People Share Their “Most Boss” Stories Of Pro Revenge

It drives me crazy when people refuse to be nice to others just because. Like, do these people not have any lick of decency in their souls? Why do these people even feel the need to be mean? What are these people trying to accomplish? Does it make them feel good to see other people miserable? It’s both sad and sickening.

I’ll never understand people who, say, harm innocent animals, run away from paying their restaurant tab, pick on others for no reason, or think they can get away without paying their hard-working employees. I have a word for those types of people: garbage. Pure garbage.

We all hate these types of people. But I’m not here to rile you up; I’m here to deliver some juicy, pro revenge stories that I think will act as a great cool down to your hot temper directed towards anyone who has ever wronged you in life.

15. Be A Sketchy Manager? I’ll Send A Video Of You To Several People

Exposed big time.

“I really don’t care; it’s been long enough. It’s been 2.5 years since I left that awful store and now work at a job that pays less, but I enjoy far more.

Would be in my preferred career track if I wasn’t incredibly bad at making important decisions. The decision in this post was not one of those. Information regarding locations, coworkers, and managers will be kept to a BARE MINIMUM.

Storytime.

I worked at a fairly large store that sells all sorts of stuff. If you need it, they probably got it unless it was a highly specialized item. Anyway, for a year, I worked at the store. 8 hours a day. Still parttime with one week off. Somehow never promoted to full time. That was strike one for me. But I needed the money and did not want to raise a stink, so I kept going.

Most of what I did was check people out and do inventory and tidy up.

That’s it. 8 hours a day. Except the last two where I straight up just tidied the department. Or get pulled into another. I would say 4 hours a day at most was actual work, and the rest was actually mindless.

Strike two. I wanted to be transferred to another department, one where I excelled at after I was put there temporarily after a coworker called in sick for a few days. That department’s manager, Nick, liked me a lot. He was a cool dude. And a great manager. Busted a** making that department shine. And I wanted to be transferred there. For weeks, I was putting in requests. They went nowhere. Both my manager, Tony, and Nick wanted me there. Or so I thought.

I caught Nick during one of his walks through the store and asked why I wasn’t transferred.

“Tony keeps denying it.” I WAS P*SSED. But didn’t raise any **** and kept going. We hired some new guys, one of whom is now a good friend. So, it wasn’t too bad. Nick was soon replaced by Mark, who was kind of a c*ckwad. And my dreams of transfer really died.

Strike three. For a few months before summer classes for university started (before my immediate departure, as you will see why in a second), I submitted my summer schedule to HR repeatedly to make SURE it was put in. I was NOT going to miss class. Hard stop.

Two weeks before, June 1st (summer 2017) was the first day the classes started, and within two weeks of the anniversary when I was hired (pay rate increase, yay!), my schedule was shown to me.

I was working during every single one of my classes. Tony never approved any of the requests. Oh **** no. This is where I got mad.

The petty-ish borderline pro revenge.

I submitted an emergency leave of absence due to university classes knowing HR would fully approve. They told me to call in every time I was scheduled and stated that the reason was the leave of absence while it was being approved. For a week, my manager had to take my shifts. Those ladies at HR had my back. They are among the few people I miss from the store.

It gets a little better, and NOT because of me.

HR filed it in error and had me fill out another form, and add some stuff, to be absolutely sure it would be approved.

BOOM. Another week of taking my shifts, *****.

I ********************left that company, and to my knowledge, I am still on leave. I have no intentions of going back.

The Pro Revenge Nuke, what you are all here to see…

So, my fellow coworkers had a chat where we “shot the ***” about all kinds of stuff and just talked. It was also a massive gossip and rumor mill.

I never really spoke besides blasting memes at them, and it never served a purpose. Long after I left the company, I kept in touch with one coworker from that chat, another friend. But not the one I mentioned earlier.

He sent me something privately. Something amazing. Something I never knew I wanted. *** happens. But this was like walking up to Bill Gates and him giving you a billion dollars.

I couldn’t believe my ****** eyes and ears. I was overwhelmed with the urge to just… break ***.

A WHOLE D*MN COMPILATION OF VIDEOS OF MARK, TONY, AND ANOTHER ***** MANAGER, SARAH, ****** THEIR EMPLOYEES!

Mark and Tony made GREAT targets, with Tony being the main focus. Sarah was just collateral but very much deserved it for a multitude of reasons, not that she slighted me but others.

(Sidenote: Sarah was a manager who once told me that she didn’t take maternity leave after she had a kid because the job was more important than her family, both her husband and child. Yea. I know. She told me this right after I let my supporting coworker clock out and left me alone with all of the work after his girlfriend was in a serious car accident.

She ended up being fine and making a full recovery.) I weaponized this. I was salivating at the damage I was going to do. These 3 managers were all married. And it gets worse from there. I kept some email addresses from corporate after detailing and outlining some “policy and company issues” in my contacts. I long had forgotten them until now. They were all sent these videos with a burner email. I also shot a few out to other managers in the store that were competent and hard workers and the head of the store. HR got the email as well. All in all, about 15 people saw that email. Not only did I want to cause some havoc, but I also have a sense of decency and want people to be held accountable for their actions.

Also, infidelity REALLY P*SSES ME OFF!

The aftermath was amazing. And it was just dominoes falling. One after another.

All managers involved were immediately terminated. No severance either. Major breach of contract and policy and whatnot. And it made a scene. Coworkers I never really talked to reached out to me and told me the news. But it remained inside the store and really didn’t make any waves outside of the store. Within a day, the store went down half of its department managers and began to BURN. Metaphorically of course. The rest transferred out of that store within the coming months. I recognize no one in that store now, aside from the head of the store. And he is in hot water now too.

What came next was relayed to me via the confidant and friend who sent me that nuke.

But Mary, one of the associates who was ****** Mark (and Tony), decided that she was in love with Mark and was hoping that he would leave his wife for her, and she was, surprise surprise, p*ssed off when he wouldn’t. She angrily sent his wife the videos (no idea where she got them). Mark’s wife was devastated, but furious, and came unhinged. Mark’s wife then sent the videos to Tony’s wife and Sarah’s husband.

Three ****** terminations and three quick and ****** divorces with the managers being left with d*mn near nothing. Careers destroyed, money gone, and their families destroyed.

I do genuinely feel bad for the kids and the spouses.

I really, really do.

But the managers got what they deserved. By rights, I never thought of doing this, nor ever felt the need cause so much havoc. But that nuclear football fell right into my lap, and I was overwhelmed…

And I let those missiles fly!” asmallman

14. Keep Telling Me I’ll Change My Mind About Having Kids? Not After What I Tell Your Son

“So a friend of the mentioned sister has a set of twins. No clue where they picked up this habit, but about every two minutes of their waking lives, they love to scream in the way only 4-year-old children can. The kind of scream that is so high pitched your ears will ring after only a few seconds of it.

But these two little girls don’t just scream for a few seconds, they hold this sound for what seems like an eternity until their mom screams back at them to stop. So this sounds really annoying, and it is, but these girls have actually turned out to be pretty good for me since I don’t see them but like 1-2 times a year max, and here’s how.

Just a few months ago, my sister asked if I wanted to go to the zoo with her and my nephew, the friend with the two mini-banshees, and our other sister who is CF like me. I say sure, I love seeing the animals and taking pictures of the pretty birds, so why not. We go, and the twins throughout are pretty good, no screaming and we’re already about halfway through the day.

We’re taking our lunch break at this big multi-restaurant plaza on one side of the zoo, and the two girls start their screaming thing when they finish eating. My sister’s kid, my nephew, is pretty laid back and usually pretty quiet. He’s just like his mom, except that my sister is also one of those people that once they get a stick up their ***, will push their point in a conversation until you just give up because she just doesn’t make sense anymore. Being that I am CF, and have proclaimed as much for many years, she likes to say ‘someday you’ll change your mind’ all of the time.

So on this fateful day, as I’m eating a piece of pizza and have just heard the first set of screams from the twins, she starts with how that sound doesn’t bother her as much as it bothers me because I’m ‘not a mommy YET’.

***oon ***he says this, I look down at my nephew, who is just at the age of understanding and being able to kinda-answer questions. I say, “Do you hear the sound they’re making?” He looks at them for a second, looks back at me and nods, and I give him my most encouraging smile. “Mommy loves that sound! You should make it for her all the time!” Cue the moment I stood and walked to another table with my other CF sister who is just laughing her *** of as our nephew joins the chorus of screams and ignores his mom who’s saying ‘stop’ over and over again in the parent patented ‘my snowflake does no wrong’ voice, and she is being promptly ignored by him as usual.

The rest of the zoo visit continues with me and CF sister splitting from childed sister and childed friend, so that we can actually look at animals instead of walking past as the kids can’t stop or they’ll disengage from their strollers and run amok. We enjoy ourselves even more as we get a chorus of vocal reminders of where they are in other parts of the zoo the entire afternoon. We leave that afternoon before our sister and her friend are done, since we drove separately, and I don’t think much of it.

Fast forward to today, 3ish months after the zoo trip. We live in different cities, which are only 20 minutes apart, and because of work and stuff, we don’t meet up very often.

My sister calls me, and in the background, I hear the screaming. It’s been over 3 months and he still does it, even when the twins aren’t around.

After hanging up from our brief chat about an upcoming wedding we’re both attending, I suddenly realize that I have gotten the most longstanding revenge I could possibly get without actually being there and doing anything to her myself. I shall now bask in the glow of what I’ve done.

Update: We went to our other sister’s kid, so our nephews, birthday party recently. He turned 1. Her screaming monster finally quit the screaming sometime recently, but I know that dad must have been the one to do something based on what happened there.

Brother in Law, D, is playing with all the kids and trying to keep them entertained when I notice the screamer being really mean to D.

Hitting him with sticks and saying mean things because he talks more now. We’re sitting at a nearby table with some other adults watching all of this.

Me: ‘Shouldn’t you stop him from acting like that?’

Her: ‘Well I didn’t rile him up, D did, so D gets to settle him back down.’

CF Sister: ‘I thought you were his parent?’

Me: ‘No, because that means she’d actually take responsibility and whip his *** for something once in a while.’

Her: glares then walks away after a minute to go talk to someone else while ignoring her child.” [deleted]

13. Make Me Bring In A Prescription For Ice? Uh huh

“Back when I was in high school we had a real ****** for a school nurse. He would refuse to give girls tampons/pads, chew people out for leaving class to come to see him, and was just an all-around jerk.

I was a flag girl one semester and at practice, the night before had managed to mess up my wrist and was icing it as much as possible to make sure I was good to go for the next practice. Well the next day my ice packs had pretty much melted to room temp and so I decided to pop by the nurse at lunch and get an ice pack.

I get in, ask him for an ice pack and he immediately rolled his eyes and asked if I had a prescription. For ice. Flabbergasted I told him I didn’t and he sent me out with a huff saying I needed to come back with a prescription.

I went home and was telling my dad about the ridiculous fact that he wanted an rx for ice and he was p*ssed.

Funnily enough, my dad is a doctor, but an optometrist. He, being my inspiration for any and all MC immediately broke out his prescription pad and wrote me a prescription and attached note for the nurse to call him with any questions.

Now at this point, my wrist was pretty much fine but it was more about the principle of the matter than anything. So the next day I waltz into the nurse’s office and ask for ice. He clearly remembered me as he rolled his eyes again and asked whether I had gotten a prescription.

I have never been so smug as when I whipped out the little paper and saw his face turn bright red. He was completely silent while he dumped the ice into the little ziplock baggie and basically tossed it at me.”Toomanybeets

12. Refuse To Pay Us For Our Work? We’ll Have A Chat With Your Wife

“A few things: First, I am a security officer with a private investigator certification, which allows me to take PI (private investigator) cases as long as it doesn’t Interfere with local police investigations, and any crimes that I witness must be reported to the police asap, so they can make an arrest.

PI cases come from a few sources. We are sometimes contracted by local police to do what’s referred to as spotter work, where we are brought on active wide-area investigations to do recon work and look but not interact with anything that might be involved with the case. Basically, we are just an extra pair of eyes. Or the local police will mix us in a surveillance operation, and we would follow low profile individuals and report their day to day activities. These are completely confidential.

Then there are client contracts. This is where corporate clients contract our company’s personal investigations unit to investigate their employee’s day to day activities while on the job to see if there is some hint that an employee is committing a crime and to report if there is reasonable proof that an employee is breaking the law on company time.

The job is to gather evidence to prove guilt or innocence. These aren’t confidential but we usually sign a non-disclosure agreement.

Finally, there are personal contracts. When a person wants to hire a personal investigator to do a job, it’s usually something along the lines of a husband or a wife suspects the spouse is cheating on them and want some kind of proof. Or someone is looking for a relative or lost family and is trying reconnect with them. There is no disclosure agreement, and it’s up to the client to draw up a disclosure agreement. Most don’t, but we keep quiet as a professional courtesy.

Ok, now that the job description is done, let me tell you what happened.

About three years ago, I had been hired to do a personal contract.

The client, a rich sleazy snob, was apparently stupidly rich. He hired my unit (when I say my unit I mean the unit I work with a five-man team). He believed his wife was cheating on him with other people, and he wanted proof of this, so he could start his divorce process with solid evidence. He contracted us in a six-month contract and was to pay the company xxxx dollars upon completion.

So, we set up surveillance cameras all over his large house and in the woman’s car with the client’s permission. We had at least one of the team tailing her at all times. Good times. Day in and out, we watched their lives, and in this line of work, you either get detached or emotionally invested, like watching a soap opera.

As we watched them, we quickly saw this lady was a freaking saint. She volunteered at a soup kitchen and a children’s hospital. She helped with local churches’ canned food drives. Those kind of things. She was the perfect definition of what a good human should be. On the other hand, the husband was a total b*stard. He was the one we caught many times bringing women to his house. Sometimes, he would bring two or three girls in one day. And that only what was recorded in the house.

We arrive at the four-month mark., which is basically where we show all the evidence and give the 3/4 report. We show him everything that we found and have a six-hour debrief with video and audio support, showing that she hadn’t done any wrongdoing other than a speeding ticket and a few double park situations.

After we concluded the debrief, he looked stupefied. He says, “So, you didn’t catch her cheating. That what was the point of me hiring you?”

My boss, our captain, turns to him with a serious stare, which is perhaps in the most serious and bada** looking face I have ever seen in that man, and said, “You hired us to investigate your wife. You’re unhappy that your wife is an honest and faithful woman?”

The snob is visibly annoyed. He stands up and is getting his jacket when my captain says, “Look, there are still two months on the contract. We will keep tailing her, and we’ll meet again after our contract is up and give you any updates.”

The snob turns to him and says, “Don’t bother.

This is over. I’m ending it. Come when she is not home, and get your equipment out.”

So, a week later, we did exactly that.

Now, food or thought. When contracts like his are made, a small portion is paid upfront as a commission fee, and the rest is paid at the end of the contract’s allotted time. In his case, it is six months. Now pay works like this: the commission is divided up between each PI as a bonus to our salary, and then the salary is what we get from the company to get us through to the completion of the contract. The remaining balance after being paid by the client is then divided into a cut for completion for the PIs and a cut for the office.

Good money when done right.

So, fast forward to the next payday after the contract is officially over. My unit gets a call from our office to come in on the next payday as there is an emergency meeting regarding us and the last contact. We get there and find out snob pulled the funding and refused to pay us for the work.

So, we’re getting paid, just not with the completion bonus. We all left super p*ssed. We went to lunch and brainstormed how to get even with the *****. Then we remembered all the house footage of his dirty deeds. At first, we wanted to blackmail him, but that’s low, and we’re better than that. I remembered the wife, so I reached out to her.

I set a date to sit down and explain everything to her. I showed her the videos. She cried for a good half hour. I think I broke her whole world. It was gut-wrenching. I then advised her to get a lawyer and proceeded to give her all the collected evidence and my business card.

AFTERMATH: Fast forward about six months. I’m called into court, as my company is suing him from fraud, breach of contract, and unpaid dues. My company wins the case easily, as his lawyer’s argument was that we failed to deliver the result he wanted. But we weren’t hired to deliver a product. We were hired to observe and report. We got paid in the end.

I was contacted by the wife who thanked me for all the evidence.

She got a divorce. Because of all the evidence I gave her, she got almost everything: his huge house, both cars, and a huge cash sum.

Moral of this story: don’t try to screw over people who specialize in gathering evidence and reconnaissance.

Edit update as of June 17, 2019

A lot of private messages and a few posts asked about the wife. I promised I’d look into it, and I did. I got in touch with her. And we agreed to meet with her yesterday. She was delighted to hear from me. We met up at a local coffee shop. And I got to meet her new husband. And she has had two kids (both girls and are cuties and so well behaved) with him and is pregnant with the third (confirmed it’s a boy).

She has been remarried for almost two years now.

After a few coffees and idle chat, she told me about her own petty revenge story.

Now keep in mind this is what she told me, so take it with a grain of salt.

She told me of how the family of the super snob demanded that they get the house back as it’s their family ancestral home and offered to buy the house from her almost immediately after she divorce hearing. She had a realtor come and evaluate the house. The family wanted to give her $250,000. But the realtor concluded that the house value was near $1.5 million. The family kept demanding she sells over the following months. She “told” the family about the realtor and his appraisal documents of the house is $5 million.

So she would be putting on the market up for sale for that price but would sell to them first because they were like family for a discount of $3.5 million. They bought the house with cash the next day in hand.

End the pleasant evening with them. As I’m leaving, the wife smiles at me and grabs the sleeve of my arm. She says, “Wait, I never got to say this, and I want to tell you. Thank you! You are a blessing that rescued me.” She then reached in her purse and get her wallet. I think she is going to hand me money or something. And a rise my hand to stop her. She smiles and pulls out my old business card.

And says I tried to call you and your company a year ago to thank you. But the number on the card was disconnected. I wanted to know if you could update your contact information for me.” I ask her why she continues smiling. “Because you’re the kind of person I like. You were looking out for me when I needed it, and I want to keep you in my back pocket just in case.” I updated my contact information for her and was invited with my family to there home for dinner on Friday.

The icing on the cake of yesterday is this morning, amazingly, I just got a call from my boss, very excited told me that “we, specifically you, have a new client who has offered you a five-year employment contract.” Apparently, the wife’s new husband is a magistrate.

And has got his boss to approve a contract for the company. With the provision that I oversee as the new captain. This means the unit I will be running will be taking our job assignments directly from the court.

So thanks to everyone who asked me to check up on her. I went to meet for coffee and a chat and gain a high-profile and paying client.” Fredking1313

Another User Comments:

“And your boss was fine and dandy with you giving the wife everything? Something doesn’t add up there.” FlamingBlades

Reply:

“I’m happy to explain. My boss didn’t know what I had done at the time. And when he found out, I was punished with a two-week suspension for going behind his back. But that was it as I pointed the client never had us sign a confidentiality agreement.

So, legally, the evidence belonged to the unit.” Fredking1313

11. Trash Tenants Try To Leave Their Stinky Junk Behind, So We Deliver It To Their New Place

Did you forget something?

“About 10 years ago, my parents decided to rent their shack (summer home) to our long term tenants as we weren’t using it much. It was a nice house, and they had put in a lot of time and effort to make it as good as their main home.

Backstory: The area was nice with a mix of shackies and permanent residents. We had water views, a short walk to the beach, and about an hour drive to the CBD.

The family they got in seemed ok. The dad had a job, and the mom was on DSP as their 7-year-old old daughter was mentally disabled.

After about 6 months, they started getting behind, paying rent late, and were letting the place get all tatty. My mom wasn’t impressed, and she is very house proud.

In this state, if a tenant is late, you can give them a notice to vacate, but if they bring the rent up to date within 14 days, the notice is void. It’s an important step because after issuing 3 notices, you can evict the tenants.

Anyway, I was tasked with driving the hour trip to issue the first notice, I did it as I had the time, and I wanted to also let them know that it wasn’t an ‘eviction’ notice and to explain that it was null and void so long as they paid their rent.

I get to the property and see what Mom had mentioned about the property being tatty, see their mastiff dog tearing around the yard with their kid’s toys, and *** everywhere. I start thinking that this isn’t a nice family; this is gutter trash.

I go through the gate, ignoring the mastiff as I’m about 6’2″ and 220+ pounds and nudge the jumping dog out of the way, knock on the door, and await the answer.

I nearly *** myself when the guy opens the door and is about 6’8″ and built like a brick ***-house. I explain that I’m the landlord’s son, that I was there about the rent, and nicely explain that they just need to bring it up to date, and if they do, the letter doesn’t mean anything.

He then opens the letter and loses his *** and basically tells me to *** off.

Anyway, they bring the rent up to date (buying themselves some time) and then stopped paying.

The second time, I go down with another notice, and they’re gone, which wouldn’t have been a bad result, but I see the state of the property and realize that these aren’t just gutter tra***hey are proper ***-c*nts.

Dirty mattresses outside, an old couch their dog has been sleeping on, broken toys, and gear outside. Garbage inside and out, broken furniture inside, and one of the worst, the dogs been inside the house, torn carpet, *** stains. Filth!

Anyhow, they’re gone, and my parents and I start the process of many weekends of work to get the place suitable for human occupation, in addition to starting the small claims court process (Dad got a summons but has to be served) and lodging the matter with a collection agency.

I’m determined to find these ***-c*nts. He’s been fired from his job, but I did find her Facebook profile, so I know it’ll only be a matter of time…

A week or so later, Mom spotted them in the local supermarket near home! A lead, this means that they’re most likely in the local area. I spend a few hours driving around looking for their car but to no avail.

In the meantime, we’re still cleaning up the property, and all their *** has been dragged to the carport ready for disposal.

Another week or so passes, then I hit gold. The stupid **** has posted on her public Facebook page that they’re having a birthday party for their daughter… at their house… and their address!

Not the revenge yet, but I go around to serve them the summons.

Anxiety peaking, I knock on the door of their new house, and the brick-***house opens the door to my ***-eating grin. It took him a moment to realize who I was (he’s only seen me the once) before with a look of shock he tries to slam the door but not before I yell that he’s been served and throw the summons inside.

Now some revenge.

All of their stinking, half-wet, moldy ‘possessions’ are still at my mom and dad’s rental. Dad takes a day off work and hires a tipper truck, and we set about filling it. (Can you see what’s coming?)

It took a good few hours and really filled the truck, garbage, and everything. Just on dark, we roll past their house, and happily, they are home as their car is in the narrow driveway.

I open the gate on the back of the truck and remove the ropes and get back in to watch the fun. Dad starts to reverse, raising the tray as we go, timing it perfectly so as he makes the driveway, it’s about to fall. We’re in the driveway, and he dumps it, filling the driveway, blocking the car in, covering the front yard with all of their ***. Hearing the noise, ***-c*nt comes running out of the house screaming, but we’re on our way lowering the tray as we go, so ****** happy.

They’re going to have fun with everyone turning up for their kid’s birthday the next day, especially as it will take them hours to move the *** even to get their car out.

Christ knows what their neighbors thought.” Buster283

10. Kick Me Out Of Church? I’ll Get Your Mistress’s Husband To Ruin Your Life

“About 6 to 7 years ago, I was a ministerial student at a Baptist college. I had attended the same Baptist church since I was a small child. It was large, about 1,000 members, but not a megachurch.

This church had been an enormous part of my life for as long as I could remember. I played piano for youth choir, preached at the children’s church service (which was held in the church’s chapel at the same time as the adult service), drove the church bus to pick up “unchurched” children, etc. and ad infinitum. I did all of this for free, not even getting reimbursed for expenses.

During my senior year in college, we got a new “Minister of Music, Education, and Youth.” This guy was as charming as an ice cream sundae with razor blades in it. I’ll call him Mr. Charming. All of the deacons and their wives thought he walked on water.

He was an authoritarian *****. In his first meeting with the church youth group, he announced that he had been hired to “straighten out the youth group.” One of his favorite sayings was, “When I tell my disciples jump, the only questions they get to ask are, ‘How high?’ and ‘How far?'”

The adults loved him, and the youth hated him. Within a few weeks, half of the high school and college students, i.e., all of those without parents in the church, had quit coming to church.

Most youth directors would have gotten into trouble over this, but he had the audacity to proclaim in front of the entire congregation in the Sunday morning worship service, that he had “eliminated all of the thorny ground from the youth group” (a reference to the Parable of the Sower in the Bible), and the pastor and all of the deacons loved him for it.

He didn’t waste any time going after what he really wanted: the pastor’s job. The pastor, whom I’ll call Pastor T, was about 60-years-old. Within a few weeks of Mr. Charming’s arrival, rumors started circulating about Pastor T’s health (he was an avid runner and cyclist) and that he “just didn’t seem to be as mentally sharp as he used to be.” (He frequently quoted long Bible passages from the pulpit entirely from memory without misstating a single word, sometimes in Greek or Hebrew.) Worst of all, however, was the accusation that he was “really too liberal” for the church.

Any Baptist will tell you that it is the kiss of death to even be suspected of being a “liberal.”

None of these accusations made any sense, but people kept talking about them. I have no idea why the pastor didn’t find out. Or maybe he did find out and was just too scared to do anything about it.

This was a Baptist church. In some denominations, like Catholic or Methodist, the denomination assigns pastors/priests, not Baptists. Each church “calls” the minister. This guarantees that every pastor always walks a razor’s edge – the slightest slip, and you’re out. You don’t even have to slip. Maybe you even do the right thing, and it still offends enough people (it doesn’t take many, just a handful if they hate you enough), and then you’re out.

Or maybe, like Pastor T, some creep just lies about you and gets your job. And, since the church often owns your house (the “parsonage” or “manse”), your entire family is suddenly homeless and destitute.

Then I became a target. I still don’t know why.

A couple of months after starting to work for my church, Mr. Charming called me and informed me that my “services were no longer needed” at youth choir, children’s church, bus ministry, anywhere. In fact, he said he did not even want me to participate in any of these functions at all, not even go to the Sunday morning worship service.

I later found out that members of his family had been hired by the church, at very nice rates of pay, to perform these functions that I’d been doing for free.

His wife got paid more for playing a beat-up piano at the one-hour youth choir rehearsal than the main organist/pianist got paid for playing for adult choir rehearsal plus Sunday mornings and Sunday evenings when the youth choir sang. (The wife could barely pick out the notes on a piano. This lady radiated bitterness, resentment, and repressed anger. But she rarely said anything. She just sat there and glared, which was somehow even creepier than when she spoke.)

I was very hurt, emotionally, so I dropped by Pastor T’s office and tearfully asked him what I’d done wrong. I couldn’t get a straight answer, except he told me that “People are saying things” about me and that if I wanted to get a good recommendation from him to our denomination’s Baptist minister’s school, I’d “better shut up and do what you’re told.”

So, I started asking all of my church friends what people were “saying” about me.

Everyone, everyone, said, “Well, I didn’t want to tell you, and I don’t believe it, but here’s what I heard.” According to the rumor mill, I had gotten my girlfriend pregnant and forced her to have an abortion (I hadn’t even had a girlfriend since Junior High), and I’d been arrested for possession of the green plant, and my dad had had to pay a bunch of money to hush it up. (I didn’t even know what that specific plant looked like.)

There were other rumors, but you get the idea.

I did what Pastor T told me to. I never darkened the door of that church again (except once, months later, see below). It hurt like ****. I’d devoted my life to that church since I was a little kid.

But I had to have Pastor T’s recommendation to get into the minister’s school I wanted to go to, and the pain was unbearable just driving by there. So, I decided to keep my distance.

But I started thinking about Mr. Charming. Anyone who was that evil had to have a past, and it probably wasn’t a good one. I knew that, just before working for my church, he had worked at a large Baptist church in a small town about 50 miles away. That church was actually about twice the size of my church.

So, he had moved from a big church to the same job at a smaller church. A bad career move? Running away from something? Ahhh … there was something rotten in Denmark.

And it smelled like an opportunity for me.

As luck would have it, one of my uncles and his family lived in that same small town; although, none of my family attended Mr. Charming’s former church.

So, I called one of my cousins, told her my story, and enlisted her as a co-conspirator. I’ll call her Ann.

The next Sunday morning, Ann and I attended Sunday school and morning worship at Mr. Charming’s old church. Although Ann had never been a member of that church, it was a small town where everyone knew everyone, so she knew most of the people there. She started asking about Mr. Charming and got an earful.

Every one of her friends said that Mr. Charming was a world-class creep.

He would flirt with, and even make suggestive comments to, all of the girls in the youth group, even those in junior high. (He was 40+ years old and had a wife and 3 children of his own.)

And then there was the touching, never anything obvious or illegal. But he loved to put his hands all over the young ladies whenever their parents weren’t around.

But, just like at my former church, the adults loved him because he “kept the youth in line.”

Our investigation went on for several weeks. After church was over, we would go to her house, have a delicious Sunday lunch cooked by my aunt and then write down everything we had learned. By then, Ann’s whole family was in on my investigation.

They were as angry as I was about the way I’d been treated, and our weekly report made interesting lunchtime conversation.

Within a few weeks, I was sure that all I had to do was drive a few of these young ladies, and their parents (friends of my aunt and uncle), down to my old church, let them tell their stories to the parents of a few girls in the youth group, and Mr. Charming would become Mr. Unemployed.

But it kept getting better and better, so I kept digging. And I really wanted to keep a low profile if I could, because I didn’t want to p*ss off Pastor T any more than I had to. He knew a lot of people in the denomination, and he could easily ruin my ministerial career before it even started.

Finally, after a month or so, Ann grabbed me by the sleeve and said, “You’ve GOT to hear this.”

She introduced me to a well dressed, very large guy, maybe 30- to 35-years-old. I’ll call him Fred. We slipped off into a Sunday school room where we would not be overheard.

It turned out that Mr. Charming had had a multi-year affair with Fred’s wife. Fred had kept his cool when he found out, talked with a lawyer, and had spent months gathering evidence — text messages, voice mails, emails, even photos and videos with Fred’s wife and Mr. Charming in them. Apparently, Mr. Charming got stimulated by watching videos of himself doing the wild thing with Fred’s wife. Then Mr. Charming would send the videos to Fred’s wife and they both would have “cyber s*x” while texting each other.

Later, they would hook up the old fashioned way and make more videos.

Finally, Fred confronted his wife. She denied everything, but the evidence was just too much. Fred told her he wanted a divorce, full custody of the children, their house, his retirement money, his business, her engagement and wedding rings — everything, even the dog. She hired a lawyer, but laws and courts being what they are in this rural Alabama county, her lawyer told her that if the judge saw the videos, she’d be lucky if she ended up in a homeless shelter with all of her worldly possessions under her bunk in a garbage sack.

Then Fred turned his attention to Mr. Charming. Fred still sincerely loved his wife, and he was convinced that Mr.

Charming had deliberately ruined his marriage. Taking Mr. Charming to court, suing him for “loss of consortium,” and otherwise making him legally miserable would take too long.

This is Alabama. Many Alabamians prefer a more direct approach. In rural counties, the police and any “jury of your peers” will probably include people who have known you since kindergarten. So, if you have a good reason for your actions, and you aren’t too stupid about it, there are things that you can do…….

Fred scheduled an appointment with Mr. Charming in his church office, who did not suspect a thing because Fred was a deacon, and his children were in the church youth group. Remember that I said Fred was big? 6 foot 6 inches at least, 300 pounds, and if there was an inch of fat on him, he hid it well.

Looked like he could pull up a 100-foot oak tree by the roots without breaking a sweat.

Fred told me that he brought several friends with him, and, of course, the videos. One friend blocked the door. Another unplugged the phone. A third one stood behind Mr. Charming and “encouraged” him to stay seated in his chair.

Fred made Mr. Charming watch about 10 minutes of one of the videos. Then he calmly said, “I’m going to stand here and watch you pack up your stuff, and then you’re going to walk out of this building and never show your ****** a** in this town again. Or we’ll be back.”

Mr. Charming did as he was told. A month later, he had a new job at another church, my old church, and started ruining another whole set of lives, including mine.

Fred actually did not know where Mr. Charming had gone. He assumed that he had moved out of state. He was surprised, and gratified, to learn that this scumbag was only 50 miles away.

This had all happened just a few months before. Fred was still deeply in love with his wife. They were getting counseling, and he hoped that they could save his marriage.

But his hatred of Mr. Charming was still fulminating, like Mount Saint Helens a few minutes before the explosion. He presented such a face of restrained rage and vindictiveness that it scared me, and I wasn’t even the one he was mad at.

The next day, Monday, I drove back up there and gave him a copy of the directory of my old church.

It had home addresses, phone numbers, and email addresses for pretty much every member of the church. I showed him the pages that listed all of the deacons and other church leaders. And I marked some of the church’s major financial donors.

I explained my situation with Pastor T and asked that my name not be mentioned. “No problem,” he said.

The next Sunday, I could not resist visiting my old church to see how things were going. Mr. Charming was nowhere to be seen nor was any explanation given about what had happened to him.

One weird thing, though, was that the pastor looked scared sh*tless. His voice, usually resonant, loud and almost musically baritone, trembled during the whole sermon. I slipped in just before the service started and made a point of sitting in the very front row, center pew.

The look on his face when he saw me was worth all of my trouble.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Fred had gotten right to work and done a very thorough job. The whole church had gotten multiple “anonymous” emails with photos and videos of Mr. Charming and Fred’s wife in various ….. well….. compromising positions and states of undress.

Deacons and major donors got emails plus express mail packages just for good measure. Mr. Charming and Pastor T had been left out – they didn’t know anything until the phone calls started pouring in.

After the worship service, it did not take long for my church friends to figure out why I was there. It was very gratifying. I was something of a hero; although, I kept swearing that I had no idea what they were talking about.

Things continued to blow up in my former church for months afterward. Both Pastor T and the pastor of Mr. Charming’s old church almost lost their jobs because they had lied to my old church’s committee of deacons, who had recommended hiring Mr. Charming about why Mr. Charming had left his old job. But somehow, they managed to stay in the pulpits at their churches, although a lot of church members left my former church, which caused some financial problems.

There was talk of legal action for sending unsolicited p*rn to little, old ladies and other people in the church. But nobody ever was able to prove that Fred did it. I don’t think they tried very hard. After all, his wife was in the videos and photos.

Both churches really REALLY did NOT want this to become a court case because of Mr. Charming’s trysts, and the fact that he had spent years screwing a deacon’s wife while he had unlimited, unsupervised access to dozens of church youth would then become a matter of public record. So, they hushed it up.

I never saw Pastor T again. I had lost all of the trust and respect that I had had for him, and I was sure that he had figured out that I was somehow connected to the whole fiasco. So, my chances of having a Baptist preaching career were precisely zero. By that time, being a pastor, like Pastor T, was the last thing I wanted anyway.

I withdrew my application to the Baptist minister’s school and eventually completed a Doctorate in Archaeology at a different grad school, Magna Cum Laude.

I’ve been teaching at a large, public university in the Midwest of the USA with summer gigs on archaeological digs in Europe. And I am very happy.

One last, very gratifying, event, THE REASON FOR THIS POST:

All that happened 6- to 7-years-ago. Fast forward to last March, I went to pick up a friend at a large downtown urban bus station in the US. Everyone hates this place. Not only is it crowded, it is poorly maintained and filthy. It smells like spoiled garbage mixed with diesel exhaust and seldom-cleaned public restrooms.

My friend’s bus was late. I stopped by the newsstand to get myself a soda and candy bar.

Who do you think was re-stocking the shelves?

Mr. Charming.

I just sat across from the newsstand and enjoyed my drink and snack.

He recognized me, then turned away. I just sat and watched him, re-stocking shelves full of p*rno mags and junk food.

REVENGE IS A FEAST THAT IS BEST ENJOYED COLD.” BamaFan4Jesus

9. Kill Cats And Kittens? We’ll Burn Your House Down… And More

If this story is legit, then wow. Just wow.

What kind of sick soul ends the lives of innocent animals for no reason?

“So, first, a bit of backstory. My wife and I live in a small town near the outskirts. It’s all houses and no flats there (This will be very important later on.) We also had a retired neighbor. Well just call her Karen.

Now Karen we found out had a bit of a history. More exactly, her husband beat a worker to death when he caught him stealing and then covered it up by hanging him in the forest.

He managed to get away with it due to some political and police connections. The husband had died in the meantime, but everybody still remembered it (small city mentality), and she was an absolute outcast. That was probably exacerbated by her being an absolute Karen. Now that that is over let’s get into the meat of it.

So, over a year ago, we adopted a cat to go alongside our tomcat. Surprisingly for us, they had kittens quite quickly, 3 of them, some 2 months after we adopted her. So, we were raising them up, thinking about who should we give them to, when suddenly, both them and the kittens disappeared. We found just one of the kittens in terrible agony that night.

(Her, I dunno what to call them, screams?? had woken us up.) She died before we got to the vet. We already had our suspicions, which were confirmed by the vet. Broken glass. Given that the kittens always followed their mother, what we suspected happened was that Karen put a bowl of meat and glass, and the cat found it and shared it with the kittens. My wife wanted to go to the police. I had better ideas in mind.

I should mention that the fence between us is an old one made of chicken wire with a lot of holes, very easy to cross. So, the next Sunday when Karen went to church (she was very religious), I went to check through her house.

Guess what I found in the trash? The 2 other kittens and the cat. And so I set my plan into motion.

Next week on Sunday, I went into her house again. This time, I had come prepared. I had cleaned everything flammable between our house and hers. Once inside her house, I staged a little accident. She had a very flammable carpet. One well placed turned candle, and it started. So, Karen comes home and sees that it’s all burning. Most people would stop at that. We didn’t (by now my wife was fully on-board).

Seeing Karen there homeless, afraid, and all-around desperate, we offered her to stay at our place for a while, good neighbors as we were, (everyone else would have told her to *** off, she knew), on the condition she tells us the truth about the cats.

(We promised we weren’t interested in pressing charges; we just wanted closure.) Obviously, I also had a hidden recorder on me. And when we let her inside, she tearfully confessed everything, saying how much she was sorry, how she wishes she could make it right, yada yada. So, now, I had a recording that was enough for quite a lot of criminal and civilian charges (cruelty to animals, destruction of property, and emotional trauma). But I wanted to go for one more.

The next week after she brought all her stuff in, we served her an absolutely delicious lunch: duck with mashed potatoes. The only thing was, her portion had a crap ton of laxatives. So, after, she started sh*tting her guts out, we called for an ambulance, insisting she should go to the hospital.

So, Karen goes to the hospital and finds out there was nothing wrong. Pretty p*ssed, she comes back to our home to find all her stuff on the street and me and my wife on the fence, telling her to *** off. The main gate to our courtyard, however, was left partially open on purpose. We also told her we would be pressing charges on the cats. Now entitled, angry, and scared **** that she was, what do you think, did she take the bait?? Of course she did, and she lounged right through the gate to discover both me and my wife had 2 wooden sticks on us that we promptly used to knock her teeth out.

We then pressed charges on everything, damage to property (the cat and kittens were technically our property), emotional trauma (killing the cats and us finding the one that somehow survived for a few hours wailing in our courtyard), breaking and entering, and attempted assault.

In the end, she was sent to 10 years in prison and had to pay $10,000 dollars in damages mainly for the attempted battery and psychological trauma. Really funny thing is, she kept all her money in the house that burned down with the house. So, if she lives long enough to get out of prison, she will be dirt poor.” kittenavenger

8. Be My Best Friend, Let Me Spoil Then Dump Me Because You’re Tired Of Struggling? No Way, Sweetheart

“I dated a girl for about four years, lets call her Brandy. We were best friends before we dated, then we dated for about four years. She was awesome. I loved her very dearly. As far as I knew we were awesome together and great as friends and as lovers.

We rarely ever fought. We got along great. We got engaged and had plans to get married. As far as I knew everything was perfect. In fact, I still doubt I will ever find another partner that I am THAT compatible with.

I spoiled her too. Maybe that was my biggest fault. I always let her go shopping whenever wherever she wanted, I kept her fed from a golden spoon and wrapped in the finest linens. Even if she didn’t ask, I typically enjoyed spoiling her. That’s just how I am.

She had recently gotten a part-time job as a funeral directors assistant, paying $10 an hour, and I had subsequently gotten her a new cellphone line for her as a work line, as a celebratory gesture, because she had been wanting a Note 5 and wasn’t due for an upgrade.

she said she would pay for the balance on the old phone with her first check.

Then one autumn day our only car got repoed. She called the bank, the bank said I was three months behind on my payments. I knew that wasn’t right. That’s when she told me it wasn’t working out. She said she was tired of being broke and struggling financially. She wanted something better out of life than being broke all the time. The interesting thing to note here is that she hadn’t worked in a couple of years, and had been living off of my paycheck. I’m a network engineer, live comfortably in a fairly nice house with lots of the latest toys and gadgets and everything but my newest car is paid for.

I would hardly call that struggling.

But it apparently wasn’t good enough for her.

So she left after the car got repoed. I was upset about it and went to my mother’s house for the day while she packed her ***. While I was at my moms I paid the repo fees and the past due balance for the amount the bank told me that was owed. Turns out the balance was for a different account, the bank had repoed the wrong vehicle and given me the wrong account number to pay. So I paid somebody else account. They fixed it, applied the balance to my (not past due) account and promptly gave me my car back

I came back that evening with some friends and she had taken EVERYTHING.

she took all of the furniture, except a couch and my bed and my kid’s beds. She took collectibles, decorations, food, basically everything that wasn’t nailed down.

Also when she left, she took her two cellphones that I have been paying for on a payment plan. So I still had to deal with my cell phone bill being $300/mo for three phones, when I only use one of them. I still owe $1200 for those two phones Then there was a matter of a $2,000 loan she had taken out with my mom, that she had agreed, in writing, to pay back.

I sent her an email a few days later asking for my stuff back and for the money she owed and she responded that I was harassing her and that if I ever contacted her again she would call the cops and threatened bodily harm from her stepdad.

So I suspended her lines and didn’t say anything. She called me from a borrowed phone the next day to ask me if I was going to tell her before I turned her phone off. I said I didn’t feel like I need to, since they were my phones and the account was in my name.

Since then she has tried to have my electricity turned off. which didn’t happen, because they called me to confirm.

She has tried to sell my car without having it in her possession, which failed.

She has tried to call the police on me for harassment, dumped trash in my yard and called the homeowners association, and broken into my house and left things and taken other things, on several different occasions.

I have changed my locks and set up security cameras since then.

So enough of the backstory. Here’s where my revenge comes in. I took her to small claims court for $9,500 for property and damages and all the money she owed and I won. Granted I have to pay to have that enforced, and honestly, I don’t even care to enforce it. But I won. Revenge is mine

I also got a promotion at my job since she left, was recently given a raise and a big fat bonus, just got a $1,000 voucher from Delta since they screwed up my flight, and things are generally better than they had been before she left, tenfold.

She lives with her mom in a tiny room with no air conditioner, and no heater, can’t get a car (my buddy owns a car lot, she tried to buy from him because everybody else had turned her down.

he turned her down on principal) or a cell phone because of her credit, and relies on friends and family to drive her to her 2 day a week job and school. She also owes $40,000 for school loans for her first couple of years, and she’s got four more years left to go. But I guess that’s better than struggling, right?” Karmas_Revenge

7. Be An Awful Person All Your Life? Get Stuck In A Drug Cartel City

“This revenge was performed by my mom and her epic mind.

It all started when I was born. Life was happy, good, and easy. My brother was a good and working person — college dropout but always very smart, or that’s what we thought…

My brother went out every night with his friends, nothing alarming but very weird.

Time passed and I turned 10-years-old. At this point, my brother had a girlfriend, a son, and had already moved out. It was fun until my brother moved back with me and my parents.

*** truly hit the fan there.

The first day, we noticed an instant change in both his personality and appearance. You see, he didn’t move back in alone; he came with his son and girlfriend. We asked why he came back, and he simply said they had a problem, and this was temporary. For his girlfriend (to which I will refer as D) and son, this was true, but he stayed for the rest of this story in our house.

When D and her son left, she cut contacts with both our family and my brother but would occasionally ask for money.

Don’t label her as bad just now because she had a very good motive.

My brother after this became a good-for-nothing piece of *** with everybody in the house. Turns out, his “friends” actually were his dealers, ya know, for ***** and that stuff. Later, we asked why did they truly leave the other house, and he just said, “I had a fight with her brother and dad.” It was vague, but it was true.

Sometime around 2018 when I turned 11, we occasionally went to visit D and her son, and one of those times, my mom asked why she cut contact. The truth was that my brother was emotionally, physically, verbally, and ******** abusing her. She didn’t press charges and still refuses to do so out of fear.

My mom became enraged at him but didn’t do anything just yet.

Years passed, and my brother stayed in our house. Fights between my brother and everybody here became more and more common. My brother smoked ***** 24/7 with 2 KIDS IN THE ****** HOUSE. I started showing signs of depression around those times. (I was 11-years-old. Imagine how sh*tty this was for me to consider ******* at that age.) More time passed, it’s now 2020, and his first fight with my dad (his step-dad) just happened. My mom was leaving to go to Culiacan, and right after the fight, my brother asked if he can go. My sister (which was not relevant to this story) offered to buy him a plane ticket.

This is where the revenge starts.

You see, my sister bought a ticket to go but not to come back. My mom was the one to come up with this plan; my brother didn’t know this at the time.

Culiacan is a city known for being home to various drug cartels. Sinaloa (the state where Culiacan is) is pretty much horrible, more if you are like my brother.

The day my mom returned is when I was notified about all of this. I was expecting my mom to come back with my brother, but she came home alone. My brother was left alone in a hotel, with no money, no family, nothing. He tried calling us multiple times through public phones but wasn’t successful at all.

Unless he gets a job and a house, he’s either going to die of starvation or is going to get killed by a drug cartel.

It’s the first time in years I’ve truly felt happy.” eva-breakfast

Another User Comments:

“So, she sent her son to a city with the sole intention of leaving him there to die?” Oi_Mate_Eucalyptus

Reply:

“Not specifically to die but for him to learn a lesson about his attitude. He is 30-years-old and has already gotten a job at the time I’m writing this.” eva-breakfast

6. Be A Public Health Risk? Lose Your Job

“Years back, I worked in the Back of House for a chain of fast-casual restaurants; let’s call it Emerald Wednesday. I had been there for quite some time and had seen many managers, both good and bad, come and go.

They typically lasted just a couple of years.

We had been gifted a general manager who was sent to our store as his last chance to salvage his career, and when he failed, we were without a general manager for a couple of months. The assistant managers ran the restaurant, and things were ok. But no one was getting promoted within the company.

Then the district manager went with an outside hire that was coming in from the other side of the country. This guy was a complete idiot. We’ll call him Johnny. He had zero experience as a general manager and wasn’t even applying for the position, but the district manager talked him into taking the job. Big mistake.

Under Johnny’s tutelage, our Emerald Wednesday started to slowly fail, mostly due to his mismanagement.

He was belligerent to the staff, making a couple of the girls cry by belittling them in front of everyone else. He was so lazy that he’d hide in the office on busy weekends while we struggled without a manager. He refused to do even the basics of his job, like the nightly pull-thaw.

For those who don’t know, many things are kept frozen in the walk-in freezer and are pulled forward to the cooler at night so that they thaw before morning. This was rarely done on Johnny’s evening shifts. We would routinely have to force-thaw steaks, shrimp, and chicken under running cold water, which is not something that we’re supposed to even do.

I saw on a few occasions that Johnny was cross-contaminating foods under the running water, a pan of frozen shrimp sitting on top of or even in a pan of frozen steaks.

At one point, (I didn’t see this one), Johnny ran some frozen steaks under hot water to thaw them quickly because they needed to be cooked RIGHT THEN. This was a HUGE problem, and had I seen it, I’d have wanted to punch the fool in his face.

We sometimes ran checks of multiple hours and had frequent guest complaints. One guest even threw his silverware at the host. Johnny was called up front and actually took the guest’s side, leaving the host in tears. I believe he even compted the guy’s meal.

Johnny was a real class act. I made it my mission to do something about him. At the very least, he was going to get someone very ill from his shenanigans.

So, I sat down with the district manager (who had brought Johnny in) and spoke with him at length and great detail about how bad Johnny was, how terrible the morale was, how he could get people ill, all of it. He asked me point blank what I thought of Johnny, and I told him, “Johnny is an idiot.”

Nothing came of it.

Christmas was coming, and I knew I was quitting in a couple of months. Johnny insisted on having a Christmas party at a bar a town away, but fraternizing between management and hourly employees was against company policy, so I didn’t go. Johnny got quite drunk and drove himself home. I heard from co-workers that Johnny had been pulled over for a DUI.

Oops.

A week or so later, I wrote a lengthy email detailing everything Johnny has screwed up on, wrote about the Christmas party, and included screenshots of court records I was able to look up on the town’s website. I set up a burner email account and messaged everyone I could find in the Emerald Wednesday hierarchy.

When I went back to work a couple of days later, we had a shiny, new general manager, and no one knew what I had done. I am not proud of this, but he was making lives miserable, the restaurant was failing, and I was certain he was a public health risk.

*** you, Johnny.” Theolon

5. Ruthlessly Pick On Me? Time For You To Get Exposed

“Let’s start this story with a woman we’ll call Ms.

Howard, who was an English teacher from preschool to elementary until college, so she was very widely known and is hard to kick out of the school board.

In my first years of high school, we were close to each other, and I looked up to her because she’s a very legendary person-she teaches English Literature very, very well. So, since I admire her so much, I still put a *** ton of work into my homework, even though I can normally pull a B+ without any effort.

Until this February.

You see, I have a history of abuse from my narcissistic nanny, and since I have trusted Ms. Howard so much, I have told her about it. (She should be lucky because I only open up to those who I really trust, which are only a few people.) One day, I was having difficulty understanding a certain story because of how incomprehensible the whole thing was, so I asked her a few questions.

She just ignored all of them. Until I asked this one question:

“Miss, why is she abused like that? She isn’t-”

Before I could even finish my question, she inhales and screams out this exact sentence, which will be forever etched into my brain:

“You were abused. How in the world do you not know the reason? Do you need more abuse to find out? Or you’re just clearly dumb?” She stops for a second, “Well, I now know the reason why she did that; you clearly deserve it. ”

I was feeling a lot of emotions after that: betrayal, anger, sadness, but also disbelief and a slight tinge of laughter. (How can she be so dumb?) After a few days, her treatment towards me swiftly changed.

I got a D on my submitted work, and she did not listen to me anymore. It really affected my self-esteem and academic skills, and my friend noticed that. Lunchtime comes, and she asks me to come in a very dark spot of the school and tells me this:

“You know what? I’m being honest with you-you shouldn’t have laughed about it before.”

Before that situation, I always have laughed at my friend’s advice to not trust Ms. Howard, but now I just felt stupid about that. After that, she just comforted me and told me to be online on Facebook.

She called me after and told me her side of the story, that Ms. Howard trusted her with all her life, and upon knowing that she admitted her desire to throw her favoritism-obsessed a** out of the campus, and said today’s the time, so she told me a plan.

I was beyond shook the whole entire time because I thought this girl was a very angelic, nerdy girl who happens to like Korean stuff, and this was the first time I had seen her curse and be downright brutally honest.

We met on a Saturday, brainstormed ideas and she told me that Ms. Howard is her mentor for a national competition, adding more possibilities (and even more brainstorming) to the plan. We bought a pocket Wi-Fi modem, so we could exchange texts while inside the school. (She doesn’t have a SIM card, so I can’t call her without an internet connection.)

Monday flew in and secretly turned on our phone’s voice recorders in Ms. Howard’s class. We were trying to record her unfair treatment, and she obviously did not disappoint us.

She screamed when I answered a question and turned into a different person when my friend answered. This continued for a whole month.

We then turned in our recordings to the management, and after a few scoldings for bringing phones in school, they told us that it’s okay and that they’ll look into that.

I thought that that’s it, it’s enough, but my friend decided to brutalize the *** out of it.

After winning her competition, she was chosen to lead the teacher’s honor event thing, a part of our closing ceremony. She actually told the administration to be silent about it until the closing ceremony so that they can have more time to prepare the things needed to yeet her out, yada yada.

I actually can’t contact her at this time; she always says that she’s busy preparing videos for each teacher in high school. (Only knew what she’s been doing via her parents, which were actually very nice yet passive-aggressive.)

Closing ceremony came in, and everyone was there including the school president. It was a typical normal event, and then it’s time for my friend to make an entrance.

Announcing every teacher, and an AVP of them shows up and ***.

She saved the best for last with Ms. Howard, which surprisingly was met with silence instead of clapping and cheering. With a very fake looking smile in her face, she says those typical words you’ll ever say as a goodbye to your teacher, but instead of just ending it in a thank you, her face changes into the most evil smirk in her face and ends it up with these exact words:

“So, thank you so much, Ms.

Howard for being here with us, guiding us in our journey and helping us… know that you’ve been a good teacher… with bad moral values, and shall your favoritism-obsessed a** be away from our campus!”

Immediately after that, she plays a compilation of our recordings, edited in a similar way as a crack video, but what actually shocked me the most are videos of her M*LESTING other students, verbally abusing them, and SLAPPING A KINDERGARTEN CHILD ON THE FACE because she didn’t know WHAT PRONOUNS ARE are included in the compilation! Everyone’s standing one by one — some are victims, some are shocked, and Ms. Howard is beyond CRYING! No one cared to comfort her, and I was shocked to see my friend leading this mob of angry students and authorities glare, scream, and shout at Ms.

Howard. She betrayed her so much, and the whole venue was a whole massive sh*tstorm.

She was forced to resign that day, and I did actually scold my friend for taking it a bit too far. But, in the end, I finally have the perfect time to say that I now know the reason, and I understand why she did that; she clearly deserves it.

Ella, if you’re here reading this, thank you for being a demonic saint.” loftlewear

4. Steal Our Keurig And Skip Several Months Of Rent? We’ll Ruin Your Career

“I’ve lived in the Los Feliz area for ten years now. I came to LA from Oregon to attend college. I never did finish college, but I did meet my husband here.

I’m 34 now.

My husband “Jim” (41) and I run a small craft store. We also play music in a band. Jim is also an architect part-time.

Neither the store nor the band earned a lot of money, but it’s enough. We mostly depend on Jim’s architect job. Still, we could use more income, so we decide to take on a tenant in our house.

We bought a two-bedroom bungalow where one of the bedrooms actually has its own private entrance.

My husband made alterations to make it its own small apartment since it already had a private bathroom. It didn’t initially have a shower, but my husband built one for it.

There was no proper kitchen, but my husband fashioned a little nook where he installed a mini-fridge, hot plate, and microwave.

Over the past four years, we had a couple of really nice tenants, usually college students who stayed for their year-long lease then moved on. Everyone paid their rent on time and didn’t ruin the room.

“Kevin” was a different matter.

Kevin was this thirty-year-old bartender who worked at a local club. He seemed clean-cut and like he wouldn’t cause any trouble, and since he was older than the college students we had before, we assumed he would be even more responsible.

We couldn’t have been more wrong.

After about four months that passed without incident, suddenly Kevin began to be a terrible tenant. He’d play music really loud late at night and make our neighbors call the police (we live in a quiet neighborhood).

He’d bring home women, which is his right because it’s his home, and he’s paying, but they’d talk SUPER loudly late into the night and drink out on the porch, and once again, cause neighbors to call the police because they just wouldn’t shut up.

I talked to Kevin about it, and he laughed in my face.

He kind of had a different attitude toward my husband when my husband confronted him about it because Jim would break this guy’s jaw. But even though Kevin apologized, a few days later, he’d go right back to doing it.

He also got into the habit of smoking ***** on the porch and would smoke so much of it that the neighbors would once again complain.

He would pay his rent, but instead of paying it on the first of the month as one might expect, he was often late by several days or would ask favors from us that we would take half the rent on the first, the other half on the fifteenth, to coincide with his paydays.

He would often pretend to have paid and claim that he left the check under our door when that was clearly a lie.

We accommodated him and tried to be patient.

He was only on a six-month lease, so after those six months, my husband told him he had to leave.

Kevin complained that we were being racist against him.

Kind of weird seeing as how we are all white in this story, but Kevin fancies himself to be black for whatever reason and talks with a ridiculous, almost cartoonish attempt to sound like a 1970s Blacksploitation movie.

On some days, he’d try to talk like he was Shaft, and on other days, he’d talk with some failed Tupac impression.

Anyway…

So, he said he’d move out, but that we had to give him time.

That’s fair enough.

We gave him all the legal papers that said he had to vacate within a certain number of days.

At the end of that time, he still wasn’t gone, and he didn’t look like he had plans to leave.

He would rant about squatters’ rights and all that.

This whole time, he would continue to play loud music, smoke ***** outside, bring home his women and talk loudly late into the night, and make a nuisance of himself.

Finally, after six months had passed, and he had been staying half a year without paying us a cent, he moved out.

My husband and I learned our lesson. He knocked down the wall he built, and now we live in a two-bedroom small house again to ourselves.

But Kevin didn’t leave in good order.

He snuck out because he knew he owed us several months of rent. He left no forwarding address. He stopped answering texts.

What he did leave was a huge mess.

He also stole a nice Keurig coffee machine that we put in his apartment for his use, and he also stole the mini-fridge and microwave. He left the hotplate, but he pretty much destroyed that too because it looked like he tried cooking ***** on it.

It looked like he picked up most of his personal stuff, but his clumsy, sloppy self didn’t check behind all of his little nooks and crannies, and we saw he had abandoned lots of his little drug paraphernalia.

We boxed up all of these little items in a single box and labeled it with his name in case he ever wanted to claim them.

My husband also went to the local courthouse to see about filing small claims on Kevin, but we didn’t even know where he lived now.

My husband isn’t a narc type who snitches, bless his heart. He was of the opinion of oh, this is a learning experience; let’s do differently from now on.

But I’m not that way, and I don’t want us to get ripped off without a bit of revenge.

Kevin never really told us exactly which bar he works at because he’s a lying little weasel, but in his loud conversations late at night while he’s off talking like he’s Charles Friggin’ Barkley, I overheard him name the bar he worked at.

So, one day, about five days after Kevin left, I drove over there and ask about him to the people who work there.

I don’t let on that I’m one of his former landlords. The new bartender girl assumes that I’m some sort of jilted lover, and I roll with it.

She empathizes with me, and in talking about what a jerk Kevin is, she lets me know that the whole time he’s been in the LA area, he’s been going to school to become a licensed vocational nurse.

I tell her that he blocked me on social media.

No problem, she tells me! She whips out her phone and shows me his profile, which is set to private, but she is friends with him on social media.

I see that he moved to Nevada and is now practicing as an LVN at a clinic.

I thank the girl and go home.

Now that I know where he works, I call the clinic and casually confirm that Kevin indeed works there.

My guess is that Kevin probably had to take a drug test to get his job, but he still had friends over at his place doing lots of illegal stuff. Or maybe he borrowed someone else’s urine, who knows.

I find out the name of his supervisor, and once again calling the clinic pretending to be a customer, I casually confirm that this man is Kevin’s boss.

I then take the box of Kevin’s stuff with all of his drug paraphernalia in it to the local police station, with the explanation that Kevin used to be a tenant of mine and my husband’s but that he abandoned his quarters and also this box of his personal effects.

I look like friggin’ kindergarten teacher, and to the cop, it’s obvious I have no idea what any of this crap is.

I tell the police I have no idea of Kevin’s forwarding address, just his address of employment, and oh! I even have the number of his boss.

“I don’t know how these things work, officer. Could you handle it?”

“Of course, miss. That’s our job.”

So, a month later, my husband and I are still out a Keurig and six months of unpaid rent from Kevin.

But, calling the clinic again pretending to be a relative asking, “May I speak to Kevin?”

I find out…

“Oh, Kevin doesn’t work here anymore. Didn’t he tell you? He got fired.”

Sheesh. This secretary kind of overshares, but it works out in my favor here.

I also found out by talking to that officer again that the green plant smoking wasn’t such a big deal, but that the possession of the hard drug paraphernalia was a big misdemeanor.

My husband, who knows about what I did by this time and is fully on board, comes with me to the station and we sign an affidavit regarding what we know about all this crap in the box.

They had contacted Kevin, and under pressure from the police in ours and in his new state, he finally admitted that the items were his. After, of course, trying at first to lie and claim that the drug items were mine and my husband’s.

Scumbag.

So, now the misdemeanors are on his permanent record, rendering him unemployable in his field.

We also found out his address, and he was served with papers for small claims court for several months’ worth of rent, theft, and damages.

He was a no show.

Automatic victory for us.

We’re not holding our breath for this loser to actually pay us our money, but still, it felt good to win.

My husband and I went to the bar where Kevin used to work, and since she recognized me, the new bartender girl gave me a big hug.

I admitted I wasn’t a girlfriend of Kevin’s but that he was a tenant who screwed over my husband and I.

The girl thought that what I did was great to get him busted. Speaking of busted, he was charged with possession at his new apartment and is in jail.

She did say, aren’t you scared he’ll come back to get revenge?

My husband laughed and said, “I hope he does, because if he tries anything… Imma break his ****** jaw. You’re friends with him on social media. You can tell him, I’m waiting.”

Little 130 pound, cracked-out, midget, Vanilla Ice-looking goof, lol. I hope they have social media in prison.” ThatGemShoppeGirl

3. Can’t Pay Back What You Owe Me? Fork Up Double

Do the crime? Pay the fine.

“As I transitioned out of the US Navy about three years ago. I decided to sell my beloved Saturn Vue, which was on the decline and bought a much newer Rav4. When I returned home, I now had my shiny, new car and wanted to sell my old one to someone who I thought would take care of it.

(I’m sappy like that.) My cousin (C) was dating a guy who we will call ***********. I had met him before, and he seemed chill, so I verbally agreed to sell him the car for $2000, half up-front and payments when he could do so. An important factoid for later is that when you transfer the title, you tell the state what your selling for and get taxed on that. We were discussing telling the state that I was selling to him for less to lessen the tax. I don’t remember why, but last minute, I decide to tell the notary the full price I was selling for. Good thing I did. After a few months of sporadic payments and a really nasty breakup between C and ED (turns out he was a SERIOUS d*uchebag), surprise surprise, the payments stopped.

Now, I was hopping between my dad’s house (near C), my mom’s (8 hours away), and college (in between and takes around 10 months out of the year). He had missed months before, so I wasn’t too concerned, but after three months, I messaged him about the payments. The conversation went basically as follows:

Me: Hey ED, sorry to hear about the breakup, how did you want to give the money to me now that C isn’t acting as a go-between?

ED: I paid the money. If C decided to take it for herself, that’s not my problem. The car is legally titled in my name, so it’s your problem now. Delete my number, and have a nice day.

Me: Er, ok? Very dubious.

Me: Hi Aunt and C, did ED give you the remaining $600?

A&C: Yeah, no.

Me: Hi ED, me again, they said they didn’t receive it, how did you send it? I can track it down.

ED: I gave her $600. It’s not my problem anymore. Don’t text me again.

Well, alrighty then. Since he can get me for harassment for continuing to contact him, I decide for a little Malicious Compliance. I take all the texts, get my A and C to agree to testify if needed, put together a list of his payments and dates, the car title receipt (which says how much it was sold for), and take his butt to the local district court. Now as I said, I was bouncing around a lot, which is why this took so long to be honest, but it took about a year for this step, in which a lot of research was done, and apparently a year was the low ball estimate on the statute of limitations anyway.

The biggest pain in the rear was making sure his address was up to date. He used his grandmother’s as a mailing address, and after he was served, he moved again, likely trying to get rid of me lol. I know when he was served because I received a message from him on the day he was. This conversation was as follows:

ED: Um, excuse me, but I thought we settled this a year ago?

Me: Well, sorry, but there is still $600 missing, and you told me not to contact you so…

ED: I already told you I paid! I have to deal with 8k from my DUI and 7k from my motorcycle accident. I can’t deal with this petty stuff. If you take me to court, I’ll counter sue you for stress and garnish your wages for missing work!

At this point, he’s trying to get me to tell him what I have on him that can prove he’s in trouble.

I tell him that he can find out in discovery. He repeats that “he would be happy to pay if there was a discrepancy.” Witch, please. If that were true, we wouldn’t be here, now, would we? Then he started ranting!

ED: You have nothing on me! It’s obvious you have no proof! Isn’t suspicious that C got a new car? It’s obvious where the money went. I’m not concerned about going to court at all!! I was just trying to save you the time and money and blah blah blah….

Eventually, I just give up talking to him and say that the court will handle it see you then. He made it clear that his “ace in the hole” was the fact we had a verbal agreement.

“Show me our signed agreement. Huh, huh, where is it?” Fun fact, verbal agreements ARE enforceable, and C was there to witness it.

Now, he gets a month to respond to the summons (guilty, no guilty, etc.), then a second date is set for the hearing, but if he doesn’t respond. it’s default judgment. Last day, he shows up and AGREES THAT HE OWES THE MONEY and does not intend to fight it. Awesome! The court enters judgment for the $600 plus all my filing fees! I did get slightly confused when I got the news of default judgment because I thought he just didn’t show up, not that he didn’t contest it. At this point, he gets another month to appeal.

The day after that date is passed, I gleefully message him again:

Me: Hi ED, it’s been a month since the judgment, and I haven’t heard from you, how did you want to proceed?

ED: Judgement was wrong. I’m fighting it in court. I never signed anything. That’s my defense and will see you in court!

Me: Incredulous. You didn’t show up. You didn’t respond to the letter which the court knows you received, and you didn’t appeal within the 30 days. (Remember, I thought he didn’t even show up.)

ED: I did show up, and told her I was fighting, not my fault they processed it wrong. I lost a whole day of work and will be suing for that too, plus whatever else I lose over this.

My parole officer, and I discussed it what you’ve been told is severally wrong.

I just stopped responding. My next step was to file my judgment at the county court (make sure it gets signed after judgment by the judge! Learn from my mistake!), then file for a Writ of Execution. Remember again that all these fees just get added to the total amount he has to pay. Turns out that he moved sometime in all of this, so the sheriff just subpoenaed his address from the post office. Turns out that he was living with his new girlfriend.

And finally, the conclusion! Just last night, my dad says guess what? You got mail! It’s from the Sherriff! I’m like, “Oh, oh! Gimme Gimme!” Now I was expecting something about that he was fighting the writ, they couldn’t find him.

What my next step was, something. What I didn’t expect was two escrow checks for the FULL amount owed me. I squealed in absolute delight. I told my mom, my cousin, my aunt, and will gleefully have the checks cashed on Monday!

Thanks, y’all for reading!” SCTYA

2. Try To Steal Our Security Deposit? Pay Us Triple The Amount

“So, this story takes place like five years ago when my husband and I were broke college students with a young baby. We worked hard to afford our sh*tty, little duplex ($600/month) and necessities while trying to finish our degrees to one day get ahead. Our duplex was one in an entire neighborhood owned by a large company and managed by a super sketchy married couple who lived on the same street.

Before our kid was born, we did the normal excited-new-parent thing of painting his nursery and decorating, blah blah. Our lease stated we needed permission to paint, which we obtained from the property manager (the husband of the couple). He insisted it would be fine and, being young and naïve, we didn’t get it in writing because he was so chill about it. So, we paint and move on with our lives.

A little while later, our lease was up, and we had given the notice to vacate as we were moving closer to my husband’s school. The property manager was understanding, everything was fine, and we scheduled our move-out inspection. Prior to this inspection, we specifically asked him for the name of the paint color we needed to use when re-painting the nursery.

He flat-out refused to give it, saying it was unnecessary to paint as we’d been there so long that they’d be painting the whole duplex anyway. Okay, cool.

Move-out inspection day comes and goes. We left the house in better shape than we found it, aside from a small area of torn carpet right along a seam in a doorway. The property manager inspected and said everything looked, “great” and we should get our whole deposit ($400) back minus “a few bucks” for the torn carpet. Sounds good, boss.

Enter a period of weeks where we waited and waited for our deposit, eventually leaving messages upon messages with false promises or no return calls at all. Eventually, over a month later, this culminated in a phone call with the property manager where he said, and I remember this almost verbatim, “I don’t know what you’re so worried about anyway! It’s only like $200 you’re getting back!” He cited the painted nursery and “the huge mess left behind” as deductions, and I coldly informed him we’d be going to court then because we didn’t feel we owed for those reasons.

(The place was spotless when we left aside from the 6-pack of beer we left him in the fridge for being chill.)

Not one hour later, he called back, and miraculously, our refund check had “just shown up in the mail!” Already knowing he was trying to *** us, we installed a recording app on my phone (one-party consent state) and went to the office. The check indeed was only for $200 of our deposit and included no list of what they charged us for (important detail). We intentionally goaded him into admitting that he had told us not to paint and that the house looked great on move-out and went on our happy way, revenge plan already unfolding. We didn’t cash the check and instead emailed the CEO of the entire property company, copying in the property manager, and detailing the entire process.

The CEO sent back a smarta** email with a cute, little, typed-up list of deductions, including all the things we were specifically told we wouldn’t be on the hook for. A fun detail was that even by his own math they owed us $230 of our deposit. No one really had an answer for why they then tried to issue a check for $200… but whatever.

Joke was on him because we began digging through all the state regulations on security deposits and refunds, hoping to prove that our length of stay meant he couldn’t charge us for “wear-and-tear” things like carpet cleaning, etc. And in our search, we instead happened upon a statute requiring landlords to return security deposit refunds and an itemized list of deductions within 30 days… or lose the right to withhold for actual damages and be subject to treble damages if the landlord is thought to be maliciously withholding the refund.

So, we typed up a demand letter for our entire security deposit, citing the statute (which he had broken because we didn’t receive any refund offer or itemized list until six weekends later). And when he sent a smarta** reply, we filed in small claims court for our entire deposit plus treble damages and court costs.

Now, I don’t know if it’s clear at this point, but I can be really ****** petty if I feel like someone is trying to *** with me. And it was clear this guy made a career out of stealing money from low-income renters who likely could never afford to fight it. I was p*ssed.

I spent the next month before our court date compiling all email correspondence (in which he’d ***ed himself over numerous times by providing written documentation that he exceeded time limits, charged incorrect amounts, etc.).

I also compiled phone records showing dozens upon dozens of unanswered and unreturned calls to the property manager and detailed accounts I’d made immediately after hanging up of lies from the property manager. I printed out a screenshot from the company’s own website detailing the CEO’s role as the “Legal Advisor” (so I could innocently claim, “shouldn’t he have known the statutes for these issues?”). I printed all the relevant statutes and highlighted the important parts. And then I made three ****** copies of everything and nicely compiled each in a binder complete with sleeve protectors and page numbers – one for our own reference, one for the ******* property manager and/or CEO (we weren’t sure who would show up), and one for the judge himself.

We also took our handy little recording of the property manager admitting to all the *** he lied about and then pretended to have never said.

Needless to say, the judge laughed at how prepared we were, asked if we were law students, and then awarded us treble damages and court fees as well as interest. I will never forget the CEO’s face when we looked over and smiled at him. All his ***** emails and disregard for the law were on the table and, rather than giving us the original $350 or so we were promised from our deposit, he ended up paying us over $1300 a month later. It was glorious.

OH ***. EDIT: I completely forgot until my husband and I were just laughing hysterically about this, but the CEO also filed his response to our suit with a counterclaim for “$1,225 for expenses incurred as a result of the actions of the plaintiff.” He never really said how he got to that number.

But in his last email, before we sued, he did say, “I hope we can avoid litigation in this matter, but we will engage aggressively if forced to do so.” Lol.” might-as-well

1. Threaten Me With A Knife? I’ll Ban You From Teaching In This Entire Country

“Ok, so, the offense happened when I was in 5th grade, about 4 years ago, and my revenge happened in 8th grade, just about 1 year ago.

So, I was in 5th grade, almost at the end of the year. I was pumped because I had finished all my subjects with 100%. No points lost at ALL, which also meant I was at the top of my grade. Also, I had gotten 242 at my mathematics MAP testing.

For those who don’t know, MAP IS “Measurement Of Academic progress.” It really doesn’t do anything; teachers just use it to know how much one knows, and in the program we used for our MAP testing, 242 was a REALLY high score in elementary. What is expected of a 5th-grade genius is in the 230s range. (This is important later.)

So, I was just minding my own business, going back to class after break, when this 5th-grade teacher intercepted me. Now, you need to understand that we had 4 classes, like most schools, with an A B C D system. I was lucky and got 5B, which has the coolest teacher. He genuinely loved teaching. 5A, however, was unfortunate. He treated his students like his trophies, taking credit to their high grades, but, as I’ve heard from my friends over there, he barely taught, he would come to school strolling in super late, shout at students for no apparent reason, just sit there at his desk while the good kids who actually cared worked and the others just sat there, and if anyone made a peep, he’d give detention and a disciplinary referral.

Those things, if the offense was serious enough, could ban you from entering any college. He even threatened some poor kid who did nothing wrong with putting a disciplinary referral in for “drug possession.” What the duck! He wanted to accuse a 10-year-old with drug possession! But that’s not our story.

Anyways, that ***** never really liked me. I think it was because I had such high marks, and he couldn’t credit himself to them. So anyway, back to the story where I bumped into him.

“Sorry sir,” I mumbled, and then just scooted past him. After that, for some obscure reason, he became P*SSED OFF. “COME BACK!” He shouted. Me, being dumb and scared, stupidly came back. He told me to enter his class, which was full of his students.

He then started to shout at me about being “disrespectful.” and he was so mad that I was shaking in my size 3 shoes. What he said after was what really stuck in me. “You know what? In South Africa, I am in my legal right to hurt you with my knife.” He then proceeded to get a knife out of the top drawer and put it against my skin, breaking it a little. We weren’t in South Africa; we were in Saudi Arabia, but he was from South Africa. He then pointed at another kid and shouted, ” Look at this kid! He got 236 at his MAP testing. That means he’s a God-ducking-d*mn GENIUS. Try to get higher than him, smarta**! You think you’re so smart, huh? You’re just a spoiled, little brat!” (5A took the test before 5B, so I didn’t set the record of 242 yet.)

After that, I took the MAP test, and he proctored us.

He kept smirking at me, kicking my seat, etc., until I finished the test and got 242. Then, I looked at him in the eye and said, “Looks like I’m a God-d(mn genius too.” But that wasn’t the revenge. You see, I thought it was some hazing ritual, to see if I was “tough enough” for middle school. (I know, stupid, but remember, I was 9-years-old at the time.)

Fast-forward 3 years to 8th grade, I did not speak of this to anybody, and the kids who were there were too scared to speak up. Anyways, I chose to tell my best friend. He was horrified and told me to report him immediately. I realized what he did traumatized me. I was constantly afraid that’s any adult had a knife up his sleeve and was about to start shouting at me.

So, I set for revenge.

I was not just going to report him, which would get him fired; I went to everybody at that class, documenting all the horrible things he did. With over 30 kids saying the same kid, with a model student vouching for them, the principal had no choice but to comply, and he knew of the constant trust issues I was having, so he fired him and assured me that he was banned from any teaching position in the COUNTRY.” muma10

Even if you’re not the type of person who likes to get revenge on a rude person, you have to admit that reading these revenge stories is all too satisfying. Get more exciting, pro revenge reads here!