 Spoil yourself, with these deliciously evil revenge stories, and reach Schadenfreude. These true stories feature the worst kind of bosses and clients. But when they underestimate the working underdog, they sure earned a spot, in this episode. Before we start, show devotion, by wickedly smacking the like button. Good morning, these revenge stories might be upsetting to some audiences. Let me tell you a story that'll tickle your funny bone. It's not mine, but it's about someone close to me. I'll skip the nitty gritty to protect their privacy. So, there was this person with a horrible boss. She worked in HR and managed payroll at a place that was pretty much a nursing home. The company had this good old boys club, with high level management being older men who did less and got paid more than everyone else. These guys treated women terribly. Many women were fired for ridiculous reasons, and then their male coworkers got raises. This situation was bad, but not the breaking point. The thirst for revenge began when they fired my friend's manager, a woman, for taking a week off after breaking her leg. The HR department was already understaffed, so my friend had to cover the manager's duties without any pay increase. After multiple requests for a raise, they hired a new manager, an older man with nearly double the salary. But get this, my friend kept doing all the work because this guy didn't even have access to the systems he needed. For six months, my friend showed this sexist manager the ropes, including payroll. She was the only one who knew how to use the payroll system and had access to it. The manager dismissed her expertise, calling her replaceable and useless. That's when she snapped. My friend set up a bot to automatically assign her pay each period, according to her actual salary, so no stealing. She then carefully timed her resignation right before a department-wide week off and her only co-workers' two-week vacation. The manager remained clueless, thinking he could just find a replacement. Here's the kicker. My friend had tweaked the payroll software over time. She was the only person who knew how to use it properly and had access to the necessary numbers. When she left, the company couldn't pay their employees for two whole pay periods. However, she still got paid thanks to her automatic payment bot. Desperate, they called her and begged her to consult on their payroll. For the past six months, she's been paid $250 an hour, five hours a week to run their payroll, remotely. And the cherry on top? She doesn't even work the full five hours. She wrote a script to process payroll with just one button. She's working another job now, but boy, did she kick them where it hurts. Is anyone treated well at a nursing home? The good old boys were. They spent about 60% of their time on the clock golfing at the course nearby. I know it's not uncommon for places like that to mistreat people. I just felt it was some excellent revenge. I missed the detail about the legal fees. I assume it had something to do with missing payroll for two weeks. Would like to know more. Yeah, not paying employees is a massive no-no. Big fines. In addition, they sent her a lot of nasty emails which she saved during her employment. So even though they went through and deleted those emails when she put in her notice, she was able to file charges I don't know the names of. That story was so deliciously evil. Glad your friend stuck it to the man. I hope she's much happier now. She is, and I appreciate the term deliciously evil. My story took place in 2021, ending in October, and it never fails to plaster a Cheshire cat grin on my face. Back in January that year, I started working for a massive American company in Europe, which made its fortune in the energy sector. My gig was at their factory plant where they assessed and restored gas turbine parts to give them a second lease on life. You see, brand new parts cost several thousand bucks and last about a decade. But reworking them? That's just a quarter of the price, and they're good to go for another eight to ten years, albeit with extra inspections for safety's sake. The customers happily forked over half to three quarters the cost of new parts. And when you consider that we're talking about two eight K per part and thousands of pieces per gas turbine, we're looking at several million dollars per turbine. Both the customers and the company were saving big, so it was like sitting on a golden goose. Over the decades, this unchallenged income stream, thanks to the company's unique designs and production, led to a win-win situation for everyone involved. However, this also bred a rather sticky problem, competence, innovation, and even honesty became unnecessary qualities for the facility's management. As long as the workers follow the tried and true processes and did their jobs, the money would keep rolling in, no matter what the office folks did or didn't do. And if you haven't guessed it already, things were about to get interesting. So, I got hired as part of quality control to operate a 3D computer-managed measuring machine for gas turbines. As you can imagine, these bad boys get super hot and spin fast. After a decade of heat and dynamic stress, they have this nasty habit of deforming, and we can't have that. So, my job was to measure the turbine parts precisely, so production knew which sections needed reworking or if a piece was too out of shape to be used again. Operating the machine wasn't rocket science. You just put the piece in a bracket, clamped it down, loaded the correct model, and started the program. Voila! A text file, Excel sheet, and PDF with the measurement report. The pieces, usually rotary blades, almost always came in sets, ranging from 24 to a whopping 216, depending on the size. Once all the blades were measured, I'd compile the reports into one Excel file using a somewhat complicated method. No biggie, I learned all that in a week. The machine was the facility's pride and joy, running two to three shifts a day, six days a week. It was like the popular kid in high school, around 80% of all the pieces that went through the reworking process had to be measured at least twice. Now, as anyone with a technical background can guess, operating a machine and actually understanding what it's doing are two very different shoes. When I started, there were only three guys who really understood the machine, along with a technician named Vladimir, who could fix codes or reprogram a 3D model if there was a problem. But Vlad was the go-to guy for the entire facility, and he was busy. Plus, his time had to be paid by the department, and the bosses weren't exactly keen on that. One of the three machine-savvy guys, Antonio, was the star of the show. He'd been working there for what felt like centuries, knew every nook and cranny, and if things went sideways, he was your guy. Antonio had a bit of a short fuse and a very colorful vocabulary, but he was honest, open and fair, just the kind of person you want on your team. Now, I'm not the most social butterfly, I tend to hold back, have a brutally honest streak, and perhaps take my professional cold demeanor a tad too seriously. But hey, if people share my principles of honesty, fairness, and taking responsibility, then we get along swimmingly. On the other hand, with less trustworthy folks, I basically turn into an ice block. Not perfect, I know, but there's a reason I don't work in retail. Despite our quirks, Antonio and I hit it off like peanut butter and jelly. What nobody knew was that Antonio had a mass such a backlog of days off, over time, and what not over the years that he could retire two years early, and he was 63. He decided to groom me as his successor and started teaching me every little detail about the measuring machine, how to fix stuff, perform proper maintenance, and so on. He was a perfectionist, but so was I, so I appreciated it. What I noticed during my first week at the company was its biggest problem, cliques, clans, and little circles. If you were part of the right clique, you could do whatever you wanted and remain untouchable. If not, well, your credit went to anyone but you, and you became the perfect scapegoat. To be honest, I didn't care much about it. I'm a bit of a rule fanatic and stick to them even when everyone else ignores them. For me, this was a well-paying gig, even if the commute was horrendous, one hour and 45 minutes in one direction. So, I planned to stay there as long as I could, earn my money, and then just hop onto the next job like a frog leaping across lily pads. Now, there was a fourth guy operating the machine. I don't remember his name, so let's call him Igor. Igor was part of the same clique as my boss, Minwell, my boss's boss, Freddy, and of course, his own boss, Boris, who was also his brother. Talk about a tight-knit family. Igor worked the measuring machine because it was the coziest job he could land. He usually took the night shift since it paid extra, and occasionally the late shift, while I always took the early one, least popular because it started at 6am, but I loved clocking out at 3pm. Igor was. Well, let's just say that in the world of bright ideas, he was like a wet match in a dark basement, deep inside a black hole. I might be a bit too harsh with him, but that's all I ever saw. On top of that, he was lazy, rude and arrogant, but hey, who wouldn't be with an untouchable status, thanks to his brother's best friend, being the boss of the entire assessment department? I apologize for the buildup, but here's where the story gets good. Fast forward six months after I started, and we had our first incident with the measuring machine. We received the material on pallets, and it was a firm rule that the rotary blades had to be sorted in numerical order. Each blade had a serial number and a set number. Things went a ton faster and easier if everything was neatly sorted. Occasionally, an order, usually two to four pallets, would arrive unsorted at the measuring machine, and then we had to sort them. Since we had to lift the blades out one by one anyway to measure them, it wasn't a huge deal, just a tad bit annoying. Igor, being the slacker he was, never finished a set if he could help it, leaving just one or two blades left for measuring. Even when he had to finish a set and start a new one, he would never compile the reports into one Excel file. I'm pretty sure he didn't even know how that worked. One morning, I came to work and, as usual, found just three blades left to measure. I shrugged it off and planned to finish the order and start the next. Problem was, the pallets were a complete mess, completely unsorted despite the blades being measured. Igor had worked the late shift the day before and would also work the late shift that day, so I'd actually get to see him for a few minutes when I handed my shift over. This, of course, meant that I would have to sort all the pallets while also operating the machine with the next order to avoid a delay, the machine was a bit of a bottleneck in the facility. Usually, this job was pretty chill. The blades were never heavier than 22 kilograms, about 48 pounds, and you had about 6 to 14 minutes between measurement cycles to lift them out and swap them with the last measured blade. Sorting the last order took me two hours of sweaty work while also operating the machine nearby, so I was somewhat annoyed. When Igor sauntered in that afternoon, I politely asked him why he hadn't sorted that one order. In a rather rude tone, he replied, I'm not doing that. I was baffled and asked if he didn't know it was mandatory. Again, with the same rude tone, he said he wouldn't discuss it. Outright refusing to talk about a problem? What the heck? I told him that if he didn't want to discuss it, I'd have to bring it up with my boss. He just smirked smugly and told me to go ahead. So, I did just that. I approached my boss with an innocent, hey, I thought we were supposed to sort that stuff, or did we change that? This led to a four-way conversation involving my boss, Igor, Boris, and myself. Boris was far from thrilled, and my boss was pretty embarrassed because it was crystal clear that I was right, but neither of them wanted to admit that their buddy had done anything wrong. I pulled off my usual ice block impression. A blank face, concise and precise words, all while staying polite and professional. The discussion ended rather inconclusively, with a gentle request that we should please sort the pallets if they arrived as a jumbled mess. Igor just shrugged, clearly not caring one bit. It happened three more times that stuff came in unsorted, but Igor managed to dodge the responsibility every single time. Okay. Now for the first strike. Six weeks later, the second incident struck. Every morning, as per Antonio's instructions, I'd lovingly maintain the machine, cleaning it and massaging special liquid into the stone tread that the machine's arch would gracefully glide upon. One morning, I switched the machine to manual mode as usual, preparing to move the arch to the end of the tread for maintenance. But then, a horrifying grinding noise assaulted my ears, and I instantly halted the machine. You see, the arch was an air cushion-based runner, a lot like a hovercraft. The bottom of the arch would always hover slightly above the surface, ensuring minimal vibrations. So, a grinding noise was the last thing you'd want to hear. It's like nails on a chalkboard, but for machinery. Upon further inspection, I discovered a deep crater, about 2-3 cm, in the stone surface. This was enough for the air cushion to lose pressure, causing the arch to scrape against the stone tread. The scratches stretched nearly the entire length of the tread, making it painfully obvious that the machine had been operating in this sorry state for quite some time. I immediately shut down the machine and alerted Vladimir and my boss at Houston, we've got a problem. My usual paranoia also compelled me to snap timestamped photos of the damage. The machine was put out of commission, as it underwent repair and recalibration. The arch had taken a beating, the stone tread needed a makeover, and the entire machine needed to be reassembled. Coincidentally, the crater bore a striking resemblance to the bottom corner of one of the blades. As if someone had carelessly dropped it onto the stone tread. The previous shift-star employee? None other than, enter drumroll, Igor. Of course, he denied any wrongdoing and claimed total ignorance of the scratches or the grinding noise during his shift. He even tried to pin the blame on me, but my timely report, and the last blade Igor had measured still sitting in the machine, made it clear who the real culprit was. Yet, once again, not a single reprimand for our dear Igor. While the machine underwent its much needed spa treatment, we were reassigned to different tasks. I landed a gig with the pre-assessment team, where pieces received their first evaluation. Little did I know, the friendships I formed there would later transform into a valuable network of informants. That wasn't all, now for strike two. A month later, after the machine's miraculous recovery, we faced a massive backlog. The other departments, dependent on our measurements, struggled to find tasks that didn't require our data. The machine was meant to run in three shifts, but Antonio was off on his two-year vacation, and the other knowledgeable colleagues had abandoned ship for better jobs. This left just me and Igor, with me racking up some sweet overtime pay, let's be honest, the hourly wage was pretty sweet. One morning, I noticed something odd, the order I'd started the previous afternoon still wasn't finished, with only two blades left. Each measurement report had a timestamp, so I took a peek. Normally, the measurement cycle took about three minutes, plus one minute to swap blades. But Igor's shift showed 10 to 15 minute gaps, and some even half an hour. He was still around after his night shift, so I asked if he'd had any trouble with the machine. He snapped back that everything had been fine. When I pressed further and mentioned the gaps in his reports, he just shrugged and left for home. The plot thickened the following Monday. For once, I hadn't worked on Saturday, so Igor had three shifts since I'd last clocked out. I came in, did the usual maintenance and cleaning, and checked Igor's progress. Four orders had been processed since my last shift, so I assumed I'd have to compile the reports. But the reports were nowhere to be found. Confused, I searched for the order numbers, checked the machine's protocol, and more. The machine had been running all weekend without a shutdown or restart, but there were no measurement reports at all. I called Vladimir and informed my boss about the mysterious technical issues. They both came to the measuring room, and the three of us searched for the problem. It took a while to solve the riddle because the answer was so unexpected. Someone had turned off the machine's output, perhaps to avoid those pesky timestamps. This revelation caused quite a stir, as all four orders needed to be measured again, and production was really feeling the pinch. Yet again, it was crystal clear who had messed up. Finally, Freddie had had enough. But not of Igor. Now finally, the moment you came for. It became worse. That same afternoon, Freddie, the boss of the entire assessment department, strutted into my measuring room. Dressed to impress in an expensive suit, tie, and polished shoes, he wasted no time getting up in my face. I was sitting in my chair, compiling the results of the re-measured first order, when he towered over me, leaving no room for me to stand. He glared down and snapped that he was sick and tired of me bullying my coworkers. He handed me a letter, my contract termination papers, signed by him, of course. He informed me that I had exactly two options. I could either promise to do better, apologize to my coworker Igor, and admit I was at fault, or I'd be fired immediately. Thankfully, years of being bullied and terrorized and my youth had taught me to keep a cool head under stress. So, I resisted my first impulse to argue or point out the illegality of his actions. Instead, I calmly read through the letter and nodded a few times. My cold, professional demeanor had earned me a reputation for silence, so he took my nods as compliance. He informed me that he expected my written apology by 2 p.m., all the bosses went home by 2 p.m. and came in around 8 or 9 a.m., work-life balance, right? As he marched out with a smug grin, he left me holding the termination letter, his signature still fresh. Fun fact, when both parties agree, a contract can be canceled immediately, with no further obligations beyond paying for hours already worked, which was handled by human resources through our electronic timestamps. I had two hours until his deadline. I used that time to meticulously clean my workspace, make a backup of my work laptop, following the rules, of course, and then, also per the rules, wipe the hard drive completely. The backup was placed on the designated server with all the data correctly named and compiled. However, the backup server was marked unsearchable to avoid cluttering search results, since the same part types and material numbers would recur. If you knew the rules and where to search, you'd find the stuff within 20 seconds. If not, well, good luck, mate. It's only like 10 terabytes or so. I made a copy of the termination paper, now signed by me, too, and sent it to my email, which was allowed. I put the original back into the envelope, packed up my things, and headed to the office. The big boss flashed a smug smile upon seeing me, but his expression quickly turned to confusion as he noticed my laptop, work phone, and other belongings. I handed him the letter, offered a polite nod, and turned to leave. He shouted, demanding to know where the hell I was going, still clutching the envelope. You terminated my contract, so according to the rules, I must hand over all personal equipment provided by the company before leaving. Exceptions, as stated in paragraph B, are safety shoes and safety glasses. I bid you a fine day, Mr. Freddie, I replied in a cold, calculated voice, channeling my inner lawyer, simply because I knew he despised my professional attitude. Next, I approached my own boss and piled my stuff on his desk. He was utterly confused, asking me what was going on. I briefly informed him that my contract had been terminated and quoted the rule once more. My boss was a smug character, too, but he wasn't entirely clueless. His eyes widened as he immediately realized that I was the only person left who actually knew how to maintain and properly operate the measuring machine. And with such a backlog piling up, other departments reliant on the measurements had started to enforce short-time work. At a loss for words, he rushed into Freddie's office to see the termination letter for himself. In the meantime, I changed my clothes in the locker room, went to the gate, and asked the security guards to perform a full inspection of my person and backpack. This was also required for employees terminated on short notice. Although baffled that I requested to be searched, they complied. After the thorough search, they handed me a written confirmation that I had nothing on me belonging to the company. On my way home, my now ex-boss tried to call me repeatedly, but I'm not a fan of taking phone calls on public transport, so I simply muted them and continued reading my book. Once I got home, it was already 4 PM, well past his own time to head home. I finally answered his call, curious to hear what he had to say. He tried to convince me that I needed this job and that everything could be sorted out. My reply, I'll have a new job within a week, while you'll need at least a month to train someone new on the machine. If you even have anyone capable of training a new person. Hell you what. Give me a solid contract with triple the pay, and I'll come back. Oh, and I want a written apology from Freddie, too, as well as some peace when working. He told me that I was being completely unreasonable with such demands. I responded. So, let me get this straight. Three times I uncover massive shenanigans, three times you guys try to pin the blame on me, and then you literally attempt to humiliate me, with Freddie actually firing me. And you want me to be reasonable? Well, I guess it would be reasonable to just ignore you then. Please take care. I hung up and blocked his number, as well as any other numbers he tried to reach me with later on. Now for the aftermath. As I mentioned earlier, I still had connections in the company, so I have a pretty good idea of what followed. The facility suddenly had its most sensitive bottleneck tightened even further, and then clogged full of concrete soon after. No one maintained or cleaned the measuring machine anymore, and being a precision machine, it didn't take that lightly. Vladimir was soon called in multiple times a day to fix problems, which in return created a backlog for him in other places. Things I, or previously Antonio, had fixed within a minute now took hours, just for Vladimir to find the time to come over and fix it, in a minute, no less. He tried explaining stuff to Igor, but yeah, that didn't work out well. Other departments ran completely dry of work, and of course, they didn't want to bear the blame for missed deadlines, so the whole issue was quickly reported up the ladder. With no one wanting to take the hit, it climbed higher and higher, until it eventually landed on the desk of the national CEO of the company. The highest entity on this side of the Great Pond, found that out via a friend in HR. What followed was the arrival of the proverbial kill squad, you know, the modern equivalent to an executioner. A bunch of guys in very tight suits, no sense of humor, cold eyes, and the strict command to find someone's head to put on a silver plate. As far as I heard, even a prosecutor from the USA was among them. A month later, I was called by the company, asking if I could come in for an interview, not a job interview, mind you, but they asked me to give my statement on the whole affair. This wasn't a legal thing, and they had no way to force me to make a statement since it was an internal investigation, but I happily complied an even sign that I told the truth. I gave them the entire story, as accurately as I could, and openly admitted what I didn't know or where I was only guessing. They thanked me and apologized, it felt honest by the way, saying they couldn't pay me for the time they took from me due to legal reasons. I was totally fine with that and went home. Igor got fired for careless negligence, and his brother Boris likewise received the immediate boot in the rear. My boss went down as well, he and Boris were fired for mismanagement. Their boss, however, Freddie, not only got fired but was also dragged into court. I have no idea how that went since he was taken to the US, but given the ridiculousness of that justice system, and being designated as a scapegoat by one of the biggest companies worldwide. I wouldn't be surprised if he had to hold on to the soap very tightly for a while. The entire facility went deep into the red that year, due to nearly all contracted reworks missing deadlines, which meant daily fees of tens of thousands per contract. My insiders at the company soon sought new jobs, despite one of them being there for 20 years. The last I heard, the company had to contract the producer of the measurement machine to train new employees on how to operate it properly. I had asked for triple my pay, but those guys were more like triple the zeros at the end. And I did find a new job within one day. I was fired on Monday, had the interview on Tuesday, and a test workday on Thursday. I was asked at the end of that day when I could start, which was the following Monday. I now do manual measurements in an incoming quality control department. The boss is a blast, the team is super friendly, and my commute is a mere 18 minutes with an electric scooter. I've worked there for nine months now, and I'm already the de facto team leader for first sample stuff. Best of all, I'm appreciated for the work I do too. These people ought to know that you never offer a threat, unless you are prepared to follow through with the consequences. Sucks you went through all that. Yay, for the better job you have now. Pretty sure I work for the same company, and we miss you, but so happy that it worked out for the best for you. Many moons ago, during the phone deregulation craze, I landed a job at a marketing company. It was the wild west of telecommunications, with countless small long distance companies vying for their slice of the pie. Eventually, the big fish gobbled them all up, but not before these minnows shelled out some serious cash to marketing firms to score contracts and secure customers. I found myself working at one such marketing firm, a new age capitalism company that insisted we all do yoga and breathing exercises. They'd ring a bell, spouting affirmations about the contracts we'd sell and the mountains of money we'd make. Gurus in the making, I suppose. The job was 100% commission, but I had a knack for sales. I noticed the pay scale was exponential, probably designed to dangle impossible payouts like a carrot in front of us. We could work as many or as few hours as we wanted, and our payouts were based on weekly sales. I figured I'd give it a shot for a week, just to see how much I could realistically make before deciding whether the tasteless vegan snacks and mandatory voluntary yoga were worth it. For seven days straight, I worked more than 14 hours a day, channeling my inner sales ninja to score as many contracts as possible. By week's end, I had obliterated all previous records. In fact, I had secured more contracts than that week than any of them had seen in a month. The exponential scale had me raking in absurd amounts, over $10,000 a week. They never expected anyone could actually hit those numbers. But when I came in the next week expecting a massive payday, I received a mere 5% of what I had anticipated. The company claimed there were issues with many of my contracts, allowing me to fix them and submit them piecemeal over the next few weeks. These problems were petty, a slightly unclear apostrophe or a mildly crooked dash in a phone number. They were trying to swindle me. That evening, the company's office manager, Frank, called and asked to meet for a drink. Over a beer, he revealed that the company owners were in a panic because I had supposedly bankrupted them. They had sprawled my contracts across the office floor, crawling over them like desperate detectives, searching for any sign of fraud. When they realized my contracts were legitimate, they decided they had no choice but to cheat me. Frank, realizing they'd likely cheat him too, and frankly, tired of yoga, asked if I'd be interested in partnering with him to take on his bosses. Intrigued, I asked how we could compete. Frank explained that they didn't actually have the contract for our city. They were poaching from another company that held the contract for a different city. We pitched to the real contract holder, Joe, and agreed to split the advance for each contract with him. Joe contacted the phone company and threatened the poachers with a hefty lawsuit if they didn't stop. A week later, Frank and I waltzed into our old employer's offices, where most of the furniture and all the yoga mats had vanished, leaving only a table, a few filing cabinets, and a box containing everyone's final pay. I theatrically counted my money, while the bitter husband and wife owners asked if I felt guilty for ruining their lives. Grinning, I replied, nope, and left. Our marketing company made a pretty penny that year, until Sprint acquired it and the gravy train reached the end of the line. That, my friends, is how we now mustate our way to victory, and bid adieu to the twisted world of telecommunications. People doing illegal things, thinking they deserve sympathy for the consequences of their actions. Pathetic. I like the nilth part. Every time I read anything on Reddit with the word marketing in it, I know somebody, probably lots of somebodies, are going to get owned. For over two years, I worked at a hotel and was one of two people who underwent training when our hotel changed franchises. We learned about certain rules the company had. At this time, our front desk manager had only been with us for four to six months. Generally, I'm a nice guy, but I don't tolerate bullies or entitled folks. There are a few other characters in this story, but I'll introduce them as we go along. One fateful afternoon, I was scheduled to work the second shift. When I walked in, I noticed that both of my front desk coworkers appeared to have been crying, their makeup smeared. My manager looked furious. Curious, I asked, what's wrong? My manager explained that a major jerk was staying at the hotel. This guest was the highest level of rewards member for the hotel chain, always demanding free upgrades and yelling at staff during interactions. He had managed to upset every department, and now he had just yelled at my two coworkers until they cried. Both of these ladies had recently graduated and were sweet, innocent people who loved helping others. They certainly didn't deserve this treatment. As my manager explained the situation, I looked up the guest's room details. Seeing the man's information, I grinned and said, didn't you notice he's an employee of a different hotel? My manager replied, yes, but so what? I explained that, as an employee, he was required to behave respectfully, as stated in the fine print on his discount form. If he was disrespectful, his staff discount could be suspended or permanently revoked, and he could even be fired. I told my manager to call the man's hotel and speak to his manager about his behavior. After searching the hotel's phone number, I called and handed the phone to my manager. After finishing the conversation, my manager had a sinister yet satisfied smile on his face. The entitled guest's manager was furious after hearing about his antics. Shortly after, the main phone rang. I answered, hello, thank you for calling. How may I direct your call? The caller responded, I want to speak to the entitled jerk's room, please. With a smirk, I transferred the call and told my manager sarcastically, someone wanted to talk to entitled jerk. I wonder who that could be. My manager, still chuckling, told me that the other manager had given him his personal cell phone number and instructed him to call if there were any other issues. He left the number by the switchboard, just in case. Then, I told my manager, your revenge is done, now it's time for mine. Why died, my manager asked, oh crap, what are you going to do? With an evil smile I replied, you'll see. I called the hotel rewards customer service and reported the guest for using his rewards account while receiving an employee discount on his stay. The customer service was shocked, and I suggested they look through his account history, as he likely used employee discounts for all his stays. They started a ticket to investigate the matter. After giving them the guest's reservation and rewards member numbers, I hung up the phone. My manager watched as I removed the guest's rewards number, grinning widely. He said that was awesome. But I wasn't quite done with him yet. It was time to spread the news to all departments that he was no longer a rewards member. I made a new room key for the guest without concierge access and went to each department, informing them about the situation. Everyone reacted with relief upon hearing the news, but some asked, oh god, what about this A-hole? I explained to them that the guest was no longer a rewards member, and if he caused any trouble, they should call the front desk immediately. I also mentioned that his manager had likely given him a stern talking to just a moment ago. Everyone was delighted with this news. I finally went to the concierge room, using the guest's new key to invalidate his current one. Upon entering, I explained the situation to the evening concierge. She cringed at the mention of the guest's name, but after assuring her that she wouldn't have to deal with him again, I asked her to leave a note for the morning manager stating that the man was no longer allowed in the concierge room. She was very pleased. While I was away, the manager had evidently filled in the front desk ladies about the situation. When I returned to the desk, both of my coworkers came up to me, gave me a huge hug, and thanked me. After the other coworkers went home, my manager said to me, do me a huge favor please. I was up to it, so I said sure, what's up? He responded, if I ever piss you off, tell me so I can fix the issue. Later that night, the entitled guest approached the desk, had in hand, politely saying his key didn't work. I told him, oh, so sorry about that. Let me make you a new key, all while wearing the best fake smile I could muster. The next day, I checked his rewards account and saw that it was now suspended. Upon his return the following week, I informed him, sorry, account number not found. And that's how I saved the day for my front desk coworkers, putting an end to the entitled guest's reign of terror. The hugs and thanks for my coworkers were all worth it, and our hotel went back to being a peaceful haven for both staff and guests alike. And so, my dear friends, remember, karma works in mysterious ways, and sometimes, it just might take the form of a cunning hotel employee with a flair for creative problem solving and a wicked sense of humor. It's amazing that someone working in hospitality, let alone another hotel, could treat staff with such disdain. Usually the crap you deal with in any service industry leads to treating others in the same field with more compassion, or at least understanding. Some people go, I know what it's like, and will therefore not do that to others. While other people go, I had to take it, now it's my turn to dish it out. I am amazed at how much of a crapstorm you raised, and with seemingly so little effort on your part. Very efficient, very effective. You deserve a thumbs up for that alone. And then, the way in which you protected your coworkers. First class. You were playing 4D chess, while that entitled prick was playing checkers. Good riddance. You are the hero we need. In early 2020, I landed a gig as an assistant manager at a local automotive shop, where we specialized in selling tires and alloy wheels for passenger vehicles. The company had several stores under its belt. My boss was the manager, who reported directly to the company owner. But soon after joining, I couldn't help but notice my manager's less than stellar professionalism. He constantly ribbed and belittled me, perhaps out of jealousy, as I quickly became a top performing salesperson. To top it off, he'd often clock out early and sip on a cold one while the rest of us kept grinding away. And when he learned about my MMA training, he tried to bait me into a fight just for kicks. It seemed like he wanted me to lose my cool and, ultimately, my job. Little did he know, I was just getting started. During my first few months, I noticed discrepancies between our daily earnings and sales records. While I spent extra time after work trying to find the source of the errors, my manager just shrugged it off. Something fishy was going on with our cash records, and my accounting student senses were tingling. I was worried, though, that if I complained, it would somehow boomerang back on me. And boy, was I right. A few weeks later, my manager took some time off, and I stepped into his role temporarily. During his absence, I set a personal sales record and, surprise, surprise, the cash issues vanished. I reported my findings to the company owner, secretly hoping he would confront my manager. But I also had a gut feeling that my manager would know I was the whistleblower. Sure enough, upon his return, my manager marched up to me, fuming. The owner told me you're blaming me for the discrepancies? Maybe if you did your job right, this wouldn't happen. I was taken aback by his anger, but not surprised that he twisted the situation to pin the blame on me. I was now more suspicious than ever, and it was time for some good old-fashioned malicious compliance. Newfound determination, I started keeping a close eye on my manager's transactions. As I dug into the details, I uncovered his shady dealings. For example, he'd tell customers the price was $200 for a cash payment, secretly discounted by $50 in our system, pocket the extra cash, and record a $150 sale. His greed, however, was his downfall, as he couldn't remember exactly how much he'd swindled each time. I compiled screenshots and a detailed report of my findings, showing that the discrepancies only occurred when my manager was around, and sent it to the business owner. The owner was livid, he had trusted this man for years. In his fury, he demanded an immediate drug test for my manager, who, unsurprisingly, failed spectacularly. Turns out, my manager had a serious meth problem, which likely fueled his cash-grabbing antics. The owner was beside himself, having a manager high as a kite while operating machinery could have caused serious legal troubles if an accident or injury occurred. So, my manager was promptly fired for breaching his contract and later faced the owner in court to recoup the stolen funds. As for me? Well, I got a sweet promotion to store manager. And they say crime doesn't pay. I bet the manager and owner have some kind of history. The immediate drug test shows that the owner knew exactly what to look for. I believe so. Manager had worked for the owner for more than a decade. They were practically buddies. Back in April, I worked for a seemingly nice woman in a small startup in the telecommunications industry. During my interview, she said I'd earn $120 per job if it took less than two hours, and $45 an hour for anything longer. My first job involved running cables and installing UniFi equipment. I was told we'd be paid by weekly, but after completing 17 jobs in two weeks, I hadn't received a dime. I should mention I have a wife and two kids. She claimed there was an issue with her payroll and promised I'd be back paid. Being a trusting man, I believed her and continued to work for another three weeks. Surprise, surprise, I received a check for a measly $160. I was livid and called her immediately, but she assured me it was a mistake and would be corrected. My wife was skeptical and urged me to cut my losses, which I did. Until a month later, when the woman called, saying she had a check for the money she owed me. I arrived at her apartment complex, and after a long 35-minute wait, she finally came downstairs. Instead of handing me my check, she tried to woo me with her vision of becoming the first-owned tech company on the Fortune 500 list with someone of my race. She dangled the carrot of potentially making me a board of directors member, and Gil tripped me about my race and veteran status. After stroking her ego, she finally handed me my check, and I left. Upon opening the check, I discovered it was only for $500. I called my wife, furious, but she calmed me down. On my way home, I texted the two other people who worked for her, including an Afghan refugee from the Afghanistan withdrawal. Turns out, they had not been paid either or were seriously underpaid. Feeling defeated, I was just going to move on, but then I had an epiphany while using the bathroom. This woman had used one account, her personal account, no less, to manage all of her clients' equipment, cameras, cloud storage, Wi-Fi encryption, bank information passwords, etc. She had access to all of this information, including live footage inside people's houses, and charged her clients upwards of $400 a month for a service that was actually free through Unify. But her most colossal blunder was entrusting this login information to the three of us, the very people she refused to pay. Seeing an opportunity for some delicious revenge, I decided to give her one last chance. I texted her, asking for what I was owed, but received no reply. She even blocked my number. It was time to put my plan into action. I opened the app using a VPN, logged in, and went to all 75 of her clients' tabs, over 170 devices. I deleted every single camera, cloud storage device, doorbell camera, and all backups so they couldn't be restored. Then I removed her payment methods, stopping her from receiving the $18,000 a month she had been raking in. I created a new email, verified it, added it to the account, and removed the old one. After changing her username and user picture, I generated a random, 20-character password, locked myself and everyone else out of the account, and deleted the email I had switched it to. The cherry on top? I turned all the profiles into their own accounts, so her clients no longer had to pay for a service that was already free. I would love to see her reaction after this. This is how it's done, folks. That must make you furious to have a fellow minority person try to get you to take it. Just because you are also a minority person, and the only motivation being to rip you off. That's seriously messed up. I hope you have a great paying job now. I love this. Clean, crisp, decisive. Perfect. And that, dear vengeful viewer, brings us to the end of this episode. Did you enjoy Schadenfreude? What did you think of the first story's female narration? Let me know in the comments. Don't forget, these stories are told for your entertainment. We don't promote you doing anything that's not legal, wherever you're from. We're all about spreading love, light, and laughter here. Thank you for watching, my loyal viewer. I do this for you. Have a good one. And I see you in the next.