Oh, to be petty. While we can probably all agree that patience is a virtue, sometimes other people just straight-up suck, and well…before we know it, we’re choosing chaos. Ranging from the negligible to the borderline psychotic, the following immature acts came from a bunch of ticked-off Redditors who just couldn’t let the little (or big) things go…
When my daughter was about five months old, I made an excursion to the pharmacy to get necessities. I was tired and had my baby with me. I patiently waited for one of those “parents with child” parking spaces and acknowledged the mom loading up with a tired smile and wave. But after she pulled her minivan out of the spot, this OLD lady in a jaguar suddenly whipped around me.
She went into the very spot I was obviously waiting for. But she had no idea who she was messing with. I was beyond infuriated; I just sat there shocked. At first, that is. Eventually, I pulled into another spot and waited…for my daughter to fill up her diaper. You better believe I left that witch a dirty diaper under her windshield wiper.
When I was 10, we had to paint birds for art. I was pretty good at art, but even though we had to do different ones, a girl copied my exact painting. I was not pleased, and I got my revenge. So, while we were cleaning up our paintbrushes (the painted birds were placed nearby), I put her painting in the sink with the tap running.
I then pretended it accidentally fell in there and walked away as if nothing happened. I think she got the message.
I worked with one of those “story toppers” at my previous job. You know the type: This woman always did everything way better, cooler, and sooner than everyone else. She even started using my stories. I was very irritated. So, I started taking a pen or two a week from her desk. Sometimes it was some little doodad. Either way, I would casually snatch an item.
Then I would take it to the men’s bathroom and put it into a hole near the sink pipes. It sounds stupid, but it made me feel like a rebel. I wish I could be there when they eventually repair that sink and find all her supplies in that wall.
When I was 18, I went out with a guy who was 10 years older than me. He was still living with his parents and feeding off their estate, but ah well, I fell in love with his eyes. Unfortunately, I got stuck with the whole, horrible package. To begin with, he was unbelievably controlling and over-the-top jealous almost the minute we got serious.
He also kept invading my every moment. For example, he found out where I was having dinner with some friends, showed up by “coincidence” to check if there were guys in our company, and then stayed without being invited. At some point, I found out from his friends how he’d bragged that “Hey, an 18-year-old is screwing me”. As in how cool am I?
But I let it all slide because…Well, he was pretty good in bed. This came back to bite me. My interest levels were getting lower and lower by the day, then one night, while in the act, he accidentally slipped and went into the "wrong" place. Full throttle. It was the scream heard around the world. But somehow, it only got worse.
After asking if I was okay (I said, “no”) and waiting 30 seconds, he just kept going. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I spent the next weekend alone with him at his place, and his parents wouldn’t be back until around Sunday afternoon. I knew this was my chance for revenge. After breakfast and some relaxing time on Sunday morning, I put on a suggestive smile.
I asked, “So, do you want to see how it feels to sleep with an 18-year-old”? I then led him to his parent’s bedroom and pushed him onto their bed. I gave him my naughtiest look, and he put up little resistance as I tied his legs to the bed; handcuffing him to the railing was even easier. But then I suddenly stopped, got out of bed, and reached into my overnight bag.
Then I grabbed my eyebrow tweezers and got to work down there. He wasn’t a particularly hairy guy, but there was still quite a lot to work with. For every hair I plucked, I gave him a reason why. It took him a while to realize that the more he swore and cursed at me, the slower I’d pull the hairs out. But by the final few hairs, he was suffering quietly, so I knew he got the point.
Afterward, I got dressed, looked at him lovingly, and told him, “THAT’S how it feels". Then I left him there for his parents to find.
Last night, I went to my boyfriend’s for Halloween. He’s in student accommodation, and one of the girls on his floor has developed quite a crush on him. She doesn’t seem to consider my existence in all this, and quite simply, I wanted to show her that, why yes, he does have a girlfriend. So, even though everyone else was also free at the time, I deliberately asked her to take a cute “coupley” photo of us in our costume.
I was just to sorta drive home the point that he’s mine. It was quite petty.
One time at a Boy Scout meeting (I was probably 10 at the time), my sister tagged along because my mom was really involved in the group. We were all playing a game together when some kid implied that my sister was inferior because she was a girl. I was patient before I got vengeance. Later on, while that kid was playing foosball, I rammed one of the rods into his stomach as hard as I could from the other side of the table.
I went to the laundromat, and an older lady was there washing her sheets. There were only three triple-load washers in the whole place, and this lady felt the need to dry each individual sheet in each triple-load dryer for an entire 60 minutes. There were other people there with at least two weeks’ worth of laundry that could have utilized the space station-sized dryers, too, but she acted totally oblivious to all of them.
So to get her back, I waited for the perfect moment. When she looked in my direction, I bent over to pull my clothes out of the washer and then flashed a FULL MOON about five feet from where she was standing. I know she saw it because she rushed out quickly afterward. I just pulled up my jeans like it wasn’t a big deal and continued doing my laundry.
God dang, it was satisfying to put that inconsiderate old witch in her place.
I used to go to a public high school where the majority of students were low to middle-class Italian-origin kids of immigrants. I was not. It was tough going, to say the least, and I used to get bullied by a guy called Renaldo. Over the years, we had a few scraps, either verbally or fisticuffs. I was always the type of guy who wouldn’t take other people’s shenanigans.
Regardless, even though others balked at giving me a hard time—particularly when I went through puberty and became one of the tallest, largest guys in school—Renaldo somehow always managed to give me a hard time. But I paid my dues early and learned from a stern father that if people punch you, you punch back harder, and then you’ll know if they are men or not. Then came the twist of fate.
As luck would have it, Renaldo and I went to the same college, and he always managed to still be a little jerk to me. But what made things worse was that we both fell for the same girl, Andrea, who eventually became my girlfriend for over four years. Everyone knew Renaldo had feelings for her, and it shook him to his core that she was with me and not him.
As the son of a wealthy father who owned his own construction company, Renaldo had nice cars, lots of money, and a bunch of things that I didn’t have…things that I—coming from a low-income family that had problems making ends meet—had to work hard to earn over the years. So, he’d always try to “seduce” Andrea with random calls and emails.
Renaldo was a constant issue, and we had several conflicts during the first year of my relationship with Andrea. Then years later, after college and shortly after I broke up with Andrea, I received an e-mail that shocked me. It was from him and it was out of the blue. It was weird because I’d never corresponded with him before online.
In an epic letter that droned on for far too long and using terrible English (no wonder he never finished college and dropped out to work with daddy), he swore at me in excess and basically just told me, “No one liked you in college, so screw off”. I hadn’t seen him in well over two years, nor did we have any real friends in common.
I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of getting me mad, so to keep my cool, I never responded to his emails (he sent several). But I also couldn’t let his taunting go without any consequences. So, I went online and Googled his name, and after searching around for a bit, I found just what I needed to exact my revenge.
I easily found a complete profile of Renaldo regarding his career, where he worked, and what type of work it was. His father recently passed, and Renaldo now owned his father’s business and had a team of employees working for him. I spied a bit more and hung onto the address of his place of employment for several weeks while I plotted. Then an idea came to me.
One day, I went into a local adult shop and purchased the largest "toy" I could find. Then I went home, wrote a special note for him, and packaged it all together in a standard box that couldn’t be traced back to me. I then sent it to Renaldo’s workplace via priority mail, which would require him specifically to sign for it. The note's message was incredible.
The message read, “Since you have so much time to search out people who never cared about you to begin with, I figured you’d have enough time to go screw yourself with this”! A few days later, a mutual acquaintance who worked for Renaldo during his “internship” dropped me an email detailing what happened after my package arrived.
Apparently, the package arrived while Renaldo and his staff were preparing to head out for a team lunch on a Friday. He was very excited to open the box because he was expecting that it was something he’d ordered online that would “make it a good weekend”. Then, he opened the box and pulled out...a giant toy. He’d opened it in front of a number of his co-workers. Priceless…
This one guy and I got into an argument: He was being a real jerk and pretending to be more intelligent than he really was. So, I signed into an alternate account of mine and went into his post history. I found a comment a few days old from a small thread in which he said something along the lines of: “It would take a lot of booze for me to sleep with a girl like that".
I replied, “Meanwhile, she’d have to take a fatal dose before she ever got inebriated enough to sleep with you”. Victory.
I had a work colleague who management brought in. She was effectively given the green light to do whatever she wanted for a large-scale project. It turned into a total nightmare. This chick grew tyrannical from her small bit of authority, and she made people’s lives miserable. Now, I was effectively the go-to guy for quite a few aspects around the office, so I knew I was safe.
However, she absolutely hated my boss, and she tried every trick in the book to make his life awful; she was determined to either get my boss to quit or get me to leave his team. What she didn’t know, however, was that my partner had recently moved home to Australia, and I had kept it a secret that I was planning to follow after a few months.
Life was ticking by, and this freaking she-beast pig dog was driving me up the wall. My hours were increasing, and the workload was phenomenal. I asked her to bring someone else in for me to train as I needed to take some time off every once in a while, but she always refused my requests in the most passive-aggressive way imaginable.
Anyway, my exit date was set. In the meantime, our projects were starting to come to a head, which would have seen my workload increase to even newer, worse levels. Like, I was pulling 14-hour days already. I pulled the trigger on my plan. I went up to my head boss and informed him of my decision to leave and all my reasons for doing so.
He offered to get me a visa for my partner and her old job back if I stayed. This helped my ego as I wondered if I was terrible at my job since I was getting so much hate from that woman. But I refused, saying I’d need to leave in a month and needed two weeks off. He wished me well and understood my reasons. So, I sorted my references and wrapped everything up.
The beauty of this was that my other managers involved in the project hated this witch as well, so when I told them my plan, they were all more than happy to go along with it and play dumb. The payoff was amazing. A big meeting took place later that day, and as usual, she went off delegating like a champ to everyone, bossing them around and pushing people’s buttons.
Then it came to my turn. I made a point of asking her if there was any scope to get someone in to help since I was slammed. She gave the usual, dull-toned response of “Go screw yourself”, basically. Okay, no problem. Then she started to outline everything that was going on and all the stuff I’d have to do. The expectations were crazy, and her last sentence was, “So, you’ll have to do all that”.
“No, I don’t think I will”. Her face twisted, and she snarled at me, “What do you mean you won’t do it”? I replied, “As I said. I don’t want to do it, so I won’t. In fact, I quit. I’m moving to Australia in four weeks, and I’m taking two weeks’ holiday before I go. So, screw you”. Her face dropped. She started scrambling, saying I’d have to train someone. But I had the perfect answer.
I took out a copy of my contract and said my responsibilities were clearly defined, and I would honor them. But because she hadn’t updated my contract and responsibilities, I wasn’t obligated to help her with the rest. I also showed her the copy of the email I’d just sent to HR showing her responses to my objections to the hours I was working and her refusal to train anyone else.
My bosses at the table were losing it, trying not to laugh in her face. I walked out with one manager getting up to pat my back and possibly tell her to screw herself once or twice more, as this was what she had coming to her. The ending was just as satisfying. All of her projects got ruined, so the other managers were able to crucify her.
She also got hauled up for overworking us and refusing help. But here's the best part. When the head honcho heard what happened, he came down to actually say to me, “Well played on telling her to screw herself”. She walked by at that moment and heard him say it to me. The whole office knew what I did, and everyone was delighted someone screwed her over.
I went back to visit at Christmas, and people still came up and said how happy they were I did it.
When I was working part-time at a grocery store, the people there really cheesed me off. Six months after I stopped work there, I was thinking about my treatment during my time at the store and decided to report them for multiple health code and building violations. Bear in mind that these were not made-up allegations, but I am sure they were shut down for a while because of them.
I work in retail because I need the health insurance, but a LOT of customers seem to believe I work where I do because I’m an idiot. So, the second something like that comes out of their mouths (“Could you actually learn how to do your job CORRECTLY!? Some of us have places to be, y’know, jobs that actually matter…”), I become the stupidest cashier you will EVER have.
My idiocy knows no bounds. What’s that? You’re the dummy who brought in an expired coupon, and when I scan it and tell you it’s not valid, I’m the stupid one? Huh. Okay then. I guess I need to call over a manager to okay every single one of your coupons, you snotty twit. Good thing you weren’t in a rush—Oh wait, you’re gonna be late to your doctor’s appointment?
That’s too bad because I accidentally just deleted everything I rang up! Gotta start over! Note: I only do this to customers that insult me first. It’s never unprovoked stupidity, and I don’t do it if there’s a line behind them. It wouldn’t be right to mess with innocent shoppers. But otherwise, believe me, it's game on for me. And I will win.
I used to work at Best Buy in Geek Squad. Usually, the people working the closing shifts had to clean up their departments and such. We had just gotten a new manager who was an outside hire from Circuit City. He was trying to be a tough guy and flex his management powers by being a meticulous jerk about cleaning during closing duties,
He was asking things like, “Did you clean UNDER the registers and Windex and dust, etc.” about every freaking little thing. I was working with a buddy of mine when he and I started our closing duties a little early. The store was pretty empty that night, and we wanted to be able to leave at a reasonable hour. We pretty much wrapped up 15 minutes after the store closed.
After that, we called the manager over to do a walkthrough so we could leave. His response infuriated me. He looked around, and everything seemed in order until he looked behind some signage on a shelf and ran his finger through, picking up some dust. Then he got this malicious grin on his face and let out a little weasely laugh.
He said, “Looks like you guys still have some work to do”. My buddy and I looked at each other, and we both just knew what had to be done. We cleaned the entire department from top to bottom, inside and out: Every drawer was emptied, dusted, and wiped down; we organized the brochures; we moved every computer in the back and dusted and wiped the shelves.
The floors got vacuumed twice; we neatly arranged the top stock…Every inch of the department was gone over with a fine-tooth comb, twice in some spots, just to take longer. 10 PM turned into midnight, and everyone else was long gone except for us three. The manager was looking weary and tired. Then midnight turned into 2 AM, and we were still going at it.
Then he finally came out of the office red-eyed and exhausted and said, “Guys, let’s go”. “But we still haven’t dusted under the counters and...” “It’s fine, let’s go”. We still weren't done, though. My buddy and I took our sweet time gathering our things and clocking out. We both were off the next day, but the jerk manager had to be in early for a conference call, which made it much better.
Every time he was the closing manager after that night, he never gave us trouble again. Instead, he’d simply ask us if we were ready to go when the store closed. Justice prevailed.
My husband got back at his brother for something when he was a kid by sitting on his brother’s face while he was asleep (like, with his brother’s nose right up his butt). Not finished with him yet, he passed gas. Obviously, the brother woke up and chased him around the house. The hilarious part was that he had poop on his nose.
There’s a bar at the end of my street, and my mom liked to go there to watch people play pool. She didn’t drink; she would just sit there and watch and sip Diet Coke. Apparently, she struck up a conversation with one of the guys one day, and he kissed her on the cheek and then played a great game of pool. So after that, he’d always kiss her on the cheek before playing pool.
For some reason, the guy who ran the bar accused my mom of some unsavory things because of this and banned her from the bar. Mind you: My mom was a sweet, 300 lb, 50-year-old lady who worked as an engineer and dressed like she was going to work. There was nothing about her that would make you think anything untoward.
So, I got revenge there several times. My main go-to was placing big pizza orders and then never going to pick them up. One time, my friends and I went to that bar, and my friend peed all over their bar and floor—on a Friday night when the place was nearly packed. My favorite revenge, though, happened this one Saturday night.
On Saturdays, they had biker night. The place was packed, and they always had the jukebox blaring. So, I put a $10 bill in the jukebox and played the Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way”. I played it 40 times in a row. Then when I was in college, I went on a road trip, and I saw a Canadian bar chain with the same name and logo as that bar.
I looked it up when I got home, and sure enough, that bar chain had been in business for longer than the bar had been using that name and logo in the US. So, I emailed the Canadian chain with pictures of the US bar and all the info for the bar. They emailed me back to thank me and forwarded it to their legal department.
Six months later, the bar that banned my mom had a new owner and a new name.
I work at a bar. For any customer who is a jerk to me, I either fill their glass with ice so they get less of the actual drink they paid for, or I give them a small, small piece of lemon. Inside I feel like I’ve given them a massive “Screw you”. Conversely, anyone who is nice to me gets doubles for the price of singles and the largest lemon slices.
I was driving on a side street with a speed limit of 40 miles per hour, but there are a lot of school zones in the area, so it frequently changed to 25. This crazy driver was coming up behind me. He was weaving through traffic, speeding, ignoring school zones, and just being a terrible driver, all in all. Making everyone else worried.
I was driving next to a truck at the time, and when I looked over at the truck driver, he nodded his head at me, and I did the same. We knew what we had to do. When the jerk driver came up behind us, the truck driver and I synced to the speed limit until we hit the highway. The jerk behind us started raging in the mirror and weaving back and forth.
Looking back, I feel kinda bad, but we have had a lot of accidents lately because of people ignoring the school zones, and kids have gotten hit crossing the street. So, I don’t feel that bad.
I once dated a guy who was about seven years older than me, and we had a good relationship going. All of a sudden, he just quit talking to me out of the blue, and I had no idea what was going on. I finally texted him to see if I could get the stuff I’d left at his house. I’d recently purchased about $200 worth of lingerie and left it over at his place to be used at a later date.
I still got no response. The next week, his Myspace status changed to show he was in a new relationship. Okay...Well, dang. I ended up not getting my stuff back, and I was pretty angry about it. So, I waited a couple of weeks, and at around 5 pm on the Friday before Labor Day weekend (when everyone would be off on Monday), I told him I had gotten “something” nasty from him and he needed to get himself checked.
Of course, NOW he responded, wanting to know more, but I didn’t answer him. I didn’t have anything in the way of a disease. I just wanted him to squirm.
I was working in the customer service booth at my local grocery store. It was my second day on the job alone, and I had JUST opened the booth. One guy came up, and I started helping him put his Western Union order through. It usually takes five minutes. About 45 seconds after I began helping this guy, a woman came up and IMMEDIATELY started tapping her foot in impatience.
She also had arms crossed and was huffing, sighing, the whole deal. I just glanced at her and kept doing my thing. I wasn’t going to mess up my order just because she was being an impatient witch. But then she upped the ante. She started being vocal about it. She glanced at her watch and said to no one in particular, “I’m REALLY in a hurry. Ugh”.
Then she addressed me, “Is there SERIOUSLY NO ONE ELSE TO HELP YOU”? I explained that no, it was just me. Mind you, it was still just those two in line. She asked the customer that I was already helping if she could just get her business taken care of so she could leave. He just kinda said, “Okay, whatever”. So the woman pushed her way in front of him and thrust her bill in my face.
I took it, set it down, and told her she could wait until I finished helping the customer in front of her. Then she rambled to no one in particular, “I have to be in Parowan by 10! It takes at LEAST an hour! I’m going to be late! Ugh”! I finished with my customer (taking my sweet time) before starting her transaction. It turned out she wanted to pay a bill by check, and I had never done it before, so I had to call someone over to help me.
She continued to huff and puff while I took as much time as possible. I could have finished her transaction in less than five minutes, but it took me at least eight or nine. I hope she was late.
When I was in second grade, I got placed in this small advanced class called “Discovery”, which consisted of just seven smart kids. We did cool stuff like make rockets and raise ducks. It was awesome. But come fifth grade, we got this young new teacher fresh out of college. She was openly Jewish and decided to spend the whole freaking year teaching us about the Holocaust.
Now, as a 10-year-old, I was noticeably upset about going from learning about bacteria to spending two months looking at pictures of Auschwitz. Not that it wasn’t valuable information to learn, I was just irritated that the program was no longer fun and sciency. That stuff got depressing. I was no longer gruntled.
When I voiced my displeasure, she tried to have me removed from the program...Tried. Bear in mind that this was the late 90s, and this lady was completely computer illiterate. So one day before she came in the room, I put a couple of dozen photos of Adolph H that I’d downloaded for a report on her computer, like paintings that made him look heroic and glorious.
I then made it the default folder for her screensaver, and then I unplugged the keyboard and mouse. For the rest of that semester, she had to look at that slideshow whenever she stepped away from her computer. Fifth grade me did not mess around.
It was my first day back in my third-grade class after being out sick for nearly a week with the stomach flu. After lunch, I started feeling sick during storytime and raised my hand to ask to go to the bathroom. The teacher told me to put my hand down and shushed me when I tried to protest. This happened three more times or so. She soon regretted it.
After the last one, I just proceeded to vomit all over the classroom floor. It was carpeted.
When my brother was nine or 10, we got into a fight where he called me a “gay lesbian”. While trying to explain to him that this wasn’t really an insult (not to mention redundant), he remained quite adamant about the subject. So, I told him he wasn’t one to talk since he didn’t yet know if he was gay or not. After he looked at me perplexed, I explained it to him.
I said that until he hit puberty at age 13, he wouldn’t know where his attractions lay, and as such, he could very well be gay himself. Being the smarter and wiser older brother, he totally believed me and spent the next three years under the impression he could turn gay any minute. It wasn’t until after he actually turned 13 that he learned I was just messing with his head.
I had a prankster in my college class; he liked to prank people at every opportunity. Often it was just small things like turning the lights out in the bathroom while you were in there or pocketing your pen...anything to annoy you. So, to let him know how annoying he was, I started performing little pranks on him—similar little stupid things. I had no idea what would happen.
He didn’t take it well and started escalating the pranks. He put red Loctite in my locker lock, effectively destroying it, and the lock ultimately needed to get cut off. I talked to him after I’d gotten the lock removed and told him enough was enough: destroying personal property is where I draw the line. He agreed to a truce.
Fast forward to the end of the year, we’d just written our finals, and we all agreed to meet at a local bar for a few cold ones to celebrate. I commuted for an hour from outside the city every day, so getting to school on time and passing the course with honors was a big deal for me. I found out I received the highest marks in the course and even got an award.
So, as a mature student who’d successfully gone back to school, I was ready to celebrate and have a good time. We partied it up, had a great time, and basically closed the place. We all left together after the last call, and I hopped into my truck to leave. But as I was sitting there flipping through my keys, I realized something was very wrong.
I couldn’t find the ignition key. Thinking I’d just had too many drinks, I flipped over and over through my keyring...but it wasn’t there. I went back into the bar and looked under the tables and in the bathroom, trying to find my key. It was nowhere to be found. I called a class buddy an hour later while still sitting in the bar parking lot to ask if he had seen my key.
“Oh yeah”, he says, “Mr. Prankster took it off your key ring when you went to the bathroom”! So here I was stuck in the city with no wheels at nearly 3 am, calling a close friend in the city to give me a ride home (it was a two-hour round trip for him) before I finally got home to the wife and explained to her what happened to me while I was out.
The next day was the last day of class. I came in an hour late so I could catch the little jerk in a group lab. As I walked into the class, the teacher stopped me and took me outside. He’d already heard about everything and didn’t want an incident in his classroom. I told him all I wanted was my key back, and I promised not to punch the little jerk out.
I re-entered the lab and walked right up to the prankster. He looked scared witless. My friends were all saying, “Don’t do it”, and things like, “He’s not worth it”. He handed me my key and apologized, but I said the time for an apology was last night when I was stranded in that parking lot. It was too late for that now.
The rest of the day was uneventful. I kept mental tabs on where Mr. Prankster was at all times because I wanted to make sure he didn’t sneak out of the school; I wanted to make sure I met him in the parking lot. I had plans for him. Finally, I saw him leave to go to his car at the end of the day, and I waited for five minutes before following him there.
I arrived at his car to find him just standing there, looking at four flat tires. I had removed all four valve stems, so there’d be no easy way for him to get home that night. He was all mouth as I arrived, and I gave him the option of settling this right there and then as a crowd began to gather. Needless to say, he didn’t have the guts to make a move, and I left satisfied.
But not before I put the four valve stems in his shirt pocket, so there was no personal property destruction. “Remember”...That’s all I said.
My sister-in-law is a pretty massive witch. She and her husband live far away, so when my husband’s family does anything fun or whenever his parents take us anywhere, I always make sure to text her about it in great detail and with great relish. I always end it with “Wish you were here”! It’s a total lie, but it makes me feel better.
I once worked with a woman who accused me of doing something I didn’t do, and I got fired for it because she was friends with the manager and the manager took her word over mine. 10 years later, I went to a 7-Eleven to talk to my friend who was the manager there, and I saw that the same woman was working there. I knew exactly what I was going to do.
When my manager-friend and I went outside, I told him I’d buy him lunch and a case of booze if he fired her. A week later, he told me that he wanted to go to dinner at Outback Steakhouse and a case of Labatt because he’d just fired that woman. Worth it.
When I was a kid, I had a bedwetting problem. I am not ashamed of this now, as thousands of other kids have had the same problem. At the time, however, it was humiliating. Plus, my younger brother started telling other kids around school how extensive the issue was. I was mortified. Even after our mother told him to knock it off, he continued.
So, I decided to level the playing field. Unfortunately, the whole “putting someone’s hand in a cup of warm water” deal didn’t work. So, I stood over him as he slept one night and just peed on him. The next morning, my mom was horrified and wound up taking a call from my grandmother. “I don’t know what to do. Now BOTH of them are peeing the bed”, she explained, clearly frustrated.
After “framing” my brother as a bedwetter a few more times, he completely stopped using my embarrassing problem as entertainment.
When I was in pre-school, I had a really small class of eight kids. One day, our teacher was away sick, so we were just dumped into the grade one class, which had like 30 kids. They were all getting their work checked when I realized I needed to pee. I went to stand beside the teacher, and I said, “Excuse me, Miss, but may I please go to the toilet”?
The teacher said to a freaking FOUR-YEAR-OLD: “No, you have to go to the back of the line, line up and ask me properly”. The concept of standing up in line while 30 other children got their work checked was mildly concerning while I was busting, but how much more concerning was her concept of what was “proper”? HOW was I improper the first time?
So, I sat back down. The line did not get shorter, as the kids would go back to their desks to correct their work and then rejoin the line. I decided, Screw it. I will ask again. I returned to standing beside the teacher and said, “Excuse me, I am very desperate. May I please be excused to go to—” but she interrupted me. “I SAID NO! GO BACK TO THE END OF THE LINE AND WAIT”!
I’d never been yelled at by a teacher before, so I went back to my desk and started to cry. Then I grew overwhelmed by rage. I was FOUR! The bathroom was attached to the classroom; it was a mere 10 paces from the teacher’s desk. I had enough, and I showed it. I started to march toward the toilet, determined I would not suffer the indignity of peeing my pants.
Just as I had my hand on the door to push it open, I heard, “IF YOU LEAVE THIS ROOM, YOU WILL BE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE YOUR HEAD WILL SPIN! SIT DOWN”! So once again, I sat down. Then I turned to my friend and said, “Watch this”, and proceeded to pee my pants. The lunch bell rang about five minutes later.
I went to the uniform shop and put a whole new uniform on the supplementary account before going to the school pool and showering my lower half. It was the perfect plan: I peed my pants to exact revenge. I took great satisfaction when all the students were made to stand up to check who was wet while the teacher mopped up my pee.
They eventually figured out it was me, unfortunately, because I had a pee-soaked uniform in my bag, and I was the only one attempting to go to the bathroom with such vigor. Joke was still on the teacher. When my parents inevitably got called into the school, they berated the heck out of the teacher for not letting a four-year-old go to the bathroom.
I had a chief warrant officer in Iraq throw a bottle of petroleum jelly at me after I’d finished ranting about something I’ve long since forgotten. He told me to go, “Take care of it, and come back when I feel better”. So during his afternoon siesta, I spent an hour covering everything on his desk with the jelly, hiding it in all the most inconspicuous spots.
I put it inside the handle of a coffee mug, underneath the handle of the Keurig pod loader, behind the canister holding the Keurig coffee pods…anywhere he could potentially grab something and not see the jelly without first inspecting it. He then came back and proceeded to curse at a rate never witnessed before at that point.
Even though he caught the jelly I’d put on the inside rims of his over-the-ear headphones, he didn’t catch it all, and he had to continuously wipe the jelly off his hands every three minutes. But the best part of this came after I let him calm down and get back to work. Everyone else in the office watched me do it—no one said a thing—and they all had their eyes on me as I waited for five minutes before picking up my phone on my desk and slowly dialing the number at his desk.
It rang, and everyone turned to look at him. While still on the computer, he picked up the phone, put it to his ear, and answered, “Radio Battalion SIMSONOFAWITCH”! He turned his head, and his ear was caked full of the petroleum jelly I had dumped all over the earpiece of his phone. Master Guns and Major told me these antics and pranks made that deployment. CWO Ryan, if you’re reading this: Sorry, not sorry.
When I was in the ninth grade, a girl who was a year above me (and who had once been my friend) began to harass me. She’d say mean things about me whenever I was in earshot, write dirt about me on her public blog and send me horrible emails. At one point, she and her gay sidekick even tried to jump me. It was awful. But then, I got an idea.
I remembered that she had a big crush on Al Gore, and I knew that she used Xanga religiously, so I tried to log into her Xanga, using Al Gore as the password. Lo and behold, it worked. I deleted every single entry she had written. She’d had her account for like two years, and when she saw what had happened, she made a long post about how heartbroken she was.
This happened a while back, during study hall in eighth grade, actually. I always brought two small sandwiches to school so I could have one at lunch and one in study hall since our teacher let us eat in that class. One day as I was about to eat my sandwich, I got up to use the bathroom. As I walked back into the classroom, I saw the kid in front of me eating it.
I was pretty annoyed, but it was nothing serious at that point. I just confronted him politely, and he completely denied it. I left my sandwich on my desk the next day just to make sure it was him, and what do you know, it was. So on the third day, I hatched a plan. I put habanero cheese on my sandwich and then doused it all in ghost pepper sauce.
That stuff was everywhere, but it luckily didn’t smell spicy. When I got to study hall, my plan worked flawlessly: I left my trap sandwich on my desk and got up to use the restroom. This time, however, I took as long as I could and ended up wandering the halls of the school. I did this because my study hall teacher was strict about the hall pass, and only one guy was allowed to leave the class at a time—even for water.
After about 10 minutes, I returned to the class, only to be greeted by the sandwich thief crying with a bright red face waiting for the hall pass. He was in the bathroom for the rest of the day.
In Texas, there’s a law that allows the US to take certain possessions to satisfy a debt owed, such as from a lawsuit. There was a defendant who’d committed Medicare fraud and got caught, and after losing his case, he suddenly had to pay back the money. During the lawsuit, he was a total jerk—obstructionist, rude, etc. The whole nine yards.
When the court finally reached its judgment, the guy pleaded poverty. As a result, the attorney who ran the suit basically got to walk through the “impoverished” guy’s multimillion-dollar house to handpick what to seize. He started off by taking the big-ticket items that he was allowed, but it ultimately wasn’t going to be enough.
So, he came up with a petty solution: He started taking random little things just to cheese the guy off. Book half-read on the nightstand? Gone. He couldn’t take the garage, but he could take the garage door opener, so...Gone. I don’t know what else he took, but I think the idea is brilliant. The book would anger me so much. Brilliant.
My mom was a language teacher at my high school, and years after I had graduated, she called me kind of upset because a group of guys was trying to make her look dumb. Her class was supposed to write one of those team dialogues in Spanish; they had a week or so to prepare for it, and then they had to perform it in front of the class.
But when she called for this group to do theirs, they said, “But we already did ours. We’re not doing it again”. Perplexed, she said, “You definitely didn’t do it. I don’t have any record of it here, and I would remember it if you had”. Still, they refused to do it, insisting they’d already performed it and that it was her fault she didn’t take notes or write scores.
My mom felt puzzled and was in the midst of questioning herself when one of the good kids privately came forward. They told her the horrible truth. “They didn’t do it. They were bragging about making you look stupid and threatened the whole class if they told you anything. But please don’t tell them I told you this. I don’t want any problems with them”.
These boys were those stereotypically dumb jock-types whom everyone was scared of, for whatever reason. But my mom was really into yoga at the time, and she got a great idea while meditating. So, she went in the next day and said, “Boys, I owe you an apology. I found my notes on your presentation, and I do remember it. I don’t know how I forgot”!
She then went on to describe all the grammatical mistakes they’d made, how their dialogue hadn’t been as long as required, and that they didn’t include the necessary vocabulary, etc. It was all made up. She failed them all on the project, and they couldn’t do a thing about it without admitting they’d lied.
My most petty act involved speeding up a co-worker’s double-click speed and then watching him squirm as he realized his mouse wasn’t working right.
Some jerk at a bar told me that he hated smooth adult-contemporary rock. So, I went to the jukebox and just played “Free Fallin’” and “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” for an hour. I literally got “Petty” revenge.
My teacher was being a total witch, so I switched the caps on all the Sharpies. I didn’t choose the thug life.
I rubber-banded a coworker’s desk drawer so it would slam shut when he opened it. I’d intended to cheese him off. It backfired big time. See, I did not intend to break his finger. Score for me?
My former employer is a well-known pizza joint that treats its employees terribly; I left and took another job. Going on a couple of years now, I still make large online orders for pickup from them that I never intend to get.
One time when we were both kids, my brother ate my last popsicle, and I was really irritated about it. We were, after all, children. My revenge was as childish as they come. I waited until he got into the shower, and then I took all of the towels out of the bathroom and hid them. He was all wet, and there was NOTHING he could do about it. Myeheheheheheh!
So, my mother’s roommate’s son snatched the ring my great-grandmother gave to her and sold it. Apparently, he didn’t care, and his mother didn’t care that he did it, either. So, I found his stash of rubbers and “fixed” them. His girlfriend is now several months pregnant.
One kid in grade eight was being mean to me, so a couple of days later, I convinced him that my violin rosin was rock candy. He ate it.
I had a co-worker who would eat people’s food, even their leftovers, out of the work fridge. So, we put cat poop in a burrito, and he didn’t realize something was weird about it until about three bites in.
If a customer is mean to me, I slam their coffee down. I also walk slower when doing things for them and give them the smallest cookies.
This guy I considered somewhat of a friend started dating my ex a week after we broke up. But the joke’s on him, because I still haven’t accepted his friend request on Facebook.
Whenever I was at work, I would keep an eye on some of the coins I had in my till drawer that weren’t “lawful tender” in my country. If the customers were jerks to me, I had the most brilliant plan. I would include those coins in their change. Muahaha.
I had an inebriated guy wake me up and try to fight me in a hostel one night. As I was cleaning up in the morning, I noticed that he was still asleep on the couch. So, I took his flip-flops and put them in the lost property. So petty, I know.
In kindergarten, it was my turn to pick out the book for storytime. However, the teacher forgot and picked the kid next to me instead, I think his name was Dave. So, I screamed a lot, hit Dave with a toy truck, and then called the teacher a jerk.
I hated my old roommate with a passion. She used to think her 10-week-old puppy was peeing on her pile of clean clothes. It wasn’t the puppy.
When I was in high school, I went on vacation with my family and I bought my then-girlfriend earrings to surprise her when I got back from my trip. But upon my return, she introduced me to her new boyfriend and subsequently kicked me to the curb. Then two years later, she and I started talking over Facebook, and I initiated a booty call.
Afterward, she told me she had feelings for me again, and I responded with, “Cool, I’m late for dinner. Talk to you later”. I HAD THE BEST MASHED POTATOES EVER.
At my old workplace, there was a woman who would regularly eat other people’s food without their consent. The food was stored in the company refrigerator, and when I caught her eating mine, I got angry. But I wasn’t the only one: My co-workers were equally furious when they found out she was also eating their food. Cue to our petty revenge.
Every day after I caught her, some of my co-workers and I would buy a dozen donuts in the morning, and we would always make sure to offer her a donut first. We’d tell her, “Sure, take two. Three. There’s plenty”, and she would always take two or three. We also brought candy and left them close to her desk in a bowl.
Naturally, she could not help herself: Her weight ballooned to unhealthy proportions. Last I heard, she now has health issues related to bariatrics.
About 15 years ago, I used to go to a Starbucks around the corner from my then-boyfriend’s house. I always went in grudgingly because it was very busy and touristy, and there was this one particular “barista” who freaking enraged me. He was the most self-righteous, put-out, indignant, huffy little jerk to ever stand behind a coffee machine.
Boston is lousy with philosophy-spewing undergrads, and he was their self-appointed king. So one morning, I walked into this Starbucks in a particularly bad mood. As I was waiting for my tea, the little dolt launched into some overwrought drama with one of his coworkers, so I just said, “Listen, dude, can I have my drink before this goes any further”? I regretted it instantly.
He completely lost it on me: yelling, blaming, using big words...the whole victim shebang. In the end, he 86’d me and told me that I was never to step foot inside his castle of coffee again. Fast forward a few weeks, and I was in a different Starbucks. I noticed that they’d begun to use stamp cards (10 stamps and the next coffee is free). I came up with a genius plan.
As I was leaving, I swiped the official Starbucks stamp from the counter. I then proceeded to stamp HUNDREDS of cards that summer. I was the summer intern for a company, and I made sure that not one person in that office ever paid for coffee while I worked there. I stamped so much that I had to purchase a green stamp pad expressly for the Starbucks stamp.
Treat me badly, and I’ll take your freaking stamp. It’s really the little victories in this life.
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