rSlash - r/Prorevenge I Ruined My Evil Boss's Career

Episode Date: October 16, 2023

0:00 Intro 0:08 Bully revenge 4:34 The memo 12:46 Ignored Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Welcome to R-slash Pro Revenge, where OPsPs father gets revenge against her abusive teacher. Our next reddit post is from deleted. When I was in 8th grade, I tried out for a spot on the drill team. For those unfamiliar with drill, it's the group that dances alongside the marching band and we were separate from the cheerleaders. Thank the Rockettes, but a lot more awkward. The reason I tried out was because the girls, you know the ones, pretty popular, teachers' favorites, laughed at me when I showed up for the informational meeting.

They said that I wasn't right for it and that I didn't belong. That made me even more determined to learn the routines and become a little more fit so that I could do them. I was as flexible as a 14 year old could be, but at home, I practiced and stretched and showed up for the rehearsals and tryouts. Whenever we had to link our arms for a dance, only a couple of the girls who were actually

decent wouldn't act like I was made out of poison. I passed tryouts because I could do the routine. My dad, who owned his own business to encarropare, wasn't rich, but he managed to pay for my camp fees and uniforms. He dropped me off each morning of summer camp on his way to work. There, we learned the routines that we'd be performing at Pep rallies and football games. We had to stand out in the swell-toring Louisiana Heat and humidity in August and stand in position for minutes at a time. Also, you had to move around and do kicks. I ended up with

blisters on my upper arms from the sun. Okay, let me tell you about the sponsor, as in the teacher who was in charge of the team. She was the epitome of a cranky old woman. She had an only child who was part of the drill team, and also did private dance lessons. According to her mom, her kid was perfect. At the time, the show Dance Moms wasn't a thing, but that's exactly what she was like. She would berate me for the smallest things, and basically bully me along with the other girls.

For example, when I was feeling faint for having to do kicks for the third time that day, I was sitting down beside another girl who had pulled her hamstring. The teacher was sitting with the two of us while watching her daughter, who was our choreographer, of course. Commenting how wonderful she was. Then she said to me, get back out there. I can understand why the other girl is sitting because she's an athlete so she gets a pass. The other girl was a basketball player.

She would yell at me from across the gym to suck in my stomach. She told me that I was rude when I was eating lunch with everyone else and I laughed at something someone said and it caused me to cough on my sandwich. The other girls would say mean things to me as well and the teacher actively encouraged it. Junior High was already bad enough, but this made it even worse. I tried to be strong and show them I could do it, but it made me cry as soon as I got home.

The night of our first performance, I was waiting to be picked up with a few others in the sponsor. The sponsor went to the bathroom and came back with one girl who was caught smoking in the bathroom with some high school kids. Her punishment was she had to sit out the next game. My dad was running late because he had work, and after 30 minutes, my sponsor told me, you know this means you're out the team. My dad pulled up a few minutes later,

and as soon as I got in his truck, I was sobbing. I told him what happened, and he said, just a minute, I'll be right back. And proceeded to rip that woman a new one about her attitude towards me. So the revenge. Years later, this woman brings her card to my dad shop for repair. He remembers her, but she doesn't remember him.

She was just as condescending as she had ever been, treating him like a lowly servant under her because he did manual labor. He was writing her estimate for the insurance, and she kept trying to get him to add in stuff that wasn't caused by the accident that she was there for. Things like a ding on the back bumper when the damage was in the front. My dad wouldn't do it and she got all huffy and said something like, If you don't do it, I'll get your license revoked. Now since my dad had a shop broken into and tool stolen, he had installed cameras.

He sent that video to the insurance adjuster, one that he had a long good relationship with in his course of business, and she got charged with attempting insurance fraud. I don't know the extent of it, but she should be glad that her threats to his livelihood weren't added in there. Man, of course he remembers her. To her, O.P. was just some random girl that she bullies, she probably bullies a couple girls every year. But to him, this was the woman who made his little girl cry and that's something he

would never forget. Our next Reddit post is from called in the 90s. This opinion is garbage, my boss told me. He'd been a lawyer for three years and the firm assigned me to him for training. To show me, a junior council, how to be a litigator. I disliked my boss for a number of reasons. He knew nothing about law and he expressed himself badly in writing. For a litigator, that's like Strike 1 and Strike 2 right there, and Strike 3 was this. He had no balls. He was actually scared of going to court. I noticed this when he took me to assignment court one day,

and when it was his turn to speak, his hands were shaking. He was scared in effing assignment court where all you do is set a trial date. What's wrong with what I wrote, I said. It's not what I asked for, he said, turning away. But when I checked the memo he emailed me two weeks earlier, I saw that the opinion I wrote was exactly what he asked for. I knew what was up. He was going to delete my dockets for writing the memo and then claim he did it himself. Thus leaving me quite a bit short of my docketing quota for the month. I knew that he would do this to me because he'd done this before. I knew that my memo would wind up on the partner's desk without my name on it.

I knew that for a fact, because the firm I worked at was one of the first in the city to have a really good internal network. The firm was way ahead in terms of technology, but not in terms of security. Not long after I joined the firm, I learned how to surf away on the firm's hard drive and find interesting things, like evidence that my boss was plagiarizing my work. My boss was the very model of the young downtown lawyer. His perfect shoes always gleamed. He wore bespoke suits because he came from money.

Everyone just took it for granted that he was on the partner track. I, on the other hand, was well on my way to be nowhere special. So maybe he thought it was okay to mess with me? If so, that was a big mistake on his part. I did not like having my billable hours messed with. I seriously resented it, because I was already being targeted as one of the juniors who doesn't dock it as much as he should, and I was getting pushed back from the partner who headed our team.

I told one of the partners what was going on, but he didn't care. It was like being back in middle school and showing up in the office with bruises on my face and the principal saying, boys will be boys and sending me on my way. You'll just have to work harder or smarter. The partner said when I reported the latest BS thing my boss did to me. I couldn't work harder because I was already working six days a week, but I could work smarter, and that night I cooked up a plan.

Christmas was coming, and I thought that I'd give my boss a little present. It landed on his desk on December 24th, in the form of a memo, purporting to be from the partner that my boss reported to. That partner was an old guy, and not really on board with emails and computers, so he did everything old school on paper. So, when my boss came in on December 24th and saw a memo on his desk from the partner with the legal research assignment, that wasn't unusual. The memo was drafted in the usual form the partner used, because of course I taking great pains to make sure that it looked authentic. My boss walked over to the little cubicles where the juniors worked

and gave me the same memo. Except the secretary had re-typed it, so now the assignment was from him to me and sit it from the partner to my boss. The assignment was difficult, requiring me to do a deep dive into Admiralty Law, its relationship to common law, combined with a constitutional division of powers question. But this is a huge assignment I wind, and I'm gonna be a way on vacation. Can't you get someone else to do it? Is it really urgent? The memo I'd forged to my boss stressed how totally urgent the situation was. But there was no way my boss could double-check with that partner because that partner left a day before on vacation. That's why I waited until December 24th. No can do, my boss said.

This is a big deal. Just let HR know. Maybe they'll give you time in a half or something. He turned his pack and walked away, thinking he'd ruined my holidays. But he was mistaken. You see, I'd written a paper for a third year course that was basically this exact same assignment. So, the only work I had to do was to find the old floppy disk with a draft on it, fiddle

with it a bit, and voila! A very detailed and very long memo on an obscure point of admiralty law, with references starting back to Lord Coke's day. So I put the memo together and took my holidays as planned. I wasn't traveling anywhere because I had no money, but I saw my family in state and town, and I made a point of dropping by the office during the holidays, sending an email or two, establishing that I was around. And docketing all my time for the huge amount of research I was allegedly doing. So the holidays end, and I'm sitting in my tiny little cubicle with a huge stack of work

to do, and my boss comes up to me and one of his bespoke suits with a gold-type pin and cufflinks to match. He was wearing a gold watch too. He was dressed up, even for him, trying to make an impression of some kind. Where's that memo? You were supposed to have it on my desk when I got back. I'm going into a meeting at noon. I just finished it this morning, I said, handing him the lengthy memo that was still warm from the printer. The boss took the memo in his hands, felt

its heft, and he smiled. Then he turned and walked away without a word. Just before lunch, I heard commotion down the hall. It was a pretty loud commotion as such things go, allowed F word and then a door was flung open. It was the partner and he was screaming for my boss to get his butt in the office now, right now, as in immediately. I had the pleasure of watching my boss scramble down

the hall. Just what the f**king f**k is this, the partner said, standing in the doorway to his office and holding my handy-work at arm's length with his thumb and index finger, as if he were afraid that handling it would soil him. My boss mumbled something and then the partner ushered him inside. I heard more shouting than the sound of muffled excuses and then more shouting then the partner ushered him inside. I heard more shouting than the sound of muffled excuses and then more shouting from the partner. Then the door flung open again. OP, get your butt in here too, the partner said, and I got my butt in their pronto.

Did you write this effing memo, the partner said. I took the memo from him and looked it over. I said, yeah, I wrote this. The cover page has been changed to remove my name, but other than that, it's mine. I spent all Christmas on it. Is there something wrong with it? Then the partner exploded. Is there something wrong with it? Something wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong with it.

It's effing useless. Totally useless. I explained that I was only following my boss's instruction to the letter, and that I docketed more than a hundred hours on it. At this point, the partner really went nuts, and told me to go back to my desk and fetch him the memo from my boss. I brought it to the partner, and when the partner read it, his face went red. He told me I could leave, and I hauled myself out of there.

From my little cubicle, I wasn't close enough to hear the full chewing out that my boss got, but I heard the details from the great vine over the next few days about how the partners were seriously pissed that my boss had wasted over a hundred hours of a junior's time on a useless task that was obviously a prank. And how would my boss not realize that he was being pranked? Was he an idiot? I wasn't blamed at all, of course. I'd been working under my boss's close supervision.

My boss didn't get fired, but there were some good outcomes for me. For one thing, the partner told me to send him a copy of any memos that I wrote for my boss, and that ended him taking credit for my work. My boss also stopped deleting my dockets for my research. Plus, I got a belated Christmas bonus for allegedly having to give up my vacation to write that stupid memo.

I really hated working in that place, but whenever times were tough, I'd think back to that case of the forged memo, and that always brought a smile to my face. Our next Reddit postage from Struggle Bus. My dad died December 1st, 2022. He briefly lived with me before his passing after a long stint of being chronically ill for the past 15 years. As his health declined, he relied more on my mom for things. Prior to this, she was never a great person and fully took advantage of his disability

and mobility issues as he declined. For years, she claimed to be separated and divorced, talking to other men on the internet. She made claims many times that she was going to move away and marry someone else. In addition, she took advantage of my dad financially. We tried every legal avenue we could find to have her kicked out, arrested, or forced around, but those attempts were met with responses that it was a civil matter and there was nothing that could be done. My father made me durable power of attorney and added me to all of his accounts. I tried for years to get my dad to move in with me, but he would not leave the house that he worked so hard to pay for. I brought him home on hospice the day after Thanksgiving and made sure his final days were

the best they could be. After meeting with the funeral home to carry out his final wishes, I was told they required consent from my mother to allow me to cremate him. It was no surprise that she initially told me no, and only agreed after I allowed her to keep the Social Security survivor benefits, which would have been hers anyways. I wrote as obituary and left her out of it entirely. There was not a single word or mention that he'd been married or had a spouse. I didn't feel like she deserved to be recognized or viewed as a grieving widow when she spent their marriage as a terrible spouse and person.

She lost her mind and there were so many questions from friends and family alike. I've spent years in therapy working through maternal narcissistic abuse, and I believe that if she didn't want to talk to me about it, then she shouldn't have done it. When people later asked me about it, I was honest about the years of abuse that my father and I endured from her. I've completely ruined the public image in victim complex she spent years creating. I might be the villain and a butthole in this scenario, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'm lucky enough that I've never had to deal with a narcissist personally,

but one thing that I hear very often on Reddit is that one of the best ways to deal with narcissists is to just ignore them. Because they thrive on attention, positive and negative, so to just cut her entirely out of the obituary, to act as if O.P.'s mother had no impact on her dad's life is a cold, cold plate of revenge. That was our slash pro revenge, and if you like this content, be sure to follow my podcast because I put out new Reddit podcast episodes every single day. follow my podcast because I put out new Reddit podcast episodes every single day.