rSlash - r/Prorevenge Scam Me? I'll Steal Your Business!

Episode Date: July 10, 2024

0:00 Intro 0:07 Roommate 9:15 Mine now 14:32 Comment story Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Benefits vary by card, other conditions apply. Welcome to r slash pro revenge, where OP has F you money. Our next Reddit post is from thrownaway. In 2017, I took a new job on the other side of my fairly large city. I decided to move closer to my new job. I could have gotten a one bedroom apartment on my own, but my budget at the time would only barely manage it. I'm a single guy in my twenties and I like to go out and order in.

Sure, I could have had my own place, but I would have been eating ramen and staying in most of the time. So I leased a two-bedroom in March 2017 and I started advertising for a roommate. A great guy named Dave got in touch. We seemed to click and he moved in. I have a pickup truck so I helped him get furniture and he helped me move my stuff into the new place. We got along great.

We were alike enough that we had common interests, but different enough that we would have great discussions. Things were fine. We would split the cost of stuff like toilet paper and dish soap. Neither of us were total slobs, but we weren't fussy people who would complain about a dirty glass left in the sink overnight. In the meantime, my job was going great. Within six months, I got a promotion and a very hefty raise.

Dave told me that he was leaving on November 1st, 2017. I probably should have just covered the apartment myself until the end of the lease in February, but I made a mistake. Let's call this mistake Bro, since that's what he called everyone else. Bro was Dave's weed connect, had been to the apartment a few times and needed a place to stay. He seemed like he had his act together, was charismatic and well groomed. So Dave moved out and Bro moved in.

Trouble started pretty soon afterwards. Bro was super vain, always with neatly trimmed blonde hair, nice clothes and $500 sneakers. That's where all of his money went. He didn't buy food or anything else. I would buy a loaf of bread and the next day only 25% of it was left. I would go to take a dump and there was no toilet paper. I used to leave a big jar of peanut butter in the cupboard. It evaporated. I would give him flack and tell him to buy his own stuff. Yeah bro, no problem.

But nothing changed. He didn't even have a cell phone. Well he did, but he never used it. He couldn't get a plan because of an unpaid account. So he had a pay as you go plan and relied on WhatsApp and Facebook Messenger to keep in contact with people, like for example his weed customers. How much do you think he contributed to the internet bill? Rent was usually laid and never in one chunk.

And he was a complete slob. He never did dishes or wiped anything down. I don't think he even knew how to spell mop. I was getting more and more pissed off. And finally, we had a big argument just before Christmas 2017. I basically told him flat out that if he didn't stop using my stuff and start pulling his own weight, then shit's gonna happen and you won't like it. The final straw, I made a bunch of cookies and stuff to take with me to visit my family for Christmas. I told him specifically not to touch that food.

And he devoured about a third of it. F you bro! Now I'm angry and I'm coming for you. Bro was excited to go to Costa Rica for a week in February. One of his friend's parents had a condo there, and Bro and three of his friends were planning a trip to stay there for a week. Since their accommodations were free, they could party it up, and I overheard their plans for booze, cheap coke, and legal hookers.

I spent a lot of time in my room when Bro had his friends over playing video games. I have a good headset, so they must have assumed that I was playing away rather than listening through the paper thin walls. Oh man, oh I already know where this is going. One of the things they were planning to do was suitcase some coke back home. For those of you who don't know what that means, it means putting something up your butt to smuggle it. Coke is cheap in Costa Rica,

about 10% of what it costs here, and much stronger. They were planning to bring a small amount, a few grams each, then dilute it when they got back and sell it for enough to cover the trip. Well, it comes time for the trip, and time to pull the trigger on my revenge. Bro and his buddies were leaving on Saturday morning. I told Bro that I was going to be out of town, so he would have to arrange for his own ride to the airport, but that I would pick him up. He gave me his flight number for his return flight. I had a few Coca Colas in the fridge and a chocolate cake that I had taken a few slices from.

In the cupboard was a bag of Doritos and some Oreos. I told him, again, not to eat my food. Bro was out of the house on Friday, so before I left, I took every single cleaning product out of the place. All soap, dish soap, vinegar, cleanser, everything. All of it. Did I mention that Bro would use my stuff? This included my shampoo and body wash.

I use a product called Irish Spring Body Wash, which is a gel that's a bright emerald green. So before I left, I stirred two containers of green food coloring into the bottle and put it back in the shower. Did I mention that Bro had a pale complexion? Then I got into the admin of the router and filtered the MAC addresses down to my PS3, phone and desktop, effectively locking him out of the internet. Saturday morning my phone started blowing up. I guess Bro went for a shower before leaving for the airport and got more than he thought when he used MY Irish Spring, as usual. I wish I could have seen it. He lost his mind calling me every name in the book and threatening to

kick my butt when he returned. On Sunday when I got back home, the apartment was a disaster. Clearly he had people over and they had drank all my cokes and eaten my food. That's when I finally replied to him on WhatsApp. He called me almost immediately and started ranting and screaming into the phone, freaking out that he's green and that it won't wash out. So he can't go to the beach or the pool. He's calling me an effing butt hole, how could I do this to him, etc. I just told him that I warned him that if he keeps using my stuff, something would happen that he didn't like, and he wouldn't be in this mess if he wasn't an effing thief.

Then I told him that he should actually be grateful and thank me. Thank you? Thank you for what, you grunt? Thank me for not loading the cake with laxatives like I'd planned to. On Tuesday I messaged him. Bro, the cops were here looking for you. What? What for? Don't know, bro. They just wanted to know where you were. What'd you tell them? That you were in Costa Rica, but that you were flying back in on Sunday afternoon. There were no cops, but he didn't know that. All he knows is that there was a possibility that they might be waiting for him on arrival, and that if he was discovering

smuggling cocaine, then he would be in big trouble. So there went his suit casing plans, and there went his plans to pay for his trip. On Friday, I told him that I wouldn't be able to pick him up from the airport, but not why. I had given my notice and surrendered the apartment. I spent that entire week packing my stuff. All of it. I actually owned the furniture in Bro's room, but I didn't want it, so I went to his room, dumped his junk on the floor, and dragged it down to the dumpster.

I slashed the mattress and kicked the dresser and bedside table to matchsticks. Couch and chairs too. Then I emptied the place. Every cup, plate, knife, fork, all of it was either trashed or moved. I did leave one small pot, but I drilled a hole in the bottom, just to make my point. I took the shower head. I took the shower curtain. I took the shower curtain. I took the shower curtain rings.

I emptied the place. I heard later from Dave, who knew one of the guys that went to Costa Rica with Bro, that Bro had showed up with very little money. And what little he had was soon gone. He was mooching off the others, and it didn't take long for them to tire of Bro. Whatever fury they may have felt because of his greening was soon defused once they caught wind of his true nature. I don't know how he got back from the airport, but on Sunday he called me freaking out about the apartment. Where's my bed,

man? Where's my furniture? What furniture? All that stuff was mine and I didn't want it anymore. What the F, man? What did I ever do to you? Aside from steal my stuff, not pull your weight, and screw me over with rent and bills you mean? Now I have to sleep on the floor? F you butthole! No, F you bro! Just to let you know, I did you a favor. Now you have less stuff to move. Better get started looking for a new place to live, because the management of the building is changing the locks on Wednesday morning.

Then I blocked Bro. I never heard from him again, but Dave told me that he couch surfed for a few weeks, then disappeared. He probably moved out of town, who knows. Good riddance. OP, yeah, this is pretty good revenge, but I'm shocked that you didn't just report bro to the airport for smuggling cocaine. Down in the comments, it looks like I'm not the only person who thought that was where

the story was going. And according to one user, if you get caught smuggling drugs in a US airport, that's a minimum 5 year prison sentence. So OP, you really missed your chance here. Our next reddit post is from RockExpat. My family immigrated to America in the 1880s and settled in Nebraska. We were farmers for the first 80 years or so, but back in the 1960s, my great grandma decided she was going to sell the entire farm before she died and simply give her sons one

third of the money for inheritance when she passed. She had three sons. In 1969, my great grandma passed away and her three sons inherited the money that she had earned from selling the farm. My grandpa decided that he would basically let that money sit until after he retired from the military. In 1971, he deployed to Vietnam for his second and final deployment. At the end of his deployment, he returned to Nebraska and retired after 22 years in

the service. Now, he had an old Chevy truck and retired after 22 years in the service. Now he had an old Chevy truck at the time and was in the process of building a concrete business with the money that he'd gotten from his inheritance. Well during this time, his truck engine blew up. My grandpa was busy at the time and he didn't want to fool with the truck because he was busy. So he bought himself the engine he wanted to replace it with, which was an upgrade. And he went down to the only garage in town and asked them if they'd be willing to put the engine in his truck. They

agreed on a price and told him to come back in a week or so. A week later, my grandpa comes back and picks up the truck. He admits he felt like a fool for not double checking the work, but he assumed that since this was the son of his friend, that the son would do right by him. This was a small town after all. Well, my grandpa opens up the concrete business. And eventually, it comes time for his first oil change. This is about four months after he got the truck back. He's doing the oil change and he notices that the engine he bought

isn't the engine that's in his truck. It's a smaller engine. This obviously pissed him off to high heaven, as my grandma liked to say. So he storms down to the garage and talks to Earl, the owner. Earl comes out and denies any wrongdoing, says that he did as he was told and it shouldn't have taken him 4 months to bring the issue up. My grandpa tells Earl that he needs to do what's right and Earl refuses. It's important to note that this is a small town.

Written contracts and so forth really aren't a thing. Your worth is your word. My grandpa tells Earl that he's going to get him for this. Earl laughs and tells him to leave his shop. My grandpa goes down to the county and requests the record for who owns that gas station. Turns out it's an old family friend named Harold. My grandpa stops by Harold's house and starts inquiring about the business deal that Harold has with Earl. Harold says, well, Earl rents the gas station and garage from me. My grandpa

asks Harold how everything is doing, and Harold confines that Earl hasn't paid rent in two months. My grandpa asks, do you have a written lease with Earl? To which Harold goes, nah, I sure don't. So my grandpa asks, what if I bought the gas station and garage from you? Harold isn't completely on board with the idea, but my grandpa makes a strong point. Earl isn't paying his rent. Harold doesn't seem like he has much interest in being a landlord anymore and my grandpa has the cash to just buy the place outright. Harold, sensing something is up, asks my grandpa, Did Earl do something to you? You seem awfully interested in this garage.

Ain't you busy with that concrete business of yours? And my grandpa fills Harold in on the story. My grandpa also mentions that he has a son, my father, who needs something to do and he'd be happy to buy the whole building from Harold for a fair price. And what happens after that is his business. Also it's important to note that when Harold decided to rent this business to Earl, in that deal went all the equipment and tools that Harold had acquired over the years. So those tools belonged to the building, not to Earl. Harold and my grandpa came to a number that they both agreed on.

A few days later, my grandpa paid Harold in cash in full for the business. The paperwork is done and my grandpa is now the proud owner of a gas station and mechanic shop. Now, my grandpa senses that Earl ain't gonna be too pleased when my grandpa fires him. So for extra good measure, my grandpa calls up the local sheriff who's a high school friend of his, and he asks the sheriff to come with him to break the news to Earl. So my grandpa and the sheriff go down to Earl's now former business, and they walk in, and before my grandpa can even say hello, Earl says,

Now I told you, I didn't cheat you. My grandpa smiles and says, I'm not here about my truck. I'm here to fire you. With a look of confusion on his face, Earl says, You can't fire me, I own this business. My grandpa shows Earl the title to the building and says, I'm now the owner of this building. To which Earl fires back, but I gotta deal with Harold!

And the Sheriff speaks up, you do? Do you have a lease? Well, no, Earl says. To which the Sheriff smiles and says, in that case, you're gonna need to take your stuff and leave. Earl is fuming pissed, grabs his toolbox, and storms out. My grandpa ended up hiring the mechanic that would occasionally work on his trucks at the concrete business.

He had my aunt and grandma run the gas station full time, and my dad would work there after school. We owned that garage for 25 years before my grandpa sold it to someone else. Also, down in the comments, we have this story from Sawfish. Sounds kinda like how Sam Walton ended up owning a bank. And for those who don't know, Sam Walton is the founder of Walmart. Supposedly, when he first started, he would visit his stores dressed in cufferalls and driving his old truck, and wander around seeing if people were doing their jobs.

He overheard an employee complaining that the bank wouldn't give his employees loans. So he went into that bank and asked for a loan application, even used his real name. If the loan manager had bothered to look, he would have seen that Sam was worth a couple of million dollars. Instead, the loan manager denied his loan. Supposedly, Sam Walton called his lawyers, bought the bank, and showed up again in his nice car in a suit and asked for the loan manager and fired him. Then he found that same employee at his store and told her to go apply again. I heard this from a guy who grew up in Bentonville.

That was r slash pro revenge, and if you liked this content, be sure to follow my podcast because I put out new Reddit Podcast episodes every single day.