There is a certain girl in my school although i pray to god she wouldn't be able to see or read this coincidentally, who is the stereotypical popular bitch. I am a keen amateur photographer, so I often take my camera to school discos, and on same events. One time, in a burst of vengeful inspiration, I decided to stalk her, to see if I could find a way for the perfect revenge due to all the rumors she'd spread about me over the years. I saw her in the courtyard outside the school hall, going at it with a boy a couple of years older than us. Let's just say that a picture of this little encounter found it's way into the locker of her trophy boyfriend who, incidentally, my best friend had a massive crush on. Now, none of the boys want to go out with her, because she has a reputation. She still doesn't know it was me who took that picture.
When I was 14, I had this best friend who was a guy. When we started seeing each other, things were great until
I came home from camp to find that he'd cheated on me. I was going to a different middle school than him at the time, so I wanted revenge without him knowing. I sent a guy, who had a black belt in martial arts from my school to the same gym he attended, and this friend beat the crap out of him. He had no idea it was me. Months later after we made up, i confessed and he forgave me for indirectly inflicting $4000.00 in dental damage on him.
We have a peeping Tom in our new residential area. The idiot really stands on the balcony with a pair of binoculars and stares into his neighbor's living rooms. He can do this for hours and it's rather annoying, especially since then he gossips and tattles to the neighborhood. The other day while he was there gawking, I (m/22) crawled to the window on my belly since what I think is his bedroom window is almost exactly opposite. He stared into my living room again and I used that moment to slowly put my naked butt against the window. With permanent marker, I had written, "Even more details?!" over both cheeks in large letters. The guy fled from the balcony and closed his curtains. An ass for an ass I'd say. Mine is the prettier one.
When I was still in school, I was often bullied by my classmates. They slashed my bike tires, stole my clothes, slapped me, and so on. The worst was when I had to invite my classmates over for a group project and my piggy bank was stolen. I was saving up for a plane ticket to America. Despite my suspicions, the thief was never unmasked, so I never saw my money again. Meanwhile, I'm now 29, went to college, married a beautiful Latina, and have a little daughter. Thanks to Facebook, it's easy to track down my less-affluent classmates. Since I often spend time in my second adopted home in Caracas, Venezuela, I always anonymously send packages containing white powder to my previous tormentors. Recently I met an old school friend who lives in the same apartment building as one of my childhood bullies. I learned from him that plainclothes police officers had searched this young manâ€™s apartment a few weeks before. I was secretly as happy as a lark. Forgive me and I'm sorry.
A few years ago I once worked in a small company with a choleric boss. The company was run by him and his wife, and there were five employees. The employees were yelled at for every little thing and he threatened to fire them. His wife, who watched us constantly, was also terrible. We weren't allowed to talk privately and she timed us when we went to the bathroom to make sure it didn't take too long. I could hardly believe the strict working environment there and I quit after only six months.
It was known that the boss liked to drink too much sometimes and still drove his car. Moreover, everyone in the company knew that he visited his favorite bar every Friday after work, and around 9:00 pm, when he was drunk, he got back in his car and drove home. And that's what I told the police in an anonymous letter: the name and address of the bar, his license plate number, the day of the week, and the time. On the Monday after I sent the letter, he didn't come in to work until about noon and without his car. Surprisingly, he was pretty subdued. He retreated to his office and we hardly saw him the rest of the day. I worked there for another four weeks and then started a new job. In those four weeks I never once saw him come to work with his car again. Until that day, he and his wife always came in separate cares, because she only worked half-days and went home at noon. After I reported him anonymously, he was driven to work by his wife in the morning and took the bus in the evening. I confess that I denounced my employer, who gave me my pay and my daily bread.