Years ago in my high school AP economics class I was assigned to sit in the corner of the room where I was flanked by a handful of very popular, very lazy kids. After every exam the teacher would announce (much to my chagrin) my “high score” to the class.
After a particularly challenging exam where I only scored 93%, the teacher announced that the guy to my right (let’s call him Matt) had ALSO scored 93%, his friend behind him 90%, and the friend behind HIM 90%! Needless to say I vacillated between self-doubt and suspicion for a few days before I finally “congratulated” one of the 90%‘ers on his score. With an impish grin he admitted that his friend Matt had been cheating off me for months and “thanked” me for helping “so many people do so well” in the class. The petty revenge gears started turning in my head for what seemed like ages before I replied “no problem, I’m just glad to help!”
At the next exam I put my my paper in very clear view of Matt. He had been told that I was now willing to “help” him and his friends. I circled all wrong answers while making a special mark for the correct ones. Just before the time was up, I quickly changed my answers back when nobody was looking, turned in my exam, and smugly walked back to my seat.
What I didn’t know at the time was that the cheating conspiracy didn’t just involve the kids sitting next to me, but that my answers were written down and forwarded to the next 4 periods, all of which took an identical test.
One week later a record 22 people failed the exam. Matt empathetically remarked “Oh man, did you fail too!?” I flipped over my sheet: 100%.
Studies show that ‘morning people’
are persistent, satisfied with life,
and more resistant to fatigue and
frustration, while 'night owls’ have
a higher tendency to explore the
unknown, are more impulsive and
temperamental, and are more likely
to suffer from ADHD or addiction. Source
Ruined my stepsister's birthday and got her banned from all clubs in town.
(warning: long story)
BACK STORY: When I was 12, my mom got married to a halfway decent guy. He’s not bad, but he’s not great either, but he made my mom happy and that’s all that I cared about. In fact, I cared so much about her happiness that I was willing to endure 6 years of living under the same roof as his self-obsessed, obnoxious, spoiled daughter, Amy. The entire time we lived together, she would project all of her insecurities onto me in the form of insults. Being young and wildly insecure about myself, these daily insults well and truly cut me to the core and just continued the cycle of crippling insecurity.
When I started “talking to” a boy for the first time, Kyle, she all of a sudden developed an intense infatuation with him and told me I was forbidden from communicating with him from then on. I was insecure but I was not a pushover. When I didn’t listen to her demands, she took it a step further and told Kyle I had ongoing relationships with several other boys (untrue), which he unfortunately believed. I was completely crushed. She then swooped in and took every opportunity to rub it in my face that she “won” him (i.e. inviting him to my birthday parties at home, inviting me out with her only to later reveal I would be thirdwheeling on their date, making him compliment me and then gloating about how she had such a nice boyfriend, etc). This sort of thing happened countless times, not with just boys but with friends and even workplaces! They ended up dating for two years and, although they had a nasty breakup, Kyle and I remained on good terms, which drove her up the wall. She would constantly ask me, “So did you guys hook up behind my back yet?” while claiming to have moved on already.
My boss (we’ll call him Steve) is one of those guys who’s always attached to his email. Whether he’s at his desk or answering them from his phone, he will stop the conversation immediately and read the email. No warning. The sound will go off, he’ll stop mid-sentence, read and reply to every email. This annoys me. A lot. While going over a very important project (well into the $40-$50 million dollar range and long-term), I’m briefing him on talking points and covering the power point on the projector. A few slides in, he gets an email. Immediately Steve pulls out his phone and begins reading and replying. I’ve dealt with this for years, and this is where the revenge begins.
I’m on slide 6, and while he’s buried in his phone, I progress the slide to 13 and patiently wait for him to end. He looks up, oblivious to my trickery. Mind you, he has to present this within a few hours to top-tier business management, and this a project that we’ve been working on for months. I finish briefing him on the rest of the slides, we take lunch, and eventually the guests arrive for their briefing. Steve’s taking charge of the meeting, and I retreat to my office, where I can still clearly watch the presentation but don’t have to participate.
Steve’s hob-knobbing, talking our guests up, laughing and joking. As he’s talking to one particular VP, he gets an email, and in normal sh*t-lord fashion, he stops mid conversation and reads it. The VP did not like this, not one bit. He interrupts Steve’s email reply with a hand wave and a, “let’s continue.” This is where I get my second idea for revenge.
Eventually Steve gets to the power point presentation, yammering on like he’s the one who spent all the time on the fancy fly-in’s, formatting, research, etc… Until he gets to slide 7. I can see him pause, break his jovial manner, and begins reading word for word what’s on the slide. He’s no longer chipper and poised, he’s floundering. Little does Steve know that I’m about to launch an email war on his psyche that he is ill prepared for. See, since I’ve been in my office, I’ve been collecting all the emails that came in that needed replies, drafted the replies, and have them sitting on my desktop. I’ve CC’d Steve to every one of them, because I’m just that good of an employee. As he skips to the next slide, I send the first email. I hear his phone jingle. He pauses and instinctively reaches for his phone, throwing him off his presentation. He looks around, and then continues. A minute later, I send the next email, then after a short pause, the next… And the next… I can see him sweating bullets, his brain imagining some catastrophic failure somewhere in our building, in shipping, in product sourcing, etc… But he can’t check his emails without breaking from the presentation and pissing off the executives.
It’s still going on. I have about 8 more emails to send, and he has about a hour until he’ll be able to slink away and cower over his phone like Gollum holding the one ring.
I’m beginning to recognise that real happiness isn’t something large and looming on the horizon ahead but something small, numerous and already here. The smile of someone you love. A decent breakfast. The warm sunset. Your little everyday joys all lined up in a row.
Beau Taplin // L i t t l e E v e r y d a y J o y s
I rushed from my car to the school bookstore. I was late for my final in history and had forgotten my scantron and backpack at home. I grabbed my wallet, handed the bookstore clerk my credit card with a ‘help me with this quick please’ sheepish grin. The clerk she said “no” and pointed to the minimum purchase sign next to the cash register.
I apologized for the oversight and reached in my pocket to grab loose change and pay for the scantron. As I counted out my change I only had 18 cents. No problem! They had a “take a penny” dish next to the register so I reached over and grabbed the remaining change and tried to hand it to her.
The lady again held her hand flat out and said “no” again. I asked why not and she said “you can leave a penny but you can’t take a penny”. I tried to explain that I didn’t have another way to pay for the scantron. She wouldn’t budge and physically moved the penny jar out of my reach like I was some sort of thief.
At the point it hit me that for whatever reason this cashier was getting off on making my life difficult and had no sympathy me.
Now I’m not the kind of guy that gets mad and starts yelling or crying, so I did the only thing I could think of. I smiled and said “of course, you know there were a few things I need to grab for next semester”. I grabbed an overpriced bag of m&ms, a soda and $400 worth of merchandise from every corner of the store. I again pulled out my card and she begrudgingly rang everything up.
When she was through I pulled out my scantron and handed her my remaining articles and said “I’d like to return these items please”.
She went ballistic. She started yelling and called campus security. I explained what had happened to the officer and he told her that she had to honor the return.
I then went to class feeling like a rock star and got a solid B on the test.
The phrase pura vida can be used in many ways: for example, it can be used both as a greeting or a farewell, as an answer expressing that things are going well, or as a way of giving thanks. (submitted by celeskid)
This took place in a golf tournament I was playing in a few years ago.
There was a long drive contest on the 18th hole. The way a long drive competition works in a tournament is there is a little marker with a pad of paper on it out in the fairway. If you hit your ball in the fairway past the marker, you sign the paper, and place the marker next to where your ball was. It’s an honor system sort of thing, but then again, that’s golf for you.
I was in the second-to-last group, one of my good friends was in the group behind me. I step up to the tee, tee up, and free the beast all over that golf ball. By some fluke, it ends up drawing down the right side of the fairway. I crushed this thing. Based on yardage left, I hit this ball a little over 330 yards. I had the previous long drive beat by almost 20 yards. I happily signed the marker, and put it next to my ball.
After I finished the hole, I walked off the green, and watched the foursome behind us tee off and play the hole in. You know, waiting for my friend, and to see if anybody beat my drive. Now, the men’s tee box that we were supposed to play from was on the left side of the hole, and the ladies was 40 or so yards up and on the right side of the hole. I saw one of the guys tee up from the ladies tee, hit his drive, walk up, sign the marker, and move it to his ball. That sh*t ain’t right.
They finish the hole, and my friend comes up to me and confirms my suspicions. This chucklef*ck had hit from the ladies tee and taken my long drive. He beat me by two yards. I went up to the a**hole, and had this conversation with him.
Me: “Are you really going to take that drive?” Him: “Yep.” Me: “That’s cheating, chief. You didn’t win.” Him: “Do you have any proof?”
Well, f*ck. It’s his word against mine. The other guys in his foursome are his friends. My jimmies are at maximum overrustle.
We go to the post-tournament dinner. Sure enough, when they call the long drive winner up, this smug f*cknut goes up and collects his (my) $50 Tim Hortons gift card.
Oh, but what’s this? He dropped something when he stood up. It’s his door prize raffle ticket. It’s number 77. Well, I’m just going to take this, you know, for my troubles. I lean over in my chair, and snag it off the floor.
An hour later, we’re at the final prize. It’s the door prize draw. The prize? A $1000 MasterCard prepaid gift card. The MC rifles through the drum with the tickets. The universe must have been on my side that day, because the MC pulls out a ticket, and speaks into the microphone.
“The winner of the MasterCard prepaid card is… Ticket 77.”
A**hole McTerribleperson loses his sh*t. He’s jumping up and down, yelling “I won I won I won ohmygod I won!”
He runs up to the front to the MC, who then asks for the winning ticket.
F*ckface sticks his hand in his back pocket. Then his other back pocket. Then the side pockets. His face looks like he just watched his dog just get run over. Repeatedly.
I’m crazy excited at this point, but I make a show of checking my ticket. Then I hold up the ticket and call out,
“I got it!”
I run up to the front, and give it to the MC.
Douchebag McGee isn’t happy about this. He starts yelling about how I stole his ticket and ticket 77 was totally his and I’m a cheater and a liar.
I look him dead in the eyes, and ask him deadpan “do you have any proof?” He looks like he’s about to cry. The MC sends him to sit down, and I collect the $1000 dollar gift card.
Because I’m the type to salt the wound, as I leave, I walk past his table, and say quietly to him “Enjoy your Tim card. You deserve it.”
Pretty sure he popped a blood vessel. But I didn’t stick around to find out. I had beers to buy for my friends.