It’s been said before that revenge is a dish best served cold, and that’s true, if you’re planning on being “re” vengeful. But what about vengeance itself?
Now that’s a dish that should be served up like a hot steaming dish of Katong Laksa. But unlike laksa it’s not a dish you should indulge in too much, it’s best to leave the cosmic justice to the creator herself.
But there will come a time that someone’s gonna piss you off to the point where some good ol’ fashion vengeance will need to be dished out post haste. Just be careful not to over do it.
So when should one be vengeful? I think it requires a really special situation… someone cutting you off in traffic or a rude shop clerk might call for the finger or a snide comment. Save the vengeance for those who really deserve it… like an ex-fiancee or her new boyfriend.
Like most situations that just present themselves, one little tableau that occurred to yours truly happened on the day I went over to my ex’s to talk about a check of hers that bounced. Not only did it bounce on me, but on my landlady whom I had signed it over to. And that didn’t make me look good.
My first encounter with “him”, (let’s just call him Mark, coz that’s what he was to become), was when I sat there at the speakerphone asking to speak with her, her being Anne.
“Is Anne there?” I ask politely
“Who is this?”
A pause, then I heard him tell her in the background that I was at the front gate. Then, an affront to my intelligence. “She’s not here.”
That’s when I got riled. “I just heard you talking to her you idiot. Now tell her to come out here.”
Half a minute later, he opened the gate, our first face to face. Or should I say, his face to my chest. There he stood, all 154cm of him, looking like Daryl Hall and John Oate’s love child.
He immediately went on the offensive, “Dude, why don’t you leave us alone? She doesn’t want you, she wants me, so get out and don’t come back!”
The thing was, I was glad she was out of my life and didn’t want her back. I just wanted my cash… something more dear to me back in my art school days. And here is her next victim, getting in my face. Challenging me. An almost midget, standing on his tippy toes trying to get in my face I should say.
So I told him, “I’m not gonna fight you. Man, if I was gonna screw with you, I’d screw with you so hard you wouldn’t even know it was me.”
“Yeah, what could you do?” he challenged.
So I took a guess, indicating towards the street. “Nice car you got parked over there.” Not that I knew which car was his, I could just tell that this rich little Napoleon had one. He turned to return to the house, and I stood there, waiting, satisfied with my little gambit. But then the moment stretched a few minutes too long.
And as I imagined him charging out shooting, out he popped with a golf club, swinging wildly, clipping the gateway and my nose, giving me the chance to disarm him before he hurt anyone.
And in the process, I got my licks in, being sure to not leave any marks by avoiding his face. Anne came out, straight to me and my bleeding nose, ignoring him moaning on the ground. A discussion took place, she gave me cash for the check, and I then left to begin my plans for vengeance against this little jerk.
The thing about vengeance, as opposed to revenge, is that you can be as creative as you like. I then decided that I was going to make good on my promise and began weaving a tapestry of misfortune that the Count of Monte Cristo would envy.
To be brief, I’ll just give you an outline; I’ll leave the details to the police investigator…
Forget about those articles in FHM telling you to spell out bad names on the mark’s lawn with fertilizer, which will show up darker than the rest. Just use weed killer and write it out immediately. Very amateur, but effective.
The second thing I did, was placed several adverts in the paper, offering some antiques for low, low prices. I added to this ad that the seller was a night shift worker, so only call between 4 and 6 am. Newspaper ads are perfect for annoying your mark, in that they work while you don’t. Placing ads in the on-line gay personals also works well. The only downside is that you don’t get to be there when the dish is served.
But you can make up for that by repeatedly placing the ads. The next step was to gain access to his house, which was easy enough with him working 16 hours a day as the head chef at some fancy restaurant. Of course Anne, being Anne, would be up for some afternoon nookie with her ex, giving me the perfect chance to leave old pairs of my underwear in his hamper… which I’m sure he must have wondered about when his cleaning lady returned his laundry.
One evening, while cycling through his neighborhood I saw him dumping out a wastebasket into the trashcan on the street. After he went back in, I took the opportunity to look for something useful, and bingo, there were his credit card records and bank account info and even a paycheck stub! So I went home and called the credit card company to cancel his card.
Of course, the credit company went all out to convince me (him) to not cancel, and offered to send me a platinum card as an incentive. Unable to convince them otherwise, I accepted, so long as his other card wouldn’t work.
A week later, popping by for a quick shag, the mailman walked up and handed me his mail! With his credit card in it! Excellent. I passed the card along to a guy I knew who ran credit card scams, knowing he would put it to perfect use, before leaving it in an area frequented by the homeless.
The crowning jewel to my vengeance plan was my assault on his wheels. I had Anne drive me to the airport, telling her I was going outta town for a few days. Catching a ride back home, I had a case of foam wall insulation, (the kind that comes in spray cans), waiting for my piece de resistance. That night, I pried his car windows down a bit, and began filling the cabin with the quick filling goo. By the morning, his car was worthless, and even if he remembered my threat, I had the perfect alibi. With a witness; her!
The paycheck stub also proved useful, as it gave me the contact info to his boss. Knowing that the restaurant was mafia owned, it was almost too easy to call up posing as Mark’s parole officer, trying to confirm his employment and make an appointment to inspect his workplace. The voice on the other end of the phone paused briefly, stuttering out that no one by that name worked there… anymore.
Now that I was feeling fulfilled with my dish of vengeance, I decided to wrap it up by going to the post office, which enabled me to forward his mail to the address of a wheelchair bound man who was recently violently murdered in a bad part of town. A couple years after they split up, Anne once remarked to me, that they thought the postman had been messing with them, so I know they never suspected me. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the ex-boyfriend…
PS: Put it down to youth, but the things I did were illegal… don’t try them at home kiddies.