I just got off a customer service chat that went so much better than expected, and I’m still buzzing from how it all played out.

So here’s the deal – a few months back, I signed up for this digital design software package for $19.99 a month.

Seemed like a good idea at the time since I was doing some side projects. What I didn’t fully register was that it was an annual contract with this ridiculous early termination fee. Fast forward to now, and I barely use the software anymore, but I’m stuck in this contract.

I decided to try my luck with customer service to see if I could either cancel without the fee or at least downgrade to their basic document editor package for $12.99 a month.

I wasn’t expecting much, but figured it was worth a shot.

I connect to the chat and get paired with Diego. Now, Diego wasn’t exactly the friendliest customer service rep I’ve ever dealt with.

Right off the bat, he made it super clear that there was absolutely no way out of the cancellation fee. His messages were short and had this weird attitude that I couldn’t quite place – maybe it was a language barrier thing or maybe he was just having a bad day.

After some back and forth where Diego shut down all my suggestions, I reluctantly agreed to downgrade to the cheaper package.

“Yes, the document editor package will cost you $12.99/month,” Diego typed.

“Ok, can you please switch me to that plan?” I replied, figuring this was the best compromise I was going to get.

Then there was this long pause where Diego was “typing” but nothing was coming through.

Finally: “Sure, Please note that this new order has an annual commitment. Before we place the order, please review the Terms & Conditions below and let me know if you agree.”

At the same time, I got a notification for a $1.00 hold on my credit card.

Something felt off about this.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to start a new annual subscription,” I quickly typed back. “I just want to switch plans and keep where I left off in my current annual plan.”

I was frantically checking my email to see if they had charged me for a completely new plan when I saw it – an email from the company saying “Service subscription canceled and ends today.”

Diego responded: “Charlotte, your new plan will start from Today.

It can not resume with your last subscription tenure.”

That’s when I realized what was happening. Instead of modifying my current plan, Diego had completely canceled my original subscription and was trying to sign me up for a brand new annual contract for the cheaper package.

“Ok.

I decline this offer. I do not agree to the terms and conditions,” I wrote back, trying to hide my excitement.

“I already cancelled your previous subscription with prorated refund of remaining days,” Diego replied.

I could barely believe what I was reading.

“Thank you, I appreciate that. I’ll just keep my subscription canceled, please.”

I watched as the typing indicator bubbled for what felt like forever. Then, without another word, Diego disconnected from the chat.

And just like that, I was free!

Not only did I get out of the annual contract without paying the early termination fee, but I’m also getting a refund for the days I had left in the billing cycle. All because Diego jumped the gun and canceled my subscription before making sure I agreed to the new terms.

I’m pretty sure this isn’t how things were supposed to go down.

The company probably has a specific protocol for plan changes that Diego completely botched. Maybe he was new? Maybe he was just having an off day? Whatever the reason, his mistake was my gain.

I feel a little bad that he might get in trouble, but honestly, their policies are pretty ridiculous to begin with.

The fact that they make it so hard to cancel or modify subscriptions is just poor business practice.

So that’s my little win for the day – got out of an expensive software subscription I wasn’t using without paying their nonsense cancellation fee, all thanks to an impatient customer service rep who canceled first and asked questions later.

I’m taking this as karma for all the times companies have made things unnecessarily difficult.

Sometimes the system works in your favor, even if it’s completely by accident!

So, my son Joseph has needed specialized equipment for years, but getting anything through our state’s disability services is like pulling teeth.

The whole system got overhauled a few years back into this new program that was supposed to make everything more streamlined. Yeah, right.

After fighting the system for nearly two years, I finally got Joseph approved for some basic adaptive equipment.

You’d think that would be the hard part, but nope. The real nightmare started when I tried to actually get the stuff we were approved for.

I went to our local disability services office with all our paperwork.

The lady at the front desk–Lila–seemed nice enough. She told me they needed to process some forms on their end before releasing the equipment. “We’ll call you in a few days when it’s ready for pickup,” she promised with a smile that I stupidly believed.

A week passed.

Nothing. I called and got Savannah, who apologized profusely. “Oh, I’m so sorry! We haven’t completed the paperwork yet. We’ll get right on it.”

Two more weeks dragged by. I called again.

This time it was Anita who explained, “The person who handles those forms hasn’t been in the office. We’ll track them down and get it done right away.”

By week three, I was done with phone calls.

I drove to their office, determined to get answers face-to-face. The place was packed–both with people waiting and staff members bustling around doing who knows what besides their actual jobs.

I waited my turn and approached the counter where Kayla greeted me.

I explained who I was and why I was there.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir, but that paperwork still isn’t processed. Let me find someone who can help you.”

She disappeared into the back, returning minutes later with Anita, who I recognized from our phone call.

“I apologize, but we still need to complete the forms. It shouldn’t take too much longer.”

I looked around the crowded waiting area. Every chair was taken. Then my eyes landed on a display of equipment near the counter–specifically, a raised toilet seat.

You know, one of those big plastic things that fits over a regular toilet for people with mobility issues.

“That’s fine,” I said with the most innocent smile I could muster. “I can wait.”

I walked over, picked up the toilet seat, carried it back to the counter, and sat right down on it.

Not blocking anyone’s path, just sitting there on this ridiculous toilet seat right beside their main desk where everyone could see me.

Anita’s face went through about five different expressions in three seconds. “Um, I’ll… I’ll just go check on that paperwork,” she stammered before practically running to the back office.

The looks I got from other customers ranged from confusion to barely concealed laughter.

The staff kept glancing over at me like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. I just sat there, smiling pleasantly, checking my phone as if nothing unusual was happening.

Five minutes later, Anita returned with a coworker–Paul, according to his nametag.

They both looked increasingly uncomfortable.

“Sir, it’s going to take some time to process everything,” Paul explained, his eyes darting between my face and the toilet seat I was perched on.

“No problem at all,” I replied cheerfully.

“I’ve got nowhere else to be today.” I settled in more comfortably on my makeshift chair.

They exchanged panicked glances before retreating to the back again.

Another five minutes passed. Other employees walked by, doing double-takes.

I just smiled and waved.

Finally, a woman in a blazer emerged from an office door. From the way everyone straightened up, I could tell she was the manager. She looked directly at me, then at the toilet seat, then back at me.

“I’m Audrey, the office manager,” she said, approaching with a professional smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I understand there’s been a delay with your son’s equipment?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Three weeks of delay, in fact.”

“I see.” She glanced at the toilet seat again.

“Well, it turns out we only needed your address, your program number, and confirmation of the items. Let me handle this for you right now.”

Miraculously, within ten minutes, all the forms were filled out, signed, and I was loading Joseph’s equipment into my car.

Funny how a simple act of peaceful, slightly embarrassing protest got done in minutes what three weeks of polite calls couldn’t accomplish.

As I was leaving, I overheard Audrey having a very intense conversation with Lila, Savannah, and Anita about “unacceptable processing delays” and “customer service standards.”

Sometimes you have to get creative when dealing with bureaucracy.

And sometimes, a toilet seat is more than just a toilet seat–it’s a throne of victory.

This whole thing went down last week, and I’m still laughing about it.

I’ve been working security at this big corporate building for almost four years now.

It’s a decent job, mostly quiet, but I’ve built a reputation for not taking crap from entitled executives who think security rules don’t apply to them.

The evening shift is pretty straightforward. Once the clock hits 5pm, everyone’s supposed to leave and I lock down the entire building.

That means going room by room, office by office, making sure everything is secure before I sign off. The morning shift comes in and unlocks everything before the workday starts.

So last Thursday, Michael (one of the managers nobody really likes) comes swaggering into the security office like he owns the place.

“I have several important meetings this evening, so I’ll be staying late,” he announces, not even bothering with a hello.

“Do you need the conference room unlocked?” I ask, trying to be helpful.

“No, I will be in my office,” he says curtly before walking out.

Fine by me.

When I start my lockup rounds an hour later, I deliberately leave his office unlocked since he said he’d be using it. He wasn’t in there at the moment, but I figured locking it would just mean I’d have to come back and let him in later, which would be a pain for both of us.

Not even five minutes later, my radio crackles to life.

“SECURITY!

COME TO MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY!” Michael’s voice booms through the speaker, loud enough that I wince.

When I get there, I find Michael standing in his doorway with three suits I don’t recognize – probably clients or executives from the parent company.

His face is red, and before I can even ask what’s wrong, he launches into a tirade.

“Why is my door UNLOCKED?” he shouts, practically spitting. “What kind of security operation are you running here?

Anyone could walk in and access confidential materials! Is this how you handle building security?”

He goes on and on, clearly putting on a show for his visitors. It’s all about looking powerful, showing how he can put the little security guard in his place.

The suits are just standing there, looking uncomfortable while Michael continues his performance.

Once he finally runs out of steam, I look him straight in the eye and say very calmly, “Copy that. I will now always, ALWAYS, lock your door.” Then I turn and walk away without another word.

About an hour later, I’m doing my rounds again.

I walk by Michael’s office and see him in the middle of what looks like an important meeting with those same suits. Perfect timing.

I approach his door, making no attempt to be quiet. I pull out my keys, jangle them loudly, and make a big show of inserting the key into the lock.

CLICK. I lock his door, right in the middle of whatever important point he was making. I don’t say a word. I don’t make eye contact. I’m just doing my job, following orders to the letter.

Then I do it again.

And again. For the next FOUR HOURS.

Every single time Michael has a new visitor or steps out to use the restroom, I’m there within minutes. Jingling keys. Loud lock turning. During presentations. Mid-sentence. I even caught him right as he was about to reveal what looked like quarterly projections on his laptop.

CLICK.

Lock the door. Walk away. Repeat.

By the third hour, the look on his face was priceless – a mix of fury and helplessness because he knew exactly what I was doing, but he couldn’t complain without admitting he’d made a scene earlier for no good reason.

One of the suits actually started laughing during my fourth visit, which made Michael turn an interesting shade of purple.

Of course, he filed a complaint the next day, but I had meticulously documented his “orders” in my shift report.

I wrote exactly what he said, what time he said it, and how I was simply providing the security service he demanded.

To those wondering – yes, he tried to get me fired. But our HR department reviewed the incident, and I’ve been completely cleared.

Turns out Michael has a history of these little power trips, and nobody in management actually likes the guy. Several other employees have apparently complained about him in the past.

Sometimes malicious compliance is the sweetest revenge. If you insist I always lock your door, then by god, that’s exactly what you’re going to get.

So my buddy Ethan works for this construction management firm that gives employees $300 each year for work clothes and safety gear. Pretty decent perk, especially since most of their projects involve being on-site regularly.

Ethan had been eyeing these premium work boots for months.

I’m talking top-tier protection – steel toe, thick leather that could handle anything from concrete dust to chemical spills, and special soles rated for electrical protection. The kind of boots that make you feel invincible on a job site.

“These boots are basically tanks for your feet,” he told me over lunch one day.

“They’re expensive, but worth every penny.”

About three months ago, Ethan had spent around $360 on some high-visibility jackets and specialized work pants. He could’ve submitted those for reimbursement under the company policy, but he decided to hold off.

His old work boots were starting to fall apart, and he wanted to use his annual stipend on the new ones he’d been drooling over.

“The timing just worked out that way,” Ethan explained. “I figured I’d just cover the clothes myself and use the stipend for these boots instead.”

So last week, he finally pulled the trigger and bought those boots for $200.

They were exactly what he wanted – professional grade, safety certified, the whole nine yards. He was practically giddy showing them off.

“Feel how solid these are,” he said, handing me one of them. It weighed a ton and looked like it could survive a nuclear blast.

Ethan submitted his receipt to Vivian in HR, fully expecting a quick approval.

I mean, why wouldn’t it be approved? They were literally called “Professional Safety Work Boots” on the receipt.

Two days later, he got an email back that made his jaw drop.

“Unfortunately, these footwear items don’t qualify under our safety equipment policy,” Vivian wrote.

“The company doesn’t recognize this particular brand as approved work boots.”

Ethan showed me the email, completely baffled. “What do they think work boots are? These things can withstand 12,000 volts for a full minute before you’d feel anything!

My supervisor wears the exact same brand!”

He was annoyed, for sure, but then I watched this little smile creep across his face.

“Wait a minute,” he said, grabbing his phone. “I still have those receipts from the work clothes I bought back in April.”

He dug through his email, found the receipts, and replied to Vivian with just two words: “No problem.”

That afternoon, he submitted a new expense report with the receipts for his high-visibility gear and specialized work pants from three months ago, totaling $360.

The next morning, there was a notification in his company account.

The full $300 stipend had been approved and would be deposited with his next paycheck.

When he told me about it, I couldn’t stop laughing. “So let me get this straight,” I said. “They wouldn’t cover your actual work boots, but they covered the clothes you bought months ago without question?”

“Yep,” Ethan nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Corporate nonsense at its finest.”

“But now you’re out the $200 for the boots,” I pointed out.

“True, but I needed them anyway,” he shrugged. “And technically, I came out ahead. I got $300 back on my $360 purchase instead of just $200 for the boots.

Plus, I got to use the company’s ridiculous policy against them, which was honestly worth the extra cost.”

I had to give him credit for finding the silver lining. “What are you going to do next year when you have another $300 to spend?”

“Oh, I’ve learned my lesson,” Ethan laughed.

“I’m buying the most expensive, over-the-top safety gear from their ‘approved’ list and saving the receipt. If they want to play games with their policies, I can play too.”

The best part? Ethan’s supervisor complimented him on his new boots the very next day, having no idea they’d been rejected by HR.

When Ethan explained what happened, his supervisor just rolled his eyes and said, “Classic corporate disconnect. Safety team recommends the gear, HR decides what’s reimbursable, and nobody talks to each other.”

Just another day in the working world, where sometimes the path of least resistance isn’t a straight line.

Ethan may not have won the battle for his boots, but he definitely made the system work for him in the end. And he still got to strut around in his brand new, electric-proof, definitely-work-appropriate footwear.

When I worked as an auto damage field adjuster, every day was its own special brand of chaos. I’d get a batch of claims each morning, hop in my company car, and drive around to different body shops to inspect vehicles and approve repair estimates.

You never knew what kind of day you’d have – some shops were great to work with, others… not so much.

One Tuesday after a massive hailstorm hit our area, I got assigned a claim that immediately gave me that sinking feeling.

You know the one – where you just know someone’s going to make your day difficult.

The customer’s name was Rose, and her car was at Deluxe Auto Body – a shop with a reputation for inflating estimates and generally being difficult to work with.

We’re talking places that would try to charge $15k for work that should cost $6k tops.

Following protocol, I called Rose to introduce myself and let her know I’d be coming by that afternoon to inspect her vehicle.

“I don’t even want to talk to you,” she interrupted before I could finish my introduction.

“I’ve already gone above your head.”

I was confused. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand. I’m the adjuster assigned to your claim, and I’m actually on my way to approve your repairs today.”

“I am DONE with your company!” she practically shouted.

“Taking forever to look at my car. The guys at the shop told me you people always do this. I already called corporate about it, so don’t bother coming. You should be expecting a call from them any minute now.”

Now, we were only about four days into a major catastrophe event.

Hail had damaged thousands of vehicles in our area, and honestly, a four-day wait was actually pretty quick considering the circumstances.

“I understand you’re frustrated with the wait, Rose,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and professional.

“But I can literally be there in about an hour to look at your car. If you decline today’s inspection, it could be another week or more before someone else can get out there. The catastrophe team is extremely backed up right now.”

She scoffed.

“You’re just saying that because you’re scared about that call from corporate. Well, it’s too late now. I’ve already complained, so you better just wait until you hear from them.”

At this point, I realized Rose thought she was punishing me by refusing the inspection.

She seemed to think corporate was going to discipline me – a complete stranger who had just received her claim that morning – for her having to wait a few days during a catastrophe event.

“Okay, Rose,” I said carefully.

“Just to be clear, you’re refusing an inspection of your vehicle at Deluxe Auto Body at this time, correct?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” she replied with what I can only describe as smug satisfaction.

“Alright then.

I’ll note that in your file. Have a nice day.”

I hung up and immediately documented everything in her claim file – how I had offered to inspect her vehicle that same day, how she had refused the inspection multiple times, and how she stated she’d “gone above my head” and was waiting for corporate to contact me.

Then, with more than a little satisfaction, I canceled the inspection and released the claim back into the general queue.

In our system, that meant her claim would now go back to the beginning of the line and wait to be reassigned to another adjuster – which, during a catastrophe, would take at least another week, probably longer.

I never received a call from corporate about Rose.

Not that day, not ever.

Two weeks later, I was processing claims at my desk when I overheard a colleague on the phone with a very angry customer complaining about how long she’d been waiting for an inspection.

I couldn’t help but smile when I heard him say, “Yes, Ms. Rose, I understand it’s been over two weeks now…”

Sometimes the best response to unreasonable demands is to give people exactly what they ask for.

Rose wanted to refuse my inspection and wait for corporate to intervene? Well, she certainly got the waiting part.

I later heard from Ana at Deluxe Auto Body that Rose had been fuming when she learned no one from corporate ever called me, and that by refusing the inspection, she’d essentially moved herself to the back of a very long line.

“She keeps asking when someone’s coming out,” Ana told me when I was there for another inspection.

“I told her exactly what you told her – could be another week or two with how backed up everyone is.”

The lesson? When someone offers to help you during a crisis, maybe don’t turn them away just to prove a point.

Especially when that point is based on nonsense fed to you by a shop known for causing problems.

I’d like to say I felt bad about the whole situation, but after years of dealing with difficult customers who think yelling will somehow get their cars fixed faster, it was actually pretty satisfying to see someone face the natural consequences of their own choices.

I’m sure Rose eventually got her car fixed, but I bet she thinks twice now before refusing an inspection just to spite someone who was actually trying to help her.

My little sister Sophia is a force to be reckoned with. She’s five years younger than me, so I’ve had a front-row seat to her evolution from a quiet kid to the take-no-nonsense person she is today.

And I gotta say, it’s been entertaining as hell.

Back when I was 10 and she was 5, our parents dragged us to church every Sunday without fail. Rain or shine, we’d be sitting in those uncomfortable pews, counting ceiling tiles to pass the time.

The only silver lining was this family our parents were friends with – they had two boys around our ages.

The older one, Gabriel, was my age and pretty cool. We’d sneak out during the boring parts and explore the church grounds, making up adventures and generally avoiding adult supervision.

But his younger brother Landon? Absolute nightmare of a kid. The type who’d destroy your sandcastle just because he could.

Sophia was always this quiet, independent little kid who’d just wander off and do her own thing.

She didn’t need or want other kids around – especially not Landon. She had this intense stare that could make adults uncomfortable, and this weird ability to just disappear when she wanted to be alone.

One Sunday after the service, Sophia headed to the playground behind the church.

I was off with Gabriel somewhere, so I didn’t see what happened, but apparently Sophia was climbing on the jungle gym, minding her own business, when Landon decided it would be hilarious to throw a rock at her.

And not just toss it near her – this little jerk actually hit her on the head.

Before any of the adults could even process what happened, Sophia climbed down, walked straight up to Landon, and – BAM – punched him right in the face.

Not a little kid slap. A full-on, make-your-point punch.

Landon went down like a sack of potatoes. The screaming and crying that followed was Olympic-level theatrical. You’d think he’d lost a limb from the way he carried on.

Meanwhile, Sophia just stood there, silent, with this look that said, “And I’d do it again.”

The adults rushed over, of course. Landon’s parents were freaking out, my parents were mortified, and we left pretty quickly after that.

The car ride home was tense. My dad kept sighing dramatically while my mom tried to explain to Sophia why we “don’t solve problems with violence.” Sophia just looked out the window, completely unbothered.

That night, my mom sat Sophia down and told her she needed to apologize to Landon the next Sunday.

Sophia didn’t argue or complain – she just nodded. That should’ve been our first warning.

The whole week, she didn’t mention it once. I figured she’d forgotten about it or was planning to avoid Landon entirely next Sunday.

But my sister, even at five, was playing chess while everyone else was playing checkers.

When Sunday rolled around, Sophia was unusually interested in getting to church on time. She even put on her nicest dress without being asked. During the service, I caught her watching Landon, who was sitting with his friends from Sunday school.

After mass ended and everyone spilled out into the courtyard, Sophia made her move.

She waited until Landon was right in the middle of his little friend group – these boys who all went to school with him and clearly thought they were hot stuff. Then she walked straight up to them, tapped Landon on the shoulder, and in the clearest, loudest voice a five-year-old could muster, said:

“Landon, I’m sorry I punched you in the face and made you cry last week.”

Then she turned and walked away.

Just like that.

The look on Landon’s face was priceless. He turned bright red, mouth opening and closing like a fish. His friends were already snickering, and I heard one of them say, “You got beat up by a GIRL?

And you CRIED?”

Landon’s parents were standing nearby and looked satisfied that an apology had been made. They had no idea she’d just socially executed their son. My mom had a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh, while my dad suddenly became very interested in a church bulletin.

On the way home, my mom tried to give Sophia a lecture about the “spirit” of an apology, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Dad kept catching my eye in the rearview mirror, and I could tell he was impressed. Sophia just sat there with a tiny smile, looking out the window.

The best part? Landon never bothered her again. Not once. Sometimes when our families would get together, I’d catch him watching Sophia warily from across the room, like she might snap and go for round two.

Twenty-five years later, and she’s still the same.

Quiet, observant, and absolutely lethal when crossed. She’s a corporate lawyer now, which feels right. I’ve watched her dismantle people with nothing but carefully chosen words and perfect timing.

I’ve learned a lot from my little sister over the years, but the biggest lesson came when she was just five: sometimes, the best revenge isn’t just getting even – it’s making your opponent regret they ever started the game in the first place.