People Share Their "So Petty, It Hurts" Revenge Stories
25. Don't Like My Orientation? Good Luck Returning Your Goods At Any Of Our Stores
“I’m a manager. I am ringing up a woman I have sold things to before. We are making small talk as I ring her up. Note: I’m a lesbian.
Customer: “I can’t believe the president came out in support for gay marriage!”
Me: “I know; kind of unbelievable!”
Customer: “That (gay slur) lover is going to burn in the hot basement for that!”
Me: (biting my tongue) “Okay.”
(I finish ringing her up and hand the customer her bags.)
Customer: “They should round up all the gays and put them down.”
Me: “That would be bad for me, seeing as I am a lesbian.”
The woman turns pale and walks out without saying a word. A few hours later, I get a call from the manager of another one of our stores.
On the line, I can hear the same customer I previously sold items to ranting.
Manager: (also a woman) “So, this woman is here wanting to exchange a bunch of stuff from your store. When I asked her what was wrong with the items, she said you tainted them; I have no idea what she is talking about. Could you maybe clear this up for me?”
Me: “Well, I bet it is because she found out I was gay.”
Manager: “I see.” (starts talking in a sultry voice) “Well, I’ll see you tonight for our date. You should put on that special lacy thing you know I like that I got you for your birthday! I love you!”
(Hangs up.)
I am very confused, seeing as I have never dated that manager, nor did she ever get me underwear, and as far as I know, she is not gay.
Fast forward a few days later to the manager weekly conference call: apparently, the customer left the other store after thinking the other manager was also gay. That manager then called every other store in the area and told everyone about the customer. Over the next few days, the customer went to every store in a 20-mile radius trying to exchange the ‘tainted goods.’ Everyone she talked to pretended to be gay when working with her and she left every time.
To my knowledge, she never got her exchange.”
24. Just A Dad Looking Out For His Daughter
Everyone needs a father like him!
“My daughter lived with a guy for over a year. The relationship looked solid, despite some serious OCD that he refused to get treated for.
He seemed nice and he made good money. I was thinking, ‘This kid maybe my son-in-law someday. Okay, she could do worse.’
Earlier this year, she had to have minor surgery and the incision got infected. She was on her third stay in the hospital in less than a month. We were taking turns staying overnight with her, and it was her partner’s turn.
After she got to sleep, he packed up his stuff and left in the wee hours of the morning. She woke up at 4 am when they came to take b***d and found him gone. He had sent her a text breaking up with her. She called my wife, who called me as I was on my way to work. I turned around, called into work, and picked up my wife.
We spent the day at the hospital comforting my daughter and calling the ex names.
Two weeks later, she’s out and healing, and he texts that he has packed up all her stuff for her to come to pick up. There had still been no communication from him besides texts. Freaking coward. I take her and two of her friends to go get her stuff while he’s at work.
While there, we took our revenge.
He’s a neat freak due to his OCD, so I made sure that every picture hanging on his wall was slightly tilted, his blinds were open (he always kept them closed), and pulled up to different heights. I rearranged the items on his dresser, emptied the ice trays in his freezer and put them back in empty, and broke the tips off all the pencils in his pencil holder.
I moved the bookmarks he had in some books, including the one he had in a dictionary. That one, I moved to the Cow- page, and highlighted the word ‘coward.’ I unscrewed about half the lightbulbs in the apartment, I unhooked several of the clips holding his shower curtain, I hid his only pair of oven mitts, and unscrewed the lid of his salt shaker.
I went into his carefully organized closet and got a pair of khakis. I pulled them off the hanger, turned them inside out, and rehung them on a hanger covered by a shirt, then put the hanger on the rod backward. One of the girls got on his computer and changed his background to a drawing comparing his private to other, larger ones. We also ate the key lime pie that his mother made him that was in the refrigerator, and my daughter rolled every pair of clean socks he had in the litter box, then folded them and put them back in the drawer.
My daughter tells me her friends were impressed with the lengths I went to: ‘Your dad’s a savage!'”
23. Illegally Park In The Handicap Parking Spot? He'll Block You In
“Here I was, thinking that I’d run out of entitled people stories that don’t involve my mother, but I’m back with yet another one. This happened a few days ago. I’m recovering from abdominal surgery 12 days prior to when this happened.
I was finally feeling up for shopping and there were things I needed from the hardware store. I’m a 30-year-old disabled female in a wheelchair (incomplete quadriplegic), and I don’t have a car, so I got a taxi there (one with a ramp on the back, so I don’t have to get out of my wheelchair).
Mr. Taxi Man (who we’ll call Bruce) dropped me off, and I went in to do my thing. Nothing out of the ordinary. When I finished my shopping, I called to get the taxi back. It would be a 15-minute wait, but it was such a nice day that I didn’t mind waiting outside.
As I was waiting, I noticed that someone was parked in the disabled parking space, but there were no disabled tags on the windscreen.
Annoying, but I honestly didn’t care at that point. I just wanted to get home. About 10 minutes later, I saw a middle-aged woman walk out of the store and went straight to that car. She opened the boot, put her shopping in, and went around to the driver’s side. But instead of getting in, though, she got out a smoke and started looking at her phone.
A few minutes after that, I saw my taxi arrive. Bruce, being the polite and patient man he is, waited for the woman to drive out of the car space. Karen knew he was waiting for her, and she was darn sure she was parking illegally in the disabled parking space, but do you think she cared? She finished her smoke and got into her car.
We waited. And waited. Then waited some more. Until Bruce got rightly fed up and parked the taxi directly behind Karen’s car, blocking her in. This is when things got interesting. Karen began to honk her horn repetitively for a few seconds before she got out of her car.
KAREN: “What the b****y heck do ya think ya doin? Ya blocked me in!”
BRUCE: (in a mocking apologetic tone) “I’m very sorry ma’am, but I needed the car space.
And you seemed to want to stay there. Just thought I’d do you a favor. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a job to do.”
Bruce gestured in my direction as I gave Karen a big smile. I hate confrontation, so I appreciated Bruce doing it for me. Bruce got into the car and fastened me and my wheelchair into place, all the while with Karen yelling profanities and threatening to call the police.
If it were any other day, I would have been happy to call the police, so Karen would get a fine. But I just wanted to go home.
It only took a few minutes before I was secured in the car and we left, but I made sure to give Karen a smile and a one-finger salute through the window as we were leaving, which made the encounter all the sweeter.”
Another User Comments:
“I went to the grocery store with my grandmother one time, and while we were at the checkout, she saw a car parked in the striped area next to her van.
She hit her remote and descended the ramp onto the other car. She usually does that at the checkout, and it should be a good assumption that there isn’t a car in the striped area.
The owner of the car got angry about the scratches on his car, and he called the cops, who then wrote him a ticket and told him he was at fault. They even called a tow truck when he wouldn’t calm down, but he left before they towed the car.
Don’t park in the striped area, please.” VictoriaEuphoria99
22. Bad Managers Receive Double Revenge
“Okay, so about a year ago, I left a job working as a waitress at a salad buffet place that shall remain nameless. I had been working there for about two years. More on my departure later.
When I started working there, I was warned by a friend of mine who had gotten me the job to watch out for the night shift manager. Let’s call her Nancy.
Nancy was a massive jerk. Not only was she grating just in her personality, but she had the worst temper and would go off on anyone for minor infractions or just not doing things her way (which more often than not was the exact wrong way to be doing these things).
I occasionally worked as a cook on the hot bar, making hot food items for the buffet as well.
In the first two months of me working there, Nancy told me no less than ten times (probably more) to make a sheet cake for the bar, was informed by me that I had never been trained on how to make a sheet cake, and instead of showing me so I would know for the future, she would just scream for the customers to hear, “You are so useless!
Move! I’ll make it myself!”
So yes, Nancy was a total witch. And quickly developed a hatred for me because I am not the kind of person who keeps my mouth shut when I’m being unjustly berated. At least three times, the owner of the place (let’s call her Dolores. She’ll be important later) had to reprimand Nancy because I told her how Nancy had been treating me.
And each time she got reprimanded, her ire for me grew and she would, after a short period of acting like a decent person until the heat died down, start laying into me even harder.
Of course, this wasn’t even the worst of it. I’ve worked with butthead managers before. I know how to handle myself. What really tipped the scales for me was her “supplemental income” practices.
You see, Nancy wasn’t just a witch. She was a greedy witch. She had worked as a waitress before she made manager as I understand and apparently missed the tips. Because she would keep a hawk-eye out for regular customers who tipped well and would insist that she serve them, no matter whose section they were in. That was majorly against company policy. As was the fact that when she didn’t have any of these high dollar parties to sponge off of under the table, she went over the table instead.
Right to the tips left for other servers. I cannot tell you how many times I watched a party put down a $5 on the table, walked away to put dishes down, and then walked back to find Nancy bussing my table (just trying to be helpful, she would say) and be informed, “Sorry, Shi. Looks like they stiffed you. Better luck on the next table.” God, she wasn’t even subtle about it.
EVERY table she bussed for me would up “stiffing” me. And of course, Nancy would flaunt into work each day bragging about how she just got her hair done at the salon or got her nails done. Makes me sick.
But I digress. You see, I wasn’t sitting idle all this time. I had, as I mentioned, told Dolores about her harassment of me, but I also informed her about the theft of tips and taking tables she wasn’t allowed to take.
Dolores, let’s get this straight right now, had no business on this green earth owning or trying to run a company. As I understand it, it had been a dream of hers to run a restaurant and her entirely too loaded for his own good hubby had paid for the entire thing just so she could. She clearly grew up as a rich bee with an itch and was used to things just going her way because a decent manager she was not.
But more on her later. The reason I bring up her ineptitude is because when I told her about Nancy’s unacceptable and illegal behavior, Dolores would just shrug and say, “Yeah, a lot of the servers tell me that, but I can’t really do anything without proof. I’m trying to find someone to replace her as night manager, but until I find someone, we’re just stuck with her.”
Eventually, though, Nancy did get the sack. I don’t recall exactly what she was fired for. It’s not important. What is important is when Dolores called me into her office one day. “Hey, Shiloh. So Nancy is trying to file for unemployment benefits. Could you write a statement of the things you saw her doing around here so I can show that to unemployment and I don’t have to pay her?” With abject glee, I had a statement detailing some 30 so infractions, many illegal, that I had witnessed Nancy engaging in printed out and ready to hand over to Dolores the next morning.
As I hear it, not only were her benefits denied but she was also being questioned by the police. Score~
But Dolores doesn’t get off scot-free either. As I said, she had no business running a company. She was a horrid, little monster. Rich and entitled, neither by her own earning, she strutted around like the queen of the place. I remember once she was asked about Christmas bonuses and she said, “Oh, I’m sorry.
We just don’t have the money to give anyone a bonus this year.” The next day she went on a vacation to Cancun or somewhere like that and came back with huge, expensive fake implants. No money, my butt.
I was entirely sick of Dolores for reasons that I won’t enumerate seeing as I seem to have a novelette forming already. I was ready to quit and find a new job.
However, my landlord informed me that he was selling the house I was renting a room in and I had to find a new place to stay. So these things aligning made me start thinking. My girlfriend and I, who lived out of state, were always planning on moving in together. She had an empty bedroom. I had money to rent a car. I needed out of my crap job.
We pulled the trigger. I booked a car for 2 weeks out, typed up my resignation, and gave Dolores my 2 weeks notice, which is a far sight more professionalism than she deserved from me after the crap she had put me through.
So my last 2 weeks at this crappy job. Dolores saw fit to try and punish me for daring to leave her employ. She was having staffing issues at the time because she was developing a reputation as a crappy boss, so very few new applicants were coming in.
Those who already worked there were jumping ship because Dolores was a nightmare and they could already feel the ship was starting to capsize. So for my last two weeks, Dolores would happily schedule me as the only server on many shifts. I would have the entire floor of roughly 60 tables I would have to tend to. Luckily, it was a buffet so catering to a table was quick and easy, and I’m a great server, so I could handle the workload.
Joke’s on her; I made more in those last two weeks than I usually made in two months working that crappy job. She also decided not to schedule me for any days off in that time, though the lengths of the shifts made overtime very improbable.
But no matter. Like I said, I’m a great waitress. Partially because I don’t just do serving. I have my fingers in a little bit of everything, trying to make sure the entire place runs smoothly, not just the parts I’m responsible for.
Teamwork makes the dream work. The thing about that is, I don’t think Dolores ever realized just how much I did for her on a daily basis. At least I hope she wouldn’t be stupid enough to treat someone who was keeping her livelihood afloat the way she treated me. But who knows. The point is, as I was looking over my schedule, I notice that Dolores has me scheduled on the day I’m supposed to leave.
The day that falls outside my two weeks notice. Guess not being able to count to 14 was one of the things contributing to her poor management. And lo and behold, she’s scheduled me to work solo that night.
I’m five hours outside the town border when my shift starts. Right on cue, my phone starts ringing off the hook. I let it go to voicemail the first three times, then pick up the fourth.
Me: Hello?
Dolores: Shiloh, where the heck are you?! Your shift started fifteen minutes ago! I need you here right now!
Me: Oh, did you schedule me today? I thought I told you two weeks ago I was quitting.
Dolores: That’s tomorrow, not today! (Panic creeping into her voice)
Me: Nope. Count it up. I handed you my two weeks notice on (date) and yesterday was day 14.
Dolores: Okay, I messed up. I just need you to come in tonight. I have nobody else who can cover.
Me: Sorry, Dolores. I’m already in (name of town on the state border). It would take five hours to drive back and my shift would be over by then. You’ll have to call someone else to come in.
Dolores: I already tried when you didn’t answer your phone!
None of them want to come in! (That figured. I wasn’t the only one who wanted as little to do with Dolores as possible.)
Me: Well, I guess you’ll have to figure something out. You’re the manager. I’m sure you’ll manage.
And with that, I hung up, turned off my ringer, and had an absolutely blissful drive out of my old life, comfortable in the knowledge that Dolores was full-on, five-alarm, hair-on-fire panicking in my wake.”
21. Girls Can't Be In Honors Chemistry? She'll Break Your Equipment
“Background: This story took place during my Freshman year of college the 1st time in the mid-’70s. Thanks to my grades in high school, scores on my ACT test, and IQ (don’t ask me what it as I still don’t know!), the college I wanted to attend sent a “special enrollment package” prior to graduation to help me sign up for my first semester’s classes.
Among those classes offered was an Honors Chemistry 101 course that had classes every weekday. (I had also enrolled in an Honors College Algebra 101 course as well, but nothing too weird happened in that.)
The lectures for the 40 to 50 students attending the Chem class took place on M, W, F and the labs on the other 2 weekdays. No, I wasn’t the only girl in this course, but there were only a few.
We were split up into several smaller lab groups. The lab was a pretty typical student setup, 4 workstations per “table” with each of us having our own dedicated drawer that locked (we were issued keys) to store our own beakers, test tubes, and so forth. We each paid fees for “rental” of that equipment, the majority of which would be refunded to us at the end of the course assuming everything was turned in clean and with no damage.
I did notice I was the only girl in our lab group as I stood in various lines to collect all my gear and stuff needed for the start of class and that day’s experiment.
Cast: Me – 5 foot 2 inch blond girl not having had time to put on my lab coat, EJS – Entitled Jerk Student (male), OS1 & OS2 – Other Students (also guys), P – Professor (present during fallout but saying little), CAP – Cool Assistant Professor (female, brunette).
Finally getting back to my workstation with my arms filled with stuff (about 20 minutes after the class had started), I was setting everything out that was needed and putting the extra glassware away in my drawer. EJS standing on the opposite side of my workstation made some sort of mistake with what he was doing as the test tube he had been heating shattered. He cursed rather loudly noticing the flying glass had left small cuts on his one hand.
The three of us assigned to the workstations around him (myself, OS1 & OS2) had all stopped what we were doing to see if we needed to render aid. He looked directly at me gesturing at the mess on his worktop saying, “Get this cleaned up. I’ll be back after I get my hand checked and some fresh ingredients.” Then he walked out the door heading, I assumed for the aid station located down the hall.
I looked at OS1 & OS2 and said, “Does he seriously think I’m supposed to clean up after him?” They both nod and one said, “I wouldn’t. We’ve only got an hour and a half lab time left and you need at least an hour to do this right.”
Oooookaaaayyyy….. I grabbed one of the steel garbage cans for disposal of broken glass, hand broom, regular broom, dustpan, and making sure I had my safety gear on (gloves & safety glasses), and I quickly swept all glass on his worktop into the can (broken or not).
Then I noticed he had left his storage drawer open with the rest of his $200 (remember these are 1974 prices) glassware. Those also went into the can. Anything that didn’t break on its own, I shattered with the aid of the broomstick. Unfortunately, he walked back into the room before I had finished the job (gone maybe 10 minutes). He went directly into full scream mode, “WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING YOU KLUTZY BENCH!!!” (Not the actual words but you get the idea.) OS1 & OS2 grabbed him to keep him from reaching me, and P and CAP quickly showed up.
CAP said, “My office is closer. Move Now.”
Needless to say, the CAP’s office wasn’t very big without enough seats for all of us. She started with OS1 & OS2 asking them to explain what had happened. They did. CAP glanced over at P who made a hand motion of “handing” it back to her. She thanked OS1 & OS2 for their statements and – eying EJS – said he’d be good now that he’s had some time to cool off and they could leave.
They did so. She now turned to EJS with, “Did you ask OP to clean up your mess?”
EJS, “Yes, that’s why she’s there right?” CAP blinked a bit at that glancing over at P who was starting to smile.
Very gently CAP said, “Can you explain what you mean by that?”
EJS, “Well, it’s obvious right? She’s a girl and blond to boot. Girls don’t take Honors Chemistry.
They’re stupid. She’s there to clean up after us right?”
The P by this time is trying very hard not to laugh and I can see CAP’s having composure trouble too. CAP turned to me finally and asked me what happened.
Me, deciding to go for broke, did my best imitation of a breathless Marilyn Monroe, “Oh, I’m so sorry I was trying to help EJS, but I’m such a klutz!
Everything I touched broke!”
The P put his head down on the desk laughing. CAP gave him a nudge but he just waved his hands and pointed back at her. She smiled at me and then turned to EJS, “Just so you know, AthenaArtiste is a fellow student, nor do we hire ‘maids’ for our labs. Students are expected to clean up after themselves. In regards to this incident, however, you’ve admitted you had ordered her ‘clean up your mess.’ She did not have to this but did so in an effort to be helpful.
Responsibility for the cost of the broken glassware lies with you and not AthenaArtiste. Considering your attitude towards women, I think it best you be transferred to another lab section, one without women, as well.”
EJS sputters, “But she was breaking everything with the broomstick!!!”
Me, still breathless, “I was dumping everything into the can so fast because I hadn’t started my experiment yet. I was afraid I might have accidentally dropped in some good glass.” Eyelash flutter in the direction of the P.
“Keeping in mind your safety lecture in class, I thought to use the broom handle to move the broken bits around without cutting myself. Everything was broken though.”
Fresh spurt of laughter from P, as CAP started coughing to cover laughter too. She stood, handed EJS a slip of paper, and gestured him to the door with, “Bring your receipt for payment back to the lab office tomorrow and we’ll get you squared away.” He left muttering under his breath.
The P finally spoke to me and asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you majoring in?”
I sighed and said in my normal voice, “I haven’t made my mind up yet. Right now I’m down with a double major in Chemistry & Math with a double minor in Art & Theatre. Why?”
More laughter from both P & CAP. CAP said, “What are you planning on taking for your Philosophy requirement?”
I said, “That will be next semester, but why do you ask?”
P started laughing yet again as CAP said, “You’ve got to take Professor XXX’s Logic course. He shares EJS viewpoint on women.”
I did my best Spock eyebrow lift (not bad even if it is me saying it as I’d practiced it in a mirror for hours), “I’ll look into it, and thanks for the suggestion.” That, dear reader, is a story for another day.”
20. Steal My Wallet? Kiss Your Job Goodbye
“I work at a supermarket, and for a while a few years back, stuff would get stolen out of people’s bags in the break room.
It was mostly cash, phone chargers, headphones, little things like that. We did have little lockers in the break room, but they’re maybe 30 cm by 30 cm (1 ft by 1 ft) and too small to hold anything larger than a medium-sized purse, so if someone had a larger bag or even a large puffy jacket, it wouldn’t fit. I usually carry a messenger bag big enough to fit a notebook or sketchbook in (I liked to draw or write while on break) which was too big to stick in one of the lockers without having it get stuck and I usually stashed it under a coat rack.
I hardly ever keep money or anything more valuable than a mechanical pencil in my bag while at work, I keep any money or my debit card on me at all times.
Except for one particular day. Before work one particular Sunday, I had to go buy a new television since mine had suddenly stopped working the night before. I must have forgotten to take my wallet out of my bag before heading to work because the following day, I discovered it was missing.
However, whoever took it, only took the wallet because my debit card, college ID, and my MBTA (Boston’s subway system) fare card had been thrown in my bag. The wallet in question was a small Coach Brand wallet so I can see why they took it, but I had only spent about $14 on it since I got it at a Coach Outlet store, so it wasn’t like I spent a lot on it.
As annoying as it was to have my television die in the middle of playing an online video game (thankfully on the Switch, so I could at least finish the match I was in) because I had to buy a new television I had spent the $150 cash that I had been keeping in my wallet up until that point.
After meeting with the management and our Loss Prevention guy (LP for short), the consensus was basically: “We’re sorry that happened to you, but there’s nothing we can do about it.
Keep your stuff locked up from now on.” (Which I did, I started locking my bag to the coat rack with a bike lock.) The market I work at is a union, so management isn’t allowed to put cameras in the break room. So I talked to our LP guy about it a little more and asked him if I would get in trouble if I were to put a prank wallet filled with glitter and powdered food coloring in my bag and he said, “Not at all.” I also went to the union steward about it and he also said I wouldn’t get in trouble but also told me to be careful.
So I put my plan into motion.
I bought a fake Coach wallet (that cost more than the one that had been stolen go figure), some edible glitter, and powdered red food coloring. I sewed a strip of elastic into the opening of the wallet (the wallet had a zippered pocket for money and cards) then stuffed it with as much of the glitter and food coloring powder as I could so that when the wallet was opened, all the glitter and food coloring would pop out all over the hands of the person who opened it.
I then planted it in my bag and waited.
I didn’t have to wait very long. A few weeks later, I heard from our LP guy that a cashier had been going through people’s bags again and fell for my glitter-bomb wallet hook-line-and-sinker, tried to then wash the glitter off her hands which activated the powdered red food coloring. She then freaked out when it stained her hands bright red and went to management about it.
She wanted the person who planted the wallet to get in trouble for it but since it had been with another worker’s personal belongings and the wallet wasn’t harmful or illegal, there was nothing they could do to the worker who did it.
The girl ended up getting fired for openly admitting to going through people’s bags for money and other valuables and ended up throwing two other cashiers under the bus for stealing from people as well.
They were fired shortly after. I did get spoken to by management after the fact, since they knew that I had planted the wallet in my bag, but the discussion was more or less: “We know the wallet was yours. We didn’t tell the person who tried taking it that it was yours, and we’re not going to tell you that you can’t that again.””
19. Neighbor Turns Me In For Illegal Parking, So I Got Every Neighbor A Parking Violation Too
“I received a parking notice on my vehicle telling me my car was abandoned and will be towed to a city compound for not being moved. My car was parked in one spot legally, is registered and insured, and was only there for 2 days.
This was on a residential street in front of my condo.
When I noticed the slip on my window and went to investigate what it was, I noticed another person two condos over leering at me with a sense of accomplishment.
I called the city information line and explained the situation. They retorted with ‘anyone can legally call on any car and without the real knowledge if the car moves daily or not get a notice placed within the day.
The city is just doing their job.’ I was frustrated but then asked the person if that was the case and without any investigation, l could theoretically call every vehicle on the street for abandonment and they would have to then just ‘do their job.’
They replied with, ‘seems like more trouble than it seems but sure,’ not realizing that my pettiness knows no bounds.
I did just that.
I took photos of everyone’s license plate parked on the street, entered each vehicle into my city’s online site and within two hours a city vehicle had shown up to unleash my devious plan.
While taking the picture of one of the cars, the person leering at me before came out his door and asked, ‘Why are you photographing my car?
This is a private neighborhood!’ Whatever he was trying to say was obviously blinded by rage, and I just proceeded to give a devilish smile and walked into my unit.
My city worker hero called me, as you must provide loose info before entering vehicle complaints and I answered and explained what had all unfolded throughout the day, not leaving any parts out or any lack of info on what my part in all this was.
He laughed, amused at what I had devised, and replied with ‘This is the easiest last two hours of my night, thank you for this.’
I laughed said no problem and went to sleep with every vehicle with a parking complaint.”
18. This Girl Doesn't Put Up With Harrassment
“I was in college, and somehow this guy got my phone number. I’ll call him Steve.
Steve texts me about getting “together,” right from his very first text!
Naive me had to ask him what that even meant, and he very carefully spelled it out for me. So I told him no; sorry you got that impression about me, but I’m not interested.
Steve immediately starts blowing up my phone (10 texts a minute), calling me all kinds of terrible names and threatening me that he is going to tell everyone how ‘easy’ I am, telling me that I’m ugly and he didn’t want to go further with me anyway.
Basically being obnoxious and butt-hurt.
Finally, I’d had enough.
I texted him back, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I was playing hard to get. What are you doing tonight?’
He took the bait.
I told him I was going to go to the basketball game on campus, and when I got back, I would come over to his place.
I screenshot all his nasty messages and sent them to the president of the fraternity he was rushing (whom I was friends with) and the head of student affairs (with whom I was friends).
I turned my phone off, locked the door to my dorm, and went to bed. I woke up to 500 missed calls/voicemails/text messages. I didn’t respond to any.
I never saw that guy again. Apparently, he was not allowed to rush. And when they started investigating further, it turns out he’d been harassing multiple women. He was kicked out of school and apparently moved to Florida.
No one ever questioned me or even asked for any more evidence from me. Apparently, mine was just the icing on an already very big cake.”
One job I had I was the FIFTH woman to complain about a coworker. He always got me when I was alone and was disgusting towards me. Nasty stuff said and grabbing his crotch. When I told the GM the guy told me he'd send me a d**k pic, the GM seemed shocked. Finally that dude was fired. The fifth woman. Why should it take that many? It's ridiculous.
17. Mad At Me For Not Making You A Pizza After Closing? I'll Waste Your Time
If you’ve ever worked in food service, you know there’s always that one entitled customer who (seemingly intentionally) keeps coming in at or after closing expecting you to serve them simply because “they’re the customer” and “they’re always right.”
“I’m a university student working a supermarket job that’s just slightly above minimum wage. It’s a nice enough job, and the managers and colleagues are friendly, so I don’t mind doing it.
The customers are a mixed bag, though.
Every single week without fail, this old woman comes in and asks for four gluten-free pizzas with “triple mushroom and triple bacon.” She always arrives super late into the shift, normally when we are running out of ingredients/are about to close, and it’s usually hit or miss whether we have gluten-free bases in store (and you had better believe she blames me when this happens).
I don’t mind making large orders, but it’s pretty inconvenient especially when she comes so late in the evening. Worst still, she always has an attitude and is overall a nightmare to deal with. I’ve always worked with the rule that if a customer is polite and nice to me, I will return the favor and be nice back. This might mean I give them extra toppings, or I’ll work on the presentation a little more for them.
Normally it just means I’ll be friendlier to them. Similarly, if a customer is being a butthead, I will put the bare-minimum effort into whatever task I am doing for them.
I finish at the same time every week – 8 pm. Today, at about 7:15, I was closing my department. Had already covered the pizza ingredients, put away the utensils, etc. Midway through cleaning, the omega-jerk rolls up to the counter.
I apologize and explain that I’m closing down and finish at 8 pm.
She immediately starts complaining that she has been told we are open until 9 pm. I tell her that the store is open until 9, but the pizza department closes at 8 pm at the latest. And as I am only working until that time, I have to close everything down an hour earlier.
She gets even angrier and walks off, before returning maybe 5 seconds later after the thought of a sad, pizza-less night flashes through her tiny brain, and she tells me something along the lines of, “No, you have enough time.
Stop cleaning and make me my pizzas. You don’t close until you’ve done that.”
I argued back a little, but she was getting irritable, and as much as I like arguing with mean customers, I don’t want to get in trouble with my managers. So I just look at her and say, “I’ll go to the freezer and see if we have any gluten-free bases.”
So I dip out to the warehouse, knowing full-well that we have bases, and just chill there for 10 minutes or so. Catch up with the warehouse team, check my phone, you know the rest. When I feel like enough time has passed, I head back, and she’s still waiting there.
With the most deadpan voice I can muster I just said, “We don’t have any of the bases.”
The look of anger and defeat that flashed across her face was so darn satisfying. She kinda just threw her hands up before leaving, and I got back to finish cleaning up.
The thing is, I don’t mind making late orders for customers. It’s super inconvenient, and making a late pizza means I have to resanitize the surfaces, reclean the utensils, etc., but if somebody is polite to me, I respect the urge for a late-night pizza.
If a customer’s gonna be a jerk, though. There’s no way in heck I’m gonna make that pizza. I will go out of my way to make sure they can’t have it.”
16. Swerving To Get Ahead Of Me? Enjoy A Long Red Light
Every minute counts when you’re driving.
“So I’m driving in a major city on a road that is always a bit busy. I’m entering onto the highway and need to merge into the lane. In my area, common sense when merging is, “Let one in front, one behind.” Like a zipper, if that makes sense. Nice and efficient; everybody’s happy.
At least everyone except this one guy in a black Mercedes.
Dummy steps on the pedal to try and get ahead of me. I was already halfway in the lane when he started to floor it, and the left lane was congested at this particular spot. Slows down with maybe 2-3 feet between us and has the audacity to lay on his horn. After about a mile of tailgating me, he finally gets ahead of me, which, you know, who the heck in their right mind cares?
The road ahead of us is much more open at this point. I thought he’d take off, and I’d be able to forget about it.
But wouldn’t you know it, he starts to swerve into whichever lane I’m in (I changed lanes a few times to get past trucks, etc.) trying to stay right in front of me the whole time.
I’m not exactly sure what his plan was… He never tried to get me to stop or anything. He obviously wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. All I can say for sure is that it was obvious that he was trying to push my buttons.
So I bide my time, knowing that ahead of us is an exit to a massive intersection between two of the major highways in the city.
This exit pretty commonly has a cop in the area where it branches off. Not a speed trap, necessarily, as the cop is completely visible to all (this is important), and this particular spot has a higher rate of collisions.
As we approach, I get into the right-hand lane as if I’m going to exit. Predictably, this idiot follows suit. I stay in the lane until the very last moment that I can legally and safely abort the exit, which I do in short order.
A cop was right ahead of us as it happened, meaning the dummy realized he wasn’t gonna be able to cut me off again without overtly breaking traffic law right in front of an officer. This forced him to continue to the intersection, which is notorious for its long red lights.
As I continued on my merry way, I looked to my right to see a grown-man in his mid-30s screaming his butt off, face looking like a ripe tomato.
I laughed in a more exaggerated manner than was necessary while staring him down and flipped the bird until I was well past.
Wonder how it felt, spending all that money on a nice car only to get outsmarted by someone over a decade younger in a crappy car.
If by some miracle this dude is reading this, not exactly sure what you expected (also get therapy; you clearly need it and can obviously afford it).”
15. Evil Teachers Gets Her Beloved Rug Ruined
“This happened when I was in 2nd grade. Back in the prehistoric ’60s. A few things you should know. First, I am a redhead. I burned very easily when I was younger, and we didn’t have sunscreen or sunblock back then like we do now. At the time, my family and I lived in Tucson, Arizona.
And this takes place right after Easter.
Now, this teacher, whom I swear was older than God, didn’t like me for some reason. She’d always single me out. Well, I’d forgotten a math paper that I was supposed to bring back. So she told me if I forgot it again, the next day, she’d set me outside the classroom all day. Our classroom was in a portable building outside of the actual school building.
No hallways.
So, instead of doing like most of the teachers did for young students and sending home a note pinned to my clothes, she just… didn’t. Needless to say, I forgot the paper again. She sat me outside with my desk and chair and everything. Like I said, right after Easter… in the desert. And I was wearing my new Easter sundress.
Outside. All day.
And she told me not to move from that spot.
By the time class was over, my face, upper chest, upper back, and arms were bright red and forming blisters. My legs didn’t get burnt because they were under my desk all day. And back then, parents didn’t come to pick up the kids, we walked ourselves home. So by the time I got home, the evil teacher was gone.
My grandmother took one look at me and exploded (not at me). I told her what happened, and she called my mom at work. By the time my mom got home, the blisters had formed, and I was in tears.
I missed school the next day because I was in so much pain, and my mother missed work to go ballistic on the school.
I was able to go back to school a couple of days later, and the evil teacher jumped my butt.
“Why didn’t you move to the shade?”
“Because you told me not to.”
Apparently, I was burnt worse than we thought because I was beginning to feel kinda crappy. It was time for reading, and we all moved our chairs around this big, old, braided rug that the evil teacher had just brought to the class not two weeks before.
…And I felt worse.
The class each took turns reading, and I just kept feeling worse and worse.
Then it came my turn…
I opened my mouth to read…
And vomited all over the evil teacher’s braided rug.
I got sent home, and no one ever saw that rug again. Of course, the evil teacher scolded me for not getting away from her precious rug, but, I was 8. Vomit happens.
I didn’t understand why back then that I felt a kind of satisfaction over that incident, but my older self knows it was lovely, petty revenge.”
14. Talk Smack To Me? You Won't Be Getting This Job
“So I worked at a company that had serious problems with appropriate authority. In our office, the office manager would routinely say terrible things about the company, encourage the techs to quit and leave, etc. When I was hired, she was looking for another job and was letting the techs do whatever they wanted.
I was hired as a supervisor and discovered several ethical violations and the quality of work from the techs was extremely poor. We had one tech who was just flat out NASTY. She was bigger and tried to physically intimidate another supervisor (who was very short) by standing up over her and getting into her personal space because the supervisor called her out on trying to punish someone else.
Basically, they all got angry because they were allowed for who knows how long to do whatever they wanted, and when I showed up and said you have to do your jobs, they didn’t like me.
So one day, the next level-up supervisor decides that we have to fill out a rubric on how well the techs are doing their jobs. Of course, I get stuck with the nasty jerk.
I do my job, fill it out, and give it to her to sign. She signs it but acts like I took a giant poop in her cereal. Definitely, a “how dare you tell me how to do my job” sort of situation. She begins saying really nasty things about me to corporate saying I’m terrible and mean to her, saying I’m not providing enough supervision (never mind she was constantly canceling so I would show up and she wouldn’t be there, changed schedules with clients which she didn’t have authority to do (I got her in trouble for that before I left), etc.) She was a loudmouth, so someone who didn’t like her told me all about how she was crap-talking me.
Tired of all the garbage, I just said whatever! I quit and started my own company. I’ve been very happy since.
Cue revenge: a year later, I’m hiring for my company as I’m expanding, and guess who applies to work for me?! Yup, nasty girl. I cannot tell you how much pleasure I got out of declining her application and clicking that she was unqualified to apply.”
Another User Comments:
“Should have brought her in for an interview, so you could say no to her face.” bad63r81
Reply:
“Missed opportunity. Cancel the interview and reschedule it on short notice.” ChadHimslef
Reply:
“Then say no after the reschedule.” AspectOvGlass
13. Park In My Assigned Spot? I'll Have You Towed
“I had someone park in my assigned covered space at midnight on a Saturday. This has happened more than once.
One time, I called management to have them towed. Management tells me they don’t tow anymore because they would have to pay because it was private property, so ‘tough luck.’
I parked behind them and blocked them in. There was a block wall in front. I left the neighbors each a note on their door letting them know if they needed to leave, knock on my door.
At 10 am, frantic pounding on my door, me in pajamas, some girl hysterical that she had to go to work and was going to lose her job. I asked her if she knew it was reserved parking, she said yes; it was midnight and there were no other parking spaces and she didn’t want to street park and walk because it wasn’t safe.
I asked her why she was ok with making me park on the street and walk after midnight?
She told me she was going to have me towed. I laughed and went back to bed.
Management calls to tell me I am blocking someone in, and if I don’t move, they will have me towed. I relate conversation from the middle of the night, the ‘tough luck’ part, and tell them if they tow me instead of the violator in my spot, I am going to sue them for failing to enforce the rules, endangering my safety because the reason I parked that way was because it was after midnight and ‘everyone knows it is not safe to park on the street and walk.’
I offer to wait for the tow truck then move, so they can tow the ‘parking violator.’
Management tells the girl ‘tough luck.’
She is back pounding on my door and screaming. People are now calling management about the lunatic ‘trying to break into someone’s apartment.’
The guy she was with the night before shows up at my door. The girl is at the bottom of the stairs crying so hard she has the hiccups.
The guy apologizes profusely, said he didn’t know she parked in my spot. He apologized again and offered me money for my trouble.
I told him that wasn’t necessary; I was just waiting for the girl to apologize. He nodded, went downstairs, yelled at her, and pointed up to me. She came upstairs and apologized, and I moved my car.”
12. Replace Me After Promising A Future With Me? Get Poop Sent To You
“Once upon a time, a younger and naïve version of me fell for a man. Hard. One of those relationships where you ignore the millions of bright neon red flags that your friends keep pointing out to you and you insist that they are really purple.
Anywho, our “relationship” was never official, never out in the open, and never explicitly exclusive.
He was just REALLY good at convincing me that I was special. We went back and forth for about a year. We’d have close periods when things seemed perfect and then he would get distant for a few weeks, turns out he was seeing another girl, then come crawling back saying, “I’m an idiot. It’s been you the whole time,” etc.
Around the 1 year mark, he ups his game and starts talking to me about marriage.
He showed me “dream houses” and factored in both of our incomes to see what we could afford, looking at neighborhoods that would be good to raise kids in, etc. I didn’t want to believe him, but part of me did.
Almost immediately after this conversation, he gets distant. I saw it coming, but I was still heartbroken. A few weeks after that, I see on social media that he has changed his relationship status, and suddenly every ounce of frustration and anger I had just poured out of me.
Especially considering this man has never put his relationship status on social media (another flag), I figured that this one must have been going on for some time and that she eventually wore him down.
To channel this anger I did a few things. First of all, he was up for a small local award that you could vote for online. I sent mass messages getting everyone I knew to vote for his opponent.
(He lost.) Then I signed him up for as much spam email as I could, especially pertaining to a particular political candidate that he hated. Then I found a website where you can send literal poop to a person’s address. This turned out to be the best one because (I didn’t know at the time) the new girl had already moved in and she received the package.
This obviously led to questioning and he couldn’t give a straight answer. She gets suspicious and digs around, ends up messaging me and we exchange screenshots to find out he was indeed two-timing us at the beginning of their relationship, which WAS supposed to be exclusive.
She didn’t leave him then, but based on the info I have, she made his life a nightmare for that and never let him forget that he cheated on her for as long as that relationship lasted.”
11. Terrible Fries For A Terrible Partner
“This happened almost a decade ago with my first significant other. He was a manipulative, selfish, raging jerk, and I was a 16-year-old with no self-esteem. A terrible match.
He basically lived at my house and had me cook for him all the time. He was trying to impress one of my ‘gangster’ special-green-plant-growing neighbors, so he would have me make them snacks multiple times a day.
His favorite thing to eat was french fries.
I would be making 3 or 4 batches a day. Since I was cooking so many fries, I would keep the Crisco I used to fry them in an empty coffee tin in the fridge. Over the course of 3 days, the Crisco smelled exactly like potatoes.
So, my ex asks me to make him some french fries yet again.
(I’m the only one paying for them by the way.) When I tried to serve myself a plate of the fries I had just cooked, he yelled at me and said these were only for him and his friend.
He took the whole heaping plate and ran off!
My b***d was boiling, and I plotted revenge! I waited for the Crisco to solidify, and I whipped it with a fork so it looked like mashed potatoes.
Because of the many batches of fries, it smelled like mashed potatoes too. Now I just had to wait.
Soon enough my ex was back, and he was still hungry because of everything he smoked with my neighbor. He had the nerve to ask me for more fries! So, I sweetly told him that I’d made mashed potatoes for him while he was gone.
He was so pleased!
He said, ‘Thanks babe!’ and took the biggest spoonful he could straight out of the pot. He put the overflowing spoon straight into his gob with a huge smile on his face. His smile quickly turned into disgust, and he started violently throwing up in the sink.
He never asked me to make fries again in our short relationship. I broke up with him by the way.”
10. Hateful Customer Gets Change In Pennies
“I used to work at a pizzeria. There was this one customer that everyone hated. She was rude, complained about everything (every single order she ever received, she found something to complain about).
And she wasn’t a normal customer, no. She would order essentially groceries from us by ordering disassembled sandwiches. For example, she’d order a chicken sandwich but with all of the ingredients separate and in particular amounts, with cutlery, butter, a side of grated cheese, three plates, oil and vinegar on the side, ‘medium rare’ toasted bread (whatever the frig that means), extra packets of ranch, you get the idea.
But because it was all technically part of a ‘sandwich,’ she didn’t expect to be charged for any of the extras and would complain.
She also refused to answer the door when delivery drivers got there and instead would leave the money in an envelope (exact change, no tip) under the doormat and wanted the driver to leave the food on her doorstep.
She also had weird specifications about where the driver could park (never in her driveway, only on the street, even when it was raining, or she’d complain).
Also, she didn’t want them to announce their arrival in any way (no knocking, no ringing the bell, no beeping their car horns; they needed to be silent, or she’d complain). Freaking nightmare, this woman. And every time she complained, she’d try to weasel some free stuff out of us for next time (because, of course, she would!).
Anyway, one day she says she needs the driver to make change, and she wants him to just leave the change in the envelope and not take a tip because ‘he gets paid already.’ So, I tell my driver this, and he says, ‘Ohhh I get paid, do I?
No problem.
I’ll take care of it.’
He goes on the delivery and comes back pleased as punch and doesn’t say a word about how he ‘took care of it.’ I get distracted, keep working, and 10 minutes later, I get a phone call. It’s the crazy lady, and she’s FURIOUS because apparently, my driver left her the correct change of $5.85 in the envelope like she asked…..IN PENNIES.
Freaking genius. I had to put her on hold, so I could laugh. I get back on the phone with her, and I said, ‘Ma’am, I think you’ll find that pennies are legal tender. There’s nothing I can do.’ After explaining that I am, indeed, the manager and the highest authority present, she got fed up and hung up on me.
That driver is still a king to me.”
Another User Comments:
“That’s freaking amazing.
I feel slightly sorry for this woman because it sounds to me like she had some severe OCD and/or social anxiety going on. (The disassembled sandwiches sound like she needs to prepare them herself so they’re “correct” coupled with the completely insane lengths she went to in order to avoid face-to-face interaction.) I wonder if she didn’t have some sort of physical deformity or dysmorphia.
But yeah, the majority of my pity and sympathy gets pushed aside by her completely unmitigated attitude.” ThrowawayFishFingers
9. Racist Customers Get "Special" Burgers
“In or around 1978. I was a teenaged fast-food worker.
At this time. America was having a little diplomatic situation with Iran. Hostages were being held.
And people were up in arms against Muslims in general.
Yep. Things never really change.
We had two brothers working there who had recently been hired. Raju and his younger brother Ravi. Now those of you who are a little more sophisticated. Might recognize that these are Indian names. Given to them by their Indian parents. Who were Hindus from India.
But of course.. They were brown..
And vaguely Middle Eastern-looking. Although one customer thought they were Mexican. Racist people usually aren’t overly intellectual.
One weekend night.. We are swamped. The grill is cranking out burgers at a breakneck pace. When they show up. 4 twenty-something jerks. They actually start yelling past the cashiers to the backline workers.
“Freaking, Iranians! Go back to your own country! We’re gonna be waiting for you when you get off.
We’re gonna kick your butt!” Just a full couple of minutes of 4 idiots shouting the dumbest crap you’ve ever heard. At first, I was right in the center section. So I pointed at myself with a, “Who me?” looking all wide-eyed innocence. The brothers never said a word. They just kept working. They were too cool to have to deal with these idiots. The 4 jerks wouldn’t give it up.
“Freaking Iranians… Blah blah blah.”
When their order came up… I made sure their very special burgers were segregated from everyone else’s. When the cashier started bagging their orders. I directed her to grab..these burgers, specifically. Which she did. I looked at the ring leader and said, “Enjoy your meal!” Very cheerfully..too cheerfully. Under my breath, I muttered, “I dare you.”
Right now.
I’m betting that you’re asking, “What did you do to their food?”
Well, my friends. You really don’t want to know. When you have a group of angry off teenagers making your food.. Let’s just say.. We got creative. How much spit is too much? It’s a question for the ages. What’s the biggest booger you can hide under a pickle? Pretty big actually.
Again, this lesson is for all the Karens.
And Chads. And Racists. And entitled idiots everywhere…
Be a full-time jerk. Treat everyone like the lowly scum they are.
Except the people who handle your food! Because sometimes revenge is a burger served piping hot.”
8. Want The Group Project Done Your Way? I'll Resubmit It And Get Everyone Else A Better Grade
If only she knew about the revenge that was passively taken on her.
“When I was a freshman in uni, I had to take Chem as one of the prereqs for my major. For my lab, I was paired with other three students, which all happen to be part of the honors college and they knew I wasn’t.
They would often talk about their honor class and how hard it was to be an honor student, and one of them whom I will refer to as K for “know it all” would kind of belittle me for not being part of such an elite group at a PUBLIC university.
Every week we had a lab that required a full written report, and the four of us divided the work into four sections.
I always volunteered for the intro and conclusion since chemistry has never been my forte, but I was a fairly decent technical writer (not outstanding… but not bad, lol), so I stuck to what I knew how to do.
K kind of took the leadership role from our team and she would compile all of our parts and turn in the lab report. So we get the first report back, and we got points deducted from both my intro and conclusion… My spirits did fall low because I was sure I did a good job, plus I knew my teammates were smart, so I didn’t want to be THAT student – regardless everything was fine until a pattern began to develop.
Week after week, points were being deducted from the intro and conclusion ONLY.
Then it all went down. After a few weeks, K gets one of our lab reports back and she stands in front of me with that sassy mad look (arms cross, foot tap and all), and she says something along the lines of, “You need to do better,” and I’m like, “I’m trying my best” (which I was!
I was doing so much research and really trying to be accurate!), BUT THEN she goes like (word by word), “Well, obviously it’s not good enough.”
When she said this, I was so hurt and I just stayed quiet because that’s who I am… but what hurt the most was that she did it in front of our other teammates. I felt so humiliated. One of the other girls in our team was also taken aback by her comment and she tried defending me, which I truly appreciated but K just rolled her eyes and walked away.
Things didn’t improve after that. Points continued being deducted and it was all because of my sections.
Whatever.
It’s the end of the semester and I come across all the lab reports that I ended up keeping after the TA gave them back… For some reason, I decide to go over them and the intro and conclusion were NOTHING like the ones I wrote.
Everything had been edited: format, word choice, and the entire freaking content was TOTALLY different. I. WAS. FURIOUS. I started writing a rant email to K, but in the middle of my dissertation, I thought of something better.
I emailed our TA.
I sent her everything. I explained everything that went down during the semester and sent her the original files and the emails I sent K that included the original attachments.
I asked her to reconsider my grades and told her that I would accept any new grades she believed MY work deserved even if it meant having more points deducted (I was confident in my work, though). I also asked that if she considered better marks for my work to also grant the same grade to my other two teammates EXCEPT for K.
The TA got back to me after a couple of days, letting me know that my grades and those of my other two teammates had been updated (just in time for the university’s final grades deadline), and BAM!
A+ as my final grade. Not sure what K got since I’m sure she did well in the final, but based the grade of all of our reports, it was a B.
I wanted to send K my new grades, but unfortunately, I’m not very brave. Plus, I’m sure her and the other two students would talk about it and find out since lab ended about two weeks before finals, and they still had that stupid honors class together.
But let me tell you, that the feeling of satisfaction I got was enough even if she never found out.”
7. I Called Out Aunt For Regifting Me Old Chocolates
“I have this aunt in law who is this materialistic bubblehead. She goes on about her assorted status symbols, clothes on her kids, her house, etc.
We always exchange gifts at Christmas, my wife has a fondness for her which had much more to do with her childhood than the classist weirdo she is today.
Anyway, I always had the feeling that she would fake appreciate any gift you gave her but not actually use it.
She would make these appreciative and back handed insults, like the time we gave her a box of chocolates, nougat covered with chocolate, her favorite. So she would say, ‘Oh, these look lovely. I usually get the hand-crafted nougat from the Chocolatier xxx, so these will be a nice variation. I’m sure they will be nice.”
Yeah, no, she is never going to eat those, but my wife called me cynical.
We have also suspected her of regifting quite a bit but could never prove it. Until the following Christmas. One of the key rules of regifting is you don’t regift to the same person that gave you a gift. And so yes, she gave me back the box of chocolates. I know it’s the same one because a) it was pretty rare, never saw it before, and after I bought it, I saw that it was imported from Italy.
So I said, “Oh, these are the same kind I gave you last year. You must have enjoyed these so much that you bought one for me?” She turned a little red but said, “Yes, they were wonderful, so when I saw them in the store, I thought I would buy them for you,” so I then opened the box right then and there, and they were 100% covered in bloom which would happen after sitting in a closet for a year (bloom looks bad, but really, it’s just sugar that’s condensed on the surface, so harmless, really)
Pretending to be ignorant, I double down. I’m going for it. I shove the box under her nose, “Here, you love these. Have one.” She stammered, “I am ok, not hungry at the moment.” “But you love these. You said they were great.” “Oh, they were wonderful, but I really couldn’t.” “OK, well then. I have to have one. They look delicious.” She stammered and looked nervous, “It’s very close to dinner.” I said and popped it my mouth, “Mmm, delicious” (it was gross and stale).
She looked red.
Then about 10 minutes later, I started to complain. “Not feeling so good. Do you have some seltzer?” So she brought me a glass, and I let out a big burp. “That’s better.” I ate dinner, dessert, drinks, then after dinner, we had brandy. “Those chocolates would go great with the Brandy,” so I grabbed them. I passed them around, and someone said, “Where did you get those?
They don’t look very good. They have a lot of bloom.” I said, “No, they are great” and ate another one. The aunt looked pale.
About 10 minutes later, I suddenly had another stomachache. “You know, hon, not feeling too well, have that stomach ache again; we should get going,” so we did.
I told my wife the story, and she was mad at me at first for being a jerk.
So I said, “She knowingly gives someone a year old box of chocolates, and I’m the jerk,” and then it finally dawned on her. “She knew it was bad, refused to eat one, but let you eat one knowing it was a year old.”
The aunt called the next day and conveniently wondered how I was feeling. I said, “I threw up when I got home, but I was fine after that.””
6. Flirt With My Friend On Our Date? You Can Have The Bill
“Last weekend, I went out with this woman I met online.
We will call her Hannah (not her real name). Hannah and I had been talking for a week prior via text and phone calls and we decided to meet up for drinks at my favorite bar. Turns out my buddy was drinking there as well, so I did the nice thing and invited him to our table, so she could meet one of the people I hang out with, hopefully, to get to know me better.
My buddy was a real wingman, talking me up, telling great stories, and sharing laughs and drinks. An hour into it and she starts flirting with him! Well, he looks visibly concerned and giving me the, “Dude, I’m so sorry” look. I give him the, “I get it bro, not the first time” look. So I text him, “Hey bro, I have a plan.
Drinks are on her since she being a bee with an itch.” He smiled and gave me a nod. He then starts flirting and talking with her and I’m basically not even part of the conversation.
Little does Hannah know that I’m busy ordering drinks. I’m talking a Macallan 12 double, getting my buddy drinks, and buying her whatever she was having (some drink named after the bar, too sweet for me).
Then the time comes, Hannah has to visit the facilities. Perfect!
I call over for a check and it’s over $120 in drinks! I felt bad, but he stopped me saying, “Man, this was a date between you two, and if she is gonna ignore you after you went through this trouble talking to her, she ain’t worth it. Come on, I know another good bar around the block.
First-round is on me.” I literally was about to cry in this dude’s arms for being a heck of a wingman for me on the spot. We left, hit up some Irish pub that I LOVE NOW, and we had a great rest of our Saturday night.
Oh, and as for Hannah, she had to have a friend come over to pay for her cause she didn’t bring any money and expected me to pay for the date whether it went well or not.
Suffice to say, I’m gonna stick with drinking with the boys for this holiday season.”
5. Racist Bully Gets A Terrible Secret Santa Present
“This all happened around Christmas 2017. I am of mixed race and I live in the United Kingdom.
This story is simplified.
So when I was in year 9 (14/15), a new kid joined my year group. Let’s call this kid P. So I was the one who initially introduced P into my friend group, and I tried my best to be as good a friend as I could be.
So for the rest of year 9, things went ok. We got along. I invited him to my house. We did Minecraft every evening. Typical 14-year-old stuff. However, one day, something clicked. He decided to change and started avoiding me. I thought nothing of it. I assumed it was him going through a rough patch. Until during an IT lesson, he said, “I think I am your superior because I’m white.” This took me off guard as he actually meant it.
He also made various other comments about how he was better than me. I reported him, and my school did nada.
Time went on and his hatred towards me got worse and worse. He started pushing and shoving me for no reason and just being a bully. I repeatedly reported him, but the school did not care. This guy hated me for my race and I could do nothing about it.
By the time year 11 rolled by, he turned many of my friends against me as well. I basically hid in an IT room most lunchtimes because of this.
Anyway, Christmas 2017 rolls past, and my tutor group (me and P were in the same one) did a Secret Santa. So I did not really care who I got as long as it was not P. So I pull a name out of the hat, and guess who I got?
P.
So I thought long and hard about how little I wanted to spend on this loser. I thought about all the nasty things I could get him. In the end, I decided to shop in a nearby Lidl (German shop found in UK, mostly very cheap). I purchased some shampoo and shower gel. Not just any shower gel and shampoo, but the “Cien” cheapo stuff.
Fortunately for me, it was in a bottle that looked and felt like a nice load of Lynx shampoo. I wrapped it all up and made it look nice. Also, P stank, so it was another frig you to him as well.
The next morning rolled by, and we all unwrapped our stuff. Some people unwrapped chocolate and others unwrapped little knick-knacks and stuff. P was the last as he thought someone had gotten him some expensive shampoo… He unwrapped it.
Never before have I ever seen a look of such disappointment. He saw the cheap body products. Even the teacher felt bad for the level of crap I bought him. As everyone else played with and ate their gifts. P sat sulking in a corner. I felt extremely satisfied and had to resist the urge to say, “Flip you, P.””
4. You'll Miss Her When She's Gone
Don’t take your employees for granted.
“At the time this story took place, I was a 22-year-old female.
At work, I used to refer to myself as “a team of one,” which was my preferred way to say that I had no help on a day to day basis with anything I did. My manager had a vague idea of my responsibilities, but that was about it.
(He once asked me to type out a How-To Guide for my job, and when I handed it to him, it was 17 pages long!)
When I say I kept this office running, it is no exaggeration. On my own, I was in charge of greeting, sitting, and making drinks for guests; ordering supplies for the kitchen, all tea/coffee/sugar supplies, stationery, and paper; liaising with the building manager, mechanics for the printers and workmen for broken lights, water leaks, and power cuts.
I also had to open, sort, and distribute all incoming posts, as well as collecting, pricing, and bagging up outgoing post. We had a large room that we booked out to people in our organization for meetings, training, and conferences. Many of these meetings would need computers, which would need to be set up ready for when the meeting commenced. Fine. But, the floor manager was insistent that these particular computers be taken down and boxed up when they weren’t needed to keep the room looking neat and tidy.
Depending on how many meetings we had during the week, this could mean that it would be down to me to come in early to set up for a meeting on one day, stay late to take them down again ready for another one the next day, and then come in early again for them the day after that.
Needless to say, those computers were the bane of my existence, and if the windows could have been opened on our floor, I would have taught them all how to fly.
On top of all that, almost no one spoke to me. In an office of close to 200 people, I was only talked to if they needed something from me and ignored otherwise.
Basically, I was overworked, underappreciated, underpaid, and underestimated.
Cue petty revenge!
We had to go through an internal system to book vacation days, but we always had to ask our respective managers first to see if they knew of any overlap and make sure it was ok to request it.
I had done this, like the good little doormat I was, and didn’t think anything else of it… until a time where we had need of those e****g computers every other day for 2 weeks.
I had early starts and late finishes every day with no word of thanks, and I snapped.
While plugging in those computers, admittedly a little harder than was strictly necessary, I hatched my plan.
I had a week of vacation coming up, and I fulfilled my duties as well as I could until that Friday where I left at my normal time. I hadn’t reminded anyone about my holiday, and as no one had spoken to me, I had a sneaking suspicion that no one had remembered.
I had a few good friends dotted about the floor, and I trusted them to spy for me and report their findings back, so they were the only ones I told.
There were perhaps 4 or 5 people total out of 200.
According to them, it took 4 hours for people to notice I wasn’t there on Monday morning. And that was only because the morning post had been delivered and dumped in a pile on my desk. One of my spies sat at the desk next to mine, and when my manager asked him, “Hey, where’s OP?” he just said, “She’s on vacation, remember?” (This friend was also overworked and underappreciated by the higher-ups, so he was glad to take part in my scheme!)
Apparently, my manager stormed off to his desk to check, grumbling as he logged in to the system. Then he went very pale as the system politely told him that, yes, I had booked this vacation, and yes, he had written it on his calendar, and yes, everything had been done properly.
Several of my spies reported seeing my manager running around like a headless chicken, grabbing people off his department, and shoving them at my duties to ask them if they knew what to do.
No one did.
For a whole week, they had to work out how to handle my workload, sort out all the things that they had taken for granted, and, of course, sort out all those darn ‘puters!
For several days after my holiday, I had people swarming up to me, saying how glad they were that I was back, and how poorly things had been handled in my absence.
That was the occasion that sparked my boss to ask for the aforementioned How-To Guide. Once I handed it to him, he made copies for every department manager on the floor and for every member of his team.
And, before you ask, no, this did not cause any significant improvement in my working circumstances. It still took me over a year to get out of there.”
3. Jerk Customer Wants Light Jalapenos? We'll Go Heavy
“This happened a handful of months ago, but I just thought of it now.
I used to work for a well-known sandwich shop that we’ll call Locomotive-Transport. We closed fairly late (11 PM), and my boss was a lovely guy who decided that clocking in/out was a bad system and instead would simply stop paying us at 11:30, meaning we had to get everything put away, cash drawer counted, dishes done, and everything clean by 11:30 if we wanted to get paid for it.
We had two people on shift at night, and we usually got it done by 11:15, assuming no one came late and that the computer worked at a decent speed (rare). Please note “assuming no one came late;” this is important.
Personal rant: I don’t know why anyone would want a sandwich at 11 at night.
I feel like if you wanted a sandwich that bad, you had enough time during the day to do it, but that’s just a simple wage slave’s opinion.
All this to say, it was generally considered a jerk move to come within 15 minutes of close time.
So, one night, I’ve got my headphones in one ear, the drive-thru headset on the other, and I’m jamming and putting the food away. I’ve got everything put up and 5 minutes to close. I’m just wiping stuff down, excited to try and get out early.
Usually, I would have turned off the open sign and the headset by now, but I got caught up in my j a z z and forgot. Didn’t remember until I heard it: the dreaded beep.
To hear the beep after the food is put away and the utensils are clean is like watching a movie character where the serial killer catches them right as they’re dialing the last 1 of 911, only you’re that basic white girl that ignored the creepy sounds in the house way longer than any rational human would have.
It grips your soul and twists like God himself is ringing you out like the pathetic, little, wet rag person you are. People have cried, and I’m not ashamed to say I’m one of them.
Tonight was no time for tears, however. Tonight was the time for rage and anger. Tonight was the night for REVENGE.
I pressed the talk button and gave my spiel.
I’ll be using the names PB1 and PB2 for Pee Boy 1 and 2 for this exchange.
Me: “Welcome to Locomotive-Transport. What can I get for ya?” (I’m extra cheerful and loud to drown out my coworker’s sobs in the background.)
I can hear them laughing and talking to each other in that certain way that every fast food employee recognizes: teenage boys. Instead of my usual shivers of fear, my heart steals further and icy determination settles on my patented customer service smile ’cause forget dem kids.
PB1: “Um… give me a second…”
Me: “Take your time, just know we close in about 5 minutes.”
PB1: “Haha, oh crap. Can I get a Locomotive Frat with uh… -cheese we don’t have-?”
I will save you the molasses-slow order this child put me through, but needless to say, by the time he finished, we were now two minutes to close.
Me; “Alright, is that all for you tonight?”
PB1: “Uh… yeah that’ll be it.”
Me: “Alright, total will be ready at the window-“
PB2: “Can I get a sandwich order? Light jalapeños. Make sure there’s not too many.”
Now, friends, I thought about this all the time. I absolutely cannot stand spicy food, but if I’m in the mood for pain, I’ll occasionally get one or two. Locomotive-Transport’s policy was 6, but 8-9 was usually what we put on.
Light jalapeño meant 3-4. You can all see where this is going, but apparently, Pee Squad did not.
They pull up and pay, paying no mind to the fact that it is now closing time. The sign is off; it’s 11:01. I’m beyond angry but still being customer service ready.
I pull all the food I need back out again and make the first sandwich as fast as I could, then I get to work on the jalapeño sandwich.
I make it with all the normal proportions, but looking into that giant bin of peppers, I let out the evilest cackle I could manage and plopped on as big a handful as I could. My coworker comes out of the back to find me, full-on Joker, laughing over this bread and jalapeño abomination. I struggled to wrap the thing; I was laughing so hard.
I quickly shoved the sandwich in a bag, composed myself, and practically tossed it into the car with a, “Have a great night!” The Pee Squad, not wanting to spend a moment longer than necessary with the common working class, speeds off without a word.
I smile, for even as I finish my work late, I am happy. I have toppled the Capitalist Giant; I have won.
I know it’s small, but it was like watching that bee with an itch Veruca fall down the trash shute in Willy Wonka. It didn’t benefit me at all, and the moment was short, but it’s that warm feeling of “flip you” that’s stayed with me for so long.”
2. Dine And Dash? I'll Take Your Credit Card Hostage
I’m sure the public humiliation was enough for them.
“I’m a 30-year-old pencil pusher by now, so this story is not recent. It happened about 9 years ago when I was still in college. During that time I served at a smaller diner (14 tables total, a bar with about 10 seats, and more seating on the patio). Located in a suburban town that also boasted a small college (which I attended), this place was frequented by some of the best people you’ll ever meet.
I loved working there and making relationships with regulars and strangers alike. In fact, I’m still in contact with some of my regulars 9 years later. Of course, there were difficult and belligerent customers at times, but the good experiences far outweighed the bad. I miss it to be honest.
This diner was a very popular breakfast and lunch spot. Dinner was spotty, but we still did pretty well.
From 7 am – 1:30 pm, we were usually at capacity. This story occurred on one particular Labor Day, and it was HOT outside. The street on which this restaurant was located was hosting a Labor Day parade, so we were more packed than usual from people who wanted to escape the heat and get a bite. I ran my butt off from open till the lunch rush died down around 2 pm.
Made good money, provided good service, etc., etc.
Since it was a holiday, we were closing early that day at 3 pm. This was marked everywhere, including online. I only had 2 tables left at 2:30 pm when a family 4-top came in. No problem, I seat them, I’m getting off early anyway, so it doesn’t bother me if they stay past 3 pm. But I notice immediately that the father/husband is very overweight and struggling mightily with the heat.
I get him water, but he starts looking worse and eventually falls out of his chair after a few minutes. He is mostly unresponsive while I run to call 911 and get some cool moist towels to give to his wife. He, unfortunately, defecated during this incident. Poor guy, he kept saying how sorry he was and was clearly embarrassed, even though he was clearly in pain.
Not sure if it was heat stroke or heart attack and I never found out. But I’m running around trying to help this guy, holding the door as the paramedics come, moving chairs and tables to clear a path.
That’s not the story. The next part is.
While I’m running around the restaurant, I’m still checking on my 2 tables. They’ve mostly finished, so I’m trying to get them out ASAP, as I assume they have lost their appetites.
So I’m clearing plates and getting checks. I’m being somewhat neglectful of them, but hey, I can only do so much. Well, a 2-top of college-aged guys decided, during all this turmoil, to get up and leave without paying their checks. I don’t notice until the ambulance leaves and see that they are gone, the check still on the table. I’m a little shook up so I tell my manager that they walked out and he tells me to go find them.
(The manager was also the owner and is a great guy, so hopefully, that doesn’t make him sound bad. He was as angry as me).
I’m not the most confrontational, but at that moment, I wanted to find those jerks. And I think, “They’re college age; I’ve seen them around campus, so they probably didn’t drive. Campus is only a few blocks away; I should probably start in that direction.” But then I put on my detective hat.
What would I do if I just got an endorphin rush from stealing from a restaurant on this hot day? Well, I would probably get a nice frosty treat from the Dairy Queen 2 blocks away. So I jog to the DQ, sweating my junk off, and bust in like a man on a mission. And lo and behold, who do I see in line but my two forgetful customers from 5 minutes ago.
They don’t look incredibly thrilled to see me for some reason. I walk up to them and put the check in their face and politely tell them that they neglected to pay.
They look ashamed and inform me that they were in a hurry. Of course, they weren’t being opportunistic jerks; they were just in a huge rush to wait in line for ice cream!
So I tell them, “Look, it’s no problem. If you give me your card, I’ll go cash you guys out and bring it back.” These idiots actually give me a credit card and I walk back to the restaurant, charge the card, lock the front door (as it’s now after 3 pm), and go about my side work in order to close down the front of the house.
After about 20 minutes, they must have realized that I wasn’t actually returning (lol) and showed up at the front door of the restaurant. I saw them approaching through the large front windows, so I slipped in my headphones and continued mopping. Unfortunately, I could not hear them knocking on the front door as I concentrated on my mopping, in full view of my 2 former customers.
It took me about 15 more minutes to finish cleaning the floors, at which point I looked up and put on my best-surprised face to see them pounding on the door. I hold up a finger, tell them to wait, make my way slowly behind the counter, look confused, finally locate their receipt and credit card, walk slowly toward the door (need to be careful on the wet floor), opened the door a crack and handed back their card, asked them to sign the receipt, and promptly closed the door after.
They waddled off in sweaty silence.”
Another User Comments:
“Your boss is a jerk.
“Go out and find them.” Who the heck makes their employee leave their workplace and go out on the streets to find and chase down two losers who did a dine and dash? Who the heck puts their employee in that type of possible danger?
Your manager was an A JERK.
If he was that “angry” about these two fools running out on their bill, then HE should have manned the heck up and hunted those guys down HIMSELF instead of sending YOU to do it.
What a complete butthead. LOL…”great guy” my butt.” HoneyNJ2000
1. No More Sandals For This Kid
“When I was about six or seven, there was this five-year-old who lived down and across the street from my house. I’d sometimes see him at our local playground, and for whatever reason, he liked to pick on me.
Now, when I say that, I don’t mean to say he bullied me or that I saw him as a bully. He was a kindergartener and I was probably twice his size. He didn’t hurt my feelings—he just annoyed the living snot out of me, for months, which seems like years in the eyes of a first-grader.
The thing that I hated the most was that he’d call me ‘baby JD’ (my family nickname growing up was JD, and it’s how all my friends knew me).
He wouldn’t just toss it at the end of any old sentence as a normal person would. He would repeat it, over and over. Chanting, singing, taunting me endlessly until I was too frustrated to stick around and went home. He always seemed to ruin the fun.
But one day, I grew a spine. I was on the swings, all on my own, hoping for one of my friends to come outside and play.
All of a sudden, I saw a figure turn the corner around my house, riding a training-wheeled bicycle—it was him. The already-grey Washington sky seemed to turn darker.
He rolled up to the swing set and we exchanged pleasantries. We were children; we weren’t savages. But hardly a minute had passed before it began: ‘Baby JD! Baby JD! Baby JD!’
I lost my patience.
I swung hard and leaped off of the swing, landing hard on the mulch, feet from where he stood. He backed up to put some space between us, but I stomped a foot in his direction.
Now, I wasn’t actually going to hurt the kid, I just wanted to scare him a little before I took the familiar trek home. And in fact, I didn’t hurt him, not enough to warrant tears anyway.
But what I did do was interrupt his balance. He toppled to the ground hands and feet flailing.
My instinct took over. My eyes trained on his feet, which I noticed were suddenly bare. There, sitting atop the mulch, was a pair of sandals. I’d literally startled him out of his shoes. So I did what any sensible kid would do and picked them up before walking in the opposite direction.
Immediately, he was back on his feet, screaming about his shoes. He ran after me, but I held the flip-flops out of his reach. He didn’t dare throw a punch, because he and I both knew that wasn’t a fight he was likely to win.
Eventually, I grew tired of toying with him, and his unending screaming was starting to annoy me as much as ‘baby JD’ did.
I noticed we were standing under one of those big roofs-on-columns, the kind with concrete floors and no walls. I backed slowly out from under the roof and he inched toward me, keeping his distance. I held the shoes out as if to offer them to him, and he lunged. But he was too slow.
The clouds, it seemed, had parted. Sunlight engulfed the playground.
I gave all my strength. The sandals were in the air. We were both still as they spun through the daylight as if propelled by an invisible dancer. An eon passed, and soon they too hung in the air motionless.
And then they began to fall. My aim would need to be absolutely precise, the winds exactly in my favor, the angle of descent perfect and exact.
Seven feet from the ground, a dull ‘thud’ echoed through the air. Two small sandals had landed flat on the angle of the roof. The judges held up their 10s, the crowd went wild, the sun smiled down on my triumph.
And then the silence of the park was broken by a blood-curdling shriek.
‘MY SHOES!’
I imagine I must’ve left a me-shaped cloud of dust in my wake.
But I’d never been prouder.
I can’t even remember the kid’s name, but his sobbing still brings me warm joy on bad days.”
