People Blow The Lid Off Their Wild Revenge Stories
15. You Have A Problem With Me? Good Luck Connecting Your Bluetooth
“After a decade of front-of-house work I am now a dishwasher at a popular outdoor restaurant. When I started we had a true unicorn of a head chef. Super chill, very talented, a big fan base of customers who would come specifically to see and order food from her.
Unfortunately, nothing gold can stay so. After months of back-to-back doubles, she left us to take another job that valued her time more. Her replacement is a grumpy old misogynist who LOVES Dave Matthews Band as much as he hates working with women who don’t defer to him without question.
But don’t call him ‘Chef.’ He doesn’t go in for ‘that bull crap’! This guy constantly complains but only to himself, and if you acknowledge it, he will straight up ignore you.
Yesterday I was not feeling well.
I’m in the middle of a truly gnarly period and my significant other is sick and I probably got two hours of sleep. I (and literally everyone else who works in the kitchen aside from Grumpy NotChef) am too short to hang up the pans so I put them on the table next to where they hang.
This prompted him to say, ‘We may as well not even have a dishwasher.’
I responded saying, ‘Is there a problem?’
Silence.
‘I am literally too short to hang these up and last time I tried I got elbowed in the chest so I’m not trying to have that happen again.’
Silence. Okay buddy, whatever.
Then he told our 21-year-old server (in nursing school, she frequently brings study material for slow times in the kitchen) that men like women who study but not too much. Charming.
Today it’s been three months straight of Dave Matthews Band all day every day.
I once tried to put my music on (Lianne La Havas, very chill singer-songwriter, nothing annoying or offensive) and he screamed about how it was too loud and turned off the speakers. I had not adjusted the volume. No one else has tried to play their own stuff since.
And neither did I.
Instead, after the third version of ‘Tripping Billies,’ I waited until he walked far enough away that his Bluetooth disconnected from the speaker. I quickly connected mine but didn’t put anything on. He came back in and spent about ten minutes frantically but silently trying to figure out how to get his synced back up.
He turned off the speakers to reset them and I quickly connected my phone again. Three times. After about half an hour I had to go to the bathroom and when I came back he had it set back up, none the wiser but definitely the more annoyed.
I can’t tell anyone right now because he’s still here but I’m so pleased to have this petty weapon in my arsenal and I plan on employing it every time he goes for a smoke. It’s a boy’s (woman’s) dream.”
14. If You're Going To Bully Someone, Prepare For The Free Samples
“This is set in a consumer electronics store in the very early 2010s. One young guy, ‘E’ (19), was pretty cheeky but OK with me.
I was in my early thirties and we got along well, and had a late-night shift together. There was another staff member maybe a few years younger than me, ‘S’.
For some reason, E respected me and bullied S. E was younger, bigger, stronger, and better looking than both S and me.
I put it down to me being smart-alecky and S more of a people pleaser.
E would lock S in the secure cage out the back, stand over him, put his weight on him, stuff like that. I would ask him, ‘Man, why do you do crap like that?’ but he would just shrug.
My feelings towards him at that point were, ‘Dude, I like you, but you suck.’
Our display model products, we didn’t keep the boxes for. I spent my entire lunch break one day breaking Styrofoam into the smallest pieces possible and putting it all into an empty printer box.
I flipped it upside down, cut the packing tape, and carefully turned it over again. Put it at the bottom of a trolley and filled the rest with the usual cardboard and plastic.
Finished my lunch, went out onto the floor, and called out, ‘Hey, E!
Take the rubbish out.’
He loved this job because he could slowly walk a trolley to the shopping center’s compactor and back, making a maybe 10m job take 25mins or more.
Store phone rang about 15 minutes after he left. ‘Really dude, really?’
The compactor is on the outside of the building. When he got to the last box, he picked it up to throw down the chute. The bottom opened and it snowed Styrofoam all around the loading dock, car park, etc. He said he had a quick look around to see if he could just leave quickly.
He saw a security guard having a smoke watching him who said, ‘You’re going to pick all that up, aren’t you mate?’
I signed him up for free samples. His mother was concerned that her teenage boy was getting fabric samples in the mail and trying to hide them from her.
He got a call from a plastic surgeon’s office asking about implants he was interested in.
Last thing. He had a passing resemblance to Robert Pattinson and liked to tell people that girls thought he looked like ‘Edward’, so his new nickname became Cedric Diggory.”
13. My Wife's Friend Hated Me, So I Decided To Have Some Fun With Her
“My wife (June) moved to my hometown to work from Montana. I met her and we started seeing each other officially.
She had a friend (Maxine) from Montana that moved down about a year before she did and the two of them picked up their friendship right where they left off. The problem was, well, me. Maxine loved having my wife around as part of her circle of friends, but she also liked excluding her from couples’ nights.
So we start going out officially and suddenly Maxine starts acting weird around us. Sure we would get invited to couples nights (only to discover they weren’t strictly couples only) but we were always kind of put in the corner.
She made no efforts to interact with either of us and just breezed by. It wasn’t uncommon to talk to her for maybe three to five minutes at one of these things all night. (There were usually ten or so people at each one of these, so if she wanted, she could make time.) So, I decide I don’t like her.
I was going to be polite to her, and no more.
This went on for months. I then come to learn that Maxine had been talking to June and saying she didn’t think I was good for her and I would act differently if I truly was in love with her.
For the record, I was (and still am) madly in love with June. So, I heard this and lost it a little. June makes me promise not to make a big deal out of it and I said I wouldn’t.
Honestly, I felt like I could win Maxine over. Or at least I was willing to try for June’s sake.
But then we got invited to game night. At first, everything was fine. As usual, June and I found some familiar faces and we hung out and had a few drinks and talked. Maxine didn’t bother to bless us with her conversation, but whatever, the beer was good and I enjoyed some of the people who were there, including Maxine’s fiancé.
He was a solid guy. At about the halfway point of the get-together, it’s time to pick the games. June hates board games, and I don’t care so we stay quiet. Maxine picks a trivia game where there’s a boys’ team and a girls’ team and we answer questions the other team is supposed to know the answers to.
(Boys answer the girly questions and the girls answer the manly questions.) The thing is though, all the questions the boys’ team was asked were pop culture questions, and the girls all had sports and car repair questions.
I know a lot about pop culture (or I did at the time) along with a ton of other stuff.
So, the game starts off and the boys’ team jumps out to an early lead. Maxine has been drinking pretty steadily all night so she starts poking at me every time I get a question right. Stuff like, ‘You knew that?
What size are your lady pants?’
I kind of laugh it off, but it goes from light trash-talking to serious crap talking real fast.
I get a question right, ‘OMG, June, do you have him do your makeup for you?’
I get another question right, ‘Have you decided which one of you is going to get pregnant when you have kids?’
I get yet another question right, ‘Are you and June cycling together already?’
Everybody is starting to get uncomfortable.
June hates confrontation so I am playing it cool and just checking the clock to see when I can leave and vent. Even her fiancé is like, ‘Hey honey, maybe take it down a notch and maybe drink some water.’
But it keeps going, finally, I start to push back. I want this game over with as soon as possible so I come up with an idea. ‘OK, how about this, because I’m such a big pretty girl, how about if your team misses a question, and I can answer it, we get that point too.’
She agrees, and the game is now going twice as fast because I’ve started answering every single question. I get mine right, ‘You need to bathe, I can smell you from here.’ They get a question wrong and I get it right, ‘Did your man tell you that?’
Finally, the game ends and I’m getting ready to leave, when Maxine says, ‘Let’s play again.’
She’s yelling it at me, real aggressive like. I was like, ‘No, I think we’re just going to get going?’
She tries to get June to stay and just let me go home and pout alone.
Maxine’s fiancé is mortified and says, ‘Jesus, Maxine.’
This jars her a little and I say, ‘I don’t want to play with you because you are a sore loser.’
She snorts (like literally snorts) and says, ‘I’m not a sore loser.’
And I replied, ‘Then you’re a lousy boozer.’
The room went dead quiet. I hadn’t meant to say it. I was mere steps from the door and had almost made it out.
Maxine blinks. ‘I’m a lousy boozer? Yeah, sure, I’m a lousy boozer!’ Then storms out of the room. Her fiancé gives me that, I’m sorry/embarrassed look and goes after her. I make my apologies to everyone and leave.
June was hurt her friend acted like that but understood I could only be pushed so far. We never got another invite to one of their get-togethers again. We did get invited to some get-togethers the other people there had, but never with Maxine.
I’ve now been married to June for 15 years. We have very few game nights.”
12. Expect Me To Look Perfect At Home? I'll Put Olive Oil In Your Shampoo
“So I’m (33F) a fairly down-to-earth gal that likes looking decent when I am out and about, but I will freely ditch my pants and bra when I’m at home.
I won’t wear sweatpants out and about, but I like clothing I can move in.
Like any person with long (and curly) hair, I have a weekly routine of usually washing it twice a week, and dry shampoo when it needs, etc.
So when I first started seeing a guy who I will name Chad (36M), he complimented me on my style, I often make items to wear and I’m a sucker for thrift store clothes. Chad is very much the casual gamer shirt or button-up with jeans kind of man.
He asked me to move in and I said yes. When I am at home, I will throw on a comfortable, often oversized T-shirt with shorts or sweat pants. This frustrated him.
He started subtly trying to pick on this and my hygiene routine.
Saying things like I did not wash my hair enough, or that my skincare smelled funny, and even going as far as not allowing me to go near him when I woke up because of morning breath.
I have skin hypersensitivity, so it limits what I can use for most anything on my body.
I even started asking my coworkers and a previous guy I was seeing. He was the first guy to ever complain about how I cared for myself.
I started to notice that Chad would wear a hat randomly in the house and when asked he said that he didn’t want anyone to think he was dirty because he hadn’t washed his hair in the shower that day.
So when we split but had to still live together, he’d go out of his way to say the bathroom smelled funny after my shower (Soap, Cetaphil). I even tried switching to something more floral, the same jabs but with raw skin.
He told me that he still expected me to at least look presentable in the house. (This coming from a guy who’d answer the door in boxers, that our other male friends would complain about his lack of decency).
I’ve never seen Chad with anything more than 3 inches of hair, so when he started jabbing at my hair care, the time and effort, along with years of dealing with my own hair, fell on deaf ears.
He wanted me to wash it every day, even when he acknowledged he didn’t wash his every time.
He used a 2in1 shampoo and conditioner. I decided to mix olive oil in it.
He started wearing his hat all the time.
Before I left I told him that maybe he should take his own advice because he wasn’t looking presentable around the house lately.”
11. You Thought I Would Get Fat? I'm Still Fit Eight Years Later
“When I was 15, my Dad and I went shopping for new trousers. I found some I really liked, and they were a bit pricey. Not TOO pricey, but, you know, also not cheap.
So Dad says: ‘Maybe we should look at cheaper options, you will grow out of them anyway.’
Me: ‘Dad, I haven’t grown in 2 years now.’
Dad: ‘Maybe not in height, but you know, your body changes?’
It took me a moment to understand what he meant, then the penny dropped. ‘You mean I will get fat?’
And he squirmed for a few seconds, only to admit that this was exactly what he meant.
I was incredibly angry and embarrassed, and we had a fight right there in the shop, which ended with him relenting and buying those pants to more or less keep the peace.
At home, I ratted on him and Mom told me he sure didn’t mean it like that, not to take it to heart, etc. Later in the evening, I heard her chew him out, though.
Well, fast forward eight years.
I was now in university and was still happily wearing those trousers, but sadly they were starting to disintegrate. When they were at the point where I really couldn’t wear them out in public anymore, I made a point to pack them when going to visit my parents.
I walked over to my Dad and told him, ‘Remember when you didn’t want to buy me good but pricey pants because you thought I wouldn’t be able to wear them for long since I would surely get fat? Well, they still fit me just fine and I wore them for as long as the material permitted.’
I plopped them over the back of a chair he was sitting next to.”
10. Keep Stealing My Lunch? You'll Be Calling Poison Control
“I (now 39) was 23 and working at a thrift store. It was definitely not the most glamorous job, but the place was big and it gave us hour-long lunch breaks. It was honestly the highlight of my day, so I would indulge and pack pretty nice lunches in my labeled little lunch cooler.
One downside to the place being as big as it was, is that it was difficult to keep staffed. So there was a decent amount of turnover so there were always new employees, and we had a lot of people serving community service hours there because it is a nonprofit organization.
Because of the large staff, we would do three different lunch hours. Having the seniority I had, I got to pick my lunch hour and I always opted for the latest.
One day I grabbed my lunch from the fridge, not noticing that it felt a little light, and went to my car to listen to music and enjoy my meal. Lo and behold, part of my sandwich was missing and my bag of chips was left to mostly crumbs.
This continued infrequently at first, but escalated, until one day my whole lunch bag was empty. Then again the next day. I couldn’t know if it was someone from the first or second lunch break that was doing this.
I spent the next couple of days eating out and trying to solve my problem. I was angry and barely caring the direction the results of my actions would go. How could I poison this person without causing serious harm or injury?
Then it dawned on me in all of its cartoon glory. Ipecac is available over the counter. That’s right, Ipecac. I would poison them by making sure that they weren’t being poisoned. Family Guy had taught me that it was a good day to bring soup, with pie for dessert of course.
I left my actual lunch in my car because it was cold enough outside to do so that day and put the decoy in the employee’s fridge.
Flash forward to halfway through the day. I was halfheartedly doing my job when suddenly there was a commotion in the back.
I wasn’t there to see it but I wish I was. Apparently, this guy that had maybe said three words to me in his entire time working there suddenly started vomiting uncontrollably in the break room. It was bad enough that two other people got sick as well.
The guy that ate my soup was freaking out and wanting our boss to call poison control and was screaming about me trying to kill them. I couldn’t stop laughing and my manager was getting angrier. I let the thief know that they wouldn’t have had soup that was three weeks old if they’d brought it themselves and let the manager know that I would continue to take matters into my own hands if they couldn’t stop theft in the workplace.
I didn’t last much longer at that store, which definitely was not a big loss. But the thief never came back to work after painting the break room walls with my regurgitated lunch.”
9. Steal My Dad's Tools? Don't Be Dumb Enough To Try To Sell Them
“This happened a few years ago.
I grew up in a small semi-rural town. The type of place where everyone waves to each other when they drive past, no one locks their doors (I never had a key to my own house), animals run loose, and we got our first stoplight when I was in high school.
In the past 20 years, though, development had come in and turned it into a commuter town for the larger metropolitan area a half-hour away. It’s more than triple the size it used to be. My parents hadn’t adjusted to the new normal and still left their garage open all the time.
My dad is the type who won’t pay anyone to do anything, he just repairs everything himself (over and over and over again but that’s a different issue).
He had his truck parked in his open garage and bags of tools in the bed. Someone came along and stole hundreds of dollars worth of his tools.
My dad is the most chill guy you have ever met, the quiet type who has never actively done anything to make anyone’s life worse if he can help it. But he is protective of his own, and he was much more bothered by the violation than the tools lost. So he and my brother-in-law started checking all the online reseller websites in our area several times each day.
After about a week, sure enough, my dad’s tools showed up online. My dad immediately contacted the thief and set up a time to ‘buy’ the tools. He and my brother-in-law met the guy in a parking lot and my brother-in-law surreptitiously got a picture of the guy and his license plate—they already had his phone number—while my dad bought the tools back.
The tools still had his name Sharpied all over them. Tools safely retrieved, only then did my dad file a police report, complete with the thief’s phone number, make and model of vehicle, license plate, and a picture. He was easily found and arrested, and while my dad lost funds on the whole deal, he got his tools back and he got his revenge, and that was good enough for him.
And yes, my parents now keep their garage closed when they are not actively using it. I don’t know if they lock their doors or not.”
8. If You Complain To Construction Workers, Prepare To Get What's Coming To You
“I worked an engineering/construction job last year for a home builder and we had to deal with a bunch of jerks moving into one of our neighborhoods.
Constant complaints about the construction, the noise, the debris, which made no sense because they chose to move into the neighborhood before construction was completed.
One man, in particular, would harass us daily, complain about the streetlights being too bright (they weren’t), and complain about a generator we had running about a block away from him to power the site temporarily until we had the infrastructure in.
The complaints ranged from the generator was damaging his hearing (the thing was almost completely silent) or that the fumes from the generator were coming into his house and causing him and his kids to have stunted development. They would come up with stuff that made little to no sense.
It escalated to the point where he got the city and the mayor involved, and we got sued so we gave in to his requests and moved the generator to an inconvenient location & had to take the time and money to rewire it to be able to power the areas needed (this was including important stuff like the streetlights, we had to leave off for a couple of nights until the move was complete, and you guessed it, he would call to complain.
The nerve of this man.)
So, here comes the revenge. We received an order from the city to install a 5g tower on-site to improve cellular connection because the area we were in had pretty bad service. Since my team and I were in charge of creating the plans to install the infrastructure, guess where we all simultaneously agreed to put the tower: right smack dab in front of the angry man’s house.
We thought this was incredibly hilarious and couldn’t stop laughing every time he would call freaking out while the tower was being constructed. Got to the point he tried to file another lawsuit, got laughed away, and within a week we never heard from them again.
Moved out faster than the wind.”
7. See That Hole You Dug For Yourself? I'll Bury You In It
“I was in my third and final year at uni, studying archaeology. Due to recurring and severe illness in the second semester of my second year, I had been unable to complete several core subjects and had to repeat them.
This included an archaeological field school, held in the mid-year holidays, where you would implement the techniques you had already learned. This field school was compulsory IF you wished to enroll in a particular subject, but not everyone studying was headed in that direction.
I had successfully completed the previous year’s field school, but due to my illness, was unable to complete the associated course, so had to retake them both.
This university has a number of campuses dotted around the country (and some overseas).
The field school is offered to students on 2 campuses – the main campus, located North of Capricorn, and one of its offshoots, located even further North of Capricorn. The field schools are held in the area of the main campus, so those participating are required to travel to attend – for some, it’s across town.
For others, it’s several hours in a car. Needless to say, those attending from the sister campus do not do so lightly, or cheaply.
My lecturer, whom we shall call Matt, was a b****y legend. He was a brilliant lecturer, has authored 2 books, and is still working in his field, albeit at a different university than the one in this story.
He knew his stuff, was easy-going, friendly, would sit and share a jug of beer with you on a Friday arvo, and I only ever saw him angry once. This is important for later.
Also note that grading went as follows, in descending order:
HD (Pass with High Distinction): 85-100%
D (Pass with Distinction): 75-84%
C (Pass with Credit): 65-74%
P (Pass): 50-64%
PC (Pass Conceded): 48-49%
N (Fail): <50% Matt and his counterpart at the sister campus had been granted permission to conduct this particular year’s field school in a gully adjacent to a historic (and protected/listed) cemetery.
This gully actually split the cemetery in two and was used basically as a garbage midden. Due to the nature of the gully, there was only space permitted for a specified number of dig sites. Groups were to be allocated a site once they arrived on the first day after they had decided on their members.
As I was living on-campus and had no car, I knew I’d be unable to arrive at the field school at the specified beginning times. I’d be half an hour late on the Friday and Monday mornings, and a full hour late on the weekend.
I’d spoken to Matt about this, and as we knew each other quite well (and had shared jugs of beer quite often), he agreed that I would not be penalized for arriving late, but that I’d most likely be allocated a group to make up numbers, rather than choose my own.
It couldn’t be helped, so I agreed. This is also important for later.
Friday rolls around, I arrive at the site a half-hour late, all good, and I’m introduced to my group. There are 4 of us; myself, the only female in the group, but experienced in how the field school is run due to my previous year; Gazza, an older, grizzled male geology student who was taking the course just as a matter of interest; Bazza, a young male geology student who, by all other indications, was heading towards a lucrative career in the mining sector; and Dazza, another young male geology student, good friends with Bazza, also heading towards a lucrative career in the mining sector.
All 3 of my counterparts were from the sister campus, so had traveled at some expense to attend. They’d already been allocated a dig-site, and when introduced, Matt tells them I’ve got field school experience, so to utilize my knowledge. Bazza and Dazza smile and nod, giving me a friendly wave.
Gazza grunts, but a little later, while surveying our area, we get to chatting. He’s a nice enough bloke, just a bit miffed he’s been put in a group with a bunch of ‘young dummies’ and was worried he’d be carrying us or keeping us in line.
Nah mate, I’m here to get things done, get the data I’ll need for next semester, and hopefully enjoy myself as much as I had the previous year.
Now, let me tell you, Lara Croft and Indiana Jones have royally screwed the perception of the greater public when it comes to archaeology (no, Jurassic Park doesn’t count, as they’re paleontologists, dealing with animal remains; archaeology/archaeologists deal with human remains).
A lot of what happens on an archaeological dig is repetitive and monotonous; you survey your area using surveying equipment, sketch and take photos of your allocated site before measuring out your 1 meter by 1-meter dig pit. You take more pictures/sketches of the as-yet untouched pit, as well as take an initial soil sample.
You take off a ‘spit’ of the earth (this is a layer of a predetermined depth; in this case, 5cm), and once done, you test the pH levels of the soil you’ve removed, documenting EVERYTHING that you’ve taken up (yep, more photos and sketches), before taking more photos/sketches of the pit and anything that may be lodged in there before scraping off another ‘spit’.
If you hit an object, you remove the soil from around it but don’t actually remove the object until you are removing the layer of soil from beneath it. It must remain in-situ to preserve the data.
Boring, I know, but is also very important for later.
Also important to note is soil composition in relation to how deep you can safely dig your pit before extending the boundaries to prevent soil contamination or the walls collapsing. Our dig site had quite loose, sandy soil, so it was announced that every 50cm down, we would have to extend the sides of the pit by 50cm on each side.
It wasn’t anticipated that we’d get much beyond 1 meter down, definitely not further than 1.5 meters, so we’d only need to expand once, possibly twice. This was how they had divvied up the entire site to fit us all in.
It became very clear very quickly that neither Bazza nor Dazza had anticipated how monotonous the next 4 days were going to be.
Both Gazza and I had to repeatedly call them over to assist us with surveying, and when it came to the soil scraping, they were excited at first, but then became bored as we had to yet again record every minute detail.
As I was the only one who had thought to bring my camera along (one that require actual film, as this was before inexpensive digital cameras, smartphones were at least 10 years away, and I was a povvo uni student), I was the one responsible for taking photos.
This included ‘candid’ shots of the entire field school, other groups, the lecturers, and our dig site.
Day One of the field school ends, and we all head back to wherever for the night, to kick back, relax, and prepare for another day of toil.
The next morning (Saturday), I arrive at the field school 1 hour late (so at 10 am), as per the bus schedule. Seeing as how I’d already had this okayed by Matt, I’m not anticipating any issue with my tardiness. I get to the cemetery and seeing Matt, give him a cheery ‘Morning Matt, all good, yeah?’ Matt turns and GLOWERS at me.
I mean, if looks could kill, I’d be right at home in that cemetery with all the other dead people. You know how I mentioned earlier how easy-going and laid-back Matt is, and I’ve only ever seen him angry once?
Well, this was that time. Matt was pacing, teeth grinding, fists clenched. He. Was. LIVID.
‘Just get to your group and get to work.’ Matt practically snarled at me. I’m worried now, that he’s angry with me for being late, even though we’d previously squared it.
I’m nervous and worried because we’d had a really good rapport in the past, and now I’m thinking that I’ve done something that’s going to make my last semester at uni a nightmare.
‘Have I done something wrong? I know I was late, but as I told you before the field school, this was the first bus I could get out here.
I’m really sorry if that’s a problem.’ Matt sighs and shook his head.
‘No OP, it’s not you, you’ve done nothing wrong. I just can’t deal with it right now, so just go to your dig site and get on with it.
I’ll talk to you later.’
I head to my dig site, and what I find there almost has me in tears. When we’d packed up the previous day, our pit was 1 meter by 1-meter square, with a depth of 30cm.
I now stand before a 1 meter by 1-meter hole in the ground, dug down to a depth of approximately 3 meters. There are mounds of sandy dirt surrounding our pit, and I can see a multitude of objects that have been excavated just sitting there.
Other groups are staring at us, but trying to look as though they aren’t staring. Nobody will speak to us either. Gazza is livid, the dude is almost apoplectic. Bazza and Gazza are both looking VERY pale, and like they want to puke.
I’m all ‘What the heck has happened here? Who did this?’
It turns out that after everyone had left the site on a Friday night, Bazza and Dazza, and another mate of theirs in another group, we’ll call him Kezza, got together and got intoxicated. It was during this that they decided to ‘continue’ digging our pit, so they broke into the cemetery with a shovel and proceeded to dig down until one of them passed out wasted at the bottom.
Of a 1 meter by 1-meter hole, in loose, sandy soil. The fact that the dude managed to wake up and make it out of the hole without the entire thing collapsing in on him is a miracle in itself. Matt had been called out to the site at 3 am by the police, who had been called because one of the residents in the area saw something dodgy going on.
Needless to say, Bazza, Dazza, and Kezza were all up wasted in a barbed wire canoe with a rusty teaspoon for a paddle. They couldn’t leave until they’d sobered up, but had been told that, in no uncertain terms, after the field school finished that day, they were to pack up and screw off.
Matt and his counterpart would deal with booting them from the archaeological program on Tuesday after the field school ended.
This left Gazza and me in a F***R situation. Luckily for him, Gazza was able to join the group that Kezza had been part of, especially since the group was all from the sister campus.
I, on the other hand, was left hanging. There were no other groups that could take me, and besides, something had to be done about the disaster that was my dig site. So, Saturday ended up with me trying to document whatever I could, and to keep Bazza and Dazza out of my hair, I gave them my camera and told them to take photographic documentation of every.
Single. Piece. Of evidence that they had dug up. They had to use the scale measurement and a title board that was supposed to identify the item by day, location, spit level, etc., so off they went with a miniature whiteboard, whiteboard marker, scale measurement, and my camera.
This kept them occupied for most of the day, as there were in excess of 200 items that they’d unearthed in their sloppy dig for buried whatever-in-the-world-they-were-looking-for.
I ended up filling in that hole wishing with every shovelful of soil that Bazza and Dazza were still passed out wasted at the bottom, but such is life.
Matt ended up tacking me onto another group in an ‘observational’ role, as the members of that group were all from my campus and would be in the same second-semester class as me.
Now, as I previously mentioned, the field school was linked to another class held during the second semester.
This class essentially took all of the data and evidence that had been unearthed during the field school, and you examined, tested, collated, and then submitted a report based on those findings as your final assessment piece. Seeing as how I only had 1 day’s worth of actual data and evidence, I could not submit the field school report as required. As this was a core class, and I didn’t want to have to retake it for the third year, I approached Matt to talk about how we could rectify this into a situation where I would be able to pass and continue with my studies.
After some discussion, Matt agreed to allow me to do a field school critique, using what had happened to me as, essentially, a how-to on how NOT to conduct/participate in a field school. I had the data from the first day to use in the class, and then the photos and sketches that were taken by myself and the Dodgy Brothers (Bazza and Dazza) of the objects we’d ‘excavated’.
After developing the film of the field school, I noticed some interesting things. The candid photos I took on Friday included shots of Bazza and Dazza not only behaving inappropriately, but interfering with the equipment we were using, and therefore possibly contaminating the data we had legitimately acquired. They were also shown to be in areas that we weren’t allowed to be in, touching things that didn’t belong to them, and also damaging ornaments left on some of the historic graves closest to the dig site.
Then, there were the photos that they had taken on Saturday. They had apparently decided that, because I wasn’t overjoyed by the fact that they’d completely screwed me over by digging that hole, they’d make the only photographs of the artifacts they’d unearthed unusable by writing inappropriate comments and cursing/slurs towards me on the title board.
One of the ones that have stuck in my head was a large clay/ceramic clam decoration, on which they’d written ‘Oh I do love a day beside the seaside – WITH A HAIRY CLAM’. This was the only photo of the clam that had been taken (when we filled the pits back in, we had to re-enter the artifacts, so I couldn’t just take a new picture.
Also, over 200 pieces had been unearthed, remember?), and Matt had told me to use everything I’d gathered to write my report. So I used Every. Single. Photo. Including the ones that said I was a jerk, and that alluded to wishing violence on me.
At the end of the semester, I submitted my report, knowing full well that the best I could hope for was a Pass, but that was enough to get me through to my final year.
I found this out from Matt at the beginning of my final year at uni.
So, it turns out that when Matt had booted the Dodgy Brothers from the archaeological program, they had been allowed to continue with their degree studying Geology, but that they were not allowed to have anything to do with archaeology, and were on very thin ice.
When I submitted my report, and Matt saw the extent of what they had done (kindly documented by themselves on the most part), and just how badly they had screwed me over (Gazza was fine, as the group he’d been moved to had all the appropriate data, and had been able to submit a proper field report), he went ballistic.
He called a meeting with the Deans from both campuses, the Department of Tropical Environments and Societies (Geology Department), and the Department of Anthropology, Archaeology, and Society (Archaeology Department) for both campuses. He presented to them my field report, told them about how he’d been teaching me for the past 3 years, and had it not been for the illness affecting me during my second year, how I would have likely completed my degree at this point.
He also spoke about my previous field school, my behavior, and had I not been forced to withdraw due to my health, and based on previous work I’d submitted, I would have likely received a D or HD on my work.
The fact that I averaged C and D during the time I was ill showed my academic prowess. The fact that the only grade he was able to give me for the report he currently had in his possession was a PC was a blow to my academic record that was wholly undeserved.
He said a lot of other things, but the result was that Bazza and Dazza were not only expelled from the archaeological program, but they were also now booted from the geological one as well. Furthermore, they were expelled and black-banned/blacklisted from the university itself, which meant they could never re-enroll, and any other universities they applied to would be able to see this and the reasons why.
Essentially, they were blocked from being able to obtain any university degree in that area, and to enroll in any university for a different career, they would have to wade through oceans of bureaucratic red tape and jump through so many hoops they’d make the Duracell Bunny jealous.
Unfortunately, this experience soured me on archaeology as a career path. Luckily for me, I was able to pick up a couple of extra courses in History and English, that I graduated with a BA with a Major in English Literature, and a minor in History and Archaeology.
I went back to uni after a gap year and obtained my Grad. Dip. in Secondary Education.”
6. You Wanna Act Like A Big Shot? Enjoy Working At A Gas Station
“Here’s a bit of backstory: My wife inherited a house and land and begged me to move there. It was somewhere I knew wouldn’t have anything in either of my fields for employment, (physical security specialist and force-on-force analytics and planning) but she got a job offer in her field (wildlife management) at a salary that matched what we were currently making combined, along with an employment contract (rare in the US), control of her own team and insanely good benefits.
Since we have no children and I am the adaptable type and I could see this meant a lot to her, I agreed. We put our house up for sale and we moved there sight unseen. While I am used to and even fond of it now, this place was the land that time forgot, (literally horse and buggy country) and it quickly became clear that for a while, she would have to be the sole income while I brought our new property into the modern era.
The house literally had no plumbing, there was an outhouse and a manual well pump outside! We decided to buy a used house trailer, place it on the southernmost part of the property and live in it while I worked on the house.
I am not from this area. And the culture shock was intense! My wife had family from there and would spend a few summers as a child with relatives so she understood the people better than me and being the same height and skin tone she was quickly accepted. Meanwhile, standing 8″ minimum above everyone else and being so white I show up from outer space, I had a bit of a harder time but managed to make some friends eventually.
After some time getting everything updated we came in way under budget since I had decided to learn the skills and do all the work myself.
It quickly became clear that while our immediate area was lovely, with good people and trusting neighbors, the surrounding counties had developed a substance problem and with all the industries being strict on substance testing, people were starting to make their way to our area for break-ins, carjacking and even a few cases of kidnapping for ransom.
Seeing a need in my community I used the leftover funds we had and I bought land in B.F.E deemed unfit for development at a steal (soil lead levels were too high for housing/farming and too remote for commercial) and after getting permits/certifications and almost a year of doing all the building and earthworks myself while working a part-time hospital security job a county over, I started a security, self/home defense and firearms training company.
I created local jobs in the nearby counties by training armed guards beyond state standards, helped people develop a neighborhood watch program, offered neighborhood security patrols at cost, made sure local shops got cameras and had plans and training in place in case of a robbery and worked with individual households to develop their own home defense strategies along with offering concealed carry training, advanced firearm training, OC spray, trauma, and first aid training and other things.
Somehow without meaning to, I managed to wedge myself into a unique position where I not only trained everyday people but I got certified to be the guy that all police agencies in the region send their officers to for state recertification and further training.
Turns out before I came along, they had to send their officers almost six hours north to a state facility, which meant that they also had to pay for a hotel room for anyone that went up there, as well as two meals and mileage if they didn’t drive a squad car.
Not to mention that the tactics taught didn’t always translate well to our area. I offered to do it for a bit less, and given my location, no hotels or anything else were needed. For the first time in my life, I feel like my work really matters, that I am making a positive difference for real people and I look forward to going into my job!
In my line of work, I have ended up knowing a lot of the police in my area pretty well and can say that I even consider a few of them to be friends. The departments I work with get quite a few officers who are new or transfers from other areas as this region of my state has a pretty median average pay grade and a lot of officers use it as a stepping stone to get to the bigger paying areas or to get their first bit of experience and head to another state.
Now, the ones who have made a life here and decided to stay learned a long time ago that the locals here don’t take crap that isn’t fair lightly. The people here DEMAND justice.
Now, onto the story!
I was doing an armed guard gig during a night shift filling in for one of my employees who had a family emergency mid-shift when a police car spotted me on perimeter check and pulled into the lot to see who I was (I wasn’t wearing a uniform) and the place I was guarding receives a lot of raw metals that they then melt into various alloys to be shipped off for use.
It’s a looting spot with the way scrap prices can be for some of the materials there. After figuring out it was me they decided to sit and mess around for a bit. While talking with these officers, I listened to them share about a new hire who transferred from a larger city and they just know is going to cause trouble with the locals.
They mention how he has that I-know-better-than-you attitude and thinks that the piece of metal on his chest means that he IS the law.
Apparently, he had already raised a bit of a stink because he writes citations for things that no other officer in the department has (Driving with one hand, burnt out fog light, plastic being taped over a broken back window in a car, headlights not on in the middle of the day and it’s raining.
He even tried to give a guy a DUI even though he was sitting in the car ON BLOCKS in his driveway and it had no rear axel). Apparently, he speaks aggressively to anyone who dares interact with him if they aren’t a police officer and overall just acts like a power-tripping jerk.
The other officers have noticed that the locals have changed their demeanor towards them and seem more distrusting since this guy started and they were genuinely worried that he would turn everyone against them.
In the words of one of these officers, ‘With everything in the news these days, and the whole nation already being distrusting of us I hope we can find something to set the jerk straight before he ruins the rep we work so hard to keep here.
I like that people here will just come up and talk to me, it’s the main reason I stayed here.’
We brainstormed for a while about how to get through to Officer Jerk and make him change his ways (or career), but eventually came up with nothing legal and had to go back to doing our respective jobs like adults.
Two weeks or so after having this chat, and hearing similar things from other officers I know, I get my first interaction with Officer Jerk.
I don’t advertise my business on my work vehicle and it is completely unremarkable but all the officers I know can spot it somehow so I’ve gotten in the habit of waving any time I pass a squad car.
On my way to speak with a prospective client about a consultation for their home defense plan, this jerk pulled me over for waving at him when we passed each other on a two-lane highway. He slammed his brakes on, whips around in the middle of the road, and came flying up behind me so close I can’t see his headlights with flashing lights on and siren blaring.
After enduring his frankly insulting lines of questioning with his hand ON his pistol grip about why I ‘felt the need to carry a gun’ (in my state it is required by law that anyone with a CCW/CCL has to inform the officer) and him sharing his doubts that ‘99% of people probably wouldn’t even know how or be able to use it’, the goblin wrote me a citation for ‘reckless operation of a vehicle’ stating that he was justified in doing so because he saw me remove my hand from the wheel.
Trying to be diplomatic I said, ‘I just figured that you would appreciate a friendly gesture from someone today, I know I like when someone gives me a friendly wave.’
This absolute insult to humanity blows his gasket, gets in my face yelling at me and threatening to ‘haul my smart self downtown and see how friendly I am when I am hooked up in the back of his car’ and says that if he felt like it he could ‘cost me more in impound fees and lost wages than I would make in a month’ (he has no clue what I do or where I work) then asked what I ‘thought about that’.
At this point, I have an internal battle with myself wanting to slam him to the ground, but saner thoughts prevail and I simply handed him my lawyer’s business card and stated that any further interactions we had would have to go through her.
He looked at the card, called me a wimp, and told me to get out of his sight. Once I got moving in my car I realized exactly how angry he had made me. I have spent years learning to keep my emotions to a minimum since it could cost someone dearly in my line of work and this jerk was able to boil my b***d in just a few minutes.
He wasn’t a big guy even for the area and he didn’t carry himself like someone who was confident in their skills. Being that aggressive and having his hand on his pistol grip for most of our interaction spoke volumes as to what kind of person this stain of a guy was.
What would happen if he pulled over someone who didn’t have my level of control and acted like that or worse? I decided that the officers I had talked to were defiantly not exaggerating and this jerk was going to end up getting himself or someone else hurt and something needed to be done about it.
First I went to court and showed my dashcam video which got my citation dismissed. I took the rest of the audio and video to the Sherriff of the county he works for and showed it to him, then we had a long conversation.
He agreed with my assessment of this guy, but said that he couldn’t really do much but reprimand him for it and admitted that he would love to just toss him out on his rear, however, he knew that the union would fight to prevent that and at best he would only be gone a few days to get some training that would most likely go entirely ignored. He even cautioned me against filing against him because he figured the guy was the type to take it personally and he didn’t want to see anything happen to me.
He promised he would do what he could to get rid of the jerk, but in most ways, his hands were tied. I could tell he hoped that the guy would just move on and become someone else’s problem when his two years were up.
I couldn’t help thinking that if he’s causing this kind of trouble already, it is only a matter of time before someone around here loses it on this jerk and swings at him. Then even though the jerk deserves to eat his own teeth at least, some poor guy will end up with his life ruined or worse.
All because officer jerk has a badge and likes to wag it around.
Feeling as though there was nothing more I could do, I went about my business as usual for the next couple of days. Then, guess who came through my door to schedule with me for their recertification?
He didn’t recognize me and just swaggered about like he owned the place and complained about this ‘being a waste of his time’ and a ‘bunch of bureaucratic bull crap’.
I had a real Kodak moment when I reminded him of our last interaction!
He tried to excuse it as just being ‘by the book’ and claimed that his ‘hands were tied’ when it came to the citation and he only acted that way because I had a firearm and he ‘was nervous about that gun so he needed to assert his authority over the situation’.
By now, I had had a large portion of the people that live in my area come through for training, and most of them carried daily. The jerk just confirmed my fears for me, and I was going to do what only I could to lay those fears to rest.
Already forming a plan, I told him that I understood completely and that I ‘operate that way as well.’ Not even processing how that could affect him, the jerk seemed glad to hear that and we sat down to get his paperwork started. The whole time we are doing this he is bragging and talking about how good a shot he is and that he ‘looks forward to the day someone wants to mess around and find out’ with him.
(Hearing this was what he thinks made me both sick and angry. Yes, I carry a gun for self-defense, but I hope that I never have to use it. I spent years learning other techniques to lessen that chance after having to draw it once, and built a career teaching others what I have learned.)
After getting all the paperwork sorted and scheduling a time and date, he asked if he could use my range to get some practice shots in. I even waved my range fee just to see this jerk shoot. After going over the range rules, I ran him out at target at 10 yards and signaled the lane hot.
He fired all 17 rounds out of his mag at a RAPID pace and only manage to hit 5 on the target, only one of which was center mass! He repeated this FOUR more times at varying distances and his best score ended up being at 5 yards out with only 10 shots on target of which 4 were center mass.
I suggested he slow up his cadence a bit and asked if he wanted my advice. He told me he’s ‘forgotten more than I ever knew and to shut my mouth’, so I did. Then he proceeded to run it out to 10 yards and shoot one at a time at a slow pace I usually only see from first-timers and didn’t get a SINGLE hit center mass!
After seeing the 13-year-old girl a few lanes down from him load up and absolutely DRILL headshots at 15 yards with my rangemaster instructing her, he made some excuse about needing his sights adjusted, then packed up and the brainless guy left thinking we were all buddy-buddy a few minutes later.
The state certifications are a bit simple, so when I started doing this I met with local union lawyers, training officers, and some reps for our area and we came up with a standard that surpasses the minimum state requirements, which they in turn used to negotiate better benefits, so everyone wins!
The standards we decided on not only test for accuracy, but also introduce a few real-world problems that the officers have to contend with. The first is done in full-duty gear with both hands on the gun at 10 yards. After running 25 yards, within two minutes, you have to be able to draw your gun from a crouched cover, fire ten rounds, reload a magazine loaded by me with a false round randomly placed in it to cause a ‘malfunction’, clear that malfunction and get 10 more rounds on target from standing cover.
The second is the same drill in reverse but done with only one hand on the gun and in under three minutes. In both of these drills, 15 of the 20 shots must be within the #8 ring of the target and all rounds must hit the target.
And the third is a dot torture drill that must be cleared at 90% within 10 minutes and you have 3 attempts at it. It doesn’t sound too tough if you are an avid shooter, but trust me, under pressure, with your job in the balance, it can be rough.
See, the policy around here is that the County pays for your first test, and if an officer fails to recertify then they either choose two weeks of unpaid leave or sit at the office and do paperwork at reduced pay for two weeks then they have to pay out of pocket to try again.
Of course, it is encouraged that they come to me for help, but being that I am not a charity some choose to practice on their own, which is fine. If they fail a second time, the Sheriff can cut them loose without any issues from the union and the officer has to wait one year to even be considered for rehiring or relocate to a different area that doesn’t have these standards or the Sheriff orders them to come to my training, and I work with them until we KNOW they will pass.
After that second failure, the officer’s job lies entirely in the hands of their boss. Being that these tests are a bit tasking for most shooters, and even though I log WAY more range time than any officer I know (helps when you own the range) and can still occasionally fail the dot torture drill, I will show mercy for most of them if they seem like a decent person who is just out of practice or nervous and not be a jerk when it comes to scoring if they are close to a failing score.
(Counting line breaks as hits when I don’t have to, ‘forgetting’ to hit the stopwatch button if their cadence is just a second or two slow). I decided the moment he signed the papers that there would be no such mercy for this nozzle!
I fully expected him to burn through ammo practicing at home after his last performance, and while I doubted anything was actually wrong with his sights I wasn’t willing to risk being wrong there when I had such a golden opportunity to do some true community service!
I even bought a new set of digital calipers deciding that if he was so much as one-tenth of an inch off on any shot placements at the line, I would mark them as a miss and prove I was just going ‘by the book’.
My mind was made up that since I couldn’t get this guy off the force completely, I would go ‘by the book’ and at least get him off of any that were close to the people around me and he would have to perform like an absolute pro to avoid it.
The day finally comes when he is to test and he shows up wearing shorts and a TapOut tee shirt with only his gun and duty belt emptied of everything else. No vest, no range bag, no radio, no eye or ear protection, no cuffs, OC spray, or Taser.
Not a thing that he knew he was supposed to have.
After pointing these issues out, he huffs and says, ‘I brought everything that is important, let’s just get this crap over with.’
Mind you, I could have failed him right then and there for noncompliance.
I had a copy of his signature on the paperwork stating he owned all required gear and would bring it with him for the test, and that he would be dressed to listed standards on testing day. But that just wouldn’t have been satisfying enough for me.
I wanted to make absolutely sure that anyone who looked into it would see that he himself was the failure. That this loud-mouthed bolstering stain wasn’t fit to the standards of his peers. Not that he failed due to circumstantial or bureaucratic bull crap beyond his control.
I let the clothing slide and loaned him some rental safety gear, which he complained about wearing but eventually put on. After getting it all sorted, and noting all this in his chart, I let him take his test, and boy, am I glad that I did!
If he hadn’t made me see him for the feted piece of crap he is, I would have felt sad for him. As it stands, I am worried I may develop muscle issues from holding back my grin! He failed the first test immediately due to sheer ineptitude!
When the buzzer sounded, first he tripped over his own feet and ate the ground face first. Full scorpion! Then after getting up and continuing while drawing from crouch, he somehow managed to catch his front sight or barrel on his holster opening and sent his gun tumbling through the dirt, then fell over when he tried to lean over to get it.
Losing control of the firearm is an instant test stop, so I sounded the buzzer.
Holding back laughter (and putting on my plate carrier instead of just a level 3 vest in case the fool fired a random round my way), I gave him a second chance even though I already had what I needed (mostly because I wanted to have irrefutable proof he failed on his skills and not on accidental circumstances).
While he managed to keep hold of it this time, he struggled to clear the misfire costing him too much time for his slow cadence earlier, only two shots were in the #8, and four completely missed the target! For the first time ever for me, someone had failed the first test on all three metrics!
I have had people come to me for the first time they held a gun or with a legitimate fear of guns who could outperform this arrogant jerk! After listening to him try to make excuses, complain, demand, and then beg for me to give him another chance, I told him that I couldn’t and he failed. That my report was getting sent in and he would have to talk to his training officer and we could go from there.
He EXPLODED in anger and started calling me anything he could think of. Claiming I was only doing this because of the ticket he gave me (part of why I wanted so much proof). And cursing me in some honestly creative ways while slamming his fist into my wall like a petulant tween and telling me that he was going to ‘make sure you all regret this’ while pointing at me and my staff in the other room.
By now a couple of my regulars, my rangemaster, and the local brass goblin have all made it over to watch through the window and listen to the exchange. Knowing I have him on camera with audio punching a hole in my wall, and I have witnesses, a new thought came to me when I heard him say this.
And I decided to steer him just the way I wanted him to go.
All I had to do was ask if what he said was a threat, and the moron responded with ‘you bet your rear end it is!’ and, to my surprise, reached out to give me a shove!
I side-stepped him and he stumbled past which ticked him off even further. I told him then and there to ‘get the heck off my property’ and that he wasn’t welcome back. I looked this sack of dung straight in the eye and informed him that he ‘just sealed his fate since now he would have to BEG to be sent to the other facility and I would make certain my report recommended he never work as an officer again, and should they ignore my advice I would be raising my prices to better reflect the training they get here.’
He then decided to spit at me and swing a punch this time! Not one to miss an opportunity, and easily outweighing him by 50-60lbs, I raised my guard and the moment his arm made contact with my mine I used his momentum and my muscle to send him over my shoulder and directly into the ground with all I could muster!
I channeled my ancestors and the ancient gods of their homeland into that throw, fully intending to leave a Wile E. Coyote-esque crater in my floor. Rolling him to his back and sitting atop him in full mount position I watched a wanna-be bad boy try to remember how to breathe after meeting the ground that hard and immediately cry like a wuss, then beg for his life when he looked past me to see my rangemaster (310lb 6’6″ tatted-up retired Marine turned bodybuilder) with our less-lethal training shotgun (the gun is BRIGHT green, kind of unmistakable as less-lethal) in one hand leveled to Officer Jerk’s head and his phone in the other already talking to his boss.
Apparently, my rangemaster had been watching everything from his office on the security feed and when Officer Jerk started punching the walls my boy immediately picked up the phone and called the sheriff, grabbing the shotgun on his way out the door to us.
When all was said and done, I got to watch him get hauled off my property by his boss, in cuffs, and read his rights since, yes, I will be pressing charges. He assaulted me, threatened me and my employees, and damaged my property.
And I had all the evidence I need to prove it!
Later, when I asked my rangemaster why he had brought the gun into play since the guy wasn’t really a threat he reluctantly told me he had brought it for me!
Apparently, in all the time we had known each other, he had never seen me actually come unglued like that. He said, ‘Boss, you are the kindest and quietest man I know. And in my experience when a man like you gets that angry even the devil himself would soil his pants to get away.’
He admitted that his plan was to nail me with a beanbag or two if he needed and try to turn my attention to him! Not going to lie, I wasn’t happy to know I had made my friend feel that way, but it did feel good in an odd way to have a certified bad boy feel like he needed that tool to stand against me.
I gave the man a raise for his honesty, and willingness to protect others, no matter the cost to himself. After all, that’s a rare quality anymore, and it should be rewarded. And to this day I refuse to spar with him because I never want him to 100% know he could take me without it!
Despite all the evidence and testimony against him, Officer Jerk ended up getting a pretty good plea deal, but he will never be able to be a police officer or legally own a firearm again, so I consider it a win.
His wife filed for divorce for harassment in the home while he was awaiting his court date and thankfully they had no children together so it was granted without issue and he has no rights to see her son. He moved away immediately after his hearing, and last I had heard, he makes minimum wage working at a gas station somewhere up north.”
5. My Boss Was Horrible, So I Won A Lawsuit Against Him
“I’m a teacher, with a degree in advertising, and have been involved with I.T. for the past twenty-something years, although I’ve found my love for teaching just some ten years ago. I passed through a lot of schools in the meantime, from the big ones to the smallest ones, and accumulated a bunch of experience both in the classroom and behind the scenes, designing workbooks, video courses, learning platforms, and such.
So I started thinking it was past the time to migrate to a management position. The opportunity came in a prestigious school of digital art, and I became its Teaching Manager, overseeing all the teachers and the intern learning routines.
It was a hard but honest job…for a time.
Soon it became obvious that my boss was not exactly what he tried to present to students and employees. He would display bursts of anger and antagonize the team, demanding impossible results and asking about tasks that he never assigned (but somehow was our job to guess).
One time, during a meeting, he grabbed a big chair and pretended to throw it across the room. It was his idea of a joke. Nobody even flinched, cause nobody doubted for a second he was capable of actually doing the deed. Needless to say, nobody laughed as well.
In my country, employers may hold employees’ contracts for up to three months, which means that for 90 days you have no job security, and may be fired at any moment without any consequence to the company. Which my boss reminded everyone all the time, half-joking, trying to keep everybody on their toes.
He actually excused me from this treatment (he had this bad habit of treating the managers differently) and gave me constant praise for a good job till the day my temp contract ended (meaning I was then an actual employee, with full benefits and couldn’t be fired without him paying me everything the law stated).
So it really surprised me when he started the hostile treatment not 24 hours after my temporary contract ended and the full employment began. Gone were the praises and in their place came screams, bad reviews, and more and more insane demands.
We paid an outside company to do maintenance on the classroom PCs every week, but somehow bugs and crashes were now my fault. One time he made me stay after hours, on a Saturday, after all students and staff had left, and prohibited me from going home before I had all computers running smoothly.
He asked me to find him a new seller, and I introduced a friend, making it clear that by no means I was asking for him to be hired, I was just making introductions and if he liked the guy after they talked, it was his own decision and responsibility to hire him or not.
A few weeks later he gave me an earful for going for drinks with this friend of mine, saying that managers should stick with managers and that I should mingle with him, not the staff (cause they were ‘beneath’ us, apparently).
I said this was absurd, reminded him that I knew this guy for years already and that if he wanted to, he could join us for drinks anytime. It was not the response he expected.
The harassment continued and actually intensified. One day I started to feel chest pains and my left arm went completely numb.
While my friend called for an ambulance, I retreated to my boss’s office, at the time being occupied by his fiance, and calmly told her, ‘Don’t mind me. I think I’m having a heart attack, so I’ll just lay here for a few minutes so the students can’t see me.’
Of course, she went nuts after this. The good news: it wasn’t a heart attack, but an anxiety attack, and wasn’t the last one. I was 36 at the time, and it was the first time I saw my mom cry since my dad passed, more than 20 years prior (from, of course, a heart attack).
I decided enough was enough, so I gave my 30 days notice, citing health issues. I hadn’t yet completed 6 months working there. I sat down with my boss, did not blame him in any way but said the stress was making me worry about leaving my family too soon, and gave him every guarantee he needed that I would work through my entire notice period in order to complete every single project we started since my hiring.
So I finished editing the courses, finished the development of our brand new e-learning platform, finished hiring the teachers for the next semester, and even shot videos to promote every single course on the school’s menu. Less than a week left till my last day, he called me into his office to show me the company’s new ‘career plans’ (I don’t know the equivalent term in English, but it’s the path planned by the company for the growth of each position).
‘So you see… That’s what you’re going to earn in a few months. That is if you stop being a coward and just do your job.’
I could not believe it. After all the toxicity, I had tried to go the higher road and end everything on a good note, and he called my health issues ‘being a coward!????’ I.
was. done. I told him to just deduce the next few days from my final payment and left.
Now for the revenge.
Remember how I introduced him to a friend and he actually hired the guy? In my final days, I announced to my boss I would open my school after leaving but failed to mention that this other employee was my business partner.
So when my friend asked for HIS 30 days notice, our boss went LIVID. He all but threw out my friend, telling him to never put his feet there again, and leave immediately. According to the law, that means he had to pay for that whole month, plus every remaining day he worked before, plus commissions.
Adding to that my last payment, which came with six months of benefits, we had more than enough to start our new venture. But that’s not the revenge.
He actually made us sign a sort of NDA with a bunch of illegal clauses (which made the whole contract invalid) preventing us from revealing any company secrets during or after our time with them, at the risk of being fined $30.000 (around U$6000, at the time).
However, no contract in the world may prevent one (at least in my country) from reporting any illegal activities. This is why I did not worry one bit when I reported him and his school for having 50+ PCs running on pirate versions of Windows, Office, the whole Adobe Suite, Revit, Cinema4D, 3DSMax, and lots of other very expensive software.
Not long before this, a big and traditional chain of stores had gone bankrupt in our state for having to pay retroactively fines upon fines on Windows alone, so it’s an understatement to say that the government was taking piracy pretty seriously at the time.
It gets funnier when you realize that the reported person receives an e-mail with the whole complaint (apart from the author of the report) the minute it is filed, so he can prepare his defense. His response wasn’t at all unexpected. Some five minutes after our report, a similar e-mail came into our inbox, reporting us for 30 unlicensed copies of Windows and many other programs. My business partner still talked to the Finance Manager on our old job and, knowing that our ex-boss would probably be right beside him fuming and screaming, decided to send him a picture of our only classroom… with no computer in sight (we decided to specialize in classes about comic bookmaking, which dispensed computers, and whenever we would host a class that demanded it, we would ask our students to bring their own).
A few weeks later I heard that the whole remaining staff abandoned ship, leaving him with only an intern and a few teachers without permanent contracts. My former boss actually kept tabs on us and, learning that some of his teachers were contacting us to host special classes, started to blackmail them, threatening to terminate their contracts if they insisted on doing business with us (even though there was no exclusivity clause in their contracts).
Some of them called on the bluff, and he had to pay another huge amount for breach of contracts alone.
Time went by and I hear the guy is counting his pennies and struggling to keep afloat. He used to open full classes every six months, occupying every date and time available.
Now he hardly can fill a turn, started holding only night classes and not even every day – half the week he closes his doors, not having enough students nor the funds to pay employees on these days. Before I left he had paid $40.000 on the architectural project alone to expand the business within a year, but now I hear he was considering closing his door and offering only online courses.
And now for part two: Where, years after my revenge, I made my ex-boss again pay a bunch, this time on legal fees.
First of all, I need to say that my school has closed its doors. I and my friend were not a good fit, as business partners at least, and now we’re not even friends.
That’s life. We sold out, sold what could be sold and each went with our lives.
Some months later I found out our ex-boss was SUING us. Our school, that is. Which, as I mentioned, didn’t even exist anymore.
My (ex) friend’s sister, who is also his lawyer, contacted me and told me about it. I couldn’t find anything on the public records, since the lawsuit was running on a court-ordered sigil. I talked to my lawyer and she said: ‘If they didn’t cite you directly, pretend you know nothing about the matter.’
And so I ignored the issue for a few years. In 2020, the appointed official finally found me at home and served me. That also gave me access to my boss’s claims, since I had 15 days to prepare my defense.
My wife found me laughing out loud in front of the computer. His claims were absolutely ridiculous. He claimed I stole his courses and used as proof a print from our (now offline) site, side by side with his own, saying something along the lines of ‘it becomes obvious that both schools have the same courses’.
However, he presented no explanation of the similarities besides the names, which weren’t even the same. We had a SEGMENT of pieces of training under the umbrella ‘Graphic Design’, but no class with that specific name, for example, and no other class on any of his main subjects.
Also, most of our classes were on the topic of Comic Books, which he NEVER worked with. He also called us ‘cynical’ for daring to compete with him in the same market, even if it was my own previous experience in the learning sector that landed me the job in his firm in the first place.
At one point, the documents cited a statement from our site where we said that we took our previous experiences as a way to learn from our mistakes and do differently, and call it a ‘confession of plagiarism’. I asked my lawyer to let me write my defense, leaving to her the task to translate it to ‘lawyers’.
She actually copy-pasted my full statement, saying she couldn’t have argued better. I put on paper all the repulse I felt, cited all my experience with teaching, and rebuked every single one of his claims with facts and actual proofs, attaching printed conversations, saved emails, and bringing attention to his lack of proof.
The judge tossed the case and made him pay all the legal fees, including my lawyer’s (he could have avoided it if he had entered the lawsuit in small claims court, but since he wanted the 30k from the NDA plus damages and sigil, he had it coming).
Just another shove of dirt on his coffin.”
4. Don't Like The Christmas Decorations? They'll Be There All Year
“I am a student (20F) living in university accommodation with four other girls. I hit the jackpot with three of my roommates who are lovely, but like there always is, one of them is a pain in the rear end.
She eats other people’s snacks and is overprotective about her own, talks over other people, and is really snobby and rude.
In early November, the four of us decided we would put up Christmas decorations and a tree in our living room/kitchen.
Granted it was early, but most of us were going home for Christmas in early December so it made sense. She had declared that we were not allowed to put up decorations until the 24th of November which we refused because half of us would be gone by the 10th of December, so on the day we put them up she kicked up a fuss and sulked in her room.
She also made snarky comments about it for days afterward and was generally unpleasant.
We initially planned to take the decorations down when everyone was back from their holidays in January. From the first day she was back she was already pushing anyone who was back to take them down.
Apart from the Christmas decoration issue, there were also other problems she was causing and by the time the last roommate had returned we had decided we just weren’t going to take the decorations and the tree down. It’s now April and the living room/kitchen is still Christmas-themed. She’s brought it up a couple of times and we all nonchalantly say we quite like it and love the uniqueness of our living room style.
She just purses her lips and walks away angrily. It makes us very happy every time.”
3. Harass Me For Not Breaking The Health Code? I'll Have You Reprimanded
“So I started a new job as a housekeeper last Tuesday. It is a 9 am to 5 pm job.
During my training, I was told we had 30 minutes to clean each room.
Not shocked, as that seems doable. Going into the rooms, however, I notice they are DISGUSTING. Mold growing in the fridges and trash cans, visible bacteria growth in the drains and showerheads, hairs piled in the corners of the bathrooms tucked just out of sight, absolutely revolting things that needed extra attention, not stuff you could get done in a 30 minute clean.
Enter my boss and trainer, who I will call Y. On my second day of work, I realized I had not discussed my pay with the GM of the hotel, so after my shift, I went into his office, he shut the door, we had our discussion, and I left for the day.
Everything was well and good, I simply forgot to have an important conversation and we got it out of the way. What I did not know, however, was that Y had taken it upon herself to listen in to our conversation.
On my next day of work, I was informed by a friend who worked at the front desk, that Y had been telling my coworkers, ‘That little girl doesn’t know what in the world she’s doing and makes more than all of us’ which was… absolutely not true.
Keep in mind this was said on my second day of employment, by my trainer. I don’t think she understood that at that point if I didn’t know what I was doing, it was her fault, but I’ll leave that topic be.
On my third day of work, I am given 8 rooms to clean by myself. This is the average amount of rooms usually given to housekeepers on a daily basis, however, it was my third day and I was supposed to be working with a trainer for a week before I got my own board.
I was told to finish all the rooms in 30 minutes each, and that we should all be out by 2. Again, these rooms are disgusting. Taking only 30 minutes to clean these rooms would mean we were only doing a very basic wipe-down of the surfaces, changing bedding, stocking supplies, and vacuuming.
I decided to go against Y’s order and deep clean the rooms anyway.
My coworkers are all LIVID with me at this point. They’re telling me if I take that long to clean rooms on Saturday (this was a Friday) then I’ll be written up.
This made me curious. So, after they left, I decided to do a little snooping. I talked to the front desk workers, and they informed me that one of the housekeepers had come to them during the day and said ‘Did you know you get paid more here if you’re blonde?’
This is confusing since I am a redhead with blonde at the end of my hair from a bleach job that I let grow out. But I digress, and I snoop further. I ask to see the customer complaints, and they are juicy.
They pretty much confirm all of the issues I had, which were just general nastiness. Apparently, the hotel is losing around a thousand dollars every week due to customer complaints/refunds about dirty rooms. I leave feeling satisfied.
I come in on Saturday and Y is not present, however, all the other housekeepers are.
I give it to them straight, inform them of the things I’ve found in rooms and how they need to be deep cleaned, and I request extra time on my rooms so I can get them clean. I am told no, and the reason I am given is that ‘some of us are in sober living and we need to go home early.’
Suddenly I understand everything. Y and all the other housekeepers besides me and three other people live in the same house. They will not give any other information as to why they cannot complete their full shift outside of ‘I’m in sober living and I want to go home early.’
This raises questions for me. While I understand the struggle involved in getting clean and putting your life back together after addiction, I don’t understand taking a 9-5 job that you know you cannot complete. If your availability is until 3 pm, why are you taking a job that requires you to stay until 5?
Why are you forcing your other workers to also leave early alongside you, leaving the rooms in complete disrepair due to the rush to get done early? I’m realizing they’re having me leave early as well so they don’t raise suspicion as to the reason why rooms are being left nasty.
It’s this realization, alongside the sabotage and talking behind my back, that makes me devise a plan.
I do my shift as normal, then clock out and pretend to go home when they do. I sit in my car in the parking lot and wait for them to leave.
Then, I go back inside and clock back in. I talk to the front desk, get a list of vacant rooms marked as clean, got my phone camera pulled up, and went to work. That day, I was able to take 30 images of things like garbage shoved underneath the beds, dried vomit on the floors, unchanged trash liners, dried urine and fecal matter on the walls, everything.
I label all of them with the rooms they were taken in and the date I took them on, then correct the issues to the best of my ability.
Sunday I go in and Y is working. She informs the housekeeping staff that rooms are taking too long to finish and that we are no longer allowed to have phones on the floor since obviously, they’d get to leave earlier if their workers weren’t on the phone, right?
She was looking me in the eyes as she said this, but what she didn’t know was that I was never on my phone at the beginning of the day, to begin with, only after they all leave early. She watches me put my phone in my car and I start my rooms, and made sure to hit all the boxes as thoroughly as possible.
I have about 6 rooms done at 2:30 and four to go. She comes into the room and tells me to put my cart up and go home because everyone else is already done. I put my cart up and as I’m going downstairs I am stopped by Y, who angrily exclaimed I had not stocked a shower.
I inform her that it’s my fifth day, she is my trainer, and she has not even told me where those items were located yet. I ask her to show me where and how to properly stock them since it’s 2:45 and we have until 5 to get the job done, and she says no, that she’ll show me on Wednesday.
As I enter the office to clock out for my break, I overhear a conversation between two coworkers. They’re talking mad trash about a girl named Wendy, calling her trashy, stuck up, fat, the works. I stay by and listen in for more evidence, but another coworker asks who Wendy is.
The other coworkers inform her that Wendy is their nickname for me. Being a redhead, this was quite obvious. Wendy is about as inconspicuous as Carrot Top, I hadn’t heard myself called it since 4th grade, so it was quite amusing.
And since they left early, they had given me a horrible idea.
I waited for them to clock out and leave, then I went into the office, took a pen, found the schedule, marked out my name, and wrote Wendy.
I finished my picture taking and room inspections and went home at 5 to enjoy my two days off.
Then, chaos ensues.
I get a text from my friend saying that the GM is MAD and that the housekeepers all were reprimanded Monday.
He walked in and saw the schedule and confronted them all about leaving early when the rooms are in this state, as well as workplace harassment. He asked who wrote it and nobody knew. Nobody went home early that day.
But my plan wasn’t finished. Today, I went into his office with what they had said about me, on top of all the images I took in rooms marked as clean.
Needless to say, I was told that Y is no longer my boss.”
2. Don't Know The Rules As Well As You Thought? Have Fun Getting Your Car Towed
“This story primarily takes place between me and my stupid neighbor (SN) who is a member of my community HOA.
As a bit of background, my three roommates and I moved into a housing community that is basically just a bunch of cookie-cutter townhomes.
All of these homes have garages that open onto streets that wind through the community (this is important later) with your front door opening to a path on the other side of your house. There are also some free parking spots on the edge of the community where there are no houses.
When we first moved in we quickly found out that parking could be a bit of a pain during the day, especially when people had guests during the weekend. Now my roommates and I admittedly have more cars than the average family.
Because we usually have to commute for work we each have one. We try to make parking easier by using the garage but we all have tons of sporting equipment so we can usually only get one car in the garage.
When all the parking in all the free spots is full we’d just park our cars right up against the garage and leave them there during the day or overnight. We’d seen other neighbors do it and it still left ample room for people driving on the street to get by.
Well, one day SN comes up while my roommates and I are in the garage organizing some stuff and tells us that we can’t park there overnight as it’s against community rules. Before we had a chance to respond he added ‘and if you do it again I will personally make sure you’re towed.’ His first comment was pretty reasonable.
We’d just moved in and didn’t know that rule. But his second comment really just made him sound like a butthead and wasn’t necessary. One of my roommates simply responded that we didn’t know as we’d just moved in and we wouldn’t park there overnight anymore.
Wall SN, clearly trying to assert his dominance, responded with ‘Good. You better not because I’ll be watching.’
Well from then on we did follow those rules. If we parked in front of our garage during the day we would make sure to move before we went to sleep.
This worked out for a while until one faithful day. One of my roommates stopped by quickly after work to grab some dinner and clothes before heading to his girl’s place. This was around 7 PM so he just parked up against the garage as it would be quicker than the parking spaces.
Plus it was early enough that he didn’t think he’d get towed.
Around 8 PM he went to head out and his car was gone. Guess who was there though? SN standing right outside. Immediately he said to my roommates ‘told you you were going to get towed if you parked here again.’ SN and my roommate argued for a bit before my roommate came back inside and calls the car lot.
Well, it ends up they’re closed so he’ll have to get his car in the morning. The kicker? They’re going to charge him an overnight fee. All in all, it comes out to $500 which isn’t a small amount for us.
This neighbor has been a jerk to us since we moved in and even though it wasn’t my car that was towed, I took this personally. To make sure we didn’t get towed again, we decided to read the community rules, and lo and behold we found out that the street in front of the garage is actually considered a fire lane, and no one is supposed to park there at any point during the day.
Between SN treating us like crap and the fact that we could get him yelling at his wife every night (not a big detail to the story but just wanted to say to add to my point that this guy just sucked), I start to plan my revenge.
Since quarantine started I’ve been able to work from home and my desk conveniently looks out onto the street between the houses. This means that I can clearly see SN’s garage. I start to take notice of when he parks his car out in front of his garage.
For about two weeks I noticed that he would come home around 1 PM and leave again at 2 PM. In the third week, I decided I would begin the revenge.
On Monday, true to his schedule, he stopped by around 1. After about 10 minutes I gave the tow company a call and said that he was parked in the fire lane and if they could come and remove his car.
20 minutes later a tow truck rolled up, hooked his car up, and towed it off. About 15 minutes later SN came out and I could hear him start to yell back into his house, presumably at his wife. He then left and didn’t come back until later that evening after he’d gotten his car.
Now it was funny to do this and I made sure to send snaps to my roommates who don’t work from home, but I wasn’t done yet.
See this jerk apparently didn’t learn the first time because literally the next day he parks in front of his garage again.
What do I do? Well, the exact same thing as the day before of course. Again, SN comes out, realizes his car is gone, yells at his wife, and then goes to get it.
Now after this time he is a bit smarter and parks in an actual spot before going in to get his lunch or whatever it is he does there mid-day.
He does this for about two weeks before he decides that it’s okay to park in front of his garage again. Well, who is still sitting at their desk every day and notices this immediately? Well, me of course.
And being the concerned resident that I am, I immediately call the tow company, and off his car goes again. And again this is met with yelling.
I wish that this had a more satisfying ending but after this third time, I decided I would stop because I genuinely felt bad for his wife who he seemed to do most of the yelling at as if it was her fault that he was a dummy.
What I can tell you is that it definitely cost him over $1k.
If he hadn’t gotten my roommate’s car towed then we wouldn’t have ever found that fun little rule. The best part was that a number of my neighbors would have their cars parked there at the same time and they’d never have their cars towed which made it all the better when he was.
We have had a number of other encounters with him in the time since this happened and I have another story that involves the actual HOA that I’ll probably write later. That one is still ongoing though so we’ll see how it ends up.”
1. You Want The Windex When I'm Done? You Can Have The Empty Bottle
“So I got my car washed at the fancy place this morning. It’s one of those nice ones with the vacuum stations, Windex bottles, and cloths to do your interior. The car wash was pretty crowded due to pollen season.
There are three rows of vacuum stations, and each row has a shared Windex bottle/cloth station for the whole row to share. My row’s Windex/cloth station had a red Lexus parked in front of it.
After vacuuming my car, I walked over to my row’s Windex/cloth stations and grabbed a couple of cloths and a bottle of Windex.
It was the last one with any Windex remaining (about 10%), all the others it was hanging alongside were empty.
Immediately, the Lexus owner snapped (rather patronizing), ‘Excuse me, sir. That’s mine.’
I looked over at her, she was vacuuming out her back seat.
‘Yours? Doesn’t it belong to the car wash?’
‘Doesn’t matter, honey, I’m parked here. That’s my bottle. You can have it when I’m done, okay?’
‘No. It isn’t. I’m washing my windows. This isn’t your bottle.’ I shot her an annoyed looked and walked away.
She put her hands on her hips and gave me a little ‘shocked’ look, then clucked her tongue.
So, naturally, I made sure to go over every window & mirror of my car several times, even taking some time to thoroughly clean my reading glasses.
I even poured out a little more into an empty coffee cup I had as well. I brought it back with just enough Windex to drown a fly. I dropped it back off with the other empties and didn’t even bother giving her a smile.
I’m pleased to announce that due to my revenge, she had to walk an entire 50 feet to get another bottle.”
