Setting up this “drill” turned out to be a moment A will never forget.
The next time, the coach deliberately set up a scenario where A went after me during a defense drill. After the previous collision, he was angry and wanted revenge, but the trainer, who knew how A behaves, gave me the opportunity to show him the consequences of his constant provocations.
As the game unfolded, A made his move to come at me from behind, hoping to catch me off guard. But I foresaw his attempt. The moment he tried to poke me with the stick, I froze. Without hesitation, I turned and blocked the puck with my body.
I didn’t need to rely on my speed to escape – I just used my size and strength to absorb the impact and send him to the ice. It was a clean check, perfectly executed, and sent a strong message.
And he lay there for a while, breathless but unharmed. However, his pride was bruised. A coach who witnessed the whole thing reminded him to keep his aggression within the bounds of the game, but I could tell that A had learned his lesson. He would never dare attack me again, not after realizing that his petty slashing and verbal abuse wouldn’t work on someone who could hold his own.
The rest of the season went by with A keeping his distance and me moving on from that incident with no regrets. It wasn’t about physical revenge or some need to “get even” in the typical sense of the word. It was about making sure I could stand up for myself and put an end to his bullying behavior once and for all. Sometimes the best revenge isn’t dramatic—it’s just showing that you won’t tolerate being pushed around.
Looking back at these revenge stories, each one has its own unique twist. Whether it’s a clever and strategic recovery of a stolen project, a clever way to catch a thief in the act, or a thoughtful moment in a hockey drill, the satisfaction lies not only in the revenge itself but in the way these individuals reclaim their power.AAnd dignity.
Every act of revenge is as much about self-empowerment as it is about retribution. When someone steps on you, standing up and taking control of the situation can be more victorious than any moment of retaliation.
Atonement and sweet revenge
We’ve all dreamed of seeking revenge at some point, whether it was for a personal wrong or just to right a wrong done to us. Maybe someone in the past took revenge on us and taught us a lesson we didn’t expect. Still, there’s a fine line between creating a payback plan and actually putting it into action. However, people in the stories that followed found a way to blur that line as intimately as possible.
While not all revenge stories are satisfying, the ones you’re about to read are full of triumph and catharsis that many of us only dream of. These individuals have dared to do what most of us wouldn’t, and their results are nothing short of compelling.
At a high school reunion this week—via Zoom—a friend of mine, who I’ll call Janice, shared a memory that made everyone laugh and get nostalgic. Most of us attended the same K-8 school, where classes were combined by grades: first and second together, third and fourth, and so on. During our seventh and eighth grade years, one unique tradition stood out: the infamous Toy Team Project, or TT as we called it.
The notorious TT project
The TT project was supposed to teach teamwork, creativity, and innovation. Students were divided into groups whose task was to design, build, and demonstrate a toy to judges from local companies. Awards were given in categories such as Best Design, Best Research, and Best Presentation. Despite its educational intentions, the project often turned into a mess, for reasons I’ll explain shortly.
For me, the TT was a nightmare. Gender roles played a significant role, with boys usually taking care of the practical building while girls were relegated to secretarial tasks such as writing reports and collecting data. It wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t easy for someone like me to come forward and I rarely sought help to participate in the part of the project that I really loved – building.
Unfortunately, the eighth-grade project was made even more unbearable by one person: Carlos (not his real name). Carlos was a seventh grader with a reputation as a math and science genius. His academic prowess earned him grades in high school, but his arrogance and mean demeanor were what truly defined him. Carlos was untouchable, supported by wealthy parents who acted like characters straight out of a villainous family drama. Even the teachers could not reprimand him too harshly thanks to the influence of his parents.
A tyrant takes over
When Janice and I found out Carlos was going to be in our TT group, we weren’t thrilled. He took over the project from the beginning, bossed us, and managed everything. Because Janice and I were quiet and focused on our tasks, Carlos saw us as easy targets for his condescension. His height of arrogance came during the construction of our toy – a glider.
Testing the glider involved stretching a rubber band to launch it at a set distance. During one test I noticed that the elastic was too tight and warned Carlos to adjust it. He ignored me and took it too far. The belt snapped, shattering the glider and sending splinters flying. Instead of taking responsibility, Carlos blamed me and made harsh comments about my struggles with math and science—subjects I found challenging because of my learning disabilities.
A turning point
I ran home that day in tears and feeling defeated. Luckily, Dad was home and knew right away that something was wrong. After I explained everything, he assured me that the situation was not my fault. What’s more, he devised a plan to make things right—a plan that would turn the tables on Carlos.
The next day, my teacher, Mrs. Adams, informed us that Carlos would be working on a project by himself due to his behavior. Janice and I would continue as a team. Carlos smugly claimed he didn’t need our help or notes and was confident he could beat us on his own. He didn’t realize we had all the data and plans for the project.
With newfound determination, Janice and I rebuilt the glider, improved its design, and created a game around it. We called the project Gemini Gliders, inspired by the famous dueling roller coaster. Our fathers, both engineers, helped verify our calculations and signed off on our work. On the day of the presentation, we had a polished product, a professional binder, and newfound confidence.
Revenge served cold
During the first round of presentations, Janice and I wowed the judges and advanced to the final stage. However, Carlos was not as ready as he claimed. During his lunch break,k he tried to publish our original work by stealing pages from our binder. But his plan miraculously failed. Not only did we have a signed contract proving he could not use our work, but our father’s signatures on the original documents revealed his theft.
With the judges and Mrs. Adams looking on, Carlos was confronted and forced to return the stolen pages. He was disqualified, failed the project,t and received a first “D” in science. The humiliation was palpable, but it was a valuable lesson – one he’s unlikely to forget.
Janice and I won Best Design, but the real prize was watching Carlos’ ego crumble. He never dared mess with us again and we learned the importance of standing up for yourself and your hard work.
From the 1950s to the 1970s, during the early days of the Rust Belt, Dad grew up in what is now an industrial zone.
Back then, his working-class hometown felt like the Wild West. Large factories began to shrink or close altogether, prompting residents to leave in search of better opportunities. It didn’t take long for the town to gain a reputation as a rough and dangerous place to live. That reputation was cemented when the city ran out of funds to keep its police force on duty every day of the week.
As a result, officers only worked Monday through Friday and took weekends off.
It doesn’t take much imagination to see how this could lead to dangerous circumstances. Dad told us how they routinely broke into neighbors’ houses when no one was home and the robbers took everything because they knew no police would respond.
The grandfather, a veteran of the Korean War, was very concerned about his family’s safety. To prepare for any trouble, he bought several guns, stocked up on ammunition, and made sure his old service revolver was in working order.
By then, Dad had graduated college, gotten married, and moved two or three hours away to the biggest city in the state. Mom always dreamed of owning a cherry red 1964 Ford Mustang convertible from a young age. For their wedding, Dad scavenged a run-down Mustang at a junkyard, restored it, and gave it to her as a late wedding present. It cost him about $200 then (about $700 today) and Mom was thrilled. She often bragged about how spoiled her husband was, jokingly adding, “I got lucky that night!”
Meanwhile, Aunt Gertie, Dad’s youngest sister, had recently married and moved away. With just the two of them left at home, Grandma and Grandpa decided it was time to downsize and leave the increasingly dangerous city. They asked Mom and Dad to come help them pack and move. Dad eagerly agreed – it was a chance to see old friends.
Unfortunately, a few days before departure, Dad’s car broke down and needed major repairs with parts that did not arrive in time. That left them with Mom’s Mustang, a beautiful but potentially tempting target for car thieves. The timing was particularly concerning as their visit coincided with a police-free weekend.
Dad wasn’t one to be outsmarted, but he came up with a clever solution to track the car in case it was stolen. He called in his old school friends – now engineers, welders, and mechanics – for help, promising them beer and mum’s cooking. Grandpa also helped out if things got out of hand.
The plan involved creating a device that would leave traces of paint from a stolen car. They welded one end of a two-and-a-half-foot-long pipe, painted it white for camouflage, and filled it with fluorescent paint. They sealed the open end with the lid of a can, which they punched through a small hole and secured with a fishing line tied to the wheel rim. Once the wheel would start moving, it would pull the cord, release the sea,l and let the paint slowly leak out onto the road.
On Friday night, they parked the Mustang outside and waited for the thieves to take the bait. The first night passed peacefully. So is Saturday. But early Sunday morning, around 1:00 a.m., Mom heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. When they came outside, the car was gone. However, the painted track showed the way.
Dad, along with his friends Sam and Tom, hopped into Sam’s car and followed the trail. They had three concerns: they were unarmed, passing cars might smear the trail of paint, and they had to keep a safe distance to alert thieves. Fortunately, the chase only lasted about 15 minutes before the Mustang pulled into the driveway of an aordinary-lookingng house. The group waited another half hour to make sure the thieves were inside before finding the car. Tom quickly capped the paint tube and Dad used the keys to drive the Mustang home and Sam watched.
Their relief was short-lived. The thieves had heard them leave and were now in pursuit. Both cars ran stop signs and red lights, swerving to avoid the high stakes. Against all odds, they made it back to Grandpa’s house unscathed.
When the thieves stopped, Dad realized one had a knife and the other a baseball bat. His heart sank. But just then Grandpa emerged, holding his sawed-off shotgun.
The grandfather, 6.5 meters tall and 300 kilos, mostly muscular, spoke in a calm but firm voice: “I will count to three. If you don’t leave by then, you’ll regret it.”
Dad winced. He knew Grandpa wasn’t bluffing when he counted to three. Visibly shaken, the car thieves did not wait for him to finish. They jumped back into the car and sped away.
In the middle of the week, Grandma and Grandpa packed up and left town. The Mustang’s glass was repaired and everyone returned home safe and sound, with both cars intact and plenty of stories to tell.
I love my mother, but she definitely has a bit of a “magical” quality to her personality.
Everything was always handed to her. Growing up rich and beautiful, she was the center of attention of both my grandfather and stepfather, always getting exactly what she wanted. If you went to high school with her, you probably hated her.
I never dated anyone my mom didn’t approve of. Although she always looks polished and well-groomed, with perfectly styled hair and make-up, she has a deep contempt for other women and considers herself a bit of a tomboy. But in reality, she just enjoys being around men more because she feels that other women don’t recognize her attractiveness and that somehow weakens her so-called “power”.
In this story, I will refer to my fiancee—now my wife—as my fiancee, even though my mother’s behavior toward her was anything but pleasant. My fiancee is grounded, humble, and didn’t have the privileges my mother had growing up. While my mother usually gravitates toward people who can offer her something in return, in this case, her sense of humor was particularly cruel.
Most of the guests at our small summer wedding were close family and friends. The men stayed in one cabin and the women in the other for the pre-wedding festivities that reflected bachelor and bachelorette parties.
I got a call late one night from my fiancee’s sister venting about my mother’s behavior. She made snide remarks about how my fiancee might steal the spotlight at the wedding and made cruel remarks about everyone, especially me.
While this may seem trivial, it really bothered my fiancee. My mom has a background in modeling and can turn on the glamor when she wants to. During one of the bachelorette games where everyone had to guess facts about my fiancee, my mom kept making rude and inappropriate guesses. Later, during a spa session, she “accidentally” spilled the mud mask all over my fiancee’s hair.
My future sister-in-law was deeply embarrassed, saying it was ruining my fiancee’s night. That’s when I decided to come up with one final party game. I made the cakes, stocked up on cake pans, whipped cream, caramel,l and chocolate frosting,, and headed to the lady’s cabin where I arrived around1 amm (I had already asked my sister-in-law to help keep my fiancee awake).
Promising my fiancé that she would know what to do when the time came, I winked at her and let the women enjoy their game. Mom, of course, was furious. She eventually stormed off, declaring she would not attend the wedding, though she did show up later, though not for the ceremony.
The party game was successful, but the consequences were not great. My mom tore up the check she planned to give as a wedding gift. And honestly, it stung because my mom is rich. She didn’t talk to me for months after the wedding.
Looking back, my only regret is that I didn’t know he was leaving in the morning. Otherwise, I would have bought water balloons for the occasion. Needless to say, she’s still upset about it.
When I asked my wife to describe the event in detail, she probably bristled at the behavior of the bridesmaids, many of whom were poor college students, which my mom couldn’t understand (grandpa never let her experience life broke). My wife explained that she was covered in whipped cream, making everything a sticky mess, and she was wearing shorts, a tank top, and long hair. I wish I could be there to see the result of my little prank.
It was supposed to be a smart strategy game. My fiancee was lying down and when the first pie hit her in the face she jumped up to be hit again from behind by the second pie. After that, my wife and the others chaseMomom into the bathroom and threw handfuls of whipped cream at her.
#5.
This story took place before I was born and involved my mother, an uncle, and an elderly neighbor—whom, for the record, I don’t refer to as my grandfather because he didn’t deserve that title. My mother is the oldest sibling and my uncle is the second oldest if I remember correctly. Family life at that time was not exactly ideal for my mother.
As I recall, my mom left home at the age of sixteen. Their father, an old, bitter, and cruel man, had practically cut her out of his will because she didn’t need his money. Eventually,y the old man died and his property was divided among his children – except for my mom who was excluded. My uncle ended up getting the biggest share.
By the timGrandmama tried to offer my mom a small amount of money, Uncle refused. But he didn’t stop there – he committed an even worse crime.
Here’s the twist: My uncle, who had the same name as their father and was “religious” (yes, I use that term loosely), managed to obtain a will and change it so that he got everything and left nothing For other children. But karma, as always, had other plans.
Shortly after securing the money, my uncle met a woman who knew all about his newfound wealth. She charmed him with promises of even greater wealth. But she was a fraud and my uncle fell for it completely. She drained his account and took from his inheritance not only the money he stole but all his savings.
And so in the end, thanks to the fraudster, he lost everything – both his inheritance and other property. The inheritance was to be shared by the family, not just one person.
As for the amount he lost, no one ever really found out, but my mother suspects it was in the thousands, maybe more. If only he learned the lesson that what goes around comes around. Karma takes its time, but it always catches up with you.
#6
I dxf only one distinct memory of an incident in 2014 when I was in eighth grade. I have always been someone who respects my mother very much. She is a police officer and single mother who has done an incredible job raising both my silly sister and me.
I’ve been proud of her since I was young. She is the most amazing woman I know and is respected in her work. But at that time, I dealt with bullying at school for three reasons. First, I was overweight. Second, I initially attended a Catholic private school, but my parents had to transfer me to a more affordable school due to financial problems. And third, I was the new kid.
Through it all, I managed to make friends. I didn’t fit in with the popular crowd, but I had a few good, loyal friends. However, there was one guy we’ll call John who was extremely rude. He constantly made fun of my weight, and my clumsiness and asked how I could be so heavy. I just ignored him and figured I wouldn’t let his comments ruin my day.
One day, while I was doing my work, my mom showed up early to pick me up from school. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, hugged her tightly and we left.
The next day at school, John started commenting again:
J: “Hey, that’s a nice lady.”
Me: “Sorry, what did you say?”
J: “You’re so fat because that weird old lady buys you everything so you can sleep with her.”
My heart was pounding and I was beside myself with rage. I felt like I was burning with rage. I wasn’t the most athletic person, but I knew John liked to box for fun and I didn’t care. I attacked him, knocked him off his chair, and started punching him in the face.
I kept hitting him and when he tried to fight back I grabbed his arm and bit him. It was messy and I was furious—so furious that I nearly broke his arm.
The principal got involved and I ended up getting suspended for a month. When Mom found out, she admitted that I had gone too far, but thanked me for sticking up for her. It wasn’t the right way to handle things according to the principal, but John never bullied anyone again until the last day I was there, so I don’t regret anything.
#7
I played hockey from kindergarten until my senior year of high school. It was probably because I amazed my parents by learning to skate in one sitting when they first put me on skates at the age of three.
I was the same way with any motor skills, although as I got older it caused problems.
As I got older, I played football as an offensive lineman, but the intense workouts and caloric demands of hockey kept me in good shape. It made me heavier than most players on the ice, about 40 or 50 kilos more than my peers, but it didn’t affect my performance.
I was never picked for travel teams because of my weight, so I moved tothe defensive line in football.
When high school came around, I played hockey mainly for fitness and fun, although high school hockey in Minnesota was very competitive and I never made the team.
I also had a slight speech impediment, which led to my love for sports. When I spoke quickly, my words were often slurred, which made me an easy target for bullying in the 1990s, especially when schools cracked down on physical bullying, leaving me vulnerable to verbal harassment.
My senior year, facing my fourth and final failure on the high school team, I had that familiar feeling when I walked into the Junior Gold locker room. Let’s call this guy A. He was an annoying little jerk who liked to pick on others, and he was two years younger than me.
Since I had only moved to the area a year before starting high school, I didn’t have the same friends as the other students, and unfortunately, it was a place that newcomers often avoided. So I mostly ignored A.
And he was the type of person who picked on those who were alone. He targeted me because I was usually alone, but he never had a chance because of the physical difference between us. I was 6’3″ and 250 pounds of muscle, built from football, hockey, track, and weight training that I did over the summer, and I just ignored him.
Despite my indifference, I knew how he treated others. He verbally abused everyone, boys and girls, and was possessive. He received several slaps from the girls for his behavior, but was always able to talk himself out of it, which would lead to his suspension or expulsion. When hockey season started, I couldn’t stand A.
I couldn’t take action against him at school without risking suspension, so I had to wait and hope for the right opportunity to get back at him or catch him.
One day during practice we did some basic exercises leading up to the preparatory exercises. In these drills, players are encouraged to chase down the puck after it is thrown into the corner while avoiding being hit from behind.
He moved around the rink decently, but his habit of using his stick to chop people down ruined any progress he made. I had a feeling he was going to try to target me, so I resisted.
On the first timeout, the A’s got the puck first, but I was ready. I got up to hit him. I wasn’t skating at full speed, but I still had enough momentum to throw him off balance. He hit the boards more than the glass and I skated away with the puck and ended up throwing it into the empty net while our goalie was practicing with the coach.
And he got mad and started talking non-stop, but our coach came and stopped him.
The coach said, “You better be ready to take some hits, A, if you want to play with the big boys.”
One of the goalie dads was our coach and he openly disliked A.A. He urged the A’s to “hit back, legally”, meaning within the rules they should hit back and use the Gordie Howe approach.
Because I was on the coach’s son’s team for five years, he knew me well. The coach liked defenders who could push players out of the goal area and punish those who crashed the net. I gained the coach’s trust and he knew I had a certain way of dealing with smaller and faster players.
We did the drill again and this time A would be the trailer while I would be the leader. As I neared the finish, I heard A coming from behind. I assumed he was going to try a cheap cross-check, a move that referees rarely penalize when smaller players use it against bigger opponents.
I waited until I got close to the goal line, and then I suddenly stopped, stood on my feet, and lowered my shoulder. I made sure my stick was in the right position to touch the puck.Hee barely stopped, and when he hit me, he hit me face first in the right shoulder slid backward ,and hit my helmeted head on the ice.
I got the puck skated back to the line and watched A try to get off the ice and try to get through the door and leave.
That was the last time I saw him at practice. He continued in the U-16 tournament about thirty miles away.
I made sure everything I did was legal. I hit it to gain control of the puck and prepare for the shot I knew was coming.
Later that week, A was not at school. The coach and most of the parents hated his mother who tried to kick me off the team, she even tried to kick my mother because she worked in the same school district. My mom started documenting Mother A’s actions and filed a complaint against her.
Eventually, A’s mother was fired for cause when it was discovered that she had been stealing from the district for years.
After that, A stayed away from me and never tried to mess with me again. Although I rarely had the opportunity to go back to bullies like him, it felt good to finally silence one.
The situation came to a head. As we prepared for the next practice, I was ready to play by the coach’s rules, but with my own twist. I strategically positioned myself to make sure A learned that there would be consequences for messing with me or anyone else. This time, when we skated to the puck, I held back just to make sure A wasn’t too uncomfortable.
And he quickly approached, raising his staff and trying to assert his usual superiority. This time, however, I had the upper hand. As soon as he reached for the puck, I made a decisive move – using my body to protect the puck and subtly using my stick to block his rebound attempts. The next moment I made my move. With enough force to throw off his momentum, I sent him crashing into the boards again, this time with no room to recover.
The entire team paused for a moment. The coach’s smirk said it all; he was also waiting for this moment. And he didn’t fall as hard as he could have, but the message was clear. His harassing and slashing tactics were no longer working with me. I wasn’t the new guy to be pushed around by him.
He stood up quickly and tried to regain his composure. But that humiliation has already happened. There was no way to take back what had just happened. The entire team saw A for what he really was – someone who talked a big game but couldn’t back it up when it mattered.
For the rest of the practice, A was subdued, his energy sapped by the realization that his antics had caught up with him. It wasn’t just a physical impact – it was social. The rest of the team, who had either ignored or avoided him until then, now saw him in a different light. I showed them that standing up sometimes means letting your actions speak louder than words.
At the end of practice, A changed the tune. He never approached me again, nor did he target anyone else. He may have talked a lot at times, but now he knew it was better than messing around with someone who couldn’t get away with it. It was the first time I’d seen him cower to someone who wasn’t afraid to stand up for himself.
The rest of the season unfolded without the usual A’s antics and I noticed a shift in the team dynamic. Instead of being the target of his ridicule, I became someone that others respected. My teammates saw how I handled the situation and there was an unspoken understanding that I was someone who could take care of business when needed.
Looking back, I don’t regret a single moment of that event. It wasn’t just about showing A – it was about asserting myself in a way I never had before. I’ve learned over the years that sometimes the best revenge is to simply refuse to let others walk all over you. In the end, it wasn’t the physical moves or strategy that mattered most, but the confidence that came from knowing that I finally earned the respect I deserved.
The lesson here wasn’t just about standing up for yourself; it was about knowing when to let your actions do the talking. And I may have been the loudest on the rink, but in the end, I was the one who left a lasting impression.
And that was the kind of revenge that felt like a victory—not just for this moment, but for the rest of the season and beyond.