Don't pay for a $20 CD, smash your Dad's $250 sunglasses.
This happened in grade 8. First let me introduce the target; we’ll call him Douchebag. Douchebag was loud and obnoxious and always walked around like he thought he was the sh*t. I, on the other hand, was more of a wallflower, quiet and reserved.
My dad loves buying the newest computer gear, and I was the first kid in school to have a CD-writer. Back then, blank CDs cost $20 and word got out I could burn stuff for people, all they had to do was pay the cost of the CD. A few of my classmates would come ask me for favors and I thought sure why not. One day, along comes Douchebag, asks for a game, and I happily oblige. He says he can’t pay until later, and since we’re in the same class, where is he going to run away to? I give him the CD and a week goes by. He acts like his usual self. Tired of waiting, I gently asked if he had the money to pay my dad (I wasn’t making money, my dad wasn’t making money, CDs often failed and that was $20 in the trash each time). He kept making excuses. Months passed and eventually I gave up.
Now, in grade 8 we have a school trip to another city for three days before we graduate and go to High School. While we were riding the overnight bus to our destination, Douchebag was being his usual over-the-top cocky self, except this time he was sporting a pair sunglasses. He made it loudly and annoyingly known to everyone that he borrowed them from his father and that they were worth $250 and that no one is to touch them. The trip was to last three days, and on the final day, the school rented out a party room for everyone to have some fun. For one of the activities, we were divided into groups and given a song to perform for the rest of the class. I was placed in douchebag’s group.
Because the party room had dim lights, there was no need for Douchebag to wear his sunglasses and he left them on the table in front of him. One group ahead of us went up to perform on stage, and Douchebag was just having the time of his life thumping on the table and hootin’ and hollerin’, but unbeknownst to him, he had thumped the table so hard the vibrations pushed his sunglasses off the table and under his feet. I saw it all, but decided to keep quiet. Douchebag continues to pound the table, and STAMPING HIS FEET. All the while I was watching him with a smirk on my face.
Then it’s our turn to perform. He gets up to go, but before I join them, I take his seat and also step on his glasses a few times for good measure. After, we get back to the table, and Douchebag realizes his sunglasses are missing. He freaks out, starts yelling at everyone angrily, accusing people of stealing his glasses. I suggest maybe they fell off the table. He finds them. Bent and broken. I’m living my life inside but acting surprised on the outside. He starts crying, saying how his dad is going to kill him. His friends are all around him trying to comfort him, saying maybe he can find a repair shop before the trip ends.
I enjoyed the school trip much more after that.