These people know how to serve revenge in the most incredible ways, to those who betrayed them...
To Her Boss That Hated Fish…
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“Two years ago, my firm welcomed a new partner to the organization. This woman was a patronizing, condescending, and miserable jerk with whom I detested from the start – she was the type who woke up with the intention of screwing over as many people as possible and cried herself a river when she didn’t get her way – you know the type.
She blamed me for anything and everything from office equipment malfunctioning, to a smudge on the window, to her beautifully organized colored ink pens being out of order, to stealing her parking spot (I was working there WAY before her, and had it reserved until she had parking change the numbers.), etc. Real freakin’ brat.
I was fortunate enough to know of a law office with an opening and was immediately offered a position, as I knew the managing partner. Gave in my two weeks, and was happy as a clown.
On my last day there, I snuck into her office at lunch and microwaved the whole freakin’ Atlantic Ocean in her own private microwave – salmon, tilapia, mackerel, sardines, and anchovies in one big mixing bowl. Not a large amount as I don’t like to waste food, but just enough to create an essence of a fish market. The smell was soon overwhelming and I felt like a Goddess. I then closed her door, walked out of the office, and ended my last day of work at 1 PM.
When she first started, I heard her telling our receptionist that she HATED fish and that even the faintest smell made her throw up.”
Taxi Drivers In Australia
“Australian taxi drivers come in two flavors – friendly and professional; or rude and jerks.
I have had the pleasure and displeasure of experiencing both. I am also a proudly vindictive savage when I need to be.
2:30 am on a Saturday morning I arrive close to the taxi rank. I am sober and friendly when I tap on the first taxi’s window.
I let him know my destination, which totals at about 40-45 dollars AU. This is pre-Uber taking over so there wasn’t much choice and no public transport would be available to take me home that evening. It’s illegal to refuse a fair simply because it’s too short. I also tip very well and understand people need to make a living.
The taxi driver does just that. He refuses to take me, says it won’t get him enough money and asked if I would prefer to go to the airport instead. (eeerrrr…No. No, I don’t.) ‘No airport? No trip.’ He says to me resolutely, shooing me away as is I was a child.
This really annoys me and I decide to be petty. He likes money so much? ‘You see the guy behind you?’ I ask him, motioning towards the taxi parked behind him. ‘I’m going to hire that taxi. He will take me home. And whatever the fair comes to, I will tip him the exact same amount.’ I’ve got $40 in cash in my hand as I say this.
The taxi driver sees this and begins to back peddle, telling me he’d be happy to take me now and surely I understand. ‘No manners? No money.’
And I walk away towards the second driver. I don’t tell him my plan, but he is kind, a university student and eager to talk and be friendly. As we drive past the first driver, I give him the regal royal wave. He looked really really put out.
I kept my promise and gave the second driver the same amount as the fair as a tip. He seemed very happy and while it was a big $40 out of my pocket, I don’t mind at all. Suck on that taxi driver!”
Girl Scout Troop Cookie Sales Competition!
“My local Wal-Mart had this competition between two local Girl Scout Troops going.
One group sets up their cookies at one set of doors, the others set up down at the other end. So I’m there a while back doing the shopping. I park in the center most row so it’s an easy walk whichever door I leave through. I notice this woman is making her way between cars, stopping people, thrusting papers at them.
My first thought was she was one of the local evangelicals that like to harass people in my county so I set out to avoid her. However, I am slow and she caught me. She starts in on her spiel, ‘Hi, I’m with Girl Scout Troop such-and-such, and we’re selling cookies. Our girls are down on the left end there and we’d be so thrilled if you’d help us out by buying some cookies.’
I asked her if the prices had dropped since I last bought them six years ago. She said no. I told her I wasn’t spending six bucks on a box of cookies that taste like dirt and will just sit in my freezer for a year.
She follows me through the parking lot haranguing me. I keep asking her to leave me alone, she won’t. She starts questioning my morality. Calls me a heartless woman. Her troop starts trying to get my attention in the most irritating ways, cheering, singing, dancing. I finally pull myself free and head inside, flustered and unhappy.
While I was checking out I came up with a plan. I got some cash back and went outside. I asked the lady if there was any sort of big prize for selling more cookies than the other troop. She said it was a trip to Six Flags. I asked her if they were winning. She said that it was a tie between them and the troop down the other end.
I asked her how far ahead they were and how much longer they had to sell. Well, shoot if it wasn’t my lucky day: it was the last day. She asks if I’m going to buy any of their cookies and I say yes, turn, and walk down to the other end where I bought enough cookies to send those lucky little girls to Six Flags.
Too bad for the other troop; if their troop mom had been a little nicer I might have sent them to Six Flags.”
Closing Down The Teacher’s Course
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“It was the second semester of 2016. I, as well as many other literature college students, I got interested in a course about a national poet and decided to take it.
The first red flag was the teacher’s confusing way of explaining things. It was almost like she wanted us to not understand a single thing. Very few students liked her class even from the beginning because she simply wasn’t good at teaching. On top of that, she was the one professor who humiliated people who said things that didn’t line up with her interpretation of the author, instead of discussing with us if our point was fair or not and thinking about what the students were saying. Nope, it was either her way or we were stupid and close minded and didn’t know how to read.
Then came the bomb.
You see, we had classes in another building somewhat far from the building her class was in (language students have to learn a second language and they are all in the same building, so it was the same for every student), so we always got to her class around 5 or 10 minutes late. Her class also ended more or less when some students needed to get a bus to go home (some lived in different cities and if they lost that bus, they wouldn’t go home at all), so they would get out 5 minutes early to get to the bus. Our classes last 2 hours and hers was the second after lunch, at 4 PM, so most of us kept a snack in our bags to eat at the beginning of the class. It wasn’t anything much, mostly just a granola bar or a chocolate bar, anything that wouldn’t bother fellow students or professors.
Also, sometimes we take our laptops to class simply because it’s easier, and sometimes we make notes on our phones about the important things.
All of these things are pretty common around my Institute, and most professors understand why we do it. Most professors who teach between 4 PM and 6 PM start the class a little late and end it a little early out of respect for us.
But not her.
One day, she flips off at us and tell us that she doesn’t like the way we behave, that people in our country are too lazy and disrespectful (she had this unhealthy obsession with France that I will not talk about). She tells us that she won’t tolerate us eating in class (the way she said it made it sound like everyone was eating three bags of freakin’ Doritos), getting there late or going out early, or using electronics. That was somewhat reasonable, although it would severely hurt our performance in class (which is why most teachers don’t put those rules). She proceeded to tell us we couldn’t drink anything in her class (and by that I mean water), get out during the class, and that she is uncomfortable when we look away. And also that we should interact more with her because it felt like she was teaching the walls (of course we didn’t interact, we didn’t want to be belittled). She was extremely rude while saying that and gone as far as to humiliate some students for doing those things, even though she never told us not to do it.
Honestly, everything but the no drinking water was fair and had she been polite I would have followed her rules, but she was so rude. She humiliated this really nice girl who entered her class drinking coke, even though she never told us it made her feel uncomfortable. Screw it. I would not follow those rules.
She still dealt with our grades, so we couldn’t confront her directly, but from then on a friend and I broke every and each of rules whenever possible. We’d eat bothersome things in class instead of being respectful and eating noiseless smell fewer things (it didn’t bother other students much, very few people showed up anyway and 13 out of the 15 that did show up looked very disinterested in class. It only bothered our friends, who were scared she would do something against us), we started getting there later and going out sooner, going to the bathroom more often and never looking up from our notebooks during her classes (I was drawing and she was writing lyrics). She never really did anything against us because she preferred being passive-aggressive instead, but she gave me and my friend a very low grade, along with a couple other people. I would say that she genuinely didn’t like our papers but my friend’s paper was pretty good and comparing to another friend’s grade, that was clearly wrong.
I was friends with a lot of people who took that class and a lot of them had anxiety during that semester because of that class. She was very, very horrible, and I was insanely angry at her for actively hurting our self-esteem and mental health. She was inconsiderate on purpose just to show us that she was in power and at the same time expected us to understand when she got late to class or got out early. No one ever spoke up against her because we were scared.
So after the semester ended, we started to slowly get revenge by telling every single student what she did and how her classes were. As I said, she was pretty bad as a teacher, so it wasn’t a situation where it was worth going through that. And we weren’t bad mouthing her more than necessary either, which was pretty satisfactory. All we had to do was tell students who were considering her classes what we went through and they would instantly drop it. By this point, the whole Institute has an unsaid rule to warn everyone against her.
So this semester she tried teaching another class, and it was closed for lack of students.”
The Scapegoat Of The Kennel Business…
“I’m a college student, and for most of this last year, I worked part time at a dog kennel. It was an alright job: come in on weekends and school nights, clean up after dogs, maybe play a little. The kennel itself was privately owned by one lady and had a very small staff, maybe 5 people tops.
Over the school year, my boss tries to schedule me during my classes without talking to me and then lectured me on having to make compromises. That was my first red flag.
I found over that year I had becoming almost a scapegoat for all the employees and my boss. Everything came back to me, despite my effort. I came in to help on off days. I stayed late, hours at a time without notice. I never asked off. None of that seemed to matter and my boss made sure to criticize me like a child daily.
Summer rolls around and it gets worse.
My boss fired 2 employees to save money on wages, leaving me and 2 others working full time. She starts a large construction project on the kennel, rendering half of it unusable. Then she overbooked it by about 2.5x what our max kennel capacity, for the next two months. Finally, her and one employee leave on vacation for two weeks. Despite my given availability, I spent most of every day, for those two weeks, at the kennel of nightmares.
When my boss returned, she told me customers were not satisfied with my performance while she was gone, and I had to reimburse them; the amount she claimed I had to reimburse was more than she would pay me for those two weeks. She had such a smug smile, ready to give me a lecture.
I quit on the spot. I told her I can’t work here in these conditions, that they were not fair for me or for the dogs.
The change was instantaneous. She realized she had me scheduled 40+ hours a week for the next two months, with only one other employee. She made offers, including paying the customers herself and giving me ‘a second chance’ once she realized she would have to pick up the slack herself. I told her to mail me my last check, and it felt real good.”
Annoying The Sonata On The Highway
“Background information: I was in a city twenty minutes from where I live getting some work done for my family’s business. In order to maintain anonymity, I will be switching the names of the highways and cities. Any resemblance to a real life route is purely coincidental. The way my commute goes is: city in Chicago suburbs, then state highway 63 (let’s call it ST 63) for fifteen to twenty minutes, then interstate highway 9 (I9 from here on out) for a couple minutes, exit Washington Avenue, then make two turns and I’m home at my house in what I’ll now refer to as Chicago Heights.
Anyway, long intro aside, I was driving down ST 63 in the carpool lane and things were going smoothly. Since traffic was moving faster than the speed limit, I naturally had to move as fast as traffic. So there I was doing 80 on the freeway when this jerk in a Hyundai Sonata (let’s refer to him as Sonata guy from here on out) started tailgating me expecting me to speed up. I wanted to be nice here. I let my foot off the gas to slow down a bit hoping he wasn’t paying attention and he’d back off a little bit. Nope, he was persistent and later turned on his high beams which bounced off all three of my mirrors and annoyed the heck out of me. I was mad. Alright, you want to play stupid games, be prepared to win stupid prizes.
I continued traveling at 80 mph waiting for the perfect opportunity for revenge. There it was, ten seconds away the carpool would open up and he would try to pass me. So, this unsuspecting jerk thought that because I was driving a Prius, I was gonna abide by the rules like a good little boy. NOPE.
A side note; most people don’t know this, but the Prius actually has surprisingly good acceleration due to the fact that electric motors make maximum torque even while they aren’t spinning, this is why a Tesla will always be faster than a gas or diesel powered car of equivalent weight and size.
Back to the story:
The carpool opened up and I saw Sonata guy merge into the other lane thinking he was gonna pass me, so I put my foot all the way down and my car instantly went over 100. He saw this and got back behind me, I slowed back down to 80. He got out, I did it again. This time, there were a bunch of cars in that right lane slowing down, the carpool lane closed up and I took off. He didn’t have an opportunity to get back in. Mission accomplished and I laughed it off. 30 seconds later, here’s the fork on the carpool where I have to merge onto I9, so I merged while Sonata guy ran off in a hurry. I got onto I9 and stopped thinking of the situation.
As I went to get off on Washington Ave, I saw Sonata guy again zipping through traffic. It then hit me, that not only did I annoy the living daylights out of him, I forced him to cut across five lanes of traffic to merge onto I9 or else he would have to get off and enter the freeway again somewhere else. I laughed again.”
Canceling The Utilities?
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“This happened about 7 years ago.
I had a terrible roommate. She never cleaned up after her cats. Their litter box was so full they started going on the floor. She also treated her daughter like trash.
Her daughter would come into my bedroom at 7 in the morning because she was hungry, and her mom wouldn’t wake up.
I worked nights. So waking up an hour after I went to bed was not ideal.
At one point we were so against each other and ready for the other one to die, she tracked me down with one of her friends and tried to start a fight with me in the middle of a parking lot.
We were no longer friends. I could not handle her need to not do anything including cleaning and flushing the toilet.
Finally, I had enough of her. I had enough of her blaming me for everything including her catching the stove on fire. Everything in the apartment was in my name.
So I moved out when she was working. I turned off all the utilities and stole a puzzle piece from the puzzle she had been working on for days. I still have that puzzle piece 7 years later.”
Ending The Constant Music Blasted Outside Blockbuster
“I have a history of holding grudges, even over really small things such as: deliberately not restocking the k-cup holder after taking the last one when the person who uses it the most never does, freezing windshield wipers in winter when people park in my paid parking stall, or going to Wal-Mart every weekend for a year picking up an item handing it to the door greeter to hold while I go get my wallet and not returning after she mocked my autistic nephew.
No matter how big or how small I’ll hold on to it.
Now let’s rewind to about 2009:
I’m working nights at Blockbuster and had been doing so for years. I worked every weekend leaving the store at around 12:30 and usually making it to bed around 2 in the morning so I could sleep in and not be drained for my next night shift. I lived in a really bad apartment but the price was cheap and that’s what I needed. The downfall was that there was zero Management on property and the other downfall was my roommates and I were the only English speaking people in the complex.
For a few months everything was fine no issues at all, then the new batch of renter’s showed up. Every weekend at six in the morning on Saturday and Sunday, a truck would park right outside my door and blast Mariachi music and six or seven apartments would eject their occupants to celebrate around the truck. Every. Weekend. Okay no problem, they don’t speak English it must be weird living in a new country I can handle them adjusting for a bit.
Two months later and no it hasn’t stopped and I am starting to look for places to nap at Blockbuster because the company was already dying at this point, but I can’t risk losing the job.
Finally, I ask if anyone speaks English. Knock on each door. The ones that answer can’t understand English. So I look up online and find a rough translation that their music is too loud for so early and I wait till the weekend. Sure enough, six in the morning and here comes the music. I wander out half asleep and talk to the truck owner with the phrase. He responds IN ENGLISH that I’m not Management and I can’t tell him what to do.
Okay I’m not going to negotiate. I’m done. I’m beyond done. I could be a jerk and just call the cops but I’m around three months into this and I’m not just going to let someone get even for me. So, if I’m going to be a jerk it’s going to be just me. Just me and all of the old sound equipment Blockbuster has.
I take every cd player and speaker setup I can find and I drive back and forth to my apartment hauling them in my tiny beat up car. I go through my parents’ attic and find every stereo I can find. My car has a decent sound system and all of them have remotes except some of the really old ones with blown speakers. My weekend is essentially Monday and Tuesday so Monday at midnight I place the stereos all over the complex and press play. It’s a cacophony of sound because I just threw whatever CDs I had in the systems. Then peace and quiet for a half hour and press play. Half an hour then press play all the way till 5 am.
I was never woken up by Mariachi music again and shortly after that, the truck whose driver I assumed was the ring leader of these early morning festivals was gone. I did get a notice from the landlord about local sound ordinances but nothing else so I felt it was worth it.”
Pepsi Bottles Filled With Oil?
“Fun story with a satisfying revenge:
My roommates and I threw a huge party in college. We provided a keg but asked that everyone bring whatever drink they wanted too.
So these idiots that we didn’t even know show up (large house party so everyone kind of just walked in and out at will) and immediately start raiding our fridge and freezer. They take out and microwave a couple frozen burritos then go for our drinks we had stowed away. One takes a huge pull then looks to me with desperation, pointing to his mouth like he needs a chaser.
Here’s where the story takes a turn and needs a little sidebar. We had a mini deep fryer in our house that we used fairly often, and when draining the oil we would put it in 2 liter Pepsi bottles to throw away since we weren’t supposed to dump it down the sink. Old fryer oil is very dark brown, almost the exact color of Pepsi, just thicker but hard to notice if it’s inside a bottle. For whatever reason, we had kept this full container on a shelf in the kitchen instead of throwing it away.
So anyway, ol’ jerk boy turns to me for help in his hour of need. Me, whose food and drinks he had just essentially stolen. I very graciously handed him the bottle of ‘Pepsi’ and even unscrewed it for him to help him get to it faster. I can only imagine needing crisp relief after taking a shot, expecting Pepsi, and getting a mouth full of old warm fryer grease instead.
He threw up immediately all over the floor. Everyone yelled and booed and made fun of him, then my roommate and I made him clean it up and kicked him and his friends the heck out.”
Shutting Down The Gossipers At The Grocery Store
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“I hate it when I have to stop at the grocery on my way home from work.
As a teacher, I’ve usually had my fill of bickering, gossip, and complaining, and I really don’t want to hear more of it while I’m shopping.
I worked in my father’s small business when I was in college, so I know it’s bad form to air personal business in front of customers, but recently, after a particularly challenging day with 6th graders, that’s exactly what I was treated to while checking out.
The cashier and the guy bagging my groceries were going on and on and on about ‘Jay’ and how worthless he is as a worker, how much he annoys them, and generally putting him down.
I tried sighing, rolling my eyes, and clearing my throat to subtly let them know to cool it, to no avail.
Finally, I caught the cashier’s attention, looked him dead in the eye and said, ‘Jay is my brother.’ I stood there silent and straight-faced and watched the color drain from his face. He stammered something about being sorry and looked super uncomfortable for almost a full minute before I finally let him off the hook: ‘Not really, but you should be more careful about what you say in front of customers. We really don’t want to hear about your drama at the end of a long day.’ He stood in silence as I paid for my groceries and walked out.”