People Share Their Most Memorable Acts Of Revenge

Over the years, I’m certain that most of us have spawned some type of revenge on another person. Planting a wad of chewed-up gum in your mean classmate’s hair, blaming your little sister for something bad you’ve done, exposing a past friend or partner after they mistreated you – Do any of these sound a bit familiar?

Some people might say that they’ve never gotten revenge on someone before. In truth, I’m sure we all have, even if it was just something simple and virtually harmless. But it’s really only the bigger, most successful acts of revenge that we remember the most: the time you reported your boss for failing to pay you for your work, when you finally sought payback from a long-time bully, or even the moment you intentionally gave a rude customer a large bag of the very thing they asked you to omit from their order. They may even be smaller acts, but they are no less memorable. Sometimes you get more for less. It can be as simple as telling the truth by airing dirty laundry or getting your colleagues to “crop-dust” a table. The following acts are both major and minor, but the thread that connects them is how they will forever be preserved in memory.

You just can’t shake some of these!

Speaking of revenge, below are acts of revenge that both the doer and the receiver will never forget (and neither will you).

23. Bully Him For His Physical Condition? I’ll Make Sure He’ll Get Ladies’ Attention You’ll Never Get

“I had a 7th grade class of 15 boys, all having average IQs and some sort of learning disability…except for Adam who had a physical disability. He had a stroke when he was 4 months old, and half of his body was affected. He was blind in one eye, deaf in one ear, his left arm hung at his side, and he walked with a limp.

He was as kind-hearted as could be and never complained.

We would have class for 45 minutes, go to lunch, and then return to class.

I usually ate lunch with my students (at their request) but one day I had a lot of work to do so I remained in my classroom. As the boys gathered outside the door after lunch, I could hear every word they said.

They began teasing Adam relentlessly, saying, “You’re so UGLY! You’ll never have a girlfriend…. No girl will EVER want to be seen with you…” There was one definite ring-leader: Josh. He was considered a “cool kid” and hung with the popular group.

“Don’t let Adam near the door,” Josh ordered, “Make him stand over there…away from us NORMAL people.”

By this time, I was furious and in complete shock. I had never seen any hint of this negativity toward Adam. Their true colors were out, and JOSH was glowing a fluorescent red of angry hatred.

I wanted to immediately swing the door open and catch them in the act, but I knew I needed a plan with REAL and LASTING impact. This would take some thought with a calm mind. I acted like I heard nothing and opened the door with a welcoming smile.

The rowdy bunch straightened up into a line as if they were in boot camp and I was their sergeant.

Adam, of course, was at the end, and now I knew why!

After school, I went to cheerleading practice and spoke with a few pretty, outgoing, popular girls. Even though Josh was cool, he wouldn’t have had a chance with these young ladies. They were so eager to help me, and we formed a plan.

The next day during class, 3 pretty cheerleaders paid us a visit! The boys’ eyes almost popped out of their heads, and the girls had their complete attention.

They announced, “All of us 7th-grade girls voted on who we thought was the coolest 7th-grade boy, and we made him a certificate.

The boy we chose as ‘Coolest 7th Grader’ is……”

Now, Josh was literally getting up out of his desk, as he KNEW it had to be for HIM.

“ADAM DAVIS!!! Congratulations!”

One girl had a camera and the other two skipped over to Adam. With one on each side, they cheerfully posed for pictures. They hugged him and gave him KISSES on his cheeks. Adam had a smile all the way across his face, and Josh had sunk low in his desk, hiding behind his binder.

I kept in touch with Adam over the years. He became friends with all the cheerleaders, and from that day on his self-esteem soared.

He was always recognized in the halls; girls greeted him, gave him high-fives, shouted his name… all through high school.

Josh was never the same, and left Adam alone for a while. To my surprise….I attended one of the high school games and ADAM AND JOSH WERE THERE TOGETHER AS FRIENDS! Maybe it was Adam’s connection to the cheerleaders, but I believe they formed a true bond.” Amy Babineux-Smith

Another User Comments:

“This was a beautiful story and you are to be commended for handling the situation in such an intelligent, thoughtful manner. Good job! I taught for 40 years and have run into similar situations.

I taught a freshman science class and had the class athlete sitting across the aisle form a little, quiet fellow. The little guy dropped his pencil and the athlete picked it up as if to hand it back to him but, at the last minute, he dropped it. He did this 3 or 4 times and, finally, I told him quietly to hang onto it which he did. I called the athlete into my room after class and asked him what that was all about. He suddenly burst into tears and said everybody picked on him because he used too much aftershave lotion (a freshman – he did not shave yet).

They eventually became good friends and I did not have to do anything.” Richard Greco

22. Annoy Your Coworkers? Good Luck Translating These E-mails

“I had a dinosaur of an old co-worker who annoyed everyone around him. He was un-hygienic and obnoxious. One day another co-worker sent me an instant message as he had emailed her a technical question and she didn’t know how to respond.

I had her forward the email to me and translated his question into Swahili and sent it back to her with the instructions to replace what he wrote with my translation and then ask him why he sent it the way he sent it.

He responds back to her expressing confusion as to why it was showing as it did and he re-asked the question.

I again translated the response, sent it back to her, who sent it on to him. At that point, I hear him mumbling very loudly down the hall. He forwards the email to me and a couple of other people to ask them if they see the question in English or if they see something else.

I message each of those people and give them a Swahili translation to send back to him. I also translate his email to Swahili and send it back saying that I don’t know what’s going on but that maybe he has is auto translate settings on in outlook and he should look into that.

About 30 minutes later he’s pacing up and down the hallway in front of the offices mumbling to himself about how he can’t find the auto-translate settings and he feels like he’s going crazy, and he doesn’t understand what’s going on.

I go out of my office and walk him back to his office offering to help. I sit down at his computer and he’s still talking to himself and not paying attention. I make it look like I’m making some settings changes and then tell him it was his auto-translate settings and I’ve turned them off.

He sends out a couple of test emails and everything is fine.

For months I hear him tell different people the story of the auto-translate settings and how funny it was.

We were both in the IT department.” idontownguns

21. Bothered By Our “Light Pollution?” Enjoy This Massive Fence

“It all starts about 15 years ago. Our house was directly beside a gravel alley, which was the quickest way to the bus stop. Living in a very northern climate, it was often pitch black when we would walk through the alley to get the bus. There also happened to be a streetlamp on the alley. It conveniently lit up our driveway/backyard/and the entrance to the alley.

Our neighbor on the other side of our house (aka removed from streetlamp/alley by our lot and home) complained that it shone into his windows at night. This was a physical impossibility, and here the real pettiness begins.

My mother, reigning Queen of Pettiland, now decides that the street lamp is extremely important to her. In fact, her children’s safety depended on it. How else were we to walk down the equivalent of one single city block to our bus stop??? For the next year or so arguments go back and forth; the city is consulted several times, and finally, my mother has the city black out the half of the lamp that is facing towards the neighbors home.

It’s unclear whether this was an attempt at compromise by my mother or mandated by the city, but knowing her I’m leaning towards the latter.

As the years roll by so do the arguments around this single cursed lamp. Eventually, the neighbor pursues a lengthy legal course and, much to the chagrin of my mother, it is ruled that the streetlamp will be turned off. Though no one has used this partially lighted path to the bus in years, thus rendering the argument of child safety null, my mother’s outrage at being out-pettied burns brighter than ever before (perhaps even brighter than the non-existent light flooding through the neighbor’s windows).

My mother then does all the appropriate research and decides to build a massive wooden fence directly on the property lines. It is important to note here that, for some odd reason, our property extends almost entirely to the neighbor’s house. In fact, there is only about 2.5 ft between the line and their home. This fence is built exactly to regulation. 7’11.5 ft tall (as the maximum height is 8ft), just on the edge of our property (so as to not hit the line and have it be disputed), and lifted a couple of inches off the ground (so grass can be easily trimmed and any “untidiness” can not be disputed).

But with the property lines being what they are, the fence is so close to their home that they can no longer open their basement windows (major bonus to mother). Then, with her most petty and condescending smile and tone, explains it away as a courtesy to our neighbor, so he won’t ever be troubled by any light pollution from us again.” Pm_me_your_kittay

20. He Cheated On Me, I Exposed Him, And Now His Family Won’t Speak To Him

“Today is New Year’s Eve. Up until the day after Christmas, I’d been engaged for seven months.

No longer. Want to know why?

In mid-November, I learned my fiancé Sam had been cheating on me for six months.

I discovered this by accident. My phone died and I needed to Google something, so I grabbed his iPad which I hadn’t used in a while. Sam has iMessage, so all his messages (received and outgoing) synced to the iPad’s message app. I saw everything – texts, pictures, videos – saw it all. Apparently that Masters in Chemical Engineering didn’t constitute much intelligence, because the dumba*s never changed his passcode.

His side chick was a mutual friend of ours, Madison, who’d been in our home, had dinner with us, and was someone I’d actually seen as a potential bridesmaid. I spent days reading through everything, apparently she let him do anything in bed.

Oh, and she was pregnant. He’d also been sending her money from our saving-for-a-bigger-apartment fund.

I was catastrophic. I collapsed on the floor and cried so hard I thought I’d throw up. But what really got me were the things they said- about me.

They mocked me, made jokes, ridiculed and belittled me; because I was the oblivious idiot fiancée who was so stupid. I was the prude who wouldn’t let him act out his nasty fantasies, even though he never told me about them. Madison would text me, chatting about wedding planning, then screenshot the messages and send them to Sam, laughing about how stupid I was.

There was so much more, and far more vicious. I was gobsmacked. I felt like the meanest, b*tchiest girls from high school were standing over me, laughing while I cried. But I was more confused than anything, who the ****** **** was this person, pretending to be my Sam? Now I realize I’d only seen one side of him. For three years. I won’t even begin with the messages about the baby.

Madison had actively been pushing Sam to dump me, and they agreed he’d do it the day after Christmas after we’d returned home from seeing his family. When I read that particular message, something inside me snapped.

I’ve been snickered at my whole life- for being the “poor kid” in a wealthy school, for being a fat kid and teenager, for being an ugly duckling, for always having older, out-of-date things, for being quiet, for being an unphotogenic teenager… schoolkids are their own category of vicious. But growing up with all that gives you a core of steel, and anyone who tries to punch it will break their hand. I was not going to be humiliated. Not again, and not like this.

So I thought ahead.

Sam had been out of town when I discovered the messages, so I had a few days to pull myself together.

For the next month and a half, I pretended everything was fine- at which I’m alarmingly good. Soon, my feelings toward him hardened until my initial devastation was gone and replaced by nothing. I’d wait until I was alone to read through his iPad, always putting it back in the same position in his bottom drawer. The dumba*s never suspected anything, and still never changed his passcode. I collected the most “telling” evidence: the most explicit messages, the most vicious ones towards me, the ones mentioning the money, the ultrasound photos, I sent them all to myself then covered my tracks.

Christmas comes. We arrived at his parent’s house on Christmas morning, with plans to spend the night. I spent the day watching that cheating, mocking, money-laundering scumbag have a lovely Christmas. He even tried to hook up that night, knowing full well he planned to dump me the next day. One last **** for good measure, right?

B*STARD.

The next morning, before we all sat down for breakfast, I sent all the evidence to his mother.

And his father.

And his two siblings,

and three of his cousins.

Any family member whose contact I had, received it. I was able to time this, because Sam’s family is pretty phone addicted, and they all get email notifications.

My dear readers, I wish you could’ve witnessed the scene which befell that house. The weasel couldn’t even face his own family. Talk about whiplash from that plot twist.

He ran outside and had to be cornered. His brother dragged him by his hair back into the house, but I didn’t stay for that. I’d insisted we take my car, so I said my goodbyes to his family, reassured them this wasn’t their fault, thanked them for everything, and left.

That was six days ago. I changed the lock on our apartment, sold the ring, put all his things in trash bags, and put them outside the gate to our apartment complex – with the iPad on top.

Luckily for him, no one took anything. He’s currently staying with a friend, as none of his family in town will speak to him, and he can’t afford a hotel indefinitely.

And don’t worry about Madison, I didn’t forget about her. I sent everything to her mother.

With whom she still lives. They’re going to move in together. I’m sure their love will last through the ages. They can live their lives, and I’ll live mine.

Happy New Year, dear readers. Take no **** in 2020.” Audrey Canton

19. He Screamed About His Hatred For Pepperoncinis, So We Gave Him A Large Bag Full

“Back in my college days, I worked as your typical friendly neighborhood delivery guy for a popular pizza chain.

I enjoyed it pretty well, the tips were good for the most part and I could work fewer hours and make more than most of my friends.

Now with the job, of course, I deal with quite a lot of different people, but mostly the worst to deal with were the people who didn’t tip or people who would try to take advantage of “the system.” (You know the type, eat half their pizza, only to miraculously realize that the order was not up to their “standards” and demand a refund) -nothing that bad or that hard to deal with.

Now a little back story.

At this particular pizza chain it is standard practice to include pepperoncini (yellow-green pickled hot pepper) in the box with your freshly baked pizza.

So about 30 minutes before the end of my shift, I get routed on a delivery to a decent neighborhood. I’m familiar with the area so it doesn’t take me long to find the house. The order was simple: two large pepperoni pies. I walk up to the house and knock on the door.

I am greeted by the customer Mr. Ignoramus in a rather tepid manner. He takes the first pizza from me, opens it, and just sits there and stares.

I can visibly see his face darken to a shade of crimson as an expression of what can only be described as epileptic rage crosses his face.

“I TELL THEM, PEOPLE, EVERY TIME I ORDER MY PIZZA I DON’T WANT THE **** PEPPER!”

I give him a blank stare.

“I HATE THE PEPPER! HOW HARD IS IT TO REALIZE THAT? I DONT WANT IT, HERE..(He the proceeds to take the pepperoncini out of the box and places it in my hand)-I DONT WANT THIS F**KING **** – YOU TAKE IT BACK.”

He snatches the second box and take the second pepper out and throws it at me, then slams the door.

-I’m in pure shock and disbelief, wondering what in the DSM-5 I just witnessed. I get back in my car and head back to the store. I hand my tips and receipts to my manager for counting, and I head to the back to do dishes.

This is where it gets good!

While back there I grab one of the plastic bags we use to carry 2 liters of soda when someone orders them and take advantage of my distracted manager. I quickly fill the bag to the BRIM with pepperoncini and place it outside via the back door. Once I finish the dishes and collect my tips, I go outside, retrieve my bag of peppery goodness, and get into my car.

It’s about 10:00 PM at this point.

Under the cover of nightfall, I return to Mr. Ignaramus’s house, and quickly run out, and proceed to scatter hundreds of pepperoncini all over his front porch, sidewalk, and lawn. It was a moment I had never been more absolutely certain of in my entire life! I run back to the car and drive home.

I would have paid good money to see this clown’s reaction. Unfortunately, I had a drill weekend that weekend for the national guard.

When I returned, my manager could hardly contain his laughter. On his desk were plastic sandwich bags of the peppers and a note with the total count (yes this goober had nothing better to do than pick up all of the peppers and count them).

He asked me if I knew where they came from.

“No idea.” He gave me a grin of knowing better, laughed to himself and said, “I’m sorry to do this but I’m gonna have to let you go at the end of the week.”

“I completely understand.”

He thought it was hilarious, as did my co-workers. I regret absolutely nothing, and to this day when I order pizza from that chain, and I tell people I am the “pepper guy” they recognize me with much laughter and excitement. I apparently became somewhat of a legend.” Brandon Benson

Another User Comments:

“Given your reputation, you could have started a business as a sort of “hitman” for customer service employees.

Rude customer?

No tip?

Unreasonable complaints?

Don’t let bad customers get you down! Don’t let them have the last word! For a small fee you can get the sweetest revenge and keep your job!

Don’t wait! Call “The Pepper Guy” now!

Get a picture to go with that – you placing a pepper in some hidden place on a porch, a devious smile on your face as you’re looking behind you to make sure nobody’s watching.

A Go-Pro and a Bitcoin account and you’re ready to go! (You can send a full video to your customers. For an extra fee you could stake out or plant a hidden camera and get the customer’s response.)

Why am I getting the idea that I’m enjoying this line of thinking a bit too much?

Don’t try this at home, kids!” Rich Kosiba

18. We Turned His Car Into An Ice Cube After He Wouldn’t Stop Revving His Engine

“Back in the ′90s, a new neighbor moved in to the house just down the block.

He was a single guy in his early 40s, seemed to be one of those guys who worked with his hands and kept mainly to himself. But… it wasn’t very long before we (as in the ENTIRE block) found out that he was a jerk.

He had a beautiful vintage ’69 Ford Mustang GT 500, with (what I found out later) one of the fastest engines ever commercially made. Here’s one below, and you have to admit, it looks absolutely stunning, eh?

Well, the neighbor in question definitely thought so as well, especially the over-powered engine. But in a suburb, where can you show off the power of the engine, really?

How about EVERY MORNING AT 5 AM when he went to work.

Every morning, that lunatic would pull out of his driveway, rev up the engine and demonstrate why that car could go 0-60 in 3.3 seconds! That car (and he) would go straight down the length of the block in practically 2 seconds and burst out onto the cross streets until he disappeared in a telltale cloud of smoke and exhaust. Our neighborhood had become a 5 AM RACE TRACK.

To put it lightly, the entire neighborhood was NOT impressed. The sound of that car engine could be heard from two blocks away. I think practically all of the residents went to him in the period of a week asking him to not drive so recklessly and dangerously and wake up the entire block every weekday (and some weekend) mornings.

He would fake concern, and assure everyone he won’t do it again. And of course, he did it again and again. We complained to the cops, and they gave him a warning several times, but at the time there were no laws on the books in Montreal about sound decibels between 11 PM and 5 AM. Needless to say, we were stuck.

This went on for about two months until winter set in, and several neighbors and I were assembling the local outdoor hockey rink. As we were filling in the rink, making the ice and so on, we were talking about the jerk when an inspired idea suddenly flashed in our heads.

Looking at the wooden boards that we used to make the ice rink, a devious plan came to mind. We rushed back to my kitchen as soon as we could and started to work on the math. Later, we went door to door to see who we could conscript to help with our evil plans.

(By the way for all you car enthusiasts and collectors, I have NO idea why this guy was using such a classic car as a daily driver, and why drive it in the winter either.)

A few more weeks we all waited (by this time, the secret neighborhood revenge task force grew to about 30 households) for an ESPECIALLY cold day in Montreal (-20C and below) and waited for the chance to execute our plan… and then the forecast came of one especially cold night and day.

The time had come.

Seeing as the neighbor always went to work at 5 AM, he almost always went to bed around 9 PM. Assuming that he would take about an hour to get ready for work, that gave us a window of around midnight to 3 AM for our plan. And like clockwork, at the stroke of midnight, 30 people came out, with small shovels, wood brackets (the ones we use to make local rinks), buckets and several hoses from the houses surrounding the target house. We all worked efficiently and effectively seeing as we never did anything like this before.

Brackets went up. Snow got piled in. Water poured in.

Did I forget to mention again that it was -24C that night?

By 3 AM, we were all done. Our act of vengeance was complete and had a few more hours still to harden and solidify. And yes, you’ve probably guessed what we did… and at 5 AM, we heard a very loud man ranting and raving, wanting revenge on whomever that did this, screaming that he was going to do horrible things to the people that did THIS to his beloved car.

Oh, as for what we did… imagine the next two pics COMBINED to see what we did to that beloved ’69 Ford Mustang GT 500.

Yes, we turned his car into A HUGE ICE CUBE.

Needless to say, when life resumed on the street around 7 to 8 AM as people were going to work, we were greeted to a pretty p*ssed-off guy hammering at iron-strong ice walls surrounding his car. He wouldn’t even look at anyone as people passed by, and only kept muttering to himself something pretty nasty.

It was about three days before he managed to get his car completely free, and that involved a LOT of hot water, hours of labor and god knows what else he had to do. Add on that he had to get back to work each day, the mornings were peaceful as there was nary a roar or sound of anything.

The cops came and asked for statements from everyone in the area to find out who could have done something so terrible, but no one pointed at anyone, and everyone reiterated about how that neighbor had been a jerk from day two. He even went door to door, absolutely furious and demanded that someone tell him who did this. I think someone must have called the cops on him because he was threatening too many people. Needless to say, his complaints fell on deaf ears, and even the cops, who I think figured out that this was a group event, brushed his rantings away and threatened him with arrest and told him to calm down or else.

Overall, a pretty satisfying conclusion.

Well, there was a slight miscalculation though… the hot water (then cold) had to drain somewhere and went down the street turning half the block into an ice rink for a while. Still, aside from a few bags of sand and ice, plus the help of the city and ANOTHER warning from the cops about how he was endangering the street, it was still a successful operation with only a minor inconvenience.

For the next few months, the mornings were quite peaceful. No more 5 AM revving or barreling out of the neighborhood like a bat out of ****.

And in the spring, a For Sale sign popped up on his lawn. By the summer, we greeted a brand new family to the neighborhood, and life went on in a sleepy (no longer sleep-deprived) suburban neighborhood in Canada.” Terry Lo

17. Want To Bully Me And Be Mean? Better Put Your Fake IDs Away

“When I was in high school there was this popular group of girls that were right out of the movie “Mean Girls”. They made my high school and many other high school days ****!

So a year or so after High School I was cocktail waitressing at this bar/restaurant.

Guess who shows up? Them. I knew that they were not 21. So I went over to them and they acted all nice, thinking I was going to serve them drinks. So I took their orders and then said I just needed to see “any ID”. They all whipped out their fake IDs. Little did they know I actually told the police officer that was working the door that I knew they weren’t 21. So as soon as I got all of their fakes the police officer took them from me and asked them if these were their real IDs. They all stumbled for a minute.

Then got escorted out of the bar in front of hundreds of people. He told me that he gave them all $250 tickets for trying to use a fake and he breathalyzed all of them. Two of the four got underage tickets too. He then made them sit on the curb and wait for a taxi ’cause he wouldn’t let them drive home. (The only one with a license had been drinking) This was in front of everyone, they were so humiliated. Karma is a *****!!!” Melanie Wilson

16. Give Me Paystubs For $0.00? You Bet I’m Going To Report You

“I worked in a restaurant on 72nd Street between Central Park West and Columbus ave.

It was a huge restaurant that served barbecue and was very affordable, very busy and all kinds of people would come and dine there. I mean a half-chicken was $7.95 and a plate of Ribs was like $12.95. The owner of the restaurant was the biggest ******. He treated everyone around him like they were serfs and just walked around the restaurant ignoring his employees. He never acknowledged our existence and I doubt he knew any of our names. God forbid he walked in and saw you standing around, he would just start screaming at you at the top of his lungs.

His favorite line was, “Are you working? Or are you jerking?” One of the bartenders told me he was a slumlord and in the winter his tenants would call up and cry because they had no heat. He never said a word to me the entire time I worked there, I guess I and my fellow employees just didn’t matter to him, never got a Christmas bonus, nothing. Management was allowed to throw some pretty wild Christmas parties but that was about it.

After working there for about two and a half years one of our fellow waiters gets everyone together and informs us that we are being shorted on our timesheets.

The state minimum wage for waiters was $2.90 an hour we were only getting $2.00 an hour. Apparently this was being implemented on all employees’ hourly wages, whether you were a waiter bartender, expeditor, etc. I can tell you there were about 120 people working in this restaurant so he was skimming large amounts of money off people’s checks weekly. And the funny thing is when we cashed out at the end of our shift if we were a penny short, it was grounds for dismissal. Anyway, the waiter who exposed this suggests all the waiters get together the next morning at the corner of 72nd and CPW, so we could take the train to Brooklyn to the Dept.

of Labor. Everyone agreed to go.

Of course, at the end of our shift, which was around 2 am a bunch of us went out drinking and carousing and the next morning I was the only one to show up at 9 am at the corner of 72nd and CPW. I thought everyone was simply running late so I waited for about a half-hour then jumped on the train and headed out to Brooklyn. When I get to the Dept. of Labor I explain the situation to a gentleman there and he lets me know that it would take time perhaps a year to process a claim.

That my employer would know that it was I that had processed the claim and that I would most likely lose my job. I was like, “cool.” He then asks if I had any paystubs to show proof, I had actually saved every paystub I had ever gotten from them and after working there for several months had started being issued checks for 0 dollars and 0 cents. I thought it was because I was earning tips, but did think it was a tad strange.

So I pull out one of the checks for 0 dollars and 0 cents and hand it to the guy, he looks at the check with this incredulous look on his face looks back at me and asks, “Do you have any more of these?” I respond yes and pull out a stack of checks for 0 dollars and 0 cents.

The guy just starts laughing hysterically picks up the phone and calls everyone in the building to come and take a look, 5 minutes later I’m surrounded by people laughing and holding up the checks to look at them… I politely ask if I have a case, and the guy says, “You bet your sweet a** you got a case!!!” Anyway I ended up going to Europe for several months and when I got back I got a sweet check from the dept of labor, my mom was so proud that I, “stuck it to the man”.. one night I go to the old job for a drink, the general manager, a ********* named Barry comes up to me literally in tears and asks, “why did you do this to us?” I was like, “do what?”

Barry replies, “You reported us to the dept of labor, we were investigated and after that the IRS audited us!!”

I was like, “Oh well, stop ******* with people’s money”

I bet the owner knows my name now…lo.l” Thokozile Xaba

Another User Comments:

“I’m amazed that people don’t know there is a Fair Labor Standards Act that protects workers.

The original law, passed in 1938, was updated in 2019, so I’m not familiar with all the changes. Compliance Assistance – Wages and the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) However, if you are not getting paid, or getting underpaid, this is the law that allows you to file suit against your employer. The law provides for a penalty to be paid by the employer of TWICE the owed wages, and the employer is on the hook to pay lawyers’ fees and court costs.

In 2009, my son asked me to help out with his bills because he had not received his last two paychecks.

He worked at a retail store for a well-known cell phone provider, which are privately owned franchises. I said, “well, that’s against the law.” He asked which law, so I introduced him to the FLSA. I looked up the requirements, saw that he (and all his coworkers) were eligible to file suit. He asked his coworkers, many of whom were immigrants, to join him in the suit. Most of them declined, thinking it would affect their immigrant status.

The owner had several retail stores in the Northern Virginia area and was apparently doing the same thing in all the stores, hiring primarily immigrants, and then not paying them.

The employees would quit after a month or so of not getting paid, and the owner would hire new workers. Not surprisingly, my son found a lawyer eager to take the case, and the lawsuit prevailed. The owner’s plan all along had apparently been to declare bankruptcy to protect himself from having to pay back wages and penalties. Guess what? Back wages owed to employees are the first payments owed if there are any assets at all. The owner had multiple expensive cars and rental properties. The bankruptcy judge ordered that assets be liquidated in order to pay back wages and penalties.

The owner argued that he got to keep his property. The judge says one car and one primary residence. The rest were assets to be liquidated as part of the bankruptcy proceeding.

The violation of the FLSA also triggered a review of Social Security payments. The owner had not been paying the employer’s share of Social Security. I can’t remember if he had been keeping the employees’ share of SS as well. Probably, but I don’t remember. So now the owner had a huge bill to the Social Security Administration. All because he thought he could get away with not paying his employees.

If my son had just struggled along, and not asked for my help, the owner may have continued his scam. Workers have rights, it pays to know them. My son’s coworkers were astonished when they eventually all received double their back pay.

The penalties are in place to “encourage” employers not to break the law. If an employer violates the FLSA, and gets caught, it’s very costly.” Janet Humphreys

15. I Wrote His Paper… And Included A Secret Message That Got Him Suspended

“In high school, we had a group paper assigned, three to a group. My friend and I scored the cherry treat of working together, but since we were pretty smart and focused we got saddled with Tyler the ********* Stoner.

He was late or never showed up. He was lazy, arrogant, entitled, sexist, the works.

The paper had to be written by the who group (i.e., one small paper written each and then merged into one big paper) so my friend and I got ours written well ahead of schedule and we were stuck begging Tyler to do his.

Every response had the same careless jerkish response, ‘Nah, don’t feel like it.’

We tried explaining to our teacher that our R2 unit had a bad motivator but she didn’t care. So I hatched a plan. My friend loved it so I got started.

I offered to write Tyler’s paper for him in exchange for twenty dollars.

Of course, he agreed. Our papers had a minimum word limit so I wrote a long, rambling paper on his subject, and then in white font I wrote a long paragraph about how our teacher was a horrible person. All sorts of horrible names, horrible rumors.

All in Tyler’s name.

I offered to email it in a folder with all of our papers labeled and named for everyone and Tyler agreed, so my friend and I sent the papers and waited.

Our teacher knew about the old white text trick so she also highlighted each paper to test them. And what did she see when she got to Tyler’s paper?

Tyler was suspended for several days for the horrible things ‘he’ wrote, and we were given glistening 100s on our work.” Reddit user

14. We Wrote A Love Letter “Signed By” The School Bully To Embarrass Him

“Some kid in highschool tried to pick on me every day in math class by just throwing things at me, or generally being obnoxious.

I wasn’t the type to lay my head down and cry over it and tried telling him to stop multiple times in a variety of ways to no avail. He just liked making me angry.

So, I wrote a fake letter from him to a friend of mine (who was in on this). The letter was a secret, immensely powerful same-sex love letter to my friend, who was in my literature class. In literature class, my friend starts breathing heavily to draw everyone’s attention, and the teacher walks over. My friend explains “loudly” that the bully had written him something and he didn’t know what to do about it.

This note was two pages long and expressed in detail how secret this needed to be, and the true love that the bully felt for my friend. The teacher said, “I think this is serious. What do you want to do about this? Do you want me to help you talk to him?” My friend agreed, and they pulled him out of class next period (which is the class I was in with him), and discussed his immense same-sex love for my friend.

Keep in mind, that the note specifies that he wants this to be secret, and would under no circumstances admit this to anyone but my friend.

Bully denied that he wrote the note, and everybody in math class was wondering what was going on, to which I loudly exclaimed, “I don’t know, something about a love letter I heard about in my Literature class.”.

Bully comes back into class, confused, and people start asking him questions. About two weeks later I told him that my friend and I were behind the whole thing, to which he actually responded, “Well ****….good one” and stopped ******* with me.

Many people in school thought the whole thing was legitimate until we graduated.

I still find it odd that my teacher handled it the way she did.” Appleburgerr

13. I Went Batsh*t Crazy On Him Went I Was Through With Him

“In 2001, I met this GORGEOUS Italian guy.

He had dark hair, dark eyes, tan and well-built.

We were together only 6 months before he introduced me to *****. I had never done anything before. I actually threatened to call the cops on him and his friends for smoking in my house.

Fast-forward to a year. We were heavily into *****. Name it, I didn’t discriminate. He started to become verbally abusive, more so when he was high. Then came the isolation of family and friends and of course, you’re right. He began beating me.

I had never experienced anything like that, and I was also a little confused and embarrassed. I didn’t know what to do.

After about a year of abuse of every kind and on every level, I decided to fight back. I wasn’t the type to take anyone’s ***.*

On a Friday night, he explained that he was going out to the clubs but wasn’t taking me with him. We had just gotten a place together under his name, (I moved out of the house I was renting and wanted to keep my credit score high) and I was p*ssed. I knew he cheated on me with other girls, ‘ but I loved him’. Ugh.

He went out and I started hatching plans. I found an old bottle of Nair (for getting rid of excess hair on your body,) and dumped it into his expensive shampoo.

I wasn’t done though.

I saw his contact case sitting on the dresser. Hmmm. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I stumbled upon a bottle of Clorox. So, yeah I did it. I replaced the contact solution with bleach. I looked around and couldn’t find anything else to do.

So I hacked his voicemail. Took only 20 minutes to do this. (This was in days where if you called someone’s phone and got their voicemail, you could opt to change the greeting by dialing their password.) His passcode was 6969. Gee, that was hard.

I left a new greeting. It was similar to this: ‘Hi, you’ve reached Ethan’s voicemail.

I’m sorry I couldn’t get to take your call, but I caught Syphilis while running a train on a girl I paid for. I’m getting it l********ooke*d at*, b*ut my* *** is so small, the doctor is unable to find it. When I get done at the clinic, I’ll probably go home and beat my girlfriend because I pick fights only with females that I know I can overpower. If you wanted to go on a date, my only request is that you bring money, because I’m not man enough to pay myself. If you still can’t reach me, call the local dealer.

I may be there. Thanks, bye!”

I invited a friend of mine over that I worked at the club with, (don’t ask how we both managed to be off on the same night) and she stayed with me until Ethan came home at 4 am. He was FURIOUS! His mother heard the voicemail and so did a bunch of his friends. I did a terrible job containing myself. He wouldn’t hit me in front of Savannah though.

The next morning, I awoke to screams coming from the bathroom. As it turns out, big chunks of his precious hair were gone. I played that one and acted innocent but my friend almost threw up trying not to laugh.

Her face stayed in the pillow.

Five minutes later, MORE screams. He put one of his contacts in, and was yelling about how much it burned. Maybe I took it too far, but I needed revenge. I wanted to see his karma. His friend came to pick him up and together, they went to a local ER.

I’d had enough of this relationship. While he was at the hospital, my friend and I gathered all of my things as I was going to stay with her. When I grabbed the last of my stuff, I plugged up the bathtub so it would get full, (both bathrooms) and locked the door behind me so it would flood the house.

As I said, this was all in his name, so what did I care?

Moral of the story: watch who you mess with- **** hath no fury like a woman scorned!” Mary Gallaher

12. Horrible Roommate Gets A Special Surprise In Her Moving Boxes

“So I had this roommate that was the worst. Used my toilet paper, dish soap, food, everything. Didn’t wash my dishes/cookware after using them, just put them back in the cupboard, dirty. I hardly knew her, she had moved in via a craigslist ad. Poor choice. Gross. Ugh!

The one time I actually kind out went out of my way to rattle her was when she sent me a text (while I was in my bedroom) complaining about some organic peanut butter jar that I had left on the counter by the sink.

In her defense, it was pretty gross. Moldy and just nasty to look at. But I refused to move it despite her. Also, we were both moving out in a few weeks. Eventually, I wrapped it in a grocery bag and put it to the side to deal with at a later time.

I had moved into a new place about a week before the month was up and hadn’t been back in several days. Eventually, before the end of the month, I went back to clean the apartment top to bottom to get the damage deposit back. Also knowing she didn’t possess any cleaning skills, I wasn’t going to leave the task to her.

When I got to the house, she had dead-bolted the door. I didn’t have the deadbolt key on me but wasn’t prepared to give up. I knew that she always left her bedroom windows wide open, in our basement suite, in Vancouver, with no security bars or screen. A neighbor’s cat got into her room once. She still didn’t close those windows. She was a special case. We are lucky we were not robbed or *****.

ANYWHO, I was bound and determined to clean the house, so I crawled in through her window! She had locked her bedroom door too, but that made no matter, what with me now being on the inside.

I am respectful, so I didn’t pee in her closet or anything. I left her room without looking around and spent the next few hours scrubbing the house clean. As I was about to leave I noticed the peanut butter jar that she hated. It was moldier. So gross. So I went back into her room, opened her giant blue Tupperware container full of items and gently unpacked half of the items. I very carefully took the peanut butter jar, mold and all, and placed it in the center of her packing container and then very delicately replaced all of her packed items around said peanut butter jar, mold and all.

I restacked the moving boxes around the Tupperware container, relocked her door, and left as if nothing ever happened. I proceeded to deadbolt the door and leave.

It gives me enormous pleasure to say that she wasn’t even moving from that house to another house, but rather sleeping on a friends couch and putting her stuff in storage. So my petty revenge my not have even been found out about as I write this.

But one day, that crazy chick is going to go to unpack her stuff. She’s not going to remember what she all packed, or where she placed everything. She’s going to wonder what this jar-shaped thing is in a grocery bag.

She going to pull it out of the bin, remove it from the bag, and she is going to puke ****** EVERYWHERE!” TrentZoolander

11. Fail To Tell Me My Application Was Denied? Sure, I’ll Change Your Google Review!

“Not sure if it was a sweet one or bitter, but for sure a just one!

It was not a long time back, that I was looking for jobs when I was approached by one of the good companies in the city. I was elated because getting a job offer from the front itself was totally unexpected! They had an immediate and urgent job opening in their company.

I received a message from the HR of the company asking to share my profile – I didn’t even waste a minute and wrote a mail showing my interest.
And to my surprise, I was told to turn up for the interview the next morning. I canceled all my plans for the day and went for the interview. It went pretty good and I was asked to do an assignment as a part of the second round.
I was in complete zeal and completed the assignment the very second day and sent across the assignment by evening.

4 hours later, I received a call that mentioned that I cleared the second round, and for the 3rd day – I was expected to turn up again for the last round of the interview.

I went, the interview happened, and I was told that they will update me about the same in a week or so!

I gave my 3 days completely to this interview ignoring my all major plans. How impatient I was to get the results. 10 days passed and there was no feedback, so I just mailed the HR to provide me with the feedback so that I can plan my course of action for other jobs I was holding off due to this one. The HR mailed me saying that I will receive the feedback the next day.

Another 7 days passed, I never received the feedback! I felt extremely bad, I would have been way happier to listen to a No – But no feedback! I went there 3 days consistently for the interview rounds – I expected feedback either way it is.

I had to tell them this, that they also got to value my efforts. I went on their google page and wrote this big google review giving them 3 stars. I wrote a really sweet message mentioning that the need is mutual! I would have really appreciated if they would have appreciated my efforts too. I requested them to mail me a “Not selected” mail at least.
I don’t understand the concept of not reverting – Any job applicant coming to you is investing his/her time with you. At least revert!

3 hours later… I saw a missed call from the HR’s number, and a message too: The message mentioned an apology but the last 2 lines disappointed me like anything.

The HR apologized saying that my resume was kept on hold and straightway asked me to edit the review and told me “That if not their company, they will recommend me somewhere.”
And guess what, I still didn’t receive a simple yes or no from them. I chose to ignore.

I received another call, I picked the call this time! Told the HR, that this was not done. I feel disappointed too – Is saying a No that difficult? The HR apologized and asked me to edit the review again – and started talking about another company where they could refer me to, I was so done at that time.

I didn’t need a reference, I needed feedback. What I got in reply was -since we are looking for freshers, you ain’t eligible. I was like – thanks, for telling me that at the earliest. She again requested me to edit the review.

I went on the review page, changed the 3 stars to 1.” Megha Gulati

Another User Comments:

“Totally an unprofessional approach. Most of the employers think that they were superior.

It is high time they realized that it’s because of the efficiency and hard work of employees a company can be successful.

There are a few companies that are thoroughly professional in their approach and due to that, they built a reputation that resulted in success.

By the way, they deserved 0 (zero) star.” Mohammed Abid Ali

10. I Finally Got The Nerve To Pack My Things And Leave That Abusive Relationship

“I was dating a guy, T,  for about 3 years. We met at work. He was stationed (he was military) halfway across the country. Before he moved, he proposed to me and I said yes. So, we had a long-distance relationship. There were times I’d call him and he wouldn’t answer, which happened constantly (I was pretty insecure). He’d always say his battery died. I would tell him I’d like to come and visit, but he’d tell me, oh, just wait a couple of months and then we’ll go visit Vegas together.

I called his parents and asked if they knew about the proposal, and they said nope, he never mentioned it. I knew he had to be cheating on me, and he was just stringing me along. I even had his ex-wife’s number (I forget how) and she said, “Sounds like he’s stepping out again.” Apparently! When he came to visit me, I found some dice in his car with actions on one die (kiss, blow, suck etc) and areas of the body on the other (you can imagine what those would be). When I called him once at work, the guy who answered said in the background, “Is that the one who wrote you a letter?” And I could hear T shushing him.I wasn’t the “one who wrote him a letter” that was some other chick.

I knew what the b*stard was doing and I was getting furious, but I stayed oh so calm, acting like I still loved him and wanted to visit soon.

Turns out, T was cheating on me when we basically first met, with girls from work. He was about 36 or so, and these girls were 17-18 – he liked them young. The boyfriend of one of the girls found her journal detailing the things T. and she would do when closing the store alone together. Another time, a coworker told me T. and one of the girls were at a fast-food restaurant together, during the day, while I was at school.

And, I went onto a forum for support of those being cheated one – yes, they exist. People would offer to check things out for you to confirm your suspicions if you lived too far to check things out yourself. One of these wonderful ladies offered to help me by seeing if he was seeing anyone else. I gave her his address and described his car, and sure enough, she told me she saw him in the car with some little blonde chick. I wanted revenge and start making a plan.

For a bit of background, I had adopted a beautiful Australian Shepherd named Boomer, and T was keeping him.

When my suspicions about T. cheating on me started to materialize, I had Boomer’s AKC papers registered in my name. I was putting the plan in place and it was the best thing I have ever done.

It was exam time, and I told my professors I needed to get this guy out of my life. He was abusing me emotionally and verbally – he would yell at me and get in my face when I confronted him about my suspicions when he would visit. They let me go and make up the exams later – I am ever so grateful. This was consuming my life and I needed to move on.

I drove out there, a 20 hr drive, and he was away at work. I entered the apartment through the unlocked balcony door (it was on the 1st floor) and waited for him to come home from work, on the premise that I had come to surprise him with a visit. He was surprised, all right. I acted as if nothing was wrong. If I had told him my plans, he would’ve yelled and screamed at me and honestly, I was afraid of his reaction, so I stayed quiet and kept up the facade of the loving fiancee. We even went to dinner.

So lovely.

The next day, he went to work. I called him at work and asked him if he was coming home on his break, and he said no. So, I jumped into action. I grabbed all of my things and packed the car. I took my beloved dog and off we went.

I crossed the state line and called him and told him I left him. It was the greatest feeling in the world! He was floored! Innocent, sweet little me, why would I leave such a great guy? He called me over and over and over again. It was great. He called the cops on me, demanding that I bring back his things – oh, you mean MY dog in MY name and the laptop you gave me as a gift? Fat chance, b*stard.

Sure enough, a cop car started following me – he had called them on me. I pulled over and stopped at a fast food place, and so did they. I took my dog out, let him do his business, cleaned it up and walked right by the cop car back to my car. There was nothing they could do, I had crossed the state line. So, off I went, back home with my dog.

What’s really funny is that he told me the night before about a guy at work who came home to find out his wife had left him, took everything after finding out he was cheating on her.

I acted concerned, “Gee, how terrible for him!” Hilarious!

I came back home and had a rebound relationship with someone I met from school. My ex called on New Years saying he was thinking of me. Tough crap, *********. I hung up on him. My “rebound” and I are getting married, 13 yrs after our first date. My beloved Boomer died of cancer after a few years, but I am so grateful to have had those years with him.

I never knew I had it in me to stand up for myself. I was a pushover and had no self-confidence. I had no feeling of worth that told me “you do not deserve this.” I don’t know what triggered me to leave him finally.

Now though, more than ever, if someone messes with me, I will make them regret it. I’m also living proof of the saying “the best revenge is living well.” I’m so better off now, you b*stard. I was too good for you.” Quora user

9. The Bully Got A Big Wake Up Call

“The revenge actually took like two years to occur, but oh well.

In primary school (elementary), I wasn’t exactly the popular kid – more like an unpopular kid. Constantly bullied by the entire class in my fourth year, the school had to interfere and switched me to a different class, but the problem just downright worsened.

Especially when I met one of the to-be most feared people in my life: Allan. (Yes, to protect their privacy.)

He was basically the ringleader of the bullying in my fifth year, calling me names, teasing me, isolating me, just making me downright depressed and hating to go to school. I, of course, had been seeking out ways to try and get him to stop, but to no avail. He literally brought half the class against me, and that lasted into my sixth and last year…

…until the very last day of school.

I was minding my own business when a couple of the boys (this is an all-boys school) who had been part of the bullying before came over.

They scared the *** out of me until I noticed that my best friends were with them. I asked, “What the heck?” Then they whispered to me about a plan: a revolution.

Apparently, while everyone seemed to be the ringleader’s friends except for those who were friends with me, deep down everyone hated him. After wind got out of who didn’t make the cut to our secondary (middle) school, which included the bully, they hatched a plan to sever all contact with them. They went on to explain that they were going to tell him the moment the school was dismissed for the summer, and when it all happened, my heart warmed.

It went like everyone going to tell him, “Allan, we all actually hate you and are not your friends, so don’t contact us again.” I saw his (Allan’s) eyes widen in panic and he tried to figure out what was going on, but everyone else didn’t give a piece of crap. They just left, for the last time, our school’s front gates.

Later, I realized that they booted him out of our class group (one that I had been previously rejected to join, mainly by him, by setting up a rigged vote that made everyone either vote against letting me in or no comment), they had unfriended and blocked him on Roblox (our class was crazy about it) and Instagram and Facebook and et cetra.

He tried sending apologies through WhatsApp, but my classmates (now all friends) weren’t hearing it; they just blocked him.

This is why whenever you get bullied, don’t be mad – the bullies will always learn a lesson in the end!

PS The most ironic thing about this was that, I, of all people, had chosen to forgive him and continued to keep in touch with him. I just didn’t have the heart to break him off, and today, we’re friends.” Isaiah Kim

8. Beg Me To Stay After Cheating Multiple Times? I’d Rather Give My Kids A Better Life

“When my newly married husband and I first hired Catherine as our helper, we thought that we had picked the best person for our children, and for our home.

Our kid was super attached to her, and our not-so-friendly dog was warmed up to her too.

She was a great helper- patient, meticulous and hardworking. I never had to reprimand her or teach her things a second time. We even passed her a spare iPhone because we trusted and loved her like one of our own.

Looking back now, I should have known something was up the day I was in desperate need of a massage and asked my husband to rub my back and shoulders.

He told me that Catherine gave the best massages, and I asked him how he knew. I shrugged it off when he said that she had told him about it.

I know I sound stupid for saying this but I trusted her and didn’t think that she could ever try to seduce my newlywed husband.

After a year working with us, I noticed she started soaking herself in perfume even when she was at home, doing her chores. And it usually only happened in the evenings (the time he would come home from work). They hardly spoke, but I would catch her secretly looking at him, and entering the kitchen to ‘clean up’ whenever he went in to get something.

I asked my husband if he had observed her unusual behavior, but he brushed it off, telling me that I was looking too much into it.

We didn’t have much *** that year either, but I dismissed it as him being stressed at work (he had just gotten a promotion, and had his hip practically attached to his laptop).

One night, when he stepped into the shower, I did something that I told myself I’d never do. I contacted a private investigator I was referred to in order gain access to his phone seeing that he had changed all his passwords. It was just this instinctive feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me do it. And I thank God for giving me that moment of doubt.

This was a life-changing moment for me.

At first, everything looked fine. Though I felt relieved, there was still a lingering feeling of uneasiness. I took a deep breath and requested his photo gallery… and my jaw dropped!

To my horror, there were hundreds (and I am not exaggerating) of photos of Catherine in lingerie, posing suggestively. MY LINGERIE! As I scrolled through the photos, it felt like multiple stabs to my heart.

Filled with rage (the hurt had not set in yet), I stormed out of my room and barged into Catherine’s room to confront her with my phone. She denied it at first but was left speechless when I showed her the photos.

She kept apologizing but I didn’t want apologies, I wanted to erase it all from my mind! I wanted her out of my house, away from my kid and I wanted the same from him too.

My husband soon came in and asked why I was yelling. I told him to get out of the house because I never wanted to see him again. Seeing the pictures on the phone in my hand, he figured what had transpired, and told me to move into our room so we could talk.

I composed myself and started spewing out the endless stream of questions I wanted to be answered.

How long had this been going on for? How did they hook up? Where did they hook up? Did he use protection? Why did he not think of me and our kid?

He admitted to it (of course he had to), giving the lamest excuse in the books. Due to my late nights at work, he took comfort in Catherine because she would stay up late to listen to him, and comfort him whenever he had a rotten day at work.

He blamed me for not ******** satisfying him. To add more salt to my wounded heart, he had the nerve to tell me that she was willing to satisfy him whenever he wanted, in whatever way he wanted.

How sick of a man and father could he be? I always wanted to be with my man ******** but he always seemed busy.

I was hurt, needless to say. I felt betrayed and humiliated. How could the man that I loved for the past three years say this? I couldn’t recognize him anymore. How did he turn into this dirty little monster? I told him I wanted a divorce, and to my surprise, he said he had been thinking about it for the past few months himself.

I then decided it was best to go visit my mom. I took my kid along, when we got there, I told my mum everything.

I cried like I had never cried before. She was supportive and gave me the best advice.

“Do what is right for you and the kid. This is not the time to think about him. He did what he wanted to and never thought about what his actions would do to his loving family. He broke you. And your home. So now you have to pick yourself up and fix it.”

I focused on those precious words and got a hold of myself- for my child. He needed his mother strong and determined. He didn’t deserve all these.

It’s been 4 years since my now ex-husband shattered all our dreams.

Our plans to build a family, to travel the world, to give our kids everything they asked for. But I have no regrets. Zilch. Because I know had I stayed, I would have been leading an insecure life, even if I had forgiven him for that one incident.

Catherine left our home that night. I sent her back to the agency, and all I got was an apology for the reason that she was lonely and he was “a kind-hearted man”. My husband begged me to stay, tried to get my parents to convince me to take him back, but after digging up even more from our mutual friends, I found out that even Catherine was not the only one he was intimate with.

My kids now know what happened that night that led to the divorce. They live with me and my parents and see their father on the weekends. I choose not to restrict their time with him as I feel that they’re old enough to make their own decisions. I am not seeing anyone at the moment, and I’m not sure if I ever will. But I do know that my kids are all that I need in my life now.

I continue working hard to support my family, and we are doing great without him. We make it a point to spend dinner time together, sharing stories of our day, and we do normal things that normal families do.

We are each other’s pillars and nothing can break the bond I have with my children.

To the women who have been through a similar horrific incident in their lives, moving on was the best thing you did – for you and for your kids. Good riddance, I say!”” Belinda Smith

7. I Moved Across The Country From My Terrible Ex-Friend And Never Looked Back

“This will forever be the pettiest, most extreme passive-aggressive thing I have ever done.

Back in college, I had a best friend whom I did everything with. We drank together, worked out together, shopped together, and planned out our post-grad lives together (her dream was to move from Arizona to Seattle for grad school, mine was to not be a waitress forever.) We were inseparable- until the year we graduated and moved in together.

I know that’s a big no-no and there were a bunch of red flags right off the bat, but we got along so well! And we were young, dumb, and broke.

Anyway, about a month after moving into our new little house she started to change. Her natural confidence became overbearing arrogance, her fun-loving charm turned into dangerously manipulative behavior, and her good-natured joking crossed the line into subtly devastating personal attacks.

Granted- we were in our early twenties, fresh out of college, and real ‘adults’ for the first time in our lives. She had some tough personal battles she was going through, but I tried to remain supportive and caring throughout.

At a certain point though, her escalating mental problems became too big for 22-year-old me and my shiny new BA in fine art to handle.

I won’t go into all the ugly details, but it got to the point where if I left my room she criticized everything I did, but if I stayed and hid in my room she ridiculed me and put me down in every way imaginable. I absolutely hate confrontation and would completely shut down during her tirades. She had a very aggressive personality and knew that’d I just take her abuse, so she used me as her emotional punching bag on a daily basis.

To cope, I ended up working 60+ hours a week at my sh*tty serving job just to stay out of the house.

She still talked about going to grad school in Seattle all the time, about how much better it would be there and how much more amazing her life would be there and how miserable I’d be without her (hah!) I knew her well though. She had spent her entire life living within 60 miles of where we were and her whole family was still there- she was terrified of leaving. But I wasn’t.

One day about 7 months into our lease and after suffering through yet another one of her degrading rants, I snapped.

I called a school in downtown Seattle and registered for fall quarter classes that night. 5 months later I stuffed all of my worldly belongings into a tiny U-Haul and moved across the country to a huge, expensive city I’d never had any interest in before, far away from my family and friends. Another art degree (I’m a masochist), a new group of amazing friends, and an awesome not-serving job later and I’ve never been happier!!” Gattarapazza

6. Don’t Do Any Work? We’ll Make Sure You Fail The Module

“During my masters at university, there was a group project involving research into data mining.

There were 4 members of this group, myself, another girl and two guys. One of the guys was absolutely fine, knew what he was doing and what he had to do, and took on his share of the workload just fine. The girl wasn’t the hottest programmer, but was capable of research and report writing and editing.

The other guy, however, was a pain. Apparently used to just getting everything he wanted, when he wanted, he appeared to have next to no technical knowledge, and as far as anyone could tell had no place on the course. But he was in our group, so we pressed onwards.

Programming is about the only thing I was ever good at, but I was (and remain) **** good at it, so whenever a technical project came my way, I tended to be the one doing the lions share of the work – but this was ok! I’d rather the entire group got a good grade, rather than submitting substandard work. My only requirement for this is that the group members that didn’t do any programming work contributed in some other fashion, they prepare the presentation, or write the group report, or at the very least do some research that another person can use.

This guy? Did nothing. We accepted he couldn’t really program, and his English skills were sub-par, so he wasn’t the ideal candidate for report writing, but we asked him to do the following just in case, one by one when it became obvious he couldn’t / wouldn’t do the previous:

Code the data mining algorithm in MatLAB as a proof of concept (He didn’t try)

Write the preliminary report for us to review and add / edit (He didn’t write even a sentence)

Prepare a PowerPoint presentation for the mandatory lecture we had to give on the project (He didn’t prepare any slides, but more on this later)

Do some research on the data mining methods to verbally feedback to us so we could write something up about them (He didn’t)

Submission day comes around, and this fellow has done essentially no work.

We send the work off, and head over to the lecture hall to give the required lecture. As a group, we had agreed which of us would give each section of the talk – the other girl would cover the overall theory, I would cover the technical implementation, the competent guy the results, and the do-nothing had agreed to give the introduction.

The lecture starts, and this guy introduces the project…but it rapidly becomes clear he has no idea what he’s talking about. Fine, fine, we’ll recover…

Except he doesn’t stop.

This guy, apparently being aware that groups have the technical ability to choose how the marks are divided among the members, has apparently decided that if he covers the ENTIRE lecture, it’ll make up for his lack of input for the duration of the project.

Except he hadn’t told us this was his plan, and because he hadn’t done any prior reading, he was attempting to wing it. And it showed.

We attempted to take over from him 3 times, each time he dismissed our attempts to take the stage and just kept pressing on, telling a lecture hall of 40 people complete and utter nonsense in-between just reading off the slides we’d prepared.

Eventually, the professor stops him from talking and forces him to hand over to one of us, at which point we manage to rush through the actual lecture content and get our message across.

But given this was a peer-assessed work, the damage had largely been done.

Now for the revenge.

Remember that groups ultimately get to decide how the grade is divided among the members? The system worked by grading each group member from 1 to 10, with the default being 5. If you gave a member greater than 5, they received a higher proportion of the marks, but to balance it out, an equal number of marks had to be removed from the other members. This had to be a unanimous agreement between all group members, so it was rare for a group to do anything but an equal split among all members.

We submitted our recommendations to give the f*ck-up 1/10, reassigning the remaining marks among the rest of us. Obviously this wasn’t unanimous, with him opting for the standard equal split. This resulted in the entire group having to attend an academic panel with several professors to explain the discrepancy, and the offended party being super p**ssed off.

He opened the panel with a long tirade about how we hadn’t asked him to do any work, and that we’d shut him out of the project to make him look bad. It went on and on for a good 10 minutes, before I eventually interrupted him, handing him paper copies of the emails we’d sent to him, and asking him if he’d ever done the basic research we asked him to do.

He started to repeat his previous “points,” saying we hadn’t directly asked him to do it, that we’d deliberately removed his ability to pass.

I interrupted again, asking him to reply “Yes or No.” He got another 5 words in (none of which were yes or no) before one of the professors on the panel stopped him, thanked us for our time, and told us they’d be in touch.

Outside the room, the guy confronted me (just me apparently), and told me very loudly I had betrayed his trust, and this wasn’t how the real world worked. I honestly laughed at him and walked away.

He failed the module, and we didn’t see him again for the rest of the year.

Take that, Uche. I hope you learned your lesson.” Nephrited

5. Most Of Us Transferred To The New Store, Then The Jerk Manager Was Transferred Out

“I used to work at a drug store where the lead manager, who hired me, was transferred out and, for whatever reason, the son of the recently retired East Coast Regional Vice President of Marketing for the corporation was brought in to take over the store.

Now the things going for this guy, aside from the obvious nepotism involved with his attaining the position (in fairness, I didn’t find out about his dad’s role with the company until just before the conclusion of this story, but he still behaved the way you’re probably thinking the son of the Regional Vice blah-blah-blah above would behave — just generally lazy, entitled, expected great things from everybody else with the bare minimum offered from him, while speaking as if he’s holding the entire store on his very shoulders) is that he spent about three years with the company on the retail end, and was assistant manager of the previous store he worked at.

And most of all, he had inherited probably the most ideal staff I’ve ever worked within retail because the previous lead manager and an assistant manager would stay was, seriously, that good at that particular job. Mostly because they gave a **** {fishy foreshadowing music}.

As with anyone, I’m always willing to give them the benefit of the doubt at first.

Well long story, short, we learned the behavior described above over the course of about 8-9 months to the point that the assistant manager had put in his transfer, and I was looking to do the same. Why? Well, because I’m generally pretty likable and like to bring people together like a team, while still knowing my place (I know how perfect this makes me sound but, I don’t know what to tell ya.. I like to do this teamwork-building in online shooters and worked my first retail job in the summer of 1995), our lead manager in question evidently got it in his head that I was somehow planning a.. coup.

I hadn’t heard it explained that way, but he certainly treated me like I was a jerk for being more likable to the staff than he was, which wasn’t an issue with the previous lead manager, asst manager, nor had it been with management of any previous job where I’d worked. So basically, because of his insecurity, he would be extra hard on me for objectively trivial issues, and even one where he was actually wrong, and yeah, just bring unprofessional about social crap. But was still enough of a sleazeball to stay within policy while being ethically unprofessional, if that makes sense.

So what happened? Well, a new store of the same company opened up a few miles down the road, so about 3-4 of our people put in a transfer there. Also, an unknown amount of people, alongside myself and one friend/coworker, put in a transfer or quit for another job. So people left the place like a sinking ship except for many four people, which is still like 20-25% of the staff I think. Anyway, as a result, our lead manager (who I called “the warden” to my friends outside of work to whom I had complained about all of this) was transferred out! Whhhaaaa!!?? I really don’t have the official reason why this had happened, as companies tend not to share these kinds of details to subordinates, but I can tell you, he had no intention of leaving the store, so I’m positive that it had something to do with being wildly unpopular with the staff.

Which is great, because it was really looking like he got to be a jerk and not have anything to check his attitude. This certainly would do it. He’s a lead manager at some other store, so it isn’t like he got demoted, but this is surely an experience he will not soon forget.” laxt

4. Be A Jerk Of A Band Member? We’ll Cut You Out

“Until a little over a year ago, I was in a punk band in Dallas, TX. I started with a friend of mine under the idea that we’d dissolve it after about two years since I was planning in moving out of the state by then.

We recruited two other members, and we ended up recording two EPs, a single and a full-length album while managing to play about 2-3 shows a month. We gained a respectable amount of traction in a short amount of time, getting to open for bands like The Toadies, the Briefs, Mac Sabbath and Radioactivity.

The drummer we recruited ended up being a huge ***** who got more and more difficult to work with overtime. He rarely practiced his parts outside of group practice, had a tendency to be passive-aggressive, and would speak poorly of the band behind our backs. He always seemed to act like he was embarrassed to be part of the group around others, and I would later wonder if this was the case, why he didn’t just quit.

We held onto him mainly because he seemed relatively okay to work with for the first few months we were together, and by the time he was becoming a problem, it would have been exceedingly difficult to find a replacement in time to learn his parts, help us record our LP, and play our last few shows.

By the time we finished recording our album, we still needed to design and finalize our cover art, and we were extremely short on money and time. I worked with my guitarist/band co-founder and we put together a quick and easy concept and sent it off to print within a span of 24 hours. When we showed the other two members of the band what we made, Joey was livid, claiming that we intentionally didn’t involve him in the design process out of spite and that leaving him out was “not very punk rock of me” (I can’t remember the last time I ever rolled my eyes as hard as I did when he said this in earnest).

With exactly two shows left together as a band at this point with the first only days away, and Joey threatened to quit on the spot. After a long, drawn-out series of explanations and apologies (both of which Joey barely accepted. It was clear he’d rather just be angry with me than believe what I told him), he eventually relented and played the last two shows.

Cut to last March, five months after my band as dissolved: I get an email from 900 Films, Tony Hawk’s film production company. It says that they found our band online and want to buy the licensing rights to one of our songs to use in a skate video they’re producing.

It doesn’t pay very much ($150), but it’s still an awesome opportunity and a ridiculous amount of validation. I told the band members that I’m still on good terms with (everyone but Joey) what’s up and they’re just as excited as I am about it, so we gave 900 Films the legal go-ahead.

After receiving a check for the fee, I split it up to four ways and send everyone but Joey their fair share of $37.50 via Venmo. As for Joey, I wrote a check, stuffed it in an envelope and snail-mailed it his way, along with a letter explaining to him what happened and how we didn’t need his vote to come to the decision.

I signed it “Not-Very-Punk-Rock-ily Yours.”” sswanso

3. We Rigged Entitled Boy’s Go Kart

“I work at a local indoor theme park. small rides, dodgems, go-karts, the whole mini shebang. Our go-kart set up is perfect for petty revenge.

How it works is, when the round starts, all the cars are set to 10 mph to give a practice lap to let new drivers and first-timers get a feel of the karts and track. Then, when each car comes back over the line, the attendant then turns the speed up to roughly 25 mph.

The way the karts are sped up is with a wireless remote.

You type in the car’s number, press the button, and it speeds up or down. This means cars can be turned down individually. Now, being a theme park and a customer service oriented place, we are expected to serve customers as well as we can (in other words, swallow their crap and treat them like royalty) enter Jerkface, hereby know as JF. This guy is the most stereotypical “frat brat” muscled body, reverse cap, shirtless, sunglasses on INDOORS!!!!

He comes up to the entrance of the karts and pays for him and his girlfriend to come on. They’re nice enough, I feel bad for pre-judging.

Until he gets into the kart. now, due to the nature of the track, NO METAL IS ALLOWED WHATSOEVER! Sunglasses, dangly earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings. Everything comes off and goes into a tray. They are all monitored, so theft isn’t much of an issue. Not for this guy. JF proceeds to **** about how “(his) sunglasses are (his), and (he) has a right to wear them wherever (he) wants” me, being the customer service god I am, proceed to tell him that if he doesn’t wish to follow the rule, which is posted everywhere on the **** ride, queueing area, and waiting area, then he won’t be permitted to ride.

JF storms over to the trays and dumps his hat and glasses in the tray with his girlfriend’s stuff. Takes a seat, puts on the belt, proceeds to loudly say, “Dumb ****** must be real happy running kids rides for a living. Think they can tell me what to do? Hah, what ****** losers!” Well, ok, you asked for it.

Coworker/godlike comedic bada*s gives me a wink and tells me to turn on the karts and give the signal to go. I do so, and the karts are off. All slow to begin with, practice lap and all that, then everyone gets their speed turned up, except JF.

Everyone gets a 25mph speed. He gets 20mph. It’s not so much that you immediately realize somethings wrong, but everyone will pass you, and you’ll believe you’re absolute *** at the go-karts. He comes in at a staggering last place by several seconds. Girlfriend proceeds to brag as they gather their stuff and leave. He looks major p*ssed at being beaten.

Well well, Mr. Bad Attitude, be nice to the people running your ride next time. Without us, how would you be able to enjoy it? Dude must’ve felt really bad for a while, and that is why I love go-karts at my place.

We do this all the time to people who treat us like lesser beings. Remember, be a colossal megad*ck, we’ll be a sneaky ***** in return.” RiggerTom

2. They Got The Service They Paid For

“I answered another question with a brief description of a favorite revenge practice occasionally deployed in bar and restaurant service: crop-dusting.

Here, I’ll relate an actual exercise in crop-dusting, a classic example of its best use against obnoxious and rude customers. As its name implies, crop-dusting involves floor staff – usually a bold busser or bar back – approaching the subject table and releasing a robust burst of silent wind as he or she smoothly moves past.

In the 1990s, I worked in numerous hospitality capacities, ranging from fine hotels to a landmark dive bar. The dive bar was a popular watering hole and I was pleased (also a little surprised and maybe even a little proud) to be part of the core group of cool people who called the joint their home bar. Naturally, some second-tier people who considered themselves very cool tried to edge in on the truly cool core group with little success because their grasp of certain social niceties – think good manners and tipping – was dubious at best. Still, we tolerated the second-raters because we really couldn’t get rid of them – they were gonna be hanging around with their high-maintenance demands and crappy tipping whether we liked it or not.

Mind you, the second-raters wouldn’t have been second-raters if they’d treated the staff with decency and understanding.

One afternoon, the second-raters had ensconced themselves in a key corner booth, one of the better and larger tables in the dive bar. Drinking their cheap beer and chain-smoking Export As, the second-raters were acting particularly demanding to our floor staff so we dispatched our big bar back – an expert and proven cropduster – to cruise past their table and demonstrate his skill.

From behind the bar, I watched as the bar back exercised his duty, deftly collecting empty glasses from the second-raters’ table but leaving behind an invisible cloud of castigation.

When one of the second-raters waved his hand in front of his face, it earned a fleeting smile from me but I worried he was just clearing smoke. A heavy drinker with awful dietary habits and thus, well-armed, the bar back returned moments later to deploy a second application. This time, three of the second-raters responded with air clearing motions before they returned to their undoubtedly mundane conversation.

Not content to let this obnoxious table off so easily, one of the waitresses decided she, too, could provide an added-value service to the second-raters. Hung-over and regretting the mushroom-and-garlic omelet she’d consumed for breakfast, the waitress emptied ashtrays, taking the second-raters’ orders for another round with forced cheer.

She also quietly forced an unspeakable waft that would linger evilly over the table long after she’d moved off.

At this hour, the bar was busy enough that detection of a coordinated crop-dusting campaign was nearly impossible. When the cook emerged from his cramped kitchen and asked why we were laughing, I told him. Glad to escape the stifling heat of the kitchen for a few minutes, the cook moseyed over to the second-raters’ table to ask them if they’d like a free plate of French fries. Delighted by their good fortune, the second-raters accepted the offer of fries, unaware it came with consequences.

As he departed, the cook expelled a silent flatus, masterful in both its execution and its funk.

By this time, the waitress had returned to the table, leaving fresh brews and a little something extra. We’d raised the volume of the bar’s recorded music so the need for silent applications was no longer necessary. The bar back continued to pay the second-raters special attention, making sure their table was clean but not so much the filthy air which, by now, had become a sort of rank biodome in the smoky thermal inversion of the bar’s stagnant corner.

Of course, the second-raters wouldn’t be tipping because they were far too cool for that.

But at this point, I would’ve paid them to sit as we howled with laughter behind the bar. The second-raters’ conversation had shifted to a kind of accusatory theme, each second-rater suspecting one of the others of fouling the air. Naturally, the whoever-smelt-it-dealt-it responses were predictable, as were the continuing special attention from our staff.

Never have I been so happy to serve a table of high-maintenance crappy tippers. Cropdusting rules.” Matthew Meador

1. I Messed Up His Life So Badly, He Had To Move Back In With His Parents

“Had a roommate years ago that was OK at first, then turned into the biggest leech/slacker after almost 2 years living together.

Didn’t clean up, wouldn’t take out trash or do dishes, ate all the food and wouldn’t buy more groceries or pay half the bill when I bought more, the usual *******.

I endured the lease for another few months before I found out he was stealing from me – money, personal items, and later I found out he was taking my backup DVDs and copying data to his PC. So I made a plan to get moved out – found a nice one-bedroom place closer to work, got in touch with family/friends to help, and waited until he went out of town with his family for a week to get moved.

Fun fact: All the furniture was mine, either bought by me or given as gifts by family. Couches, coffee/end tables, dining room table/chairs, entertainment center…you name it, none was his. When I left I took all that, plus emptied the fridge/pantry out, packed up all the dishes/silverware (also mine), emptied my bedroom except my old mattress with box spring and old sheets, and packed up all the electronics that were mine (TV, Bluray, stereo, blender, griddle, etc.). Since he’d been stealing from me, I used DBAN to do a full wipe on his desktop and laptop hard drives as the “*** you” icing on the cake.

The cable was in my name only since he didn’t want to put his name on, so that got transferred to my new place. I took my name off the utility bill and forwarded my mail, updated all the passwords on my online accounts, and got situated within 3-4 days. Changed my cell number, only gave it to people I wanted to have it, and moved on with my life. I got second-hand info from friends that he ended up having to move back with his parents because he couldn’t afford the place on his own, and couldn’t find a roommate either (nobody including our friends wanted to live with him).” unibrowfrau

Memorable is definitely the word to describe these stories! Sometimes for the doer, other times for the receiver, and maybe even for both! Which one was your personal favorite? If you’re up for more satisfying revenge stories, navigate here to continue reading.