#last10

[petty-revenge-stories]

Feathered Friends in High Places

TL;DR: Had issues with a neighbor over parking. Local crows I'd made friends with vandalized his cars in retaliation.

So for background: The day we moved into this apartment complex our across the hall neighbors started bullying us. Why? We parked in the handicap spot next to the sidewalk to the building. Why? I'm handicapped.

Turns out one of them liked to park one of his 6 project cars there (illegally) and us using it for it's intended purpose was inconvenient to him. So we'd get a bunch of nasty letters. Eventually this escalated to them filing false noise complaints against us. We are a very quiet, and introverted couple. We don't interact with people, we always wear headphones and do everything possible to cancel out any noise we make. We prefer to live in a way that most people don't know we're here.

Ok, enough background.

Our building has a decent sized crow population. I've always liked them, so I decided to make friends. Spent some time doing research on them and their diets and went out and got some snacks that would be nutritious for them. Every couple of days I'd chop up some fruits and veggies and grains and take them out to their favorite tree in a little tupperware box. I'd pick it up later and it would be empty. It got to the point where they'd know what days I was coming and gather in the tree. As soon as I started walking over they'd start calling out and more of them would show up.

Our neighbors hated the crows. They were really mean to them, screaming, tossing things at them. In turn the crows didn't like them.

This came to a head shortly after I witnessed one of them back into our car and then take off at mach 20. I was visibly frustrated and screaming at them as they drove off. Police didn't much care, so that was a dead end. Or so I thought.

A few days later I overheard the neighbors arguing. Apparently one of them wanted to set up cameras because someone was messing with his cars. He thought it was us. Claimed that there were small dents, scratches, and chips in his windshields. Other neighbor didn't want to deal with it. We were curious so we kept watch on the windows facing the the walkway and parking lot. He did indeed set up small field cams facing both the walkway and his cars.

It took a few weeks but I finally saw what was happening. I'd go feed the crows, then for the days between feedings these clever little guys would fly over the parking lot, high enough to be out of view of the cams, and drop small rocks on our neighbor's cars.

My friends were getting back at him for me.

They moved a couple of years later. Crows kept it up the whole time while this dude slowly went insane trying to catch the vandals. I don't think they ever figured it out.

(source) story by (/u/tempthethrowaway)

[prorevenge]

My Grandmother Put Greedy Preachers In Their Places .... Twice .... Even After She Died

TL/DR - My grandmother generously served her "Bible Believing Christian" church for almost 50 years, without asking anything in return. But when she became elderly, disabled and homebound, her church acted like she did not exist - until she was in hospice care and literally on her deathbed, when that church showed a sudden interest in telling Grandma to, "Remember your church in your will". She waited until exactly the right moment, in front of exactly the right audience, to expose these greedy assholes for what they were.....twice.

My grandmother was a member of a large conservative "Bible Believing" church for her entire adult life. This church, which I'll call BigWhiteChurch, was a member of a large Evangelical denomination. BigWhiteChurch was located in a prosperous suburb of a large city in the Bible Belt of the Deep South of the USA.

Grandma was very active in BigWhiteChurch. She worked in the nursery every Sunday morning, helped cook hundreds of church fellowship breakfasts and dinners, accompanied her children and grandchildren on dozens of church retreats and choir tours, taught Youth Bible Study on Sunday nights and was very active in supporting Home Missions, as well as helping with other youth programs. She always tithed, and often gave extra for missions and special offerings.

Grandma's greatest talent was making other people feel important. I've seen this first-hand many times. Although I belonged to a different church, I often visited with Grandma, and when I did, I usually went to BigWhiteChurch functions with her. I've seen her single-handedly cook breakfast for dozens of BigWhiteChurch Youth, a task which took over 2 hours, even in the church's large kitchen. Then, after the meal, she asked the group for a round of applause for the high-school student leader for, "Doing such a great job of organizing the Prayer Breakfast".

I remember that, on a BigWhiteChurch youth retreat at a rural Church Camp, she drove most of the night to go back to the city and retrieve a big box of evangelistic materials, that one of the Assistant Pastors (whom I'll call AssPastor) had forgotten and asked her to get, in time for our morning program the next day. His boss, the Senior Pastor (I'll call him PompousPastor), never found out that AssPastor had screwed up or that Grandma had fixed it for him. AssPastor never even thanked Grandma. Even though I was a child, this bothered me so much that I asked her about it. She said that she didn't mind at all; she told me her reward would be that those materials, "Would help children find Jesus".

Grandma's service to her church ended abruptly at the age of 73, when she broke her back in a car accident. Afterwards, for the last 10 years of her life, she was homebound and could not go to church because of this injury and declining health due to old age. Her mind was just as sharp as ever, and her faith remained sincere, but her body wore out a little more every day.

During those 10 years, she made many efforts to reach out to her church, its leadership and her church friends, inviting them to visit her at her home, etc., without success. Every one of these invitations was declined or simply ignored.

Near the end, when she was in home hospice care, she decided to plan her own funeral. She and my Grandpa called her church and asked for the Senior Pastor, PompousPastor, whom she had known for over 30 years, to visit her so that they could plan her memorial service, which she and Grandpa wanted to be held at the church.

PompousPastor was too busy, but AssPastor stopped by a few days later. According to my Grandpa, here's what happened at that meeting, with my Grandma literally on her deathbed:

Grandma, Grandpa and AssPastor discussed her funeral for a couple of minutes. Then AssPastor started pressuring her to, "Lay up your treasure in Heaven" by, "Remembering your church in your will".

Grandpa told him firmly that, "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss her will."

They went back to discussing the funeral for a few minutes. Then AssPastor steered the conversation back to Grandma's will, with liberal injections of how badly "her" church needed "her support".

Grandpa told him several times that it was inappropriate to talk to Grandma about her will or the church's financial needs, because she was terminally ill and in an enormous amount of physical pain. AssPastor would agree and briefly talk about the funeral, but would then go back to talking about the church's financial needs, heavenly rewards, "Where your treasure is your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34), etc.

My Grandma started crying.

To put this into context, Grandma was more than a "Steel Magnolia". She was "Titanium Coated With Diamond Wrapped In Kevlar". She rarely ever cried, and never EVER cried about herself. Not one tear when the doctor told her that her back was broken so badly that she would never walk again, nor during the following 6 months in futile rehab. She would shed sincere but well-managed tears at funerals and while visiting family members in the hospital when they received bad news. She would cry to console others, "Weep with those who weep". But nobody - not Grandpa, not her daughter (my mom), nor any of my uncles or Grandma's siblings - ever remembered her crying for herself.

My Grandma was sobbing uncontrollably.

Grandpa, a retired steelworker, ex-Marine Sergeant and Korean War combat veteran, physically grabbed AssPastor and "escorted" him out of their house, not too gently.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, Grandma lived another 6 months, mostly because of sheer force of will. Eventually, though, Grandma passed away and we held her memorial service at the funeral home, not BigWhiteChurch. PompousPastor and AssPastor were conspicuously absent. In fact, there were no "Professional Christians", from BigWhiteChurch, at the service at all, not even in the audience.

To start the service, Grandpa stood up at the podium in front of the crowd and said, "Some of you may have heard that I dis-invited PompousPastor and AssPastor from this funeral service. This service is not an appropriate place for me to give you my reasons for doing this, although you all know me and so you know that my reasons are good ones. Also, my wife asked me to exclude them."

"This funeral service may be different from other funerals that you have attended. It is going to be an "open microphone" funeral. Everyone who wants to say something is invited to come up here and describe your friendship with my wife, tell a story about her that is worth remembering, or anything else that you want to say that will honor her memory and bring comfort to everyone here today. I have asked several family members to prepare statements, but you don't have to have anything prepared. Please, if you want to say something, come up here and do so."

There were about a hundred people at the funeral service; at least a third of them eventually stepped up to the microphone. The service, which we had planned to last about 30 minutes, lasted for over two hours and, as best I can tell, not one person left early. There was laughing, crying and hugging, three of her grandchildren played some of her favorite songs on the piano and guitar, we all joined hands and sang her favorite hymns.

Afterwards, dozens of people told my Grandpa that it was one of the most comforting and uplifting funerals they had ever attended. More than a few remarked that, "Funerals are better without preachers anyway", or something similar.

REMEMBERING HER PASTORS AND HER CHURCH IN HER WILL: THE ONE-TWO PUNCH

A couple of weeks later, it was time to start distributing the bequests in Grandma's will. Although Grandma and Grandpa dearly loved each other, they had separate wills because, she told my Mom, "That makes it easier for us to respect each other's turf", and because their lawyer had recommended it. Nobody thought that my grandparents were wealthy. They had lived in the same small but charming house in a prosperous, well-maintained suburban neighborhood for the past 50+ years, and had worked hard and lived modestly. But it was rumored that they had a very nice nest egg.

Of course, there is no legal requirement for anyone to attend "The Reading Of The Will", or to even have a "Reading". Modern telecommunications and near-universal literacy have made this quaint custom practically extinct.

But "The Reading Of The Will" was a tradition in our family because it was one of those events that gave our close-knit, extended family an excuse to get together. We never had "Family Reunions". They were too difficult to schedule for our large family. But we got together at birthdays, holidays, funerals, baptisms, etc., so that if you attended several of these, you would see just about every one of your cousins, aunts, uncles, and even great aunts & uncles who were Grandma's and Grandpa's siblings and in-laws.

With this family tradition in mind, many of our family members' wills often contained very personal bequests of items that had little cash value, but were the departed family member's way of telling their loved ones that they wanted to share a cherished memory with them one last time.

As an added incentive to attend, the family rumor mill had been buzzing with speculation, encouraged by Grandpa, that Grandma's will contained some "surprises".

The "Reading" was held in a conference room at a lawyer's office. Unsurprisingly, the attendees included my mom, as well as aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles and many of the grandchildren.

We were all surprised, however, to see PompousPastor and AssPastor from BigWhiteChurch. They informed us that Grandma's lawyer had told them that Grandma's will had bequests not only for BigWhiteChurch, but also for them personally.

Maybe it was just our imagination; but my siblings, cousins and I couldn't help noticing that these Preachers appeared to be actively salivating over their good fortune at Grandma's generosity.

Grandma had a large family, so a sizeable number of beneficiaries were named in her will. The lawyer's conference room was a bit smaller than an average middle-class living room. Extra chairs had been brought in, every seat was filled and people were standing in every remaining space.

There was barely space for all of us. Grandma's lawyer suggested that PompousPastor and AssPastor sit in chairs which were in the front of the room, next to himself. Since there was a large table in the room, this meant that the lawyer and these two Preachers were the only ones who were directly facing everyone else. Although the Preachers were gratified to be physically next to the center of attention, they did not notice, as all of the rest of us quickly noticed, that these seats made it easy for everyone else in the room to watch them closely, and practically impossible for them to leave the packed-to-more-than-overflowing room before the entire meeting was over, because they were farthest from the room's single door, and there were almost two dozen people standing or sitting between them and their only path to escape.

The bequests were quite generous, but pretty much what we had expected. Grandpa kept their house, its contents, their retirement accounts and everything that remained after all of the bequests had been satisfied. Children, grandchildren and several local charities received nice, but not extravagant, amounts of money. Several sentimental items were named and given to various friends and relatives.

Grandpa was first beneficiary listed in the will. But, after him, all of the other bequests were arranged in order of increasing worth. They started with sentimental items, which had very small cash value. Then each grandchild received several thousand dollars, then each son, daughter, brother, sister, niece and nephew received a little more, then several local non-profits received very nice amounts, etc.

Bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor were (almost) the last ones listed in the will. They listened politely to the other bequests, but with steadily growing anticipation, as they noticed the exponential upward trend in Grandma's largess.

When Grandma's lawyer got to the BigWhiteChurch and Preachers' part of the will, he said, "This is a bit unusual, but before I announce these bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor, Ms [Grandma's name] requested that I read the following statement to everyone present."

He opened a letter that was written in Grandma's own handwriting...

"For the past 10 years, NOT ONE person from BigWhiteChurch has ever called me, come to visit me or sent me a note to tell me that they cared about me. Not one minister, not one deacon, not one of the church women, not one of the church members who I worked with for all of those years, loved dearly and thought were my friends. I worked very hard for you when you needed me, for many, many years. But when I needed you and your church, you all pretended that I didn't exist."

"I only got one visit. When I was dying and I invited PompousPastor to come to my house and help me plan my funeral."

"This was my last attempt, after many attempts that I had made over the past 10 years, to reach out to my church and Pastor, whom I still loved dearly even though they had made it clear that they did not love me. If only I could have my funeral at my church, maybe some of my church friends, whom I had not seen in a decade, would come to the service to see me one last time. And I know they loved to hear PompousPastor preach, so if he preached at my funeral, maybe they would come to my funeral to hear him, even if they would not have come to see me.

But PompousPastor couldn't find the time to visit me, or even call me to tell me whether or not he was willing to preach at my funeral. AssPastor came by my house, but he didn't want to talk about my funeral. He just wanted me to, 'Remember his church in my will'. That's all. Just, 'Remember his church in my will'".

"It was then that I realized that I had allowed my church to break my heart for one last time. But that was the last time. The VERY last time."

"AssPastor did not know it when he visited me, but Grandpa and I had already prepared my will, long before his visit, which did include a double tithe - TWENTY PERCENT - of my ENTIRE ESTATE, for what was now my former ... FORMER ... church ... BigWhiteChurch.

This amount was [named the amount - an enormous shitload of money - generating muffled "wows" from many of her heirs, including me].

"But I got to feeling badly that we had not personally remembered such nice people as PompousPastor and AssPastor. So I changed my will to include them by name. While I was at it, I changed the amount of money that I left to BigWhiteChurch to match all of the love that they have showed to me during the last 10 years of my life, when I was suffering and lonely, and no longer able to work my ass off for them, for free, like I had done for almost half a century."

"That is her entire written statement", the lawyer said. "Now let's get back to the bequests in the will."

"Bequest to AssPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to PompousPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to BigWhiteChurch: One Cent".

The PompousPastor and AssPastor sat there looking like someone had just injected a gallon of novacaine into their jaws.

Every one of Grandma's family and friends felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. But we kept quiet because we knew Grandma. We knew she wasn't finished yet. Grandma was simply setting them up for a one-two punch. The best was yet to come, and we didn't want to miss it.

"There is one last bequest," the lawyer continued, "For a charity called ...", which he named and I'll call "BlackCharity", then he paused before naming the amount....

Most of us had no idea what BlackCharity was. But, by the looks on their faces, we could tell that PompousPastor and AssPastor knew BlackCharity very well. Their faces displayed the same expressions of shock, dread and horror that they would have if the lawyer had said, "This bequest goes to The Demonic Baby Eaters to buy extra large rotisserie barbecue grills and tons of charcoal".

Every eye in the room was now fixated on PompousPastor and AssPastor.

The lawyer, who happened to be my uncle, one of Grandma's and Grandpa's sons, let the silence continue a few seconds more....

If we had been able to read PompousPastor's and AssPastor's minds, we would have known the history behind the looks on their faces. BlackCharity was sponsored by a large Black church just a few miles from BigWhiteChurch. They ran a free food/clothing bank, assistance programs for foster children, home delivery of pre-cooked meals for homebound seniors, legal aid, and other social services.

A long time ago, BigWhiteChurch, which was (and still is) 100% Caucasian, had provided a few years of financial and other support to BlackCharity. Then there was a very bitter, acrimonious breakup, allegedly because BlackCharity was practicing "The Social Gospel", while BigWhiteChurch was preaching "The True Gospel". BigWhiteChurch even sued to try to get some of their money back, although the suit was eventually settled and very little money actually changed hands.

But, this being The Deep South, everyone knew the real reason why BigWhiteChurch, or any white church, would stop supporting a Black charity: "Those n****** were getting uppity and not staying in their place". Grandma and Grandpa had seriously considered leaving BigWhiteChurch at that time. But they had reasoned that it was better to stay there and teach tolerance by their words and example. They knew they would never persuade everyone, but maybe they could reach some of the youth at their white church and break the generational cycle of racism. Grandma used to tell us, "My church is my Mission Field". We did not learn the true depth of her statement until after she died.

Since then, Grandma and Grandpa had secretly sent a portion of their "Tithe" to BlackCharity every month.

Most of Grandma's family, including me, didn't find out about any of this until after the meeting had ended.

But PompousPastor and AssPastor obviously understood what Grandma, by her actions which are more powerful than words, was saying to them. If you had grown up as a white person in the Deep South, as Grandma, Grandpa, PompousPastor and AssPastor had, you would understand.

To many white Southerners, this was one of the most personally insulting things you could do to them. It simultaneously labeled them as racists, condemned their bigotry and crushed their delusions of white superiority by saying, "These Black human beings, whom you hate, disrespect and have mistreated, are better people than you are. So they deserve my money more than you do".

Having allowed time for everyone to observe PompousPastor and AssPastor while they thought about how their white church had treated this Black charity, and how they AND their church had treated our Grandma...

The lawyer said, "The amount is...."

Then he named the EXACT SAME AMOUNT that Grandma had named in her handwritten letter, the huge amount of money that would have gone to BigWhiteChurch if she had not changed her will.

(source) story by (/u/BamaFan4Jesus)

[prorevenge]

Defense lawyers kept stealing our trash in hopes of making my aunt, who was raped by her doctor, look like she was “getting around”and wanted it. We placed something else in the trash...

Many moons ago (I was about 10ish) my aunt was a victim of rape while she was getting a routine surgery from her doctor. Needless to say things got really messed rather quickly. Now, we don’t have a lot of money so the doctors obviously lawyered up to the teeth and they were trying to dig up anything they could find to paint my aunt in a bad light. She get her one lawyer and soldiered on.

A few months into the lawsuit we noticed random cars kept stealing all of our trash so she hired a private eye and found it was the defense lawyers doing. Now, their cars were pretty nice. It was always a Range Rover or a black BMW, possible 7 series because it was quite large that would pull up and dump the ENTIRE contents of the trash in the trunk and speed off. This was unsettling to say the least so my aunt and mom hatched a brilliant plan.

Their were 4 cats in the house so we had a rather large supply cat piss and shit at our disposal. We simply saved up enough of this until the trash was about 3/4 full of straight up litter. Oh, not bagged either... just right into the can. It was then topped off with random shredded documents (it looked like a jackpot of a find) and ton of smell good stuff to help hide the stink. The next trash day, like clockwork, they showed up in the black BMW and two people quickly picked up the can and dumped the entire contents in the trunk. They were FURIOUS and started loosing their shit at the end of the driveway. To top it all off my aunt walked outside with a cup of coffee, waved and said good morning all cheerful like. They sped off and we never saw them again. She ended up winning the case about a year later.

(source) story by (/u/JawShoeWaah)

[prorevenge]

A rental agent tried to punish me for ending my lease. Madam Chair wasn't having it.

This happened a few years ago. I'm South African and we have very rigorous tenant protection laws. There's a body called the Rental Housing Tribunal that handles disputes between landlords and tenants, free of charge. At the time that this story takes place, South Africa had just introduced a new law called the Consumer Protection Act, which stated that all contracts could be cancelled with 30 days' notice, but that a "reasonable cancellation fee not exceeding 10% of the value of the remaining contract term" could apply. I might not get all the legal jargon right. Apologies.

Because of reasons, I had chosen to cancel my lease 5 months early, and provided the rental agents with more than 30 days' notice. They acknowledged receipt of my email. After I moved out I requested that my deposit be refunded, and they refused, stating that I had forfeited my deposit by cancelling the lease. They sent me an invoice for a further 2 months' rent, as well as for the costs of advertising to find a new tenant, and they stated in the email that I was responsible for finding a new tenant and that I would have to pay additional rent for every month that the house was vacant. This was all pretty illegal, and I couldn't afford to lose my deposit and definitely couldn't afford a lawyer, so I contacted the Rental Housing Tribunal. They set a date for us to meet in a public building a week later.

Cast

Me: shabby looking guy, alone, wearing cheap broken shoes

Agent: fancily dressed middle-aged woman

Lawyer: Arrogant middle-aged guy in full formal robes

Madam Chair: Short modestly-dressed woman, Head of my province's Rental Housing Tribunal

Tribunal members 1, 2, and 3

Madam Chair: Thank you all for coming and being on time. Wow! We drove such a long way to be here. It was nice. And it's nice to see you all. Is everyone comfortable?

All: nods and murmurs of agreement.

Madam Chair to me: You are the tenant?

Me: Yes Madam Chair.

Madam Chair: OK dear, we received your complaint. Have you ever spoken to the Tribunal before?

Me: No, Madam Chair.

Madam Chair: OK dear, many people do not know about the Tribunal. How did you hear about us?

Me: I read the Rental Housing Act, Madam Chair.

Madam Chair: Very good! You must know your rights, my dear.

At this point I was kind of amazed at what was happening. I had been terrified of what was about to happen, but here was this important woman calling me "dear" unironically and generally just being really sweet. I was starting to feel a bit better when suddenly...

Enter stage right, Lawyer, walking fast, carrying a briefcase, robes billowing out behind him.

Lawyer: I move to dismiss this case.

Madam Chair: Hello Sir. You are?

Lawyer: I am representing my client, (Estate Agency Name).

Madam Chair: Oh, OK, well this isn't a court. We are mediating here.

Lawyer: We don't agree to mediation.

Madam Chair looking confused: You don't have to agree. We are empowered by the Rental Housing Act.

Lawyer mumbles something and sits.

Tribunal Member 1 to Lawyer: Have you received the written complaint?

Lawyer: I have. The tenant claims that the Consumer Protection acts makes these invoices invalid. The Consumer Protection Act does not apply to lease agreements.

Tribunal Member 2: Actually sir, the act refers to authorised governing bodies and empowers those bodies to make determinations individually.

Lawyer: You are not authorised!

Madam Chair: Excuse me sir, we are in a library. The librarians have been kind enough to allow us to meet here, but we will need to be quiet. Librarians can be dangerous.

Tribunal Members chuckle

Lawyer: If he [points at me] wants to fight this he can take us to court.

Madam Chair, not losing her smile at all: Sir, firstly, you will address me as Madam Chair. Second, whether you personally recognise our authority is irrelevant. We are authorised to make this decision. If your client wants to keep her license she should listen very carefully to what we are about to say.

Lawyer: The CPA does not apply! I'm not going to debate this with... you people!

Tribunal Member 2: We are not debating sir, we are ruling.

Tribunal Member 3 chuckles.

Madam Chair to Agent: You have acted illegally, ma'am. You will refund the tenant's deposit.

Agent: I am within my rights to

Madam Chair cutting her off: Order, please. You will refund the deposit within 48 hours. Furthermore...

Lawyer interrupting: My client will do no such thing!

Madam Chair: Your client will comply with our ruling or we will garnish her income and she will lose her license.

Tribunal Member 3 to Madam Chair: She won't have an income without a license.

Madam Chair: That is true. It will be for the court to decide how her obligations are to be met in that case. We would advise that she sign.

Tribunal Member 2 handing A some documents: You will notice that we have been lenient with the penalty.

Agent: So he will still pay the penalty? Good!

Madam Chair: No ma'am. You will be penalised. We are authorised to award 2 months' rent as compensation, and as penalty to you. The deposit will also be paid in full, plus interested at the standard rate.

Madam Chair to me: You were there for 7 months correct?

Me: Yes Madam chair.

Madam Chair: 7 months interest then. Thank you all. This meeting is adjourned.

Lawyer and Agent sign the forms and storm out.

Me to Madam Chair: Thank you so much.

Madam Chair: My dear, we are all from (Province). We are not rich people. I am black, you are white, but we are citizens together and we know what it means to suffer. These people who take advantage of us must know that we are not powerless.

Me: This sort of thing happens a lot in this town.

Madam Chair: Really? If you know of any other cases, please give those people our details. Many people do not know about the tribunal, and I really enjoyed driving here.

(source) story by (/u/parechha)

[petty-revenge-stories]

Do Not Hurt the Tomatoes

Once, many years ago, we innocently bought a house next door to a retired marine couple. She was about 6'2" and strongly resembled Ahnold It's Not a Tumor in his current state, and he was about 5'7" and probably weighed 130#. They were very house/yard proud and and thoroughly obnoxious about it.

After living next to them for a short time, for some unknown reason (no, really!) they decided to mount a campaign of general obnoxiousness against us. It started small, a note on a friend's car that he was three inches over on their side when parked on the street in front of our house. Then it escalated. Rapidly. They reported us to animal control for farm animals inside the city limit (We had two shih tzu. They were not used to pull a plow.) They reported us to the health dept. for leaving our pool with a small amount of water in it and breeding mosquitoes (it was hydrochloric acid being used to wash the pool and prep it for repair as it was derelict when we moved in). They reported us for repairing our fence without a permit. Not moving it, not tearing it down or replacing it, we merely nailed some boards back up. They reported us for loud parties, and quiet parties and no parties...they called city hall on us so often it became a joke amongst those hallowed halls. All the while they continued with the small harassments as well.

We ignored all of this, just making sure we had an extra plate for whatever official they called out that day. But then, then, they committed the ultimate crime.

We were breakfasting on the patio one lovely morning when I happened to look over and see a sprayer nozzle come through the fence slats. And they sprayed poison on my tomato and jalapeno plants. Now we love our salsa and I make an absolutely exquisite fresh salsa. And they dared spray poison on my tomato and jalapeno plants.

Poison my tomatoes and peppers, will you? In Texas that's a killin' offense. Sadly, we did not live in Texas so I was forced to devise my own punishment.

One thing about their house is that it must have been built on an ant hill. They constantly fought ants. We regularly heard them complaining about ants as they tried to rid them from their backyard.

Our homes were built on a golf course and being considered patio homes all had lovely large patios with huge kitchen windows with sliding glass opening onto a pass through/serving counter.

So I made a very, very large batch of simple syrup and froze it in ice cube trays. Friends and I would sit on our patio and toss ice cubes. We had a points system that ranged from getting the cubes on the patio, to getting them up against the base of the sliding door, to getting them onto the counter and up against the opening of the window. We gave them ants. Lots of ants.

Not being particularly close neighbors, the Marines gave us no warning when they went on vacation. We did notice it got quieter and I didn't overhear any further discussion between them about the sticky mess that regularly showed up on their patio, but I didn't really think about it. Besides, I was behind on points. So the bombardment continued.

The ants celebrated. They sent out telegrams worldwide inviting all of their relatives to move. They had found paradise. The grass was green and there were regular supply drops.

They invaded. There were tiny black ants, larger brown ants and big red ants. Hosannas were sung. They built neighborhoods of McAntsions. Ant Rockettes did the can-can across the counter. They held parades. There were Friday night fiestas with live ant mariachi bands. It was beautemous.

I went through three 5lb bags of sugar.

We knew exactly when the Marines got home from their six week cruise. We could tell by the screeches of anguish. Apparently the ants had made their way inside. There were screams from the kitchen, and the pantry, and the laundry room, and the bathroom. It was ear shattering. (Who knew a 5'7" male could even make those sounds?)

Battle was enjoined. The Army Ants dug foxholes and built redoubts. The Fire Ants formed Special Forces teams and close protection units.

The war raged for months.

Despite regular resupply, the ants were decimated. The Marines were seen collapsed in patio chairs, hollow eyed with exhaustion, their once pristine backyard closely resembling the aftermath of the battle of Ypres.

Peace Talks were held. Detente was achieved. Calm reigned on Avenida Pancho Villa.

Until The Marines got their second breath and reinforcements in the form of their son, The Marine Jr. Further shenanigans ensued. And yours truly discovered that raccoons are not only exceedingly dextrous, they are inordinately fond of overripe figs. But that's another tale.

(source) story by (/u/KatiaV)

[prorevenge]

Bridezilla Karen ends up looking like a pauper at her own wedding.

I (F48) have known “Pat” (F48) for decades. As far as I can remember, she was fixated on having 5 children and a picket fence dream life. I slowly cut ties with her in college because she was an opportunist and I didn’t trust her. She is both manipulative and forceful. Her idea of cute rubs me the wrong way. Pat likes to walk like a penguin when she wants to elicit pity, and she usually does this when she wants to evoke the underdog narrative. I’ve never seen someone act so despicable and ridiculous at the same time.

I moved on with my life. Happily got rid of her for years. Pat eventually found me on facebook. I accepted her friend request out of politeness.

Pat has become the epitome of a permissive mother. Her (5) kids do as they please and she never calls them out. She tried to force a relationship between me and her daughters and made them call me Auntie. Pat tried to drop them at my house uninvited. Her phone calls were insistent, she tried to monopolize my time and she began to show up at my job. I created some boundaries so she tried to find loopholes. It was a nightmare.

My husband and I hosted a party for the community center (not the real name) new members. The community center is actually a very informal initiative and my husband and I mainly serve the homeless population. We prefer to help strangers instead of catering to potentially narcissistic acquaintances. We don't mind lending a hand but we have encountered truly dishonest choosing beggars.

There are other services, like one of the members who helps women get their wedding and prom dresses for free.The community center location “headquarters” is actually a farm owned by an elderly couple. There is a barn, a venue and a very nice green field with an artificial lake and some fowl. They charge for the use of their facilities (weddings , etc.) but not for community oriented stuff.

Pat had always been salty at her husband for demanding that she go back to work after baby #3. In the meantime, he worked three jobs. She demanded he get her pregnant to fulfill her dream of having 5 kids. He didn’t agree, because he was already nearly 45 and felt like he might never be able to retire. She got away with bringing new babies into this world anyway. Her fascination with being pregnant comes from all the attention she gets. She had at least one miscarriage in between each kid.

Pat latched on to our group. She never missed any of our activities. I hated having her in my house, but it was an open invitation that included virtually everyone and she was very active as an event organizer. I didn’t like the way her kids behaved. We have a designated area for parties and entertainment, but her kids ended up inside my bedroom. We ended up having to keep watch of them and enjoyed zero of our own party.

I called her days later to get my point across (regarding their overall behavior) but she completely cut me off and began talking about herself and said her kids wanted to come visit again and use our pool. I never answered that. I didn't want to say “no, I will not have your brats over”.

She also called me as summer was approaching specifically to let me know her middle daughter was bored and wanted to spend a WEEK at our home. I politely declined, citing that me and my husband have to work and cannot entertain guests. .

Pat paid no heed. Her kid called me on the weekend,calling me “auntie” and attempted to coax me by saying “Mom says you invited me to spend SUMMER with you”. I quickly clarified, and offered an explanation to avoid hurting a kid’s self esteem. Nevermind. Her daughter just hung up on me.

Pat’s facebook also showed some red flags. Some cryptic rants here and there were visible, along with friends’ comments and complaints on how she asked a particular person to watch her kids only for a couple of hours and ended up leaving them all day. Another of her friends criticized her “girls night out “ because Pat had just asked them to be patient and wait until she could pay back some money that she owed them, yet she had money to spend on Friday night outings. I thought those very public comments on private matters were more like a cry of lost patience.

Unpleasant things began to happen. Like the time she volunteered to wrap the Xmas presents for underprivileged kids. We all wanted to create a mix of less costly gifts with really nice ones. Surprisingly, some nice and eye-catching toys and games went missing but turned up under her Christmas Tree (courtesy of her mother in law’s FB posts). No one could prove anything but it was hate-inducing. Or the time my daughter called me in tears to pick her up after she attended Pat’s daughter’s birthday (Casey). My daughter had been ignored all night because she didn’t gift her the expensive gaming stuff Casey practically demanded. My daughter did ask, but I said no. We would buy her a very nice and thoughtful present according to her taste. So when I went to pick her up my daughter was sitting alone in the living room while Casey and her friends stayed outside.

Stories about Pat and her family multiplied. The owners at the farm (community center) decided keep their their gates locked unless they had guests or events because Pat got in the habit of driving in whenever she pleased and it was either her kids screaming and disturbing on-going weddings, throwing rocks at the koi in the lake or harassing the geese in the yard. Or how she stiffed another soccer mom with the lunch bill and then pulled the struggling financially card. Or how other parents hated her because she created unnecessary hostile competition.

When my daughter turned 13, I allowed her to wear my grandma’s ring. It's not an expensive piece of jewelry, but it's vintage and girls nowadays wanna look boho. My Granny gave it to me when I became a teenager so I passed it on to my kid so she could wear it on her birthweek.

It was weird that she became quiet and distracted after that. She also didn’t want to go to school and my husband and I became suspicious. She never opened up, and my other kids had no clue.

We went to her school but her teachers assured us nothing had changed in her environment. My husband and I suspected she was being bullied but our kid gave us no tools to support her. My kid is very sunny, and very compassionate. She has never had any problems with other kids. I called her best friend’s mom. Natalie, my kid’s BFF, told us what was going on. Casey (Pat’s eldest) and my daughter had become “close”. I knew this and wasn’t too thrilled. I found the age (Casey was 17) gap not exactly inappropriate but I’d rather see my daughter spend time with friends in the same age range. Casey is very beautiful and a gifted student. She is also very conceited. To make this story short, she asked my daughter if she could try on the ring and refused to give it back. She later claimed that she lost it but “would look for it” so my daughter was distraught. My daughter kept asking for her ring and as a result, Casey shunned her and spread the word that my kid was trying to steal HER ring. Some kids at school took Casey’s side. So now Casey just wore my kid’s jewelry to school like nothing happened. If that doesn’t qualify as taunting I don't know what does.

My guilt comes from not being able to get my daughter to open up and feel safe telling me the truth. I talked to her and she burst into tears. I was both pained as a mother and furious that some teenage b!tch was doing this under our noses.

I went straight to Pat’s car after school. I asked to talk as Casey was about to go in. So I grabbed Casey’s hand and asked to see her jewelry. Casey froze and she tried to make a fist, so I became relentless. Casey yelled “Mom!” and Pat struggled to get out of the car. I slid the ring off (Casey has tiny hands and wore the ring on her index finger). First Pat yelled at me. After I confronted her with the engraving on the band (my grandma's maiden name), she argued it was loaned to her daughter by my kid. Then she said she bought it. I paid no heed. I did warn them that I knew Casey had become an abusive friend to my daughter.

Pat called me to tell me off. She said she was trying to raise an assertive young woman and I had just messed that up by being “overbearing”. She never apologized for her thief of a child.

Pat's husband ( Hank) is what can be described as a doormat. Pat wore him down to a knob. He had no choice but to “obey” her to keep the peace. She was a bully who actively withdrew affection when he didn’t follow her wishes, even in public. So she got kids #4 and #5 after a relentless campaign that included leaving him for two months. Her pregnancies were a nuisance because she expected to be treated like the only lady who has even been pregnant. She strolled around in a wheelchair almost immediately after getting pregnant and she would “get very sick” on weekends, so her kids were often sent to friends and family so that she could “rest”.

Pat systematically bullied Hank. She would leave town and take the kids with her. Poor Hank would look distraught, drinking on his porch or just looking really lonely. This is how she got off the hook and was able to leave her job. Hank had virtually no voice, so he struggled to keep the marriage together. Everyone liked him, but hated her equally. Hank loved to talk to other people but seemed concerned that Pat would be upset. Over time, according to my husband, Hank began to show signs of depression and mental distress.

Our friend, Lenah, runs the wedding/prom dress initiative. It's not complicated. Dresses are sourced from donations, ebay, trunk shows, etc. Unusually beautiful dresses are retained so that more than one bride gets to wear them. In some cases, a bride will pay 50 bucks, but most of the time, the dresses are donated to the bride.

Pat was involved in this. Lenah kept her in because they never had any issues and her task was limited to just shipping the dresses out.

Pat decided to renew her vows and her bridezilla Karenzilla attitude became the icing on the cake. For starters, she bullied another couple into giving up their wedding date at the farm because she “needed her renewal to match her exact wedding date”. They were not impressed with her harassment, so they booked another venue. As a result, the farm owners were pissed because Pat was already costing them money after she had successfully negotiated a cut in their rate “because she couldn't afford it but will repay by doing maintenance work around the venue” (she never made good on her word).

Pat became attached to a particular dress that was already assigned to another bride. Lenah made it clear that she would need to pay for her own dress. So Pat played it cool and shipped the wrong gown instead. She was adamant that it was the right dress, despite all the notes on Leah’s agenda. The other bride was truly gracious about it. She was obviously disappointed, but never made a scene.

What bothered me most is that I picked that dress and bought it for 40 bucks at a garage sale (not my money, Leah’s money). It was a vintage dress, ankle length, white with lots of lace and a huge bargain. Again, when confronted, Pat “did a Casey” and used the “this is mine” strategy. We felt so bad for the other bride that we did our best to get her something nice to wear. The other bride was a true fighter, she had pulled out of welfare, earned her high school diploma and was working to get on her feet by trying to earn a certificate as an acrylic nail technician. So, her reward was to have some Karen steal her dress? Pat never admitted to messing up, but just by the fact that she claimed it was her dress, we knew.

Lenah never allowed her in her warehouse again. Their last phone fight ended with Pat bringing up the other bride’s past (like it mattered) and “this conversation is over, it's my dress and you are mistaken”. That was weeks before the other bride’s wedding.

Pat went all out on her wedding decor. She spent way too much. She hired a caterer for some food (mainly mimosas and appetizers), but the wedding invitation included a request for specific dishes for her Sunday brunch wedding. Either she ran out of banquet money or was on a complete moocher mode.I picture the penguin walking upon practically asking everyone to supply her wedding reception grub and I cringe.

There is nothing wrong with potluck weddings. In fact, they can be a nice addition to a very cozy and family oriented wedding reception. But, don’t you need to at least be close to your guests in order to ask for such a thing? Even I got an invitation. I told everyone I wasn’t going because I was very uncomfortable being told what to bring and was probably expected to give them a cash gift on top of that. Some of the older ladies in our group agreed. Some said they would not decline in advance because she is a bully and they didn’t want a confrontation.

Lenah called me the night before Pat’s re-wedding. Lenah was there to close the Saturday night bingo and Pat was awfully friendly, but that’s what she does whenever things are going her way. Lenah peeked into the garment bag and saw the exact same dress while Pat was caught up supervising the wedding decoration.

The thing with Karens is that they expect everyone to suck it up, or make their dreams come true, or they simply underestimate everyone and think we are all fools.

Lenah is a very straightforward person with a “so sue me” attitude. She told me she would just ruin the dress. After all, it was hers, so she could do whatever she wanted. If Pat wanted to take legal action, and should things get ugly, she needed to prove ownership. However, the dress was the same, the marks inside the hem and the tags were the same. Even the tag numbers that were punched to identify each dress for logistics purposes matched.

Pat had the dress altered, with some extra beading and dyed to a deep cream color. But it was obviously the same garment. Lenah and I snuck in before the venue was closed for the night. All brides are allowed to stay in a small bedroom for a small charge, so that they don’t need to drive in on their wedding day. Honestly, the makeshift chapel was gorgeous, I don’t know how she paid for it but it was full of flowers and presumptuous details. I naively brought in some ink to spill on the dress, but Lenah said she wanted “something more awful, like a nasty surprise”. Ink would be too obvious and if she saw it ahead, she may be able to snag another gown from somewhere. No, the ideal thing was to have her trust the dress was fine. So Lenah locked herself in a bathroom stall and completely cut out the back panel. She patiently put it back on its hanger and zipped the bag. We left through the emergency door with the back of the dress stuffed inside Lenah's purse. I completely hate people who target and steal from anyone they (Pat and her kid) calculate to be in a weaker position.

The wedding was scheduled at 9 AM. Pat called me at 7 AM, but I ignored her calls. I picked up by 8 AM, both curious and wondering if she suspected anything. Pat was frantic.She was crying that her dress was “missing by half”. I purposely made her explain, being annoyingly dense and continually interrupting like she does, and stalling the conversation. She asked me if I could lend her my wedding dress. I said no, sorry. She then asked me if I would help her get a dress. I was satisfied to remind her that the town's bridal shops were closed on Sunday and the others that would open were almost an hour away. The farm is already almost one hour away from our town.

If Pat could get a shop to rent a dress, she would need to try the dress on, and get it steamed. Even if the dress was ready to wear, it would easily take more than two hours (roundtrip). She tried to ask me to go pick a dress (who would pay for this??). Even if a shop were open and brought her a dress, it would add to the cost. Also, these shops open at 10 or 9:30 at earliest. By time they got to her, it would be time to wrap up the wedding because she needed to clear the venue by 12:00 for the next event.

She broke down and mumbled some stupid stuff I didn't understand. So Pat hung up on me and called Lenah instead.. She asked Lenah to bring her “anything she had available”. Lenah and I ended up delivering the most outdated, moss smelling, oversized dressed. Pat’s disappointment was a mix between angry and emotional. She also tried to wear her knee length silk bridal slip as a wedding dress but it was too obvious and it really looked cheap. She tried to get her daughter to give her her own dress to wear with an open back zipper (due to fitting issues) but Casey refused, asking if she was supposed to attend the wedding naked (she got a point, plus Casey is petite).

The dress needed a petticoat to plump up the skirt, which wasn’t available. So it dragged all over the floor and Pat had to keep pulling it up. Pat walked down the aisle with one hand on her bouquet and another one grabbing her dress. The dress looked limp and weird with the arrangements of pins (they didn’t show) that caused the sleeves and neckline to pucker into messy rims. She spent the ceremony looking uncomfortable and out of place. Very few people attended but that was not part of any revenge, that was just how people reacted to her entitled attitude.

The dress looked awful. The reception portion of the wedding had all this princely decoration, a very nice cake and a bridezilla with a dress from hell. I didn’t stay, but I was told, she was so disappointed she spent her wedding sulking. There was no dance, no actual speech. She had to change into a shirt and leggings because the dress was too uncomfortable. Everyone talked about how Pat put on her flip flops and walked around aimlessly until she ordered the ushers to start folding up the chairs within one hour of the reception. So she practically kicked everyone out and the cake was never cut.

Pat wasn’t the same after this.She was not as loud and avoided everyone. I think she was disappointed that nobody ran to her rescue, not even her family who came from out of town.

Her husband finally cracked under all the pressure and sought some help. He was slaving away and coming home to clean the house while Pat used her kids as an excuse to spend like crazy. Hank also had to do kid homework because Pat never had time or never had patience. She also refused to get a partime job so her kids could attend an afterschool and get help with their school stuff. Therapy seemed to help Hank because the last time Pat left with her kids, he didn't seem distraught. He would be riding his bicycle and could be seen more relaxed while mowing his lawn. Hank told my husband that he had contemplated suicide after their third kid. When Pat returned, he maintained the routine but was interested in going out by himself and doing things for himself. We began to see Pat alone all the time. Hank was seen less and less in the same car and eventually moved in with his parents. He filed for divorce on the grounds of emotional cruelty and I don't think he won. Instead (I’m not sure of this because this is what I was told) there was some sort of a settlement or agreement that she would not get close or interact with him unless it has to do with the kids).

I also don’t know if Pat even actually suspected who/what happened to her dress. She slowly pulled away from the community center and became less active in social gatherings. Pat also removed me from her facebook as well as mostly everyone else from school and the center.

TLDR

Bridezilla stole a wedding dress from an underprivileged woman. The actual dress owner destroys her big day.

(source) story by (/u/forestcabin123k)

[prorevenge]

How I ended a Karen's retail HR career.

Disclaimer: This isn't the most exciting, evil genius revenge story but I opted to post it here because it ultimately ended someone's retail career.

Background: This was about 6 years ago now. At the end of high-school, and for a couple years afterwards, I worked at a higher end grocery store chain in the Midwest. I had worked my way up to the service desk position where we sold cigarettes, lotto tickets, high theft-risk items like baby formula, and settled coupon disputes and refunds. Quite frankly, I loved my job. All the coworkers got together great, but we had this terrifying HR manager who is the Karen of this story. She sported the classic Karen haircut, very intimidating presence, had a very 'forced cheeriness', and I beleive she was a raging alcoholic but that's neither here nor there. She basically was the only storm cloud at this job. Behind the service desk we had a broom/storage closet.

Karen was truly a force to be reckoned with and everyone feared being in her line of fire. She would nit-pick employees on anything she could. Myself and the other service desk employees had taken to using the broom closet to store personal belongings as it was safer than the break room. (Things went missing sometimes, kids are dumb) When Karen discovered we were storing our bags and lunches there, she made a point to pull us all aside and inform us that this closet was not, under any circumstances, to be used as personal lockers as we have those in the break room, and the stuff is in the way and slows productivity blah blah blah. Whatever, I'll keep my valuables on me. We all agreed to not store our things in the closet anymore for fear of being written up.

Fast-forward about a month i'm going through my shift close duties and get to the part where I sweep the floor behind and around the service desk. I head into the broom closet to retrieve the broom and dustpan and what am I greeted with? A purse and a grocery bag. Upon further inspection I recognize the purse to be Karen's feux designer purse. You have got to be kidding me. I check the grocery bag tied to it and it has 10 packs of cigarettes in it. Ten. Nobody buys 10 packs of assorted cigarettes so obviously my snooping does not end there. I check the date codes and find all of the cigarettes are just barely expired and unable to be sold. I'm not sure if it carries over to other places but in my state, expired cigarettes can not be sold, and must be returned to the proper vendor. Some federal law about a controlled substance or something, idunnolol I'm a teenager. I check the receipt in the bag and notice one line of 'general merchandise' at $1... times 10. At my store we used a general merchandise input with a custom price to charge for items with a damaged barcode and couldn't be scanned into the system. I checked the cashier I.D. at the top and who else but the big K-dawg herself. So, she sold herself 10 packs of expired cigarettes... at $1 per pack... mind you, these cigarrettes sell for about $8-$10 PER PACK normally, not to mention the crime of selling expired cigarettes. "That just sounds like stealing but with extra steps." So I put everything back the way it was, and start sweeping while fuming the entire time trying to figure out what I'm going to do about this, when my saving grace descends from the heavens. The sweet little front end manager who is basically a mom to all the cashiers strolls over to have a chat and ask how my shift was going. I decide it's now or never. Not fully understanding the gravity of the situation at the time, I go through the small talk for a bit before I just casually lay it on store-mom that I saw Karen's purse in the broom closet tied to a bag of cigarettes and thought it was kindof weird. All the while remaining innocent and curious while I wanted to scream about Karen being a thief. To my absolute delight, this comment immediately furrowed store-mom's brow, and she came around to investigate. She opened the bag of smokes and her eyes went wide when she realized what I had realized only minutes before her. She was obviously pissed at this point but calmly and quietly told me not to mention this to anyone else. I had a shit-eating customer service grin on at this point and agreed.

Almost an hour has passed when I see store-mom, bag in hand, go up-stairs to the conference room, followed the the big-wig corporate loss prevention guy, followed by a straight up police officer. Oh. My. God. At this point I'm sweating bullets FOR Karen. I hear Karen get summoned to the conference room over the employee walkie talkie system. I see her trot up the stairs with a confused look on her face as she glances over at me, still wearing my fake customer service smile. About another hour goes by and my shift is about to end but you better beleive I am NOT going to miss the end of this. All of a sudden I hear absolute stomping coming down the steps from the conference room. It's Karen. Her face is beat red, tears in eyes, an expression that is the epitome of rage. And she looking at me. Staring into my very soul. Lemme tell you 'hwat, if looks could kill, I would have been splattered all over the walls of the service desk. She's coming right for me, maintaining eye contact, and at this point I'm genuinely frightened but I keep my well-honed customer service mask on and stare right back. She comes behind the desk and stops a few feet from me just menacingly staring at me. I can basically hear her blood trying to rip from her veins. We both stood there for mere seconds but it felt like an absolute eternity. She turns, opens the closet, grabs her purse, and leaves the store.

That's the last time I saw Karen. She must have even moved away because this town ain't exactly big enough for the two of us if you catch my drift. I pestered store-mom about what happened but she didn't want to disclose much information about the situation, but did mention she was at-least charged with retail-theft and made passing comments about how she would never be able to work in a retail setting again. Meh, good enough for me. The grocery store was a happier place.

(source) story by (/u/N8Widdler)