When Jen matches with her high school bully on a dating site, she relives the trauma of her childhood. But still, she goes on the date—as a way of getting revenge for how she was treated. The date ends up being a bust, and Jen doesn’t get what she intended, so she plans a second meeting…
I sat at the bar, pretending to be absorbed in my phone as the door swung open and my date walked in. After meeting on a dating app, Justin and I had decided that it was finally time to meet.
Except that Justin and I had met before—just that he didn’t remember it.
A person using her phone | Source: Unsplash
As he walked in, the familiar jolt of recognition shot through me, but on his face, there was only the casual scan of a man on the lookout for someone who could have been anyone but the girl he once tormented. As he approached, his smile was confident, practiced.
I steeled myself, reminding my racing heart of its role tonight—a new woman, who just wanted revenge.
A smiling man | Source: Unsplash
“Hey, Jen,” he said, sliding into the seat beside me, unaware of the storm he was walking into. “I hope I’m not too late?”
“Not at all,” I replied, my voice steady and sweet. “I was just enjoying the vibe here. This place has changed since the last time I was around.”
People sitting at a bar | Source: Pexels
When we had matched on the app, I was convinced that Justin wouldn’t be able to recognize me. Since high school, I had drastically changed—everything from my hair, my weight, and my sense of style.
I was a new person.
“Yeah, it’s got a good crowd tonight,” Justin nodded, waving over a bartender. “Can I get you a drink now?”
People sitting at a bar | Source: Pexels
I watched him closely—he had barely changed since the last time I saw him. It had been our high school graduation, followed by a party in an open field. Justin had barely glanced at me. He didn’t register that I was someone who had been attracted to him.
Then, not now.
A group of graduates | Source: Pexels
When we matched, I wasn’t interested in Justin—but after I spoke to my sister, we both thought that messing with Justin would be healing in some way.
“Sure, a gin and tonic, thank you,” I said, watching his face for any sign of recognition. There was none. It was clear as he saw me—I was just another date. Just another woman that he had picked up.
A cocktail with strawberries | Source: Pexels
As he chatted about his job and recent travels, I nodded along, my mind racing ahead to the plan unfolding around us. The bar was filling up quickly.
Justin continued to speak, and I began to space out—remembering moments from high school.
Students hanging out together | Source: Pexels
Like the one time when the dull echo of my footsteps in the empty high school corridor seemed louder than usual, reverberating off the lockers with a metallic chill.
I clutched my books tightly to my chest, my eyes downcast, trying to make myself invisible. The memory of Justin’s harsh laughter from earlier that day still stung, a cruel reminder of my daily ordeal.
A close-up of lockers | Source: Pexels
As I turned the corner, I could hear the muffled sounds of other students, their voices light and carefree. I approached the bathroom, a temporary refuge where I could gather myself away from prying eyes and sharp tongues.
I could never eat in the cafeteria. They would all look at me and laugh.
Meals on trays | Source: Unsplash
I remember pushing the bathroom door open, the familiar scent of industrial cleaner mixed with a hint of floral air freshener greeted me. I checked the stalls quickly—empty—and allowed myself a moment to lean against the cool tile wall, exhaling slowly.
The tears came then, quietly at first, then with a shuddering force I couldn’t contain. It wasn’t just the words that Justin had hurled at me—it was the relentless, grinding down of my spirit, day after day.
A bathroom stall | Source: Unsplash
Bringing me back to the present, Justin asked if I wanted to leave the bar after our drink and get something to eat at the many food stalls outside. Younger me would never, but I was different now.
As he asked for the bill, Justin began to hound the waitress.
A couple drinking at the bar | Source: Pexels
“I need you to hurry up,” he told her. “We’ve got places to be and you’re just taking up my time. Could you do your job any slower?”
She blinked back tears and went to get the bill.
“My ex-girlfriend was just like that,” he said, turning to me. “Her eyes would well up whenever I said anything.”
A smiling waitress | Source: Unsplash
The evening ended with me leaving Justin outside the bar, claiming that I had a headache and needed to sleep it off.
I was disappointed that I didn’t get my revenge.
At home, I sat with my laptop in bed and decided to take another shot at having my revenge against Justin. I logged onto Facebook and created an event—adding everyone who had gone to high school with us.
A person using their laptop in bed | Source: Pexels
I planned the reunion, making the bar that I had just left the location for our meeting. When the event was created, many of my ex-classmates indicated that they would be there—there were many shares and by the next morning, the number of people attending had grown.
A laptop opened to Facebook | Source: Pexels
On the day of the reunion, I spent a while getting dressed. This was a big moment. This was for everyone to see that I was the best version of myself—and that I was confident in my own skin.
At the bar, I went straight to the bartender and made sure that the bill would be sent to Justin at the end of the evening, giving his name and number.
A woman doing her make up | Source: Pexels
After a while, Justin came up to me with a big grin on his face.
“You seem different, have we met before?” he asked, slurping his drink.
He didn’t even have the decency to remember me from drinks the previous week.
The irony of his words almost made me laugh, but I kept my composure.
A person holding a glass | Source: Pexels
“I get that a lot,” I deflected. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”
Justin laughed, shrugging as he turned to signal the bartender for another round.
“But you do know me,” I said. “You really haven’t changed, have you, Justin?”
“What do you mean?”
A couple talking | Source: Pexels
“Just that you’ve always had this way of making people feel less,” I pressed on, my resolve hardening with each word. “Like how you talk to the waitress, or how you joked about your ex the other night.”
Justin’s face hardened when he realized who I was—but still, I was merely the girl from the dating app, not the one who had been bullied by him before.
A person holding her phone | Source: Pexels
“What? Oh! Jen!” he said, his face contorting.
“Do you remember Jennifer from high school?” I asked loudly, hoping that people would be listening. “The girl that you tormented. The girl that you made sure knew how different she was from everyone else. That she didn’t fit your cruel standards.”
His face went pale, his eyes widening as realization dawned, connecting the past with the present.
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
“I’m that Jennifer,” I said. “And tonight, I wanted you to see exactly who I have become, despite your best efforts to break me down.”
Justin stood up, his mouth opening and closing, searching for something to say but finding nothing. Around us, the expressions from our classmates ranged from shock to support, their eyes fixed on us.
A surprised woman | Source: Unsplash
“I hope one day you’ll understand the weight of your words, how deeply they can cut,” I said.
Turning on my heel, I left him standing there stupidly, the bill for the drinks being the least of his worries.
Finally, I had done it.
A person holding a receipt | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
New Homeowners Demanded That I Remove ‘My Garbage’ From the Garage – a Week Later, They Called Begging Me To Return It
When the entitled Mitchells demanded that I remove some “garbage” from the garage of my late parents’ home, I begrudgingly complied. But a week later, once they realized the true value of those items, they called and begged me to return them. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to teach them a lesson.
I never thought selling my parents’ house would be this complicated. I mean, I had already spent weeks cleaning, organizing, and reliving memories I wasn’t quite ready to part with.
Then I got hit with a ridiculous request from the new owners. When I got the call from my realtor two days after the closing, I knew my work wasn’t done.
A tense woman | Source: Pexels
“Joyce, the new owners are complaining about some ‘garbage’ left in the garage,” my realtor, Sarah, said, her voice tense with the stress of mediating between me and the Mitchells.
“Garbage?” I echoed, baffled. I had meticulously cleaned every inch of that place. “What are they talking about?”
“Apparently, they’re saying you left behind a bunch of stuff and they want it gone immediately. They’re threatening to charge you for additional cleaning costs if you don’t take care of it.”
A woman speaking on the phone | Source: Pexels
I sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Of course they are. Alright, I’ll drive back and sort it out. Can’t have them messing with my credit or anything.”
Balancing life as a widowed single mother of three was tough enough without adding entitled new homeowners into the mix. My kids, Emma, Jake, and Liam, needed me, but so did this situation.
So, I took a day off from work, arranged for a friend to watch the kids, and prepared for the two-hour drive back to my parents’ old house.
Aerial view of a road | Source: Pexels
As I drove, I mentally braced myself for what I assumed would be a minor cleanup. The Mitchells had seemed alright during the sale process, but now their true colors were showing.
Rich people’s problems, I thought. Must be nice to have nothing better to do than harass someone over imaginary trash.
When I finally arrived, I unlocked the garage and was hit with a wave of irritation.
“This is the garbage?” I snapped. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
An outraged woman | Source: Pexels
My parents had built this house when they both retired and the so-called “garbage” was spare building materials.
It included valuable items like extra hardwood flooring, custom tiles, expensive light bulbs for the high-end lighting fixtures, and custom paint cans with specific color codes for the house.
There was even the middle section of a custom dining room table that was part of the original design.
Unbelievable.
I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, cursing under my breath.
A woman rolling up her sleeves | Source: Pexels
Hours passed as I carefully loaded everything into my van. The Mitchells had acknowledged these items during the house inspection—had even seemed interested in them. Now, they were nothing but an inconvenience to their grand renovation plans.
Just as I was strapping down the last paint can, Thomas and Shelley arrived. Shelley, with her perfectly coiffed hair and designer sunglasses perched on her head, looked at me with thinly veiled disdain.
“About time you got here,” Thomas said, crossing his arms. “We’ve been waiting all morning.”
A man crossing his arms | Midjourney
“Yeah, well, some of us have actual responsibilities,” I snapped, immediately regretting my tone but too tired to care.
Shelley glanced into the van. “I hope you’re planning to take all of that with you. We don’t need any of your junk cluttering up our space.”
“Junk?” I laughed, a bitter edge to my voice. “This ‘junk’ is worth a lot more than you realize. Extra flooring, custom tiles, specialty light bulbs, and paint with the exact codes for this house. I was doing you a favor by leaving it behind.”
A woman gesturing with one finger | Source: Pexels
Thomas scoffed. “We don’t need these old, dusty things. We’ll buy new materials.”
I shook my head, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Well, good luck with that. It’s all yours now. I’m done.”
Driving back, a mix of frustration and satisfaction battled within me. Sure, it was infuriating that the Mitchells didn’t appreciate the value of what I’d left, but at least I’d done the right thing.
Maybe I could sell the stuff and make some extra cash. God knows we could use it.
A woman driving | Source: Pexels
A week later, I was back to my usual routine when my phone rang. It was Sarah again. “Joyce, you’re not going to believe this.”
“What now?”
“The Mitchells need those materials back. Turns out they can’t proceed with their renovations without them.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. They’re practically begging for you to return everything.”
“Wow,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Looks like I’m not the only one with responsibilities, after all.”
A smug woman | Source: Pexels
It was almost poetic, the irony of it all. The Mitchells, who had dismissed me so easily, were now at my mercy. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction.
But I also saw an opportunity to teach them a valuable lesson about humility and respect.
I called Thomas later that afternoon. “Hi Thomas, it’s Joyce. Sarah told me you need those materials, after all. I’ve been thinking about your situation, and I believe I can help.”
“Oh, thank God,” he said, relief evident in his voice.
A woman making a phone call | Source: Midjourney
“We really need those items back. What do we need to do?”
“Well,” I began, savoring the moment, “considering the effort and time it took for me to remove everything, plus the inconvenience and the storage costs, I think it’s only fair you compensate me for it. And let’s not forget the actual value of the materials.”
There was a long silence on the other end. “How much are we talking about?” he finally asked, his tone wary.
I named my price, deliberately setting it high.
A smug woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney
“And just so you know,” I added, “I’ve already got interested buyers for the hardwood and other materials. So, if you’re not willing to pay, I can easily sell them.”
“That’s outrageous!” Shelley’s voice cut in, sharp and indignant. “You’re extorting us!”
“I’m merely asking for fair compensation,” I replied calmly. “You called these items ‘garbage’ and demanded their removal. I went out of my way to do that for you, and now you realize their value. I think it’s reasonable to be compensated for my time, effort, and the storage costs.”
A woman speaking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Let’s be clear,” Thomas interjected, trying to regain control. “We’ll pay, but not that much. It’s absurd!”
I held my ground. “That’s my offer. Take it or leave it. Your renovation plans are at a standstill without these materials, right?”
The silence that followed was deafening. I could almost see them seething on the other end of the line.
“Alright,” Thomas finally said, his voice tight with anger. “We’ll pay your price.”
A woman grinning | Source: Unsplash
The next day, we arranged to meet at the house. As I unloaded the van, I could see the strain on their faces. This was more than just a financial transaction; it was a humbling experience for them.
Shelley looked particularly sour, but Thomas seemed to be trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.
“I hope you understand now,” I said, handing over the final box of custom tiles, “the importance of respecting people’s time and effort. What you dismissed as garbage turned out to be essential for your plans.”
Custom tiles | Source: Pexels
Thomas nodded, his expression hard to read. “We understand,” he said quietly. “And we apologize for the way we treated you.”
Shelley mumbled something that might have been an apology, though it sounded more like a begrudging acknowledgment. I didn’t press it. I had what I needed—a sense of justice and a sizable compensation.
Driving away, I felt a surge of accomplishment. I had stood my ground and turned a frustrating situation into a positive outcome for my family. The money would go a long way.
A confident woman | Source: Pexels
Maybe we’d finally take that vacation we’d been dreaming about, or I could start a college fund for the kids. It marked a new chapter for us, one of empowerment and resilience.
That evening, as I sat around the dinner table with Emma, Jake, and Liam, I felt a profound sense of satisfaction.
“What’s for dinner, Mom?” Jake asked, eyeing the stove.
“Something special,” I said with a smile. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” Emma asked, her curiosity piqued.
A girl smiling | Source: Pexels
“Let’s just say, sometimes standing up for yourself pays off in unexpected ways,” I replied, ruffling her hair. “And I think we’ve earned a little celebration.”
We enjoyed a rare meal out that night, the kids’ faces lighting up as I told them about our potential vacation. They were ecstatic, their excitement infectious.
And as I tucked them into bed later that night, I couldn’t help but feel grateful. Life had thrown us a curveball, but we had hit it out of the park. The Mitchells might have learned a lesson, but so had I. We were stronger, more resilient, and ready to face whatever came next.
A child sleeping | Source: Pexels
Like this story? Read this one next: When Grandma Evelyn catches her daughter-in-law, Jessica, discarding her gifts, she hides her shock and plans a clever lesson. Visiting unannounced, Evelyn endures Jessica’s false affection, setting the stage for a heartwarming and humorous confrontation that teaches the value of family respect.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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