t. So I walked away, again.
He then kept ranting. Now, I’ve been a U.S. Marine and a telemarketer. I’m used to crazy people getting in my face and in my ear. But. He. Pushed. A. Button. It sounded like he gave me an order this time around.
An order! So I said, “Why don’t you come over here and make me?”
Oh, and he said *** about my kids, too. It wasn’t very nice.
Before I could stop the words from leaving my mouth, I immediately felt regret. Because he did. He came over. He stared me down. I looked back at him. He walked away! End of story, right?
Well, I walked back to where my then-wife and kids were.
I said I canceled the card already. We joked about something but not that guy. I kept him in my peripheral. I could see him standing only seven or eight yards away.
He was fuming! Face red. White knuckling his dog leashes. Teeth gritting. Chest barreled. Arms tense. I’m terrible at catching the “I like you” signs from women, but I’m pretty sensitive to impending violence.
I’ve dealt with plenty of bullies as a kid – bullied for being short, nerdy, and Asian.
I couldn’t walk away this fourth time. What if I wasn’t the target? If I walked, I’d leave my family vulnerable. I decided the outcome when we first met.
He took one step. I drew my weapon. He walked away. No one got hurt.
Police didn’t need to be called. They would’ve only shown up after the crime anyway after my family would’ve been harmed. Nothing made the news.
No criminal was stopped because the crime was prevented from ever happening.
Apparently, that didn’t stop him from running his mouth as he walked away. But it ended happily. Bully thwarted.”
17. Don't Mess With The Little Man
“When I was fourteen, my dad took me to one of his favorite spots for a weekend of squirrel and rabbit hunting.
We had a great time with Dad teaching me how to survive when game is scarce. Anyway, my dad was not a drinker, but I guess in a small way he wanted to celebrate this moment of our bonding. On our way home, we stopped at this little bar in some small town in Western New York.
Dad just wanted a single beer and he ordered me a Pepsi.
There were three big, good ol’ boys at the bar and they started making fun of my dad (5 foot 5 and 153 lbs).
I tried to get up, and they told me to ‘Sit down and shut up.’ The bartender started to call the cops.
Before I could even blink my eyes, two guys were on the floor screaming and the guy behind my dad was passed out with a broken b****y nose!
Without warning, my dad had grabbed the crotches of the two men on either side and in the same movement rapidly stood up and slammed his head into the face of the guy leaning over behind him, all the while lifting and twisting the gonads of the other two.
The cop, who arrived a few moments later, talked to the bartender and then came over to speak to my dad. Cop: ‘Is there a problem, Sir?’
My dad’s response was priceless: ‘No, sir, the three problems are now yours!’ And with that, my dad finished his beer and we went home. He only asked me never to mention this to my mom, and I never did.”
16. We'd All Get Along If We Just Respected One Another's Belief System
“One day in third grade, a mean girl named Madison decided to walk up to me and ask, ‘What religion are you?’
I told Madison that I was an atheist, meaning I thought that gods weren’t real, and I believed in science instead.
Madison didn’t take kindly to my atheism and literally pulled a BIBLE out of her backpack, then went into full converting-the-peasants mode.
She told me I’d burn in Heathenistic Eternal Lala Land for not believing in Jesus and God and all that, using her Bible to demonstrate her point.
Whenever she didn’t know what to say, she would retreat with her friends, and they’d pick a passage that they were sure would convert me.
And okay, I’ll admit, I was kind of enjoying this. Young Amara enjoyed nothing more than a lively debate, and I had set my sights on defensive law years before. Now was the time to test my skills.
Madison’s friends snickered at me as she began, ‘Psalm 53:1 – The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.’ She smirked, then looked down to continue before I said, ‘Corrupt are they and have done abominable iniquity: there is none that doeth good.’ Madison and her friends gawked as I, not laughed per se, but rather blew air through my nose in an amused way.
I was pretty well-read by this point, as you may or may not know by a previous answer. The Bible was an important part of culture, so I’d deemed it necessary to verse myself in it. (Sorry.)
The year before some kids had confronted me about my atheism – except Drew and his friends didn’t have a Bible, which I hope is the norm – so they didn’t try quoting stuff to me.
I knew it would happen again, so I memorized stuff that could be used against me.
I’m not really the kind of person who lights a fire, but I’m not the first one to stamp it out, either. It’s a flaw, but it worked to my advantage.
‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged. Do unto others as you would have done unto you.
Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’
And yes, I’m the first to admit that nine year old me was a teensy bit sadistic.
By this point, the conversation had taken a serious turn. Madison was glaring at me, mad. ‘You can’t say that!’ A half dozen or so other third-graders were standing around us by now, and I decided to wrap up the whole thing before one of them tattled.
‘Look, I respect your beliefs, Madi, but it’s not nice to tease people. Neither of us will ever know if we’re right or not, so we shouldn’t talk about this stuff because it’s kind of pointless.’
I walked away.”
15. Punch Me In The Chest With A Key? That's It
“I was a freshman in high school. I was an average build, not a physically imposing guy by any means. I always seemed to fit in with most people. I never had any problems making friends or fitting in.
Up to this point in my life, I’ve never had anyone really bully me.
During our lunch period, I always sat at the same table with the same group of guys. At first, there were no problems; lunch was always enjoyable. But then for some reason, I caught somebody’s eye. I’m not sure why he picked me, but I became his victim of choice.
I’ll call him Nate.
Nate was a junior, a football player, and much bigger than me. Every day at lunch, Nate started calling me names and tormenting me in front of everyone. Everyone would always laugh at me, and I would be so embarrassed. I remember being so incredibly p*ssed at him that I wanted to attack him in the middle of the cafeteria. It took everything I had to keep my cool.
The comments and the laughter that followed was so infuriating to me. I didn’t know what to do, so I just let it go and kept going about my business. This pattern lasted for about a month or so.
One day I was walking down the hallway in between classes. I was about to walk up the stairs to my class when Nate walked around the corner.
He punched me in the gut. I told him to go *** himself. He punched me again. I got very stern and told him *** off. He put his car keys in between his knuckles so the tip of the key was sticking out and punched me in the chest. That hurt like a ****! I saw red. I was pushed past my limits. It’s time to fight.
I took my book filled backpack off from around my shoulder and swung it like a baseball bat. BOOM! Hit him right in the sternum. I instantly dropped my bag and pushed him. I immediately got in his face and went psychotic on his a**. “LET’S GO, YOU LITTLE **** MOTHER *****! RIGHT NOW, LET’S *****’ GO!” I’ve never been more willing to hurt someone in my life.
To my surprise, he backed down like a little kid. He had both of his hands up and out in front of him and was saying, “Whoa whoa, man. I was just kidding. I’m sorry, man.” I told him to go *** himself and to get the *** away from me.
Nate never messed with me again after that. I truly never had another altercation with him.
At the end of the day, bullies are scared. They are weak-minded, scared individuals who need to put other people down in order to feel better about themselves. The worst part is they don’t realize that. They may never realize it. They torment people in order to feel validated by others. It’s disgusting.
I don’t necessarily recommend doing what I did. It was a bold move that could’ve ended up being very bad for me.
However, I feel it’s important to stand up for yourself in these kinds of situations. You need to have some grit about you, so you don’t become an easy target for bullies.”
14. Be A Couple Of Punks On The Beach? You'll End Up In Tears
“It was a glorious summer day at Jones Beach State Park on Long Island. My mother had packed my sister and her little female friend into the back seat of our Datsun with my friend Ryan. One of the pros to being a big, broad teenager was I was granted “shotgun” for life amongst my peers, resulting in rarely ever being squished in the backseat of cars (years later, I would learn the pros of being squished in the backseat with teenage girls, but seeing as how I was a stammering bundle of nerves around girls, I doubt it would’ve mattered much).
The five of us had decided to make a rare family pilgrimage to the beach this day, as it was a far cry from my mother being holed up in a dingy bar pounding ****** Marys while Ryan, who was a year older than me at 15, and I aroused the streets with our hooligan goon squad, protecting our block from gangs and drug dealers in our area (being byproducts of addicts made us all very jaded towards that element in our neighborhood).
We saw it as a day trip away from the pitfalls of our existence. A day without booze or fighting. A day to just be KIDS. Little did we know we were to encounter the male counterparts of the twins from “The Shining.”
We arrived at the beach at 8:00 before the crowds had swooped in to claim all the prime real estate. We set up our blanket, cooler, and boom box (that’s a square metal box with a tuning knob that we used to pick up music via radio waves, to all you youngins out there) about ten feet beyond the cusp of where the damp, packed sand ended and the dry, fluffy sand began.
This gave us optimal access to both sandcastle building materials and snacks. So Ryan and I set about building a sandcastle – no, a SAND KINGDOM – in that dampened section of sand. We worked diligently for a couple of hours until we’d forged a hold fitting of the Iron Throne itself. We had even irrigated a moat around the hold that would fill up as the outstretched fingers of waves crawled towards the embankment and spilled into the channels.
It was glorious.
Suddenly, a foot came stomping down onto the roof of our tavern…AND THEY WERE BAKING MINCE MEAT PIES!! I looked up, and there stood what had to have been an incarnation of the Antichrist. Two identical twins, about 15-16 years old, with spiky blonde hair and six freckles apiece. They were grinning maniacally through their matching snaggle tooths. (That’s not a typo.
They had snaggle TOOTHS.) They were the embodiment of every teen bully from every cheesy 80’s movie of all time. They were Johnny from Cobra Kai mixed with Junior from Problem Child, mixed with the d*uchebag little league team from The Sandlot. I hated them instantly. “Your time’s up, D*UCHEBAGS!” said the first Bobbsy twin. “Yeah, this is OUR area now, D*UCHEBAGS!” (It quickly became apparent that these kids had trademarked the term “d*uchebags.”) Ryan politely looked up (and polite was and still IS a tremendous gesture of Goodwill coming from Ryan).
“Yo guys, there’s plenty of room, and we got extra tools if you wanna help us build this kingdom up!”
“No, you d*uchebags had your turn here.”
“Bro,” I chimed in, “You have a full beach here. You’re really gonna be punks and try to start a fight over this little section?!?”
“This whole beach is ours now,” with a spoiled rotten punk snear.
“Johnny, go ahead.”
Suddenly there’s a six-year-old, blond, spiky-haired devil-spawn with a big Tonka bulldozer running roughshod all across our city. He trashed it, then looked me square in the eye and said, “Keep the change, ya filthy animal.”
DID THIS MOTHER ***** REALLY JUST QUOTE HOME ALONE AT ME?!?!?!?
Then his brothers joined in, kicking down the towers the bulldozer had missed.
Now, Ryan and I ran with a very, very rough group.
We trained in boxing and American combat and sparred and fought every day. Furthermore, at fourteen years old, I stood a hair below six feet tall and weighed 240 lbs. I was considered the muscle of the group. Ryan was a polished fighter. We wanted nothing more than to TAKE THESE KIDS APART.
HOWEVER, my mother had a strict no-fighting policy, and due to her addictions, we had to abide by her rules when in her presence, lest my sister suffers her wrath later that evening.
And so I pulled Ryan aside and reminded him, “No fighting.”
Begrudgingly, he agreed.
We did our best to avoid these ******, but they were just being nightmares to others on the beach. For instance, they were making softball-sized cannonballs with wet sand and drying them out on their mother’s (who was pounding wine coolers) blanket. Once they were dried and heavy, they would launch them into crowds of people, and they HURT.
After a few times, Ryan and I tried to talk to these punks again. We were rewarded with sandballs to the face. They SUCKED. The impact was like a right hook to the jaw, but then they’d explode, spewing sand into our eyes, ears, nose, and mouth!! As the onslaught continued to rain down on our heads, Ryan managed to swipe the kid’s Tonka truck, and we made for the ocean.
We went out deep enough that Ryan had to stand on the truck to keep his face above water. The three brats stood at the edge of the sealine. They swore to a truce if we returned the truck. Brilliant strategy by Ryan, I thought. WRONG! Ryan picked up the truck, and we were no more than halfway to the shore when these geniuses decided to deliver a salvo of sandball artillery upon us!!
IMMEDIATELY and instinctively, Ryan whirled around twice to build momentum and then he HURLED the Tonka truck deep into the fathoms of the Atlantic in what undoubtedly would have been a world-record discus toss! The demon-child shrieked with rage! This is when we learned the horrifying truth of our fates.
“Smart move, dipsh*ts. We know KARATE!!”
DUH-DUH-DUHHHHHHHHH!!
(Psh, whatever.)
We got to the shore, and the two wannabe Cobra Kai weirdos were ready to square off with us.
We just brushed them off and went back to our blanket for sun-melted bologna and cheese with sand on Wonderbread. As we laid there, we watched these punks repeatedly launching sand balls at people. Pelting elderly beach-goers in the head, knocking kids over At one point, they even filled a Pringles can with wet sand, put it into a plastic shopping bag, swung it round like a sling, and then launched it into a crowd of people on the seashore!
It landed with a CRACK on a little girl’s shoulder. I thought for sure it shattered her clavicle! Watching her dad scoop her up and frantically look to console her was too much.
Ryan said to me, “Jerm, I’m sorry, but I don’t give a *** what your mom says; I gotta do something.” I said, “Let’s give her ONE chance to settle things.”
My mother thought she was a perennial Nobel peace prize nominee.
She thought she was some sort of enlightened being… must’ve been the booze. In any case, I implored her to try to settle things her way before we were forced to intervene. So she made her way to the ****** Youth base camp, and she spoke to “Mama Gestapo.” In a very friendly manner, she asked the mom to make the boys stop. The mother replied, coldly, “What’re ya gonna do?
Boys will be boys!”
My mother stormed back over as Ryan and I went for a walk. But mom had one last-ditch ploy up her sleeve to salvage everyone’s day there on Jones Beach.
She waited until the two anus-brains were walking by the blanket, and she offered them a soda and introduced herself with a cordial smile. She then asked if the boys could maybe tone it down a notch, because, “Frankly, I’m not sure how much longer my boys are going to listen to me.”
The twins thought it over briefly and then recited the centuries-old Celtic incantation for bringing death and pestilence to earth.
Let this be a lesson in war tactics for all of you non-Irish readers. If you EVER want to get your A** KICKED, all you need to do is tell a hard-drinking Irish woman to go “*** herself.” Sprinkle a little “***” on top just for added effect.
Now. My ma’ didn’t like us fighting, for sure. But she had NO QUARREL with sending us into battle against anyone who disrespected her. So with that, we heard those sweet, sweet words, like the bellowing of the conch!
“JEREMY! RYAN! Go, ahead boys!”
Goosebumps spread across my flesh like wildfire. Ryan and I shared a moment, just long enough to acknowledge one another’s half-grin… then we turned towards these horrible punks, puffed out our chests, balled our fists….
And ate two of the most devastating sandballs ever created by man.
I was hit directly between the eyes, disorienting me. Ryan was hit directly in his eye and was immediately BLINDED. He dropped to one knee trying to clear the sand from his eyes (Ryan had always had issues with his eyes, which required him to apply eye drops frequently throughout the day). As he was doubled over, a second sand ball exploded on his ear, clogging his ear and deafening him.
My sister ran down and took his hands and pulled him off to the side to try to cleanse his eyes with bottled water.
I, meanwhile, was trying to brush sand out of my eyes when I heard my sister’s friend holler, “Jeremy, behind you!!” just as I was hit with a running jump kick in the middle of my back. Being the man-child I was, the kick had no effect, and the kids must’ve noticed because they went back to pelting me with sandballs from all angles rather than trying to physically assault me.
Even the little *** of a toddler was launching them. I couldn’t see anything and had no idea what angles I was being pelted from.
Finally, I brushed my eyes JUST ENOUGH to see one of the brothers standing DIRECTLY in front of me, arm prepared to launch a kill shot from point-blank range!!!
OK, READER. YOU’VE WAITED LONG ENOUGH!! HERE IS WHERE I DID SOMETHING VERY NICE TO A NOT NICE PERSON TO PUT AN END TO THIS MASSACRE WE WERE RECEIVING!!
“No, no, no…no more bro. Please, you win. Just let me get my friend, and we’ll just leave. Please. You guys are no ***** joke. I’m sorry…”
(SEE?!? I WAS BEING NICE!)
He stood before me, with a quizzical look in his eye. “You had enough?”
“Yeah man, those sandballs hurt. My mouth is bleeding, I can’t see… I just wanna go home.”
“Ok…” arm still beside his head, ready to launch.
The other twin comes running up on my right side ready to attack me again, but his brother turns his gaze to him and stops him. “Chill, chill, it’s squashed. These f*ggots are done. They’re gonna boun…”
POW!!!!!!
I THREW A SHORT RIGHT HOOK INTO HIS HAND, SMASHING HIS SANDBALL IN HIS OWN FACE, AND DROPPING HIM LIKE 130 lbs OF ***. And it felt GLORIOUS!!!
As he lay motionless in the sand, I turned to face the other *****. I could see the fear set in as he realized his backup was no longer available to protect him, leaving him face to face with someone twice his size and SEETHING with rage. He glanced down at the two sandballs still in his hands, then looked at me and, well…when you look into the eyes of someone who has fighting experience, sometimes you see a calm behind the anger that tells you, “This guy has danced this dance before.”
He abruptly threw his sandballs to the ground and took off running east-bound along the edge of where the ocean met the sand. I took off after him, but I was built for smashing, not chasing, and it quickly became apparent that I wasn’t going to catch this kid. I was chugging along at max speed but he was just pulling away.
I felt rage.
I felt utter disappointment.
This little *** had hurt so many people, and I finally have the chance to do something about it, but there I was, letting him get awa–RATATATATATA- wait!! What’s that sound coming from behind me??
“MOOOOVE OVA, JURMEEEEEE!” The voice sounded like a lunch whistle bellowing at a quarry.
“JURMEEEEEE, GET OUT THE WAY, JURMEEEEEE!”
RATATATATATA… was this the sound of a toy machine gun blaring behind me?
“JURMEEEEEE! DA *** OUT DA WAY!! MOVE, JURMEEEEEE!!”
RATATATATAT….
It took a moment to register what I was hearing. Clearly, Ryan was bellowing for me to move. But what’s that sound? It was drawing nearer…
Suddenly, I realized.
IT WAS THE SOUND OF RYAN’S FEET SLAPPING THE EDGE OF THE WATER AT SUPERSONIC SPEED! RYAN WAS THE MOST FIT AND HARDEST-TRAINING PERSON OUT OF ALL OUR RUFFIAN FRIENDS, AND HE WAS FREAKING FLYING!
He was running so fast, he couldn’t go around me because he would hydroplane and go sprawling!
I moved one step inland, to my left, and sure enough, he blew past me like I was standing still. He had closed the gap from where his eyes were being rinsed to 100 yards down the beach in a matter of seconds, which said two things:
1) he was very fast.
2) he was *****’ P*SSED.
In a blink, he was on the kid’s heels. He could’ve easily tackled him, but he opted to go completely airborne instead, delivering a “Phenomenal Forearm” to the small of the kid’s neck and DRIVING him face-first into the sand, all of his body weight on the back of the boy’s skull as they slid across the flesh-slitting sand.
Ryan then stood him up and knocked him backward into the ocean where it was only a few inches deep.
Just as Ryan stood above him to begin raining punches, the other twin came flying past me (yes, I was pretty slow, I get it) and jumped on Ryan’s back, looking to wrap his arms around Ryan’s neck. But I wrapped my arms around his torso from behind, took a few steps backward, and German suplexed the punk in about a foot of water. No need to go into detail about the fight, unless you all feel you’d like to know, but let’s just say we kicked THE CRAP out of those kids.
And it was MAGICAL. The kids’ mother was now standing next to my mother at the water’s edge, and she pleaded with her, “Make them stop! Make them stop!”
My mother, arms folded and expressionless watching her lads at work simply responded, “Boys will be boys.”
Finally, my mother called us off, and we dragged them out of the water so they could gasp for oxygen and dry-heave on the sand.
They were crying and pretty badly banged up.
And that’s when I noticed the huge crowd of beachgoers gathered all around us, CHEERING, and telling the kids they got what they deserved.
The father with the little girl was holding her in her little pink bathing suit and sun hat, with an ice pack on her shoulder, and he stopped me as we walked through the crowd and thanked us for defending all the kids that had been victimized by these delinquents.
And then we made a run for it before the police came.
I generally, as a rule, don’t advocate violence at all. But these kids were so horrible, I think this instance warranted an exception.”
13. Come Over My Fence Uninvited? Get A Punch To The Face
“My very first one was in 4th grade.
We lived in a small town, and we had finally moved into an honest to God house. It’s not a big house, just a house, but it had a half-acre yard!
Regardless, after living the past year in an old camp trailer – 20 feet with two adults, three kids, and two dogs in it (a bit cramped to say the least), a HOUSE was BIG! Any house.
Well, I made friends with a kid my age that lived across the alley from me. His house was behind mine. We were inseparable, but HIS neighbor was a thieving, little jerk.
That kid loved to steal my GI Joes, then dare me to do something about it, stating that the law was on his side because I was just trailer trash anyway. This kept up spring, into summer, into fall… and come Christmas break, I’d had enough. Nobody was helping me, and I was stuck dealing with it by myself.
So I’d gone over to my friend’s house, and as we went back to my house, I caught that kid coming over my fence with something.
I don’t remember what now, but it p*ssed me off. He asked what I was gonna do about it.
So in answer, I punched him in his mouth. It was on. We threw punches back and forth, and one of his rocked me. I felt like I was slowly falling sideways, lights erupted behind my eyes, and I shook it off. But unlike before… now I was RAGED!
I popped him with two jabs to fix him and stepped in for the big right. He stumbles back, then suddenly, he’s flat on his back. I was shocked! I didn’t know I’d hit him THAT hard! That’s when I noticed my friend, who had been on hands and knees behind him, pulling a “School Boy” and giving me a hand. Hooray for best friends!!!
So the kid I knocked down now has b***d running down his face from his nose. He said, “I think my mom is calling me. Have a Merry Christmas!” and he ran home. I’m pretty sure he was crying.
That kid NEVER AGAIN stole from me. He NEVER came over, never bothered me. And on that day I learned… my fist is a GOOD THING when it comes to bullies.
I have settled ALL bullies that way since. It’s got me in a lot of trouble, and I’ve lost probably as much as I’ve won, but the thing was… they respected me. They knew that bullying me would get them a fist in their face at the least. I have sent a couple to the hospital, and on occasion, have choked them. Choking is not good; I don’t recommend it, but THAT bit got a whole group of them to leave me alone.
The thing that went around was that, that crazy m*****f*c**r will kill you; don’t mess with him. I was fine with that.
As an adult, I don’t get many bullies. I’m glad. My dad is a bully, and I haven’t settled him with my fist. He has done so with me, however. Several times. Instead, knowing that kicking his a** would do nothing.
I simply eliminated him from my life. I moved him to the realm of being entirely… Irrelevant. He now knows that it’s irrelevant what he says or does; he no longer matters. He’s literally nothing.
Some people respond well to a solid right. Others respond well by being told they don’t matter. Others never will get it.
No matter what method you choose, never stop fighting back.
Refuse to be a victim. Refuse to let them get to you. Refuse to give them power over you. YOU ARE WORTH HAVING DIGNITY! Never forget that.”
Another Users Comments:
“I agree. I was always afraid to hit anyone in case I would hurt them. That was as a child, and I took quite a lot of abuse. When I was in primary school, about age 9 or 10, there was a girl who started picking on another girl after school.
She would continue to beat the same girl every day until she was tired of her then pick on someone else in the same way. One day, I saw the look she gave me, and I knew my turn was very near. Several days passed before she came up behind me, pulled my head back by my long hair, and beat my face. Next day, I carried my coat and school bag over my arm, ready to drop.
When I sensed her behind me, I dropped my coat and bag and spun around. I didn’t hold her hair as a lot of girls tend to do. I used my fists and punched her as hard as I could in her face. She ran home screaming, nose bleeding, and eyes swollen. She was not at school for several days. It was very unusual to see two girls fighting and quite a crowd had gathered. A lot of them had been her victims. Everyone was clapping their hands and cheering.
That girl never beat anyone up again after that. I still, to this day, can hardly believe that I had the courage to do that.” Roberta Donovan
12. Throw A Snowball Where It Hurts? Get Choked Out
Whoopsies…
“When I was in elementary and middle school, I was bullied a lot. I had as many bullies as I had friends in elementary school, so it wasn’t all that bad, but when I was in middle school, I moved to upstate New York and didn’t have many friends until the middle of 7th grade.
In 8th grade, there were these 3 kids: Dustin, Braydon, and Steve (not their real names) who were in my class.
We were in a remedial class so it was a maximum of 6 kids in the class. The other 2 kids were their friends but more or less left me alone. Dustin threatened me with a knife in the middle of class (he didn’t actually have a knife) and was arrested/expelled, so I never saw him again. Steve verbally abused me constantly but never put his hands on me.
That leaves Braydon.
Braydon was the worst out of all of them. He would verbally abuse me, physically assaulted me on a regular basis, and would threaten to r**e me while calling me a f*ggot (I’m bisexual). Needless to say, my life was horrible for those two years.
One day in the middle of winter, it had snowed and our social studies teacher brought her therapy dog into the school with her.
The teacher also supervised our study hall, and she decided we would all go outside to give the dog a walk as there were only 4 kids in the class that day including Braydon, Steve, and myself, and we had caught up on our homework.
While we were outside, the 4 of us decided to have a snowball fight. It was all good fun until Braydon decides to pack a snowball until it had turned to ice and then threw it as hard as he could, directly into my crotch.
And kids, a 1 pound ball of ice directly to your nuts at least 60 miles per hour isn’t exactly enjoyable.
While I was doubled over in pain, Braydon turned his back on me and started gloating to his friends. That was his biggest mistake. I had taken so much abuse from this kid that I just couldn’t handle anymore. I snapped and fought through the pain to stand up.
I ran over to Braydon and started choking him from behind. I didn’t let go until he passed out. When I did, the school resource officer dragged me away in cuffs.
I spent the night in juvie and was taken to school the next day in a cop car and immediately escorted to the principal’s office where Braydon, his dad, my mom, the resource officer, the principal, the guidance counselor, the social studies teacher, a prosecution attorney, the school’s legal rep, and the district court judge were all waiting (I’m still confused as to why we didn’t go to a courtroom, but I guess it was because I was a minor or something).
I don’t remember exactly all that was said, but Braydon tried to make it look like he was innocent in the whole ordeal. That he didn’t mean to throw the snowball that hard and wasn’t aiming for my crotch.
I told the judge in front of everyone about everything that I had been going through thanks to Braydon. The judge was listening to every detail of my testimony.
It was a full 2 years’ worth of events that led up to the snowball fight. The principal then showed security footage which showed the snowball fight.
The judge’s final ruling was that I was provoked in my attack and would only be suspended for the maximum amount for fighting on school grounds (10 days) and that the assault charges would not go on my permanent record and the attempted murder charges would be dropped. Meanwhile, Braydon was suspended for an entire month, and when he did return to school, he left me alone for the rest of the school year, and he moved away the following year.
A couple of years ago, I got a message from Braydon on Facebook. He’s in a 12 step program after overdosing on painkillers, and one of the steps is to apologize for everything they did to harm anyone while they abused d***s. I forgave him and apologized for nearly killing him. I haven’t heard from him since, but it feels good to know that he has remorse for what he did and that he’s trying to get better.”
11. It Took Him Four Months, But He Got Sweet Vengeance
“I was never the bully, but I was always a troublemaker. At the height of a nasty divorce between my parents, my patience with the typical childish antics was at an all-time low. In elementary school, I was the nightmare who would beat people up for heckling me.
That didn’t stop others from attempting to bully me.
2nd grade, I had fights all over the school with multiple groups of kids who thought they were tough. Yeah, I left bruised, but they were left bleeding. I was suspended longer because 4 against 1 can get more testimonials on their side than yours.
Word got out from a kid named “Nick” that he was the only one to beat me up.
Troublemaker like me, however, very soft and spineless. He’d wait until the teacher wasn’t looking to start hitting me from behind. Kicking books out of my hand and splashing water on my new clothes. All during class. And I couldn’t say a word; the teacher thought I was the only source of trouble in my school and didn’t believe anything I said.
Then he would spread rumors about kicking me in the groin, taking me behind the dumpster and punching me, and (my personal favorite) stealing my lunch box. He stole my lunch box a lot of times and put garbage in it. Again, I tried proving he was doing this to not get any reciprocation from the teacher. I even tried the principal, and he thought I instigated it.
I put up with this for FOUR MONTHS until late May when “Nick” asked to go to the bathroom. My anger had boiled over because I know he stole my lunchbox again, and it had my favorite meal (turkey and cheese sandwich with the ever rare Arizona can and an apple).
He asked to go to the bathroom with it and the teacher let him go.
I was really p*ssed. I wasn’t in a good mood nor did I want to deal with the harassment anymore. He left the door open, and I noticed it. I waited for the teacher to call us over for a group up, and in the small chaos, I bolted out and the door and looked around.
I walked to the nearest bathroom and opened it to see him placing an empty banana peel and some candy wrappers in my lunch box.
He also had the Arizona can open and was drinking from it. I approached him and yelled at him for what he had done. He yelled back. I pushed him, and he pushed back.
I threw a punch, and that was it. Like Mysterio in Spider-Man 2, he was dropped. Normally I’d walk out but the anger was too much for me to contain. Four months was enough, and he was about to endure all of my feelings that had been pent up in those months.
I pummeled him until my knuckles bled (that was the only scratch on me) kicked him in the groin and left two huge black eye marks across his face. A teacher walking by saw me beating him up and immediately pulled me off him.
I’d never felt better. I fnally got this worm who thought he was slick. I felt amazing. The principal yelled at me, and I didn’t care.
My mom, same thing. My teacher, same. I couldn’t care less; he got what he deserved, and no one helped me when he was doing all this to me. I had no problem doing it again either if he so much as touched me with intent.
Everyone else didn’t see me as the victim; they saw him as an innocent student who got unjustly attacked by a troublemaker.
His parents were furious at me, threatening to beat up an 8-year-old because I put their son in his place. At least my dad believed my story. He started taking me to school in case “Nick’s” father got a little too close to me.
But my revenge story doesn’t have a happy ending, because again, I was the suspect. I was the issue and needed to be “fixed.” I was not allowed to go to my field day for the third straight year, and my teacher lowered my 4s in academics to 3s.
I really think she hated me.
I was upset and hurt. It made me think I just beat him up for nothing. And it took two therapists to convince me of that. For the longest time, I believed I was the one who started the problems.
Until I was in high school. By that time, I had completely mellowed out and became the quiet man I am now.
Junior year of high school, I joined the varsity football team and he was our kicker. The moment I walked into the locker room for doubles he was on my a**. He got all up in my face but never threw a punch. I stood there dead-eyed without any intent to harm him. He reminded me of everything, the yelling and screaming. Me seeing my lunch box getting tarnished all flooded back to my mind.
I smiled, “You’re not worth it.” That was the only thing I said to him. He kept trying to fight but I never gave in, he wasn’t worth it anymore. And I was happy to finally be free from being the wrong one. I know I got into a lot of fights as a kid, and I know deep in my heart I never started them, but I always finished them.
Whether it helped my reputation or not.
I hate bullies.”
10. You Probably Shouldn't Call Someone Names If They're Holding A Dictionary
“They called me “gay Ray.”
Not just him, my entire 7th-grade class.
I didn’t have a clue. I thought it meant I was always smiling. I will admit to being naive.
When my parents heard about the situation, they sat me down and insisted that I stand up for my rights. They even admitted that sometimes violence is needed to solve a problem. (They never really did explain what “gay” meant, but I knew it was bad).
Violence is a big problem for a 90 lb. (41 kg) 7th grader. I puzzled a long time and decided that violence would work best against slower learners. I decided to prove myself against the biggest slow learner in my class.
It was in the library that it happened.
Him: “Hi gay Ray.”
Me: “Don’t call me that.”
Him: “Everybody calls you gay Ray.”
Me: “Not anymore.
Don’t ever call me gay Ray again.”
Him: Gay Ray! Gay Ray! Gay Ray!
Me: (holding very large dictionary in the left hand, ready to strike) See this?
Him: (looks at book)
Me: (best and only right hook I ever landed)
His left eye was black and blue enough that nobody ever called me “gay Ray” again. We both got a suspension.
At the time, I was proud of myself.
It changed my life. It turned me from a loser to a winner. I went to high school a new person.
Today I look back and wonder what happened to him. The “gay Ray” was not his idea. I attacked the weak to appear strong.
I am not going to apologize, but I don’t feel all too good about myself either.”
Another Users Comments:
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You gave the dope a chance to shut up, and he did not. It’s true he didn’t make up the name, but he did use it to your face.” Mary Finn
9. She Started Off Nice... At First
“It was back in the early 1990s. My eyesight had gotten so bad that I had gone to San Rafael to get a Guide Dog for mobility. We lived in a rather run-down area (near St. Luke’s Hospital in San Fran) and right next door, on the way I had to take every day to get home from work, was a Hispanic family. Mom, Dad, several ‘friends,’ a gaggle of kids – and a huge Rottweiler.
Pop doted on that dog. He was also a bit of a bully.
Every day when I went to or came home from work, the rottweiler would CHARGE around the house into the front yard, right at the fence, snarling and threatening! While Guide Dogs are trained to ignore dog distractions, and not respond to aggression, I was another matter! I couldn’t see well, and so the dog had a way of SUDDENLY appearing out of nowhere, threatening violent b****y death to my dog and me.
Since my poor dog was new, and a sweet gentle Golden Retriever, she would also flinch away. I couldn’t help but scream every time it happened.
Being a ‘nice sort’ I always try to resolve conflict with words. Once, when Pop came out laughing, I said, ‘PLEASE keep your dog IN or at least penned in the back yard when he’s outside!!’ He roared with laughter, imitated my scream of surprise and mocked me, ‘Eeeek!
HAHAHA! “Please keep your dog in the back”… like H**l I will! It’s MY dog. Keep your mangy **t*h off MY sidewalk if you’re so **i*g scared!’ and he went back into the house laughing.
I tried to reason with him a couple more times.
By now he had worked that Rottie up to the point where the dog would go into frothing rages at my poor shivering Guide Dog!
Finally, I called the school. I told them of my dilemma. They asked me, ‘Do you have an alternative route home?’ ‘Yes. But it was eight blocks walk because we were on a cul-de-sac.’ ‘We’ll handle it,’ they said.
Handle it they DID! A few days later a beautiful black Mercedes Benz drove up and parked in front of the neighbor’s house.
From what I am told, a couple of Suits got out of the car and went to *talk* to the man. Very calmly, never ONCE raising their voices, they laid it on the line.
‘Sir, you may not know this, but interfering with a service dog, such as a Guide Dog for the Blind, is against the law. We are a very *large* school, with a budget somewhere north of a couple of small countries, and we employ attorneys by volume and weight.
Now IF your dog… and you… *continue* to ‘interfere’ with our client’s mobility… we can take your car, your house, the clothes off your *back* and land you in jail, PLUS a $20,000 fine. Oh yes, and we can take your *dog* too. Your name will be in every newspaper from here to Texas for bullying a blind woman. Somehow I don’t think your ‘wife’ and kids will stick around for that.
What do you think? We aren’t going to give you our card, we’re giving our card to our *client*. Think it over.’
And quite calmly, they left. The family MOVED about a month later!”
8. Don't Make Fun Of Someone's Disability
“Okay, so I’m not the type to ask for impossible *** or to demand ridiculous accommodations, and don’t get me wrong I’m usually very polite to service workers, but I will straight up go full b*tch-mode when I don’t get what I’m paying for, and when workers are being purposely dismissive or rude.
I do this weird sort of stern middle-aged mother b*tchy thing when I’m being dismissed at customer service. (Or when I have to deal with my man’s bank, which will put him on hold for like 4 hours and treat him like absolute horsesh*t until I get on the phone and suddenly they’re all, ‘yes ma’am, no ma’am, certainly ma’am, we can fix that right away ma’am.’)
But there is exactly one instance when I have gone full Karen, entirely out of necessity.
So when I was 16 I paid over $150 for an all-day pass to get into a theme park event in my city that I go to every year. That’s a lot of money to me, even now, but it’s a huge deal and it’s tradition. The problem is: the park is super loud and I’m hard of hearing (auditory processing disorder and a little deaf), so I have a hard time understanding what people are saying.
The best way I can describe it is its sort of like trying to hear somebody talk to you while you’re underwater, if also while you were underwater there was a swarm of bees loudly buzzing around your head.
This theme park is owned by a multi-billion dollar company that pretty much runs the city, and they are widely known for being huge ****** who just care about money – but the park is tradition – and everybody goes.
Seriously, don’t feel bad for them they’re terrible. My point is the media in my city is literally scrabbling for a takedown story of this company.
We were in the thick of it in the ride section where things are noisiest and I can’t make out a ****** thing. I’m walking into one of my favorite rides with my man which takes place in an enclosed room but you can still hear all the noise from outside, that I have gone on every year since I was like 6 years old, and the rules have changed as to where to put your bags.
This is fine if a little overkill, but I’m glad it’s safer now. There are no signs signifying the rule change so they are relying on you to understand the guy talking who doesn’t sign. That’s a big no-no for deaf/hard of hearing people, but with a little extra effort from the person trying to talk to you can get the gist of what’s being said just fine.
This 35-year-old man then decides to openly mock me calling me a ‘r*tard (slur)’ for putting my bags where I’ve been putting them for the past decade. This whole thing lasts like 15 whole minutes no exaggeration.
He’s going as far as to make other riders boo and clap at me as I desperately tried to figure out what was going on. I was confused and scared. My man who can hear perfectly was with me at the time is trying to explain to me what this man wants but even he can’t understand because the instructions are so confusing and he’s purposely being cryptic to drag this out.
The door is closed and he won’t let anybody leave until the ride was over even when I was banging on the door trying to get out.
I was literally crying at one point as people laughed at me – right up until I started signing and they realized I literally cannot understand.
Straight silence across the ride as nobody wants to get involved. Ride operator guy doesn’t care even when my man is telling him I can’t hear him and tell to him clearly what he wants me to do so he can sign it to me.
After that 15 minutes was up finally some random citizen waves to get my attention and plays charades with me for 30 seconds before I 100% understood what was being asked of me and did it, to which this ride operator scoffs at this guy like he’s p*ssed in his Diet Coke and starts to slow clap, while literally refusing to start the ride until everybody awkwardly slow claps with him.
At this point, everybody just wants this to be over and humors this guy while I’m still crying. The ride started and the entire time it was dead silent except for me sobbing. It was bad. People apologized to me outside and told me they were sorry for playing along and that they wished they’d have been the one to help me. Whatever.
Anyway, I ****** ruined that guy’s life over the course of the next hour.
It was like WW2 at the customer service kiosk, which was near the entrance where it was quieter. I didn’t need an interpreter so I sent my man away to enjoy his day since mine was already shot (it was a hard sell, he was very protective after that whole fiasco) while I committed first-degree murder.
The customer service lady tried to give me a voucher for half-price $30 ice cream and told me the guy was new and was just trying to do his job and that I should calm down.
Oh?
“I DID NOT PAY $150 EVERY YEAR FOR A DECADE TO BE BULLIED FOR BEING LEGALLY DEAF BY SOME GUY YOU BROUGHT ON A WEEK AGO. I WANT YOUR MANAGERS MANAGER ON THE PHONE RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD-”
I made like 15 calls. I threatened a class-action lawsuit. I literally called a family friend who is a lawyer right there at the customer service to show I was serious.
I (politely, I was pretty reasonable with anybody who wasn’t acting like a Class A *******) called my local deaf and hard of hearing advocacy group. And the kicker: I called like 6 separate news channels. They were very interested in my story.
This guy’s boss came down to do damage control to tell me he was going to put the guy on suspension until the theme-park moved to the next city in a couple of days.
‘Not good enough, who’s your boss?’ I was out for *****.
Once I’d reached literally as far up as I could go (some lady had to drive in from across the city to deal with me) the ride people’s manager and the customer service people’s manager were full-blown arguing about what to do as I began practicing what I was going to tell the news people when I got home.
Apparently they would have had to close the ride for like four hours while they got the only other guy who could operate it in from some event he was at. Maybe a wedding? I don’t know, I wasn’t listening. I didn’t give a ***.
Then I said something along the lines of “It’s not my fault you hired a discriminatory egghead who likes to pick on deaf teenage girls.
I want him fired and I want this *** on a record somewhere. I want consequences and I want my ****** ticket comped before I talk to (highly respected state newspaper)”.
They both turned to me at once and it was like two owl-bobble heads looking at me.
‘You’re a minor?’ That man’s *** was gr*** right then and there and I was the ****** lawnmower. He had sown the wind and I was the whirlwind.
There was no saving him. Not only did they comp my ticket, but they also gave both my man and me VIP p***es. and bought me lunch from any food stand in the theme park.
Turns out the guy was actually living with the traveling theme-park for the summer (sort of like a 21st-century circus but with running water?) in a park owned trailer as they traveled across the country.
I was unaware of this, but I’ll be honest it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise.
A security guard (at my insistence) led me to the edge of the closed-off trailer area where I watched him pack his *** into a backpack and a box, leaving what he couldn’t carry (presumably to be picked up later or thrown out) before he was lead by two separate security guards out the back.
Basically evicted and fired in one solid punch. I don’t know where he went but I highly doubt he had a place to crash in the city.
The park then (hilariously) called my 50y/o redneck-dad to ask if the punishment and compensation for me were to his satisfaction and if he would be pressing charges/ ‘speaking to anybody about the incident’ (they meant the news), and he basically just said “Yeah, that’s fine.
What direction did he go in?” What a goof. They would not tell him. Eventually, he got me on the phone and asked if I wanted to press charges against the park or if I would want to ‘speak to anybody.’
‘No, I’m alright. I’d like a comped lunch for my man who was with me when it happened though if that’s alright. That way we can eat together.’
My dad laughed and told them what I wanted, and that was that. They had me sign some paperwork that basically prohibited me from talking to the news or posting about it on social media, and a customer service dude went, found my man, and led him to where I was waiting with two VIP lanyards and eating (I’d already ordered).
‘Uhhhh will-not-bite what did you do?’
‘I ordered us a bloomin’ onion, a plate of deep-fried pickles, a plate of deep-fried Oreos because I know you wanted to try them. Also, we have two VIP tickets now and another $150 to spend. Oh, and two sodas!’
We are still seeing each other and go to the theme-park every year… Nobody has bothered me about my hearing since.”
Another User Comments:
“As someone with only one working ear, audio processing issues, and tinnitus, I love you.
He deserved all that ***. Hearing people do not understand how just the right amount of even small background noise can cancel out what does work of our hearing, let alone a ton of loud crap going on. To be an epic a** about it carrying on for someone not understanding in the first place was bad enough, but to continue it once it was established, you had a hearing issue made him that much more of a severe ***.” kellirose1313
7. Workplace Bully Gets What's Coming For Her
“I got a job at the local library in the summer of 2015 2016.
Strap in, kids, because, in order for you all to understand the true artistry of my revenge, this is going to be a long, delicious ride.
At this time, I was a poor undergrad student who had just gotten out of an abusive relationship and was riddled with anxiety. In my new living situation, I had to earn more money than I was making as a tutor in the college writing center, so I applied to work part-time as a shelver in the mornings before I would go to class.
Now, I said ‘local’ library, but it’s actually a bit more complex: the library system I was working for was one of the best in its area of the United States. We had a dozen or so branches, the main branch of the library had a coffee shop, an indoor theater, and a subbasement full of books along with a suspiciously well-kept underground bunker full of important state documents.
I worked at a branch, and it was considered one of the larger branches, the second largest in terms of collection, and the only branch outside the main library equipped with a maker lab.
I got this job by the grace of some benevolent God, and in part because I have a friend from college who worked in the maker lab that could vouch for my character.
After a brief training period in the main library, I arrived for my first real day with a box of donuts for my coworkers in hand and a smile on my face at six in the morning. Unfortunately, my manager did not arrive on time-enter the children’s librarian, who did show up early to set up for storytime, and let my anxious a*s inside.
Enter our antagonist, who I will refer to as my least favorite character from Friends: Monica.
Monica did not like me from the start. This is in part due to circumstances beyond my control which I found out after the fact: one of her friends had applied to shelve at the library but did not get the position because Monica’s vouching did not carry as much weight as my friend’s, as well as the fact that I was better qualified.
She also did not like me because, and I cannot make this up: I brought donuts. See, she worked two jobs, one as a barista at the coffee shop and bakery across the parking lot, along with her job as a circulation assistant at the library. She was reportedly quite unhappy with my decision to bring donuts from a competing breakfast chain while everyone else passed on her bagels.
(Sidenote: who even likes bagels, really?)
Fortunately for me, I didn’t see much of Monica at this time.
She worked a mid-shift since her mornings were at the coffee shop, so she was coming in when I was clocking out. This still didn’t stop her from making sure I was aware of her disdain by taking up space in front of my work locker while she was coming on shift, so I would have a hard time getting my things and leaving in time to make my classes or my second job.
A few months passed, and around Christmas, a couple of our part-time branch assistants decided they were going to retire. This left us in a bind; we had two positions to fill and we were coming up on holiday break, which is a busy time for the library. I had only been working in my position as a shelver since late summer, but something in me (read: 4 shots of Jack Daniels at 2 A.M.) led me to apply for the position anyway.
Again, by the grace of some benevolent God, and the recommendation of several people, I got the job.
This is a good place to fit this in as well as any: my assistant manager was a good-natured sort of guy who had only started working in his position a couple of months before me. I was the first person he ever trained for both shelvings and for an assistant position.
The unfortunate truth was that my being trained by someone who was still in training himself showed.
My ability to do my job was also hindered by Monica, who tried multiple times to sabotage me. She would tell me the wrong information or stay quiet if she knew I was misinformed. The problem was that this would backfire on her; Monica would tell me something untrue, and when I would be corrected, I never let her get away with it.
Part of the reason I had gotten the position of circulation assistant is because I turned in a programming outline for a weekly anime club at the library (I know, I’m a nerd, but you’re on Reddit, so…) and it had been approved, but stalled in implementation.
I was seen as a figure who could help “revitalize” our teen programming by our children’s librarian-another blow to Monica, who was in charge of the current programming for teens, which amounted to nothing more than an after school study hall.
Again, we were the second-largest library branch in our system; we were expected to do better. Encroaching on “her teens” was nothing short of war, even though I pointed out she had other responsibilities that were piling up around the library that stagnated when she was doing her glorified babysitting.
I also got chosen for assignments that made me popular with the library staff. When other branches were short-staffed, our branch would be asked if we could send someone to help pick up the shift. I was given this task quite a bit in the winter for a rather stupid reason: I drove a Jeep, and so my four-wheel-drive was ideal for driving unplowed roads.
Monica, in comparison, took public transport-so her chances of getting chosen were slim to zero.
This also meant I picked up more friends at the other branches-what can I say? I’m charismatic.
It helped that I wasn’t on my phone all the time, something Monica had been reprimanded for pretty regularly. I’m not talking a couple of checks here and there throughout the hour; I’m talking every five minutes; texting, checking Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, Vine, etc. She did it behind the desk, she did it in the back, she did it on the floor between the stacks, she did it checking in books, and part of the reason she loved watching the teens was because she could be on her phone, practically uninterrupted, for an hour and a half.
At one point she lost her phone, used the library phone to call it, and then, when that didn’t work, got on the phone with her sister to active her “where’s my phone” feature from home, which meant we were slammed upfront while she walked her sister through the process.
Now that you have the background information and your FedEx order of Chekov’s Guns-here’s how this **** got our assistant manager fired.
I processed a library card wrong. There was a patron who came in, and through a series of wacky circumstances involving a former security action on him and a very generic-a*s milquetoast name, I mixed up some library accounts, put a new card on the wrong account, and then had to start a new application with a new card. All told, I spent half an hour getting this guy a card and then had to go on my break immediately, because I was twenty minutes from leaving and needed to get my 15 in before I left.
In the rush, I left the dead library card on the counter.
When I went back, it was gone.
I panicked. I looked everywhere for it in the 10 minutes before I had to leave to go to class. I couldn’t find it, and when I left, I was so consumed with anxiety about wondering where it went that I neglected to tell anyone what had happened-a big, big mistake, but anxiety is a **** of a drug.
When I came into work a couple of days later, I found out through an email it had been discovered: slotted back in with the other new, unassigned library cards. I knew for d*mn sure that, of all the places I could have put it, it wouldn’t have been there. I realized the person working at that computer when I had come back off my break was Monica.
How does this translate to our AM getting fired? Well, I had been the first-and only-assistant he had trained, since we hired our other assistant internally, and this was a capital BD Big Deal, so my *** up was a mark on his record as well as mine.
It was around this point that I left the library-I was starting to get heat from my manager for some other unrelated issues involving mental health days, and I was promoted at the college writing center, making better pay-so I decided to cut my losses and leave.
Apparently, they fired my AM not long after, and he was forced to uproot his family (who had already moved so he could work at this job) and move to another state.
Part of that was my *** up I’ll admit to that, but the majority of it was because it looked like I had ‘hidden’ the card after the fact.
Fast forward to January of 2017 2018, and take the safety off those guns.
This is where we start getting wild.
I’m scrolling through Twitter on my lunch break, and a notification pops that someone has liked a chain of tweets from almost 4 months earlier.
That’s weird in of itself, given I was very active on Twitter at this time, and those were buried by at least 500 more tweets. They were also about how I had talked to someone who worked at the library, and they had left soon after I did, and I was venting about poor leadership.
It was very off-brand for my twitter.
I checked out who had liked them, and to my surprise, it was, of all people, Monica*.* I scrolled through her account and noticed some very… interesting things.
You see, the Twitter account she had used to like those tweets was a Not Safe for Work **** account. Quelle surprise! I saw much, much more of Monica that day then I frankly ever wanted to see.
But then I looked closer at some of the pictures, and, despite wanting to use bleach for eye drops, I screen-capped a couple and saved them on my laptop before going back to work.
Later that day, I sent her a message through Facebook. To be honest, I wanted to know how she found me on Twitter. At that time, I wasn’t using my real name, and I was posting a lot of incendiary things about the government, the kind of thing you want to stay anonymous for.
In short, I was surprised she had tracked me down and needed to figure out where the leak was.
When I approached her about it, she got nasty with me-she told me ‘nobody cared’ about what I was writing, that I shouldn’t ‘talk ***’ about her ‘work-family’ and that I had only left the library because I ‘couldn’t hack it.’ Then she blocked me.
So, I was p*ssed.
I remembered months of enduring abuse from her, how she’d blocked me from making teen programming better just because she wanted some time on her Godd*mn phone, how she had gotten me in trouble and my boss fired over some petty *******, and all the other microaggressions too plentiful to list, and I decided, alright ****, it’s on.
I went back online after taking a breath, and she must’ve realized her mistake because she had blocked me on Twitter and locked her account.
That was fine by me because I had already gotten what I wanted.
The pictures of her that I had saved? Those were taken at the library.
See, since we’re a rather large branch, we have some pretty recognizable features in the library for anybody who’s ever worked there, or even walked inside-she had taken some pictures of herself topless in the back cubicles; there was one picture of herself in her underwear in the stacks, evident by the carpeting pattern, and, most damning, a picture of her flashing her a*s with the children’s section windows in the background.
I gathered all these pictures up, wrote an email as a ‘concerned, anonymous patron’ to the HR department from a burner email, sent it, and sat back in wait.
The effects were pretty d*mn immediate and started toppling like dominos.
She was fired in a record two days, and my friend in the maker lab told me she was escorted from the building. None of the other workers knew why, but word spread through the other branches because they had to bring people in to staff her position, which meant a rotating cast of faces coming in and wondering why she’d been fired so immediately-usually, even in firing people, the library would give them two weeks, so the position could be filled.
Eventually, someone subbing in must have had a contact in HR, because that’s when I started getting messages from literally everyone I ever worked with all at the same time, asking me ‘did you know Monica was making naughty films in the LIBRARY?!’
But remember that children’s librarian who let me in on my first day, and had recommended me for my promotion? And remember how Monica’s other job was at the coffee shop across the parking lot?
Well, after the incident with Monica and my assistant manager getting fired, that had a negative effect on my manager’s record, so she was fired as well.
As the librarian with the most seniority, the children’s librarian was appointed interim manager. She had also heard the rumor about Monica but wasn’t aware of the details until she got access to those records as the new manager, and saw that Monica had taken pictures and that some of those pictures were in the children’s section, which she was, as you might imagine, fiercely protective of.
As it just so happened, the owner of the coffee shop across the lot went to her church, so she found him after service and told him about why Monica had been fired from the library.
Apparently, there had been a couple of incidences at her other job where she had disappeared into the walk-in with her phone, and some employees thought they saw her in ‘compromising positions’ but were never sure, so they could never take action on it.
After being told about why she’d been fired from the library (and that she had been exposing herself, again, in the children’s section, where his grandkids play and pick out their books) he also fired her.
But wait. There’s more.
Monica had also been doing well enough at the library and the coffee shop that she’d finally bought herself a car. Great news, except that once she lost both her jobs, she couldn’t afford the payments.
Trying to get a new job was also difficult, given that her past employers weren’t shy about giving her bad references and explaining why she was fired. So her car got repossessed after she missed too many payments.
She had also just applied to the college where I was working, so she could get an English undergrad, then a master’s in library sciences. She ended up having to withdraw since her scholarship was revoked after she was fired, and she no longer had a reliable way to get to campus.
No job, no car, kicked out of college before she even took her first class-could Monica’s life get any worse? Oh, it could: turns out her man wasn’t aware of her taking these pictures and posting nudes of herself on the internet.
When he found out from one of her former coworkers at the library why she’d been fired, it turns out she had lied to him about it.
The two of them broke up, and guess where she had been living? So, she ended up moving back in with her Mom-who I’m sure was really, really curious about why her daughter had been having such a streak of bad luck.
Sorry, Monica. Looks like no one told you life was gonna be this way.”
6. They Came At Him First, And He Just Wasn't Having It
“My friend told me about a guy he knew named ‘Ben’ and how he met out some crazy revenge:
Ben was driving himself down on one of those uncommon roads in suburbia that were kind of narrow.
As he was driving, there were these three teenagers, 16, 17 and 19, walking shoulder to shoulder along the road with their backs to him. Not trying to hit them, Ben moved to the far left side to avoid them and give them enough safe space.
Turns out it was a ruse by those three kids to get cars to pass along them just like that. When he passed by them, they took out baseball bats they were hiding and started smashing his car as he passed. Took out his side mirror and minor damage.
Ben wasn’t too happy so he pulled over and got out of his car to address this, not too smart since it’s already 3 to 1 but you’ll understand in a minute.
The three kids see him and realize their advantage and start charging at him, bats raised.
Now here’s where it gets good.
Ben pulls out a gun and tells them all to freeze.
Turns out, Ben’s a retired Marine with a concealed weapons permit. The three kids freak out and stop dead in their tracks, arms raised. Ben directs them to get on their knees, lay face down, and keep their arms and legs spread out. Now, this was back in 2000 when cell phones weren’t as common, but Ben happened to have one. He called the cops on the kids right then and there.
He said, ‘My name is Ben, I’m on Johnson Road and three teenagers just attacked my car and threaten to attack me.
I am carrying a gun with a permit and have them on the ground and subdued, I need an officer to come by here as I am pressing charges and I want them arrested. When the officer arrives, I am the one with the gun and I will follow his instructions.’
The kids start begging for him to let them go, cursing each other, and probably giving sob stories but Ben’s not listening. The cop arrives, orders Ben to put down his gun, which he does, and then it gets better!
Turns out the cop is a retired Marine too! He hears Ben’s statement, sees the evidence, and then they have this exchange:
Cop: ‘So they came right at you?’
Ben: ‘Yes.’
Cop: ‘And you didn’t shoot them?’
Ben: ‘No, they listened to my commands so I didn’t see the need.’
Cop: ‘Is that what they’re teaching now?’
The cop then looks at the three kids and says, ‘You’re lucky you got him and not me, I’d have shot all three of you, coming at me with bats.
If this guy would have shot all three of you dead, told me what happened, I’d send him on his way.’ So the three kids get arrested and the cop tells the two youngest that they’re probably going to screw up their lives if they keep this up.
He tells the 19-year-old that he’s over 18 and an adult so it’s too late for him, he’s going to jail for this.
Then it gets better.
They all end up in court and, as it turns out, the judge’s son is currently in the Marines. He tells the other two that they’re going to be tried as adults too and eventually all three go to jail for the maximum sentence our state allows for this crime!”
5. That Was The Last Straw
“It’s a very small thing, but I think it counts. I’m a middle school boy and this happened to me last year.
I was always unusually strong and tall for my age. But of course, fist-fighting was strictly forbidden and the teachers actually encouraged kids to tell them if people fought.
Anyways, I’m not very social and at my school, being social was the key thing to avoid bullying.
Unfortunately, I didn’t realize this in time, and by the time I did, I had become the biggest target at my class. I wanted to fight them with force but I couldn’t since it would ruin my grades and my entire life for all I knew.
There was this one kid in class (I’m gonna call him H) who was constantly picking on me.
H was very popular and had a gang of boys following him around. When I was minding my own business, he would come and do stuff like slapping my head or take something mine.
He always returned it saying sorry but with amusement on his face.
I tolerated this for 6 months.
Then one day, H crossed the line. I enjoyed writing fanfics and usually brought my idea notebook to school.
I had put it in my bag and gone for lunch. When I came back, I had found H reading my notebook and laughing with his friends. When I snatched it back, I was infuriated. I take my privacy seriously and this was crossing the line.
Remember what I said about me being strong? Well, This is what happened. I walked up to H with what must have been complete fury in my eyes because for a moment he froze, absolute fear in his eyes.
Then he took off.
I must have been radiating something because when I turned to his gang, they backed away. I grabbed one of them and growled, ‘Get him here. NOW.’
They immediately complied and when they found him, I went up to him, grabbed his shirt and lifted him off his feet and pinned him against the wall.
I learned some army talk from my martial arts teacher (a former military drill Sargent) and talked to H in a threatening, yet menacing way like in the army.
The look of complete terror in H’s eyes and him begging for forgiveness still lingers in my mind today and he hasn’t touched me since.”
4. Harass My Parents? Wait Until Uncle Steps In
Uncle knows best.
“My parents had me when they were plenty young. They were not teens anymore but had barely left that age bracket.
My mom and dad met in college.
That was also when they had me. So while my parents were in their courses, I mostly stayed with my grandparents. The whole family lives in the same area.
And the college was not that far away.
My parents were still young and liked to go out with friends on occasion. When the following happened I was a few years old.
On occasion, they frequented a bar.
A drunk guy there groped my mom and did not take a no as a no. My dad intervened and stopped the guy. And half an hour later all seemed forgotten. The music was loud the bar crowded and then someone in the crowd hit my dad with an empty glass pitcher square in the face. He was bleeding profusely and collapsed.
But in the press, semi-darkness and over the music no one knew who did it.
My dad got taken to the hospital. He had a broken nose and a heavy concussion. He also couldn’t see who had attacked him and his memory between the alcohol and being hit in the head was also very fuzzy. Of course, they had considered the guy who had harassed my mom, but they didn’t know him, nor did they see him anywhere leading up to the moment.
Let alone have any evidence. So they pressed charges against the unknown. But there was nothing anyone could do.
But then a few days later the piece of crap, that had harassed my mom approached her on campus.
Turns out he was in the same college as my parents. He made a few veiled comments and left little doubt, that it had been him that hit my dad in the face.
And the piece of garbage let my mom know, that my dad next time should mind his manners. And that the little touching he had done, didn’t hurt anyone and wasn’t that bad. And if he wanted to do it again, he would and maybe more. And then the piece of crap went on his merry way.
My mom was horrified of course. She went home and told my grandparents, my dad, his parents.
But no one could do anything. It was a “he said, she said” deal after all. And my mom hadn’t even gotten the guy’s name. My mom cried a lot at that time and didn’t know what to do. She also was afraid of going to classes or out alone. I honestly only remember that time very scarcely. I was just a little kid. But I can remember my dad in the hospital and with his broken nose.
And my mom crying a lot. My dad, of course, was just as angry and humiliated as my mom. No one knew what to do.
And everyone was treading on egg-shells around each other.
But that is where my uncle enters the stage. My uncle, my mom’s brother, lived on the other side of the country. He was a PI. And he was, of course, the last to hear the full story.
But the moment he heard someone had threatened his little sister, he was on his way home. After hearing the full story my uncle knew it would likely be hard to get the guy on the harassment, the assault or the threats. Having no evidence.
My uncle had my mom point the guy out from afar on campus.
It took a few days to find him.
But then my uncle started to stalk that piece of human filth.
My uncle took sick days, all his vacation and invested every second possible to find out everything about the harasser. My uncle even approached the pig in another bar and became “drinking buddies” with him.
Over several weeks my uncle had uncovered all manners of illicit behavior. Possession, consumption, and distribution of *****. Theft. And a few other misdemeanors and small-time stuff.
And my uncle could have put him away for that.
But my uncle always said when asked about, that if he sent the ***** to prison, it would be for molesting my mom and hurting my dad.
And that is what he did.
One night while out with his new “buddy” drinking. My uncle made the idiot p*ss drunk and they landed in my uncle’s motel room.
He got the harasser to incriminate himself on video. Rattling off a list of illegal *** he was up to.
My uncle had, of course, pretended to be a crook too. Among the stories ***** told was the story of how he groped some “chick” and brained her “dude” with a pitcher of beer. Now, something needs to be said. In my country of course recording someone in secret is illegal and under some conditions, like if the police do it, it is not a permissible piece of evidence in court.
But as a PI my uncle knew the laws for that exactly. But paradoxically the situation is different if it is not only audio but also video. And my uncle had the ***** on camera confessing.
The next day my uncle turned himself in to the police, with all his collected evidence. Because secretly filming people was still a crime. Though the video could be used as evidence in court, as my uncle was not affiliated with the police or any other governmental agency.
When the criminal trial and the civil trial were over the ***** got 6 years in prison and had to pay damages to my mom and dad.”
3. Putting Rumors To Rest Once And For All
“About 30 years ago, I worked for a steel fabrication company as a production floor leadman. There was a woman working as a welder, and her husband Mike and brother-in-law also worked there. We were all friends at work but never really socialized much outside of work.
Any way Daphne ended being assigned to my crew, so we worked together a lot and we got along well as friends, but never anything more than that.
Well, there was one guy working at the other end of the building who liked to spread gossip and stir up crap. So naturally, he spread stories about me and Daphne sneaking off to the compressor room, and elsewhere for “quickies.” Mike heard about that, knew it wasn’t true.
He wanted to punch out the gossiper so I stopped him and said that I have an idea.
The gossiper was on his 4th wife, having some “self-induced” bad luck with wives because he liked to stray. Wife #4 kept her thumb on him pretty well. She also did all the chores around the house, washed and waxed their car, and everything – at least according to her husband.
They also had a bad habit of ticking off neighbors, having been caught as peeping Toms and Tonyas.
But it was clear to all who wore the pants in that family. And it was clear that they had WAY too much time on their hands.
So I asked my wife for a pair of panties, explaining to her what I was going to do. But it creeped her out so we bought a new pair and I clipped a few curly hairs from the dog.
Next day, I slipped out into the parking lot, and Gossiper’s car was unlocked. So I kept low in case anyone should look to the parking lot, and I jammed those panties under the front seat passenger side.
Then I walked back to the shop. I almost felt guilty fearing that it could end in a divorce.
Nothing happened for a week or so, so I guess Mrs. Gossiper didn’t clean the car weekly or that he found them and tossed em.
Well, after about a month, we noticed the Gossiper was eating his lunch with Mrs every day. She would drive in at morning coffee, he had to go outside and sit in the car with her. She would come every lunch hour and sit with him And for afternoon coffee. Every day for a very long time! And if he was a minute late she would scream him out.
Many people wondered what was up with that but he didn’t say.
Finally, after nearly a year of this – scout’s honor, every day for a year – someone asked Gossiper if he had gotten his Mrs a Valentine card.
He said “No. She took me to the store to get one, I went in without her, and I guess I took too long because she came in and dragged me out, cussing me out that I was trying to screw all the girl’s in there.
So I couldn’t get one. Last year, someone put a pair of stinking panties under my seat and now she won’t even let me eat lunch with her being there to make sure I don’t screw anyone.
And I got no idea where those came from!”
I never expected it but that worked great! Gossiper never gossiped about anyone for quite a long time!
I got high-5s from Daphne and Mike for that one. No one that knew of it thought that would work so well.
Best revenge I ever “engineered.””
2. The Day They Realized Bullying Isn't For Them
“Many years ago, I was a student at a junior college carpentry course.
Most of the students, including myself, were local to the area. However, we had two guys from elsewhere in the state who were roommates in the dormitory.
In short, these guys were total jerks! They made life tough for everyone in the class and resorted to whatever form of bullying they could when it suited them.
One of their ‘hobbies’ was stealing other students’ tools. I lost a few to them.
These guys got to be just enough of a problem, it was time that somebody had to do something. The instructor had his reasons for not wanting to take a stand on it.
So I did.
I worked over my ‘contacts’ to see if anyone could come up with some very objectionable printed material that could be ‘planted’. Everyone thought my idea was good, but nobody really had anything that would work reliably.
Finally, I got a phone call. Someone had just moved into a place and found some very explicit adult material stashed somewhere in there. I came over, picked out a couple of ‘winning’ pictures to cut out, and took them while the new tenant disposed of the rest of it.
Classroom session was after lunch. The chapter and page in the carpentry textbook to be discussed had been announced and was written on the chalkboard. Everyone left their belongings on the tables of the classroom throughout the day.
Over the lunch hour, I walked in, verified the place was deserted, and then planted some of the ‘choice material’ in the textbook of the guy who was the most aggressive a****e of the two.
After lunch, the classroom filled. I was toward the front with a couple of the other guys who were older, more level-headed, and reasonable. The guys just out of high school clustered at the back. These two guys always moved into a position where they could essentially dominate the people in the back of the room, who did generally try to keep their distance.
The instructor told everyone to open their books to the page number listed on the chalkboard.
We all did that…
Within a couple of moments, with much commotion, everyone from the back of the room was quickly settling in the front of the room.
The two guys from elsewhere were just sitting there looking at each other in total disbelief, and then they started blaming each other for it!
I recall them both becoming rather quiet and reserved after that. I think they did a lot of growing up that day.”
1. Going Down With A Punch
“I have hated bullies my whole life and I hold grudges. I was tough enough for a little guy but always outmatched by much bigger guys. When I was in 6-7th grade I tore a ligament (partial) in my knee and spent 6 months in a cast. It was horrible getting around the school on crutches.
One day, I was waiting in line to speak with my teacher and the boy behind me, also waiting, knocked the books out of my hand.
While I picked them up hopping around he spoke with the teacher and laughed at me as he walked out the room.
I told him that one day he would regret doing that. I spent the next 5 years with this guy and he would always make smart remarks.
I guess he felt free to do this because he was bigger and older.
I went through high school with him and he was just such a jerk.
A few of my friends knew the story and would tell me to let it go but that’s not in my nature. And this guy was pushing other kids around. Well, a year after graduating I saw him in a bar and he was berating a waitress for what I have no idea (maybe out of his sense of entitlement, he {his parents} was wealthy).
The waitress was crying in the back corner and it made me see red. As I was leaving the bar, I noticed him across the street heading to another bar.
We were heading in the same direction. I tell my buddies how much I hated this guy. Finally, I made my move across the street, I told my friends to stay away in case he thought a large group of guys was coming for him.
It is a very busy street but cars don’t move fast because of all the people.
He was getting to his car when I caught him and asked him if he remembered me.
He says no but he knew. So I pulled my arm back and punched him straight in the face. He went down hard on his car and was bleeding. I said to him “that’s for knocking the books out of my hands in 7th grade!” As I turned around there was a huge bus stopped and everyone was looking out the window.
I hadn’t noticed it but they saw and heard the whole thing and they were laughing and cheering. I know it was an immature thing to do but I was an immature guy. I felt a sense of imbalance and this was what I needed to do.
I walked back across the street to my buddies and went on with my night. This is a story all of my friends told for at least 10 years.
I never felt bad about it and haven’t seen the guy since. It was liberating.
What I have learned is that people get away with a lot of things like berating a waitress or picking on smaller kids. And they do it because there have been no repercussions so why stop.
If you know the feeling of being punched or beaten up it reminds you to act appropriately or it can happen again.
I understand if you feel like I was in the wrong but I do not regret it today. The guy was a jerk and now maybe will think twice about treating someone terribly.”
Another User Comments:
“These bullies who are usually narcissists need to be dealt with in the same language as theirs. And their names need to be fully published and tarnished across their circles by informing all concerned about their real colors, then all their arrogance will come down.” Vishnudas Pai
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