We’ve all heard the story recently of the four jilted women who banded together against some cheating SOB and crazy-glued his unit to his thigh. Hilarious? Yes. Illegal? Absolutely! These four are now looking at six months in prison. This led to some conversations with girlfriends about seeking revenge against someone who has wronged you, and specifically where you draw the line between funny and handcuff worthy. My friend Sharon convinced me that the following story needed to be shared with a wider audience. Keep in mind that I am not endorsing revenge, but there are some instances where it’s necessary and insanely funny.
I had an experience recently, which I’ll take some responsibility for because I never should have allowed myself to get involved with this particular guy. I was trying to keep an open mind and not judge people based on certain social behaviors and physical traits. Huge mistake on my part. If your gut tells you something…go with it. This guy is 38 years old and has never been married…for a slew of reasons. He’s not what I would consider attractive on any level. He’s balding, but tries to trick people by wearing a crusty, sweat ringed baseball cap at all times. His dental condition reminds me of the exhumed corpses you sometimes see on CSI. Evidently, ten years underground will wreak some havoc on your enamel. Aside from the cadaver teeth, he also has an unruly, unkempt bush of facial hair which contains little particles of food more times than not. If that isn’t enough to convince you that I was digging at the bottom of the barrel, his living conditions are a step above section 8. He rents an apartment inside a home owned by one of his ten brothers, and part of the deal apparently is that there is no upkeep on the landlord’s part. The bathroom in the apartment upstairs steadily leaks into a Tupperware container strategically placed on his poker table. The only furniture in this dump is two poker tables, a bunch of folding chairs, and a mattress and box spring placed directly on the floor. For good measure, there aren’t any sheets on the bed. Appliances include a mini frat boy fridge, a 13 inch TV and a microwave. His car has scotch tape holding the bumper together, but he has to be careful driving it because of his duo of DUIs. I know… what the hell was I thinking?
To my horror and disbelief, HE cheats on ME! My first thought was “How the hell could you possibly find someone else to accept your trainwreck of a life style?” He knocks back a few too many tequila shots at his company Christmas party and sleeps with the receptionist. He probably wouldn’t have bothered to tell me if she didn’t claim to be pregnant about a month later. The way I found out that something was amiss was a complete accident. I went to his sewer of an apartment one Friday night after last call (which was the only way I could handle being there), and he wasn’t home. Of course, the door was open because there’s nothing worth stealing. I instantly knew he was with another woman…you just feel it. I was just about to write a nasty note when a genius idea struck me. What can I do within the confines of the law to inconvenience his life and make sure that he’s MFing me for days?
I started by removing the lightbulbs from every light fixture in the place. This involved unscrewing the globes from the chandeliers and replacing them once the bulbs were out. That way it appeared to be a problem with the electricity, which wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility if it were cut off. I imagined him making the trek to the basement to investigate the breaker box. I didn’t physically remove the lightbulbs from the property because that would be stealing. Stealing is wrong, my friends. Next, I hid his TV remote in the oven because clearly that’s the last place he’d look, but not before removing the batteries and placing them inside a bag of frozen peas in the freezer. I spot checked for back-up batteries in drawers to make sure there were no replacements conveniently available. I also switched two cables on the back of the TV, so that once he had recovered the remote and replenished the batteries he still wouldn’t have a functioning TV. Next, I took every left shoe that he owned and hid them. He isn’t what you would call an organized person, so there are shoes strewn all over the place. I’d be willing to bet that he was at least three pairs in before he realized he only had access to right shoes. I can only hope this happened Monday morning as the time came to get ready for work. I’m not sure that his skuzzy weekend flip flops showcasing the hairy big toes would be welcome at the office. The skanky receptionist would be there to greet him. I’ve taken to calling her the Q-Tip since she’s built like one with a puff of platinum blonde hair, good for only one thing and completely disposable. I also remembered that he had a Monday night poker/football party at his place, so I took his 6 decks of cards and hid them. He always hosted because the lack of basic home furnishings made it extra roomy. I admired my handy work and felt pretty satisfied with myself. I sent a quick text that said ‘You really should lock your doors’ and headed home.
The Q-Tip couldn’t keep the fake pregnancy charade going because eventually you’re expected to give birth. She told douchebag that it had been an ectopic pregnancy and that the doctor had given her the morning after pill. That’s equivalent to saying you were instructed to take 2 Flinstones chewable vitamins to terminate the pregnancy. A few weeks later, I ran into him at a local bar. His shit- mobile was parked outside and I debated snapping a picture of it and posting an ad on Craig’s List. Of course, I would have used the office number, so that every potential ‘buyer’ would speak to the Q-Tip and then be directed to him. She’d have to earn her $8 an hour fielding all the calls. In the end, I decided that I couldn’t possibly do anything worse to him than the hand he was dealt. Waking up every morning and having to face another day as him is about the worst thing that could happen to a person. The lesson I learned is that open mindedness sucks. I prefer being a judgemental asshole because, quite frankly, I’m usually right.
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