A Dish Best Served Cold

revengeNo, it’s not a recipe piece. I’m talking about revenge. Is it worth it? Not worth it? I guess it all depends on what has been done to whom. I am personally in the school of thought that preaches that living well truly is the best revenge. Let the sons of bitches and naysayers stew that you are still standing. I say, screw ’em.

But enough about me.

Just recently, Tom and I watched a British show, called “Injustice.” What a great show, and it made me start thinking about the concept of revenge.

Years ago, I saw a talk show (Mike Douglas? Merv?) and the guest had written a book on things people have done for revenge. My fave rave was this one: A Hollywood director had tired of his live-in girlfriend. He had to go to Europe for a film shoot and told her before he left that when he returned, he wanted her gone. Any signs of her, gone.

In short order, it dawned on him that it was a monumentally stupid thing to do because she could have trashed his house, stolen stuff, burned it down to the ground. So, he called a friend to go over, look through the windows for any damage, and just keep an eye on the house in general.

When he returned, all seemed in order, but as he toured the rooms, he heard very faint voices. He finally located the source. It seems that the young lady had dialed the time in Hong Kong and left the phone off the hook. It had been a call lasting for weeks, and the guy had to pay a bill of something like $36,000. Probably over $100,000 today. Brilliant!

I have never personally resorted to revenge in any MAJOR sort of way, but I do love that whole vigilante vibe when it is warranted.

And who decides if it’s warranted? I do. In my head. So, while I wouldn’t condone violence, I do love stories of retribution.

Note: The Count of Monte Cristo remains one of my favorite books of all time – the ultimate story of premeditated revenge. Awesome book. I must have read it a dozen times over the years.

Here are a couple that I have personally known about, and in which, I may or may not have assisted.

A very close personal friend of mine was leaving XYZ Inc, of which I have previously spoken in another post. If you read it, you won’t be surprised by this. She had been a model employee, taking on all sorts of extra duties because she was very competent and helpful. Her reward for this was more work and more abuse from more people to whom she had to report.

She eventually got fed up, sent out resumes, and found another job. During her two-week notice, she was told to set up a cocktail reception for prospective investors. The spread included a huge bowl of champagne/vodka punch, which I think was supposed to make our product look better than it was.

Anyway, upon set-up, my friend added a large dose of tincture of gentian to the punch bowl. I looked it up on WebMD, and it does have a lot of health benefits, but it also turns your urine blue. Sometimes green.

Now, I can see how bright blue pee would be disconcerting to anyone. Or even green. The party ended fairly early. I volunteered to stay and clean up, purely for the fun of watching people leave the restrooms. The faces were priceless. I wish we had cell phones in those days.

One friend of a friend left her company after an unpleasant experience of sexual discrimination. She truly deserved a promotion for which she was eminently qualified. They had passed her over for a member of the boys’ club who was a total moron. So, she decided to move on.

In her office, the cubicles were made of that white piping with caps. She stayed late on her last night to “tie up loose ends.” She popped the cap off of every single corner of every single cubicle, and dropped an egg in each one. The company spent a fortune finding the problem and gutting the entire purchasing department.

In that same vein, another girlfriend, who was unceremoniously dumped by her creep of a boyfriend, broke into the other woman’s house (where the creep was living) and put a hunk of Limburger cheese in all the light fixtures.

Now, I had never personally smelled Limburger cheese, and I don’t even know where she got it. But since I was driving the getaway car, I got to smell it. I can only describe it as a cross between trenchfoot and terminal flatulence.

Smell it once and marvel that at some point in history, someone smelled this and thought it a good idea to put it in their mouth.

My college roommate once went to a shoe repair shop, bought a biggest heel she could find, wrapped it with a note that said, “Roses are red, and so is your blood.” Yikes! She’s an eye surgeon now.

All in all, even if you don’t do anything about someone who done you wrong, just letting them know that you are still around and doing fine is all you need. Sometimes.



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