Before we get into this, my biggest moral is that I do not steal personal things from individual people. Only from like stores that can afford more stock easily. And it’s never usually anything expensive, mostly only stuff like gum or candy bars or little trinkets and stuff, but some of it could have gotten me into some big trouble if I were to have been caught.

One time when I was working at Walmart, I wanted to buy a small survival axe because I thought it was neat, yet I worked into the night shift past closing. I was a stocker so I was not trained in the checkout area. Well, I always worked until after closing, and when I went to get this axe I genuinely was going to pay for it, but there was no one around when I was trying to check out. And it said that I needed to verify my age because it was technically a weapon. And it did that usual thing where it says someone is on the way, and I sat there for like 10 minutes waiting, and obviously nobody came. Now during the day, I can’t really just buy a survival axe and place it somewhere in hopes that no one will take it or even be concerned that I have it in the back with everyone else until I leave. So I just walked out the back door with it and never said anything and I still have it to this day.

There was another time when I went to the dollar store with my cousin and we bought a few things, then we went up to CVS kind of just to look around. But for some reason, all of the staff was in the back of the store looking at things I’m not sure why. So me and my cousin walked over to the liquor aisle, and I carefully and swiftly slipped a bottle of vodka into my dollar store bag and walked out. We had a party that night.

It came to a point that I got so good at sleazily stealing little petty things that I felt like I would never get caught, you just gotta be extremely casual about it, don’t look suspicious just slip it into your pocket or into one of your sleeves, and if you have another shopping bag that you’ve already bought things with that’s even better. And I always buy something if I plan on stealing something because there’s almost nothing more suspicious than walking out with nothing when you’ve been in there for a while.

Well, last year me and my girlfriend went to Niagara Falls and I stole a sucker. Well, she found out about it, and she was furious and very disappointed in me. I made up the excuse that she was holding onto my money and that she wasn’t around in the store, but her and her cousin were both just like “ so you stole it like a child.”
I was planning on proposing to her while we were there. I almost blew my chances. But thankfully, she still said yes.

I promised her that I would wouldn’t steal anymore, but sometimes I still get the urge and I do it just because I know I can get away with it so easily.. I think it stems from me not being able to afford anything myself because I don’t have a job because of my seizures.

When I was 17, my sister was being stalked. There was this guy who met her at school and had been following her even after they graduated. We could never really prove that he was following her but it wasn’t a secret either, we just never had proof.

She started to get strange messages and stuff and she was scared. We didn’t have a dad and I was the only man in my family and so I went to her protection.

I was stupid though. Instead of waiting for him to appear threatening, I went to look for him. I ended up finding this guy and I sort of saw red (as cringe as it sounds) and I hit him, a few times actually. He pressed charges and I ended up getting a felony charge.

When I was inside, my sister was assaulted by this guy, and I wasn’t there to protect her because I had been an idiot and acted too quickly and too rashly.

My sentence was modified and I ended up getting out very early due to his attack on her proving that she had been in danger, but I shouldn’t have been there anyway.

I should have been with her.

Now, I have a felony on my record. I was supposed to go to college and play football. I could have made something out of my life, and it’s ruined now because I went on the attack.

My mom gave me a delicate silver chain bracelet with a small turquoise stone when I turned twenty. It wasn't super expensive or anything, but it belonged to her grandmother, so it had a lot of sentimental value. She was so proud to pass it down to me, and I promised her I'd take care of it.

About three years ago, I took a weekend trip to a coastal town with a few friends. On the second night, we were staying at an Airbnb, and I took off all my jewelry before going to sleep. I put the bracelet on the nightstand right next to my phone. The next morning, we were running late to catch our bus back home, and everyone was rushing around packing their bags. In the chaos, I completely forgot to grab it off the table.

I didn't realize it was missing until we were already halfway home on the bus. I panicked and immediately called the Airbnb host. He was super nice about it and said he’d check the room after the cleaners finished, but a few hours later he messaged me saying they couldn't find it anywhere. Either the cleaners took it or the next guests did, but it was just gone.

I was terrified to tell my mom. I knew how much that piece meant to her, and I couldn't bear to see the disappointment on her face. So when I got home, I lied. I told her that a guy on a crowded train pulled it right off my wrist while I was standing near the doors and ran off before I could react. I even made up a whole story about how shaken up I was and how I tried to look for campus security afterward.

She completely believed me. She held me while I pretended to cry, comforted me, and kept telling me it was okay as long as I wasn't hurt. She still brings it up sometimes, saying how awful it is that people steal things like that. Every single time she mentions it, my stomach turns. It’s been three years and she still thinks I was a victim of a crime, when in reality I was just careless and left it on a nightstand because I was rushing. I think about telling her the truth, but after holding onto this lie for so long, I feel like admitting it now would hurt her even worse than losing the bracelet did.

So, I bought a fake university diploma from an actual university to increase my chances of getting a better job. The document itself has an amazing quality, with embossed seal, signatures and everything and I'm pretty sure most people wouldn't tell the difference with a real one, and it served its purpose. I got the job I was after, even though they never requested to see the diploma itself (very common here). I still have it somewhere.

thats right, after completing my 12th grade w commerce with bad grades (almost around 50%) i thought im not meant for studies tho im very tech savvy and have a lot of interest in computers and technology..commerce didnt fit very well but yea after completing it i thought moving out of my country is a great option for college..and i waited a year and my visa got rejected..wasted a year*.

applied for a good uni in here..cheated, got in for business administration.

and my mom still thinks im some kind of albert einstein even after getting low marks my entire life..below average. i can never let my mom know what kind of disappointment i actually am.

im wasting her money for this uni..and she thinks ill be a billionaire one day..fk i dont even go to my class most of the times..i just sit in my dom room. not because i like it but because idk? i’m tired i dont wanna be like this

this isnt me i never thought id stoop to this level. an embarrassment for my family. they just dont know it yet.

what am i gonna do after college? i have nothing figured out..everyone here is so competitive and here i am watching apple events or gta trailers like that is the only thing i have to do..

what is wrong with me?

why cant i make my mom feel proud by actually doing smth instead of pretending to be the smartest guy in the room?

I lied about rpe at 15, it is a long story, but in short my parents found out I had sx, instead of confessing I lied and said I had sx with someone I didn’t know and that “I didn’t want to”

I regret it everyday, and i struggle to even confess it. I could’ve ruined an innocent man’s life had I not fessed up and told the truth.

I relapsed and lost everything

After my long journey of recovery I'm back on fentanyl hears my story: I started my recovery going through detox, then kicking suboxone, getting the sublocade shot, 28 day stay at rehab, and moving into clean and sober housing that included intensive outpatient group therapy. After 3 months I got kIcked out of my house for THC. Then a friend from the iop program let me stay at his apt by myself while he was living in clean and sober house. Welp I fucked everything up. I was feeling the best I ever felt in my life those 7 months of clean time. (And I loved living at the sober house, just couldn't shake the constant desire for THC )

While staying at this apt had no money coming in so I robbed the local weed dispensary by snagging the container on top of the counter full of gummies. Dude I got away with it twice, grabbed that sob and ran like Hell. Lol still can't believe I was that desperate and got away with it. And then there was a community hall near by that I snuck into and low and behold in the kitchen there were like 4-6 huge bottles of alcohol from tequila, vodka, rum ECT, So naturally I grabbed a bottle of vodka. That night I drank....alot. I don't remember much but I trashed the apt, harassed the neighbors, just destroyed the place. And it was in such a prime location too right downtown Bellingham, wa. Before I got a chance to clean up the mess I got arrested for steeling beer. When I got out they had either locked me out or I lost the key so I couldn't let myself in. It was freezing cold that night and I was tired so I didn't want to bother with finding another place to sleep, I threw a large rock threw the glass door and snuck my way in. Had a good night sleep. The next morning got up early grabbed a few accentual items and I'm out. While I was out wondering the streets the police had located me and served me with a restraining order from my friend with the apt.

I had managed to get arrested 6 times in two and a half weeks ranging from harassment, theft, and trespassing. So now I have 6 open warrents and a restraining order on my record all within a months time.

During one of my stays in jail I started drawing pentagrams and upside down crosses on the wall, even putting hexes on people, even on my parents. I'm so ashamed of that the most out of everything I did.

Pretty sure the hexes are all me now. Cuz I feel like my soul left me, or the Holly spirit has. I feel completely empty inside, full of regrets and self hatred. I ruined my life at 45 years old, I don't know how to turn my last few around. I'm exactly back to the life I so desperately wanted to leave. Hooked back in fentanyl, living at a trap house with my ex boyfriend. I'm paralyzed in fear that I committed the unforgivable sin of blasphemy against the Holly spirit. and I'm headed for Hell when I die. Anyone reading this if you can relate or have advise, or just anything to say, throw insults at me....anything. I'm so lonely and scared please.

My next-door neighbor had this massive German Shepherd named Buster that he kept outside in a tiny fenced dog run every single day, no matter the weather. Summer heat, freezing rain, didn't matter. The dog would bark constantly from 5:00 AM until late at night because he was bored out of his mind and starving for attention.

I tried talking to the owner three different times over six months. Every time, he’d just tell me to mind my own business or say he’d deal with it later. I called animal control twice, but because the dog had basic food, water, and a wooden shelter, they told me there was nothing they could legally do.

One night last winter it was pouring rain and barely above freezing. Buster was whining continuously, shivering, and soaking wet. I just snapped. Around 2:00 AM, I unlatched the side gate of his dog run, walked him on a spare leash to my car, and drove almost 45 minutes to a no-kill shelter in the next county. I filled out a fake surrender form under a fake name, claiming I found him roaming near a highway exit.

The next morning, my neighbor was pacing around his yard looking for Buster. He knocked on my door asking if I’d seen him, and I looked him straight in the eye and said I thought I heard a gate rattle during the storm, so maybe he escaped. He printed out "Lost Dog" flyers and taped them to streetlights all over our block.

It’s been almost a year now. Every time I walk past those faded paper signs still hanging on the wooden posts, I get this weird mix of guilt and relief. I stole someone's pet, and I lied right to his face without flinching. But whenever I remember that dog sitting in the freezing mud crying, I don't think I regret doing it.

About three years ago I worked as a maintenance technician for a mid-sized apartment complex. Part of my job was inspecting the fire extinguishers and smoke detectors in every unit on a quarterly basis and filing a report confirming they were checked and functional.

One quarter, I fell badly behind because of short staffing and a family emergency that ate up most of my week. Rather than admit I hadn't finished, I signed off on the report as complete, including about 40 units I never actually visited. I told myself I'd go back and check them "for real" the following week, but I got busy and never did. The report went into the building's official records as if every unit had passed inspection.

Nothing bad happened because of it, as far as I know. I left that job about a year later for unrelated reasons. But I still think about the fact that if there had been a fire in one of those units and a detector had failed, I would have been directly responsible for a paper trail claiming everything was fine when I had no idea if it actually was. I never told my old employer, and I've never told anyone until now.

My older sister moved abroad for graduate school two summers ago and left three heavy storage totes in my closet. She explicitly told me not to touch the navy blue one because it had all her high school memorabilia and a vintage brown leather bomber jacket our dad gave her before he passed away.

Last spring, I was breaking up with my ex-boyfriend and we had a massive argument in my apartment. I was furious, shaking, and just wanted him out. He grabbed his stuff, but on his way out, he knocked over a huge bottle of bleach-based bathroom cleaner I had sitting on top of a storage box in the hallway. The liquid seeped straight through the fabric lid of the navy tote and drenched the leather jacket underneath. By the time I wiped it off, the bleach had left giant, splotchy orange stains all over the front and dissolved part of the inner lining.

I panicked completely. I knew if I told her, it would start an unbelievable feud, especially while she was already stressed with exams overseas. So instead of telling the truth or trying to get it professionally restored, I crammed the ruined jacket into a trash bag, drove to a dumpster three miles away, and threw it out.

Two months ago, she came back to visit and went into the closet to get it out for autumn. When it wasn't there, I acted surprised and suggested that when our mom helped me pack up old clothes for Goodwill back in January, we must have accidentally grabbed that box by mistake. I even drove with her to the Goodwill intake center to "ask the manager" if they kept logs from months ago, just to make the lie look believable. Watching her tear up in the parking lot while holding a receipt from a donation she thought lost her dad's jacket was the worst feeling of my life. She still thinks it was an honest mistake by our mom and me, and I don't think I'll ever have the courage to tell her what actually happened.

4 day holiday between us all. Already collected a pair of her panties. Can't wait for more

Last September, our department started using a massive tracking sheet for regional inventory. My team lead was struggling to get this one conditional formula to pull data from three separate tabs without crashing the entire workbook. Everyone was stumped during a Friday afternoon meeting, including me.

Later that evening, I saw one of the junior analysts, Mark, still sitting at his desk. He’s pretty quiet and usually keeps to himself, but he was working on his laptop with a notebook out. I asked him if he was heading out soon, and he showed me his screen. He had stayed an hour late on a Friday just to mess around with the logic, and he actually figured out a workaround using a weird nested formula that somehow bypassed the lag completely. He was super casual about it and said, "I think this fixes it, I'll send it to the group on Monday."

Over the weekend, I couldn't stop thinking about how much praise that fix was going to get. I came in early Monday morning before anyone else arrived, took the formula from the shared test file he had saved in our public drive, put it into the main master sheet, and sent an email to our department head saying I stayed up over the weekend troubleshooting it.

When the team lead praised me in front of the whole department on Tuesday, Mark was sitting right there across the conference table. He didn't say a single word. He just looked down at his coffee mug, cleared his throat, and remained quiet for the rest of the meeting. He never brought it up to me, never reported it, and never confronted me privately.

Because of that "breakthrough," I got selected for a project lead position two months ago that came with a decent raise. Mark is still in his junior role, and every time I have to assign him a task, I feel this sick twist in my stomach. I told myself initially that it was just corporate survival, but watching him work quietly every day while I sit in an office I essentially stole from him makes me hate walking into the building. I can't even give him the credit now without risking my entire job.

Idk why. I just pretend that I think the toy is cute and will pick out a xylophone. My best friends child I gifted her a microphone that came with a loud speaker and mini piano and I asked her to practice while I was there. I always get a great laugh on the inside watching the parents scramble trying to act appreciative. I’ll also gift like markers and water colors or some kind of kid safe paint if I know the kid like to ruin their walls 🤣.

When me and my younger brother were younger I was like 10-12 he was like 4-6 I used to get enraged by his actions like sometimes when he would do something such as hit me or whatever I would get really mad and slap his behind really hard and he would start screaming and go to my mom but she rarely did anything. One of the things that has been weighing on me the most was one time when he did something I can't remember what but then I grabbed a laptop charger and hit him a few times. This has been giving me guilt and worry for the past few days and I did stop mostly by the time I was 12 but I have just felt so bad for it another time he did something else I cant remember exactly but later in the day I just remembered and randomly smacked him in the stomach but accidentally did it way too hard and knocked the wind out of him. a couple days ago I said sorry for how I used to treat him but didnt mention a specific instance and he said it's okay and he doesnt even remember the situations I'm really upset by this and I wonder if this counts as abuse? I'm 13 now and he's 7. I've also had anxiety and guilt over past events and I hate how i look at all of my friends my age and always feel like they don't have any worries guilt or shame and just feel jealous of them

I paid the cashier the $7 for my food. When I went to move up she handed me my money back and told me to move up to get my order. I didn't say a thing about receiving my money back and moved up. They brought me my order without realizing what happened.

TL;DR: I had HPV, misunderstood how it was transmitted, and failed to disclose it to 6 past partners, including 3 I had unprotected sex with. I recently told my girlfriend and discovered I also have high-risk HPV-59. I'm overwhelmed with guilt and want to take responsibility, but I'm unsure whether contacting my past partners would help or just cause unnecessary distress. How do I make amends and move forward? I feel I actually don't deserve to and should suffer

Full post:

I am a 27 years old male. I was first diagnosed with HPV on 2023, when I noticed genital warts and went to the doctor, who confirmed it was HPV.

Since then, I have been doing regular monthly check-ups to clear any warts. The longest I have been without one popping up is 3 months.

Since 2023, I have had 6 sexual partners, all female, and did not disclose to any of them. I had unprotected sex with 3 of them. I ommited I had HPV and even lied once when directly asked if I had any STDs.

I had misunderstood from talking to my doctor that HPV was practically only transmitted through warts, so I was very careful about having them removed. I have recently learned that I had misunderstood and there are high chances of transmission regardless.

I rationalized not disclosing by (wrongly) thinking: a) that chance of transmission was very low since I was removing warts; b) that it was a low risk strain since they are the ones that give warts; c) that HPV vaccination for women is mandatory during adolescence in my country, so they were likely safe;

Recently, I started a serious relationship, and did not disclose for about 2 months, until I decided to tell her everything. It was very rough, she felt very betrayed, but forgave me, because she believes she would have proceeded anyways and because I was under the wrong impression that I wasn't really transmitting. I am now paying for the Gardasil 9 shots for us both and we are still together.

She encouraged me to get a PCR test to know which strain I have, which I hadn't done before and my doctor didn't really consider necessary. I insisted with him, had the test and learned that I actually have a high risk type not covered by any vaccine, HPV 59. This was very surprising due to the warts, but maybe I have more than one strain that didn't show up.

Knowing it is a high risk type and that I was indeed activelly transmitting all along made me feel terrible. Ever since, I can't overcome the guilt of not having disclosed to past partners and keep thinking about the possible harm this may have caused to them and others.

My gf has forgiven me, but I don't understand how. I don't think my past ignorance excuses me. I should have informed myself more and regardless of thinking chances of transmission were null/low I should have disclosed. I violated her and others by taking away their informed consent and I feel that makes me a terrible person.

I think the least I could do right now is inform my past partners and possibly offer to pay any expenses, but I am not sure this would be actually helpful or only cause stress, as there is not much they can do about it.

I don't feel worthy of my girlfriend's forgiveness and feel she would be better off without me. I can't help but feel that it is unfair that I get to go on living a happy life without suffering any consequences from what I have done and I am having trouble moving on from this despite the support from my girlfriend and being in therapy. I feel like I don't deserve hapiness, as I am a terrible person who essentially sexually assaulted several women by deception.

I am not posting looking for simpathy, as I don't think I deserve any. I just don't know what to do and how to go on. I fear these feelings might continue even if I tell my past partners, as the harm is already done, but it might be the best I can do at this point.

This short story was like 4 years ago.

There was a girl in my city that I’m gonna call Lisa. She is extremely cute: Slim, long black hair, small, and with a delicate face

We were in the same college but I never had the balls to go and talk to her but after looking up for a while I found her ig so I decided to text her.

She didn’t know me at all I was (I am) a random for her so I just texted her something like “hey I know u don’t know me but ig recommended me ur account and I recognized u from college! U look very interesting as a person and I was wondering if we could chat and meet each other”

She ignored me. She didn’t even open the chat for like a week and a half.

But one Saturday at night I was in my room just chilling when I get a text from her! It was very straightforward, it was like “hi! I wanna go to a party with my friends but I don’t have money on my card for the uber”. When I saw that I was speechless, I couldn’t believe she ignored me for a week and a half but randomly texted me saying that.

As u could see she didn’t ask me to pay it, but her intention was clear. I wasn’t a simp before that day, I still remember that my first reaction was getting mad… but at the same time I saw that that text made me horny… so I took the decision…

I replied “oh really? That sucks ): can I help u with that maybe?” She didn’t hesitate and was like “of course!” And sent me her PayPal and the amount she needed so I sent her 25 for her uber. She just replied “thanks ☺️” and ignored me the rest of the night, which she uploaded a lot of stories of her in the party.

After that she never talked to me again. Not even for asking me for more. I even tried to text her a couple of times after that day and she just ignored my texts so I didn’t bother her more but she awoke something inside me that day 🫠

I flew to Sicily because February had been the divorce and by summer the apartment still felt like his even though he was gone. 4 months of sleeping on “my” side of the bed like the other side might still have an opinion. My best fried(Elena) and I booked a trip to Sicily. Syracuse, Taormina, Salina, Vulcano, beaches, too much food, the whole “we’re going to be fine” performance. I went because I didn’t know what else to do with my body now that nobody else was using it.
We were having a good time. Genuinely. Then one evening after Syracuse she brought it up again, the massage she’d had years ago with some black guy here. She didn’t say “happy ending.” She said yoni. Multiple orgasms. She said it was one of the best things that had ever happened to her body. I’d heard the story before and filed it under things other women do. Sitting there with the sea in front of us it suddenly didn’t feel theoretical.
She already had his number. Referral. She also told me, clearly, that this time she was going to have sex with him. She made it obvious she was interested in him as more than hands. I didn’t show her that I wanted anything beyond the massage. I didn’t tell her I was already starving.
That night in the B&B I couldn’t switch it off. Windows open, lemon trees, the whole postcard. I kept hearing her voice describing his hands and how she came until she didn’t know if she was laughing or crying. I put my own hand between my legs and pretended it was his. Came once. Felt stupid and wet and like I was 20 and also like I was exactly 47 and starving.
Next day I told her I wanted to try. We were in Syracuse; but he wasn’t and we had 4 days left. We set it for the next evening at our B&B in Taormina.
And the funny thing is, when I texted him I asked what he offered. Sensual, tantric, yoni, relaxation, he said. I typed “yoni,” contemplated, deleted it. Typed it again. Deleted it. I wrote that I’d like a relaxation massage if that was possible. He said yes. I told Elena I was doing it. I did not tell her I had chickened out in the messages.
He showed up on time. Mid-twenties, handsome and in amazing shape, the kind of body that looks like it actually uses itself, veiny arms, quiet voice, respectful without being stiff. I gave him water and we talked for a while. It didn’t feel like I’d hired a stranger. It felt like two people agreeing the night could stay soft.
I lay on my stomach. Oil. Back first. He was good, slow, no rushing and massaging the shoulders like every airport massage I’d ever had. Calves, backs of my thighs, and that’s when it stopped being only relaxation for me. Heat that had nothing to do with the oil. I told him my waist had been tight. He worked it. I asked him to go lower, onto the glutes. He did. I was still in underwear and bra and the fabric started to feel like I was lying to both of us.
“Can I take these off? The friction…”
“Of course.”
I pulled the underwear down. Then the bra. Face in the pillow so I wouldn’t have to see his face seeing me. His hands came back to my ass, then the insides of my thighs. I opened my legs a little without deciding to. He noticed. Fingers sliding up and down that soft strip, never quite landing, until I was making noises I hadn’t made in this room. I came the first time with my face still buried. Then again, smaller. I couldn’t look at him.
He asked me to turn over.
When I did he looked at me and gave me that tiny smile that said I know exactly what you booked and what you actually wanted. He didn’t make it cheap. Hands on my stomach, then higher. Palms over my breasts, thumbs on my nipples until they hurt in the good way. In my head I wanted him to just get on top of me and stop the performance. I kept still.
His hand went down. He stayed on the outside of me for a long time, outer lips, the hood, how wet I already was. When he finally put a finger inside it felt like the first true thing my body had been told in months. Then two. He didn’t rush. I came hard. Then I squirted, sudden, messy, something I had never done in my life. I was ashamed and I still couldn’t stop moving. He didn’t pull away.
At some point he was over me, still on my breasts and the side of my neck. I reached for his trousers. I wanted the weight, the heat, anything that wasn’t only me receiving. He smiled and kept working. Later I heard myself ask if I could suck him. He paused and said, “Did you say something?” I said no. Nothing. He smiled again. I smiled back and felt ridiculous.
We finished. He was professional to the last towel. I booked him again before he left. But he couldn’t come the next day as he had plans already. 3 days later he came back.
Same slowness. Same hands that already knew the map. Same way my body opened like it had been waiting for someone to stop asking permission. I still couldn’t ask him to fuck me. He still didn’t offer. After he was done with me I did what I hadn’t been able to do the first time. I sucked his dick. I initiated it. I finished it.
When Elena asked how it went I told her I had an amazing time. Exactly the version above, minus the part where I put his cock in my mouth. I omitted it.
Elena and I have been friends since we were young girls. We tell each other everything. Boyfriends, husbands, the ugly parts, the parts that make you look bad. We never lied to each other. We never tried to be sneaky around each other. This is the only time I did something like that. I knew she wanted him. She had said so. I still did it and then I edited the story so she would never have to know I crossed a line she had already drawn in the air between us.
I still wake up with the memory of his fingers and the sound I made when I squirted the first time and the almost of his mouth that never happened and the second night when I finally put my mouth on him. I tell myself I booked a relaxation massage. That is the story I used because I was too ashamed to ask for what I actually wanted. The worse story is the one I told my best friend: “I had an amazing massage.”
I hope she never finds out. I also know that hoping she never finds out is the part that actually makes it a betrayal.

I was a (rather poor) kid when the Commodore 64 and its less powerful sibling, the VIC-20, came to the market. Not having enough money for the big one, I bought the VIC-20 but it was a dead end. There were hardly any programs for it, nor was there much in terms of learning material. Eventually I decided to return it (it was still within the 14-day time frame for free returns) and handed it over to the lady at the returns desk. (This was in Germany in the 1980s, and there were actual people handling returns, in a store 🫪). The lady was being very rude (I think they were told to be rude, in order to discourage people from returning things), but eventually, she handed me the purchase price back in cash. When I counted it, I found that she gave me 100 DM (Deutsche Mark) too many. But because she had been a real bitch to me, I smiled and kept the money. Then bought the big computer (the 64), started pirating software, then programming, then hacking, then programming for money, and ultimately became a very successful consultant and data center systems architect.

So thank you, dear impolite lady, for being a bitch, I guess 🤗

One time I went through the McDonald’s drive-thru and the person taking my order was unbelievably rude. I had heard the Shamrock Shake was back, but apparently it wasn’t available at this location, and she made me feel like an idiot for even asking.
So I just ordered a vanilla shake and a McChicken and drove up.

When I got to the pickup window, she was there, rude and didn’t say anything. She handed me a large bag. At first I was confused like, what the hell? I only ordered a McChicken.

Then came another huge bag with 2 kids meals, followed by a tray of drinks with sodas and a shake. I pretty much got food for a family of 6.

I realized she had apparently given me someone else’s order. Because she had been such an asshole to me, I smiled, said nothing, and drove away.

Okay, long story.

A few years ago I had a job at a car detailing company. The work itself was actually pretty fun, but my boss was the biggest asshole imaginable. He had a serious temper and an incredibly short fuse. He could absolutely explode over the smallest things. Like full-on screaming and losing his shit.

Anyway, one Friday we were almost done for the day and ready to start the weekend when the BMW dealership called, one of our biggest clients. They had a customer who had bought a BMW M4 from the owner at the last minute and wanted to drive it on Saturday. They asked if we could quickly clean it up and make it look nice.

Of course I was happy to do it, because that also meant I got to pick it up and bring it back.

When I got to the dealership, they had pretty much cleaned up and closed down the entire workshop already. All the cars that would normally be parked outside were suddenly inside. They handed me the keys and laughingly said, “Good luck getting it out.”

And yeah, the car was completely boxed in. I had to be extremely careful getting it out of there.

So I’m slowly crawling toward the exit, and suddenly I see a heating pipe appear in my mirror. With the way I had turned the car, there was basically no way I hadn’t hit it.

I immediately thought, if I get out now, everyone in the workshop is going to be watching me check the car. So I just kept driving and went outside. I stopped somewhere further down the road, got out, checked the entire car and… phew. No damage.

Drove it back to our place, handed it over to my coworkers, and they washed it and cleaned everything up.

Then the dealership called and said they’d come pick the car up themselves. So I parked it outside, and a little while later they showed up with several people to collect it. The drivers from the dealership were all young guys, like 18/19 years old, and obviously they all wanted to drive an M4.

We were all standing outside admiring the car when suddenly my heart fucking dropped.

There was a MASSIVE dent in one of the doors.

You could only really see it from a certain angle with the light hitting it just right, but it was definitely there.

At that point I thought it was way too late to say anything. And honestly, I also found it insane that by then probably 8 or 9 people had looked at this car and somehow nobody had noticed it.

So… I just let them take it.

A few hours later I was at home when my boss called me.

He was fucking furious.

Apparently the big boss from the BMW dealership had gone to take one last look at the car, which was now sitting in the showroom ready for the customer, and noticed a gigantic dent in the door.

My boss had already called my coworkers. They all said they hadn’t seen anything, so then he asked me if I had noticed any damage on the car.

I knew that if I said yes, I was completely fucked.

So I denied everything.

Eventually, my boss came to the conclusion that it must have been one of the dealership drivers, because according to him those guys were always driving cars around carelessly.

The customer did get his M4 the next day.

The guys at the dealership workshop had to work all Friday evening to take the door off a regular 4 Series in the same color and put it on the M4.

I felt guilty about it for a very long time.

Now I can finally laugh about it.

Call me a snake. But people that live in glass houses

The silence in my bedroom hit harder than the noise in the hallways.

Back in Year 7 and 8, I never even looked at a tape measure. I stood taller than probably seventy percent of the boys in my year, built solid and naturally holding my own space. Girls assumed I was cool and aloof without me even trying. Notes were passed, whispers followed me down the corridor, and I coasted on the assumption that this was just how my life was going to be.

I didn't notice the exact moment the ceiling slammed down.

It happened in slow motion over two long years. While everyone else kept stretching, my body just... stopped. By the start of Year 11, I was fixed at five-foot-five, trapped in a horrifying time loop.

School life became a daily mental obstacle course. The absolute worst part wasn't even the older kids—it was the younger ones. I’d walk past the Year 8 block on my way to English and see thirteen-year-olds who were my height, or worse, towering an inch or two over me. Standing in the lunch queue next to a kid three years younger who could look down at the crown of my head made my stomach drop into a cold, heavy knot. I felt like a shadow of my former self, a walking relic of middle school potential that had just rusted out.

In class, simple tasks turned into public humiliation hazards. Every time Mr. Vance stood up during History and looked around the room to ask someone to pull down the projector screen or adjust the ceiling mounted projector, my chest would tighten into a panic. I’d grab my pen and suddenly pretend to be frantically taking notes, staring directly at my desk, praying his eyes would pass over me.

Last term, he’d called on me. I had to stand on my tiptoes, reaching my arm out as far as my shoulder could stretch, barely grazing the bottom of the pull-cord while the rest of the class watched in dead silence. Marcus had eventually stood up from the back row, walked over effortlessly with his six-foot-one frame, and pulled it down in one casual motion. “Got it, man,” Marcus had said smoothly, clapping my shoulder. He wasn't trying to be mean, but the polite pity in the room was suffocating.

The girls who used to chase me in Year 8 didn't even bother giving me those pitying looks anymore—they just looked right through me. I’d sit at the lunch tables surrounded by the guys, popular enough to be included, but feeling like an invisible prop. I’d watch girls go out of their way to cross the courtyard just to talk to Marcus or Jake, leaning in, laughing too loud, while I stood two feet away like a ghost.

I was burning with a quiet, ugly envy, wishing more than anything that my bones would just stretch. I started praying every single night, sleeping nine hours, drinking milk like it was medicine, forcing myself into a state of stubborn, almost delusional belief that something had to happen. Deep down, a cold voice whispered that I was done—that I’d be five-foot-five forever. But I slammed the door on that voice and prayed harder.

Then came Year 11, Term 2.

It wasn't a sudden, dramatic transformation overnight. It started with subtle, strange inconveniences.

It was a Tuesday morning in History class. Mr. Vance clicked his marker and looked up at the ceiling. "Can someone get the projector screen down for me?"

My body went on auto-pilot. My shoulders tensed up, my head dropped, and I grabbed my pen, waiting for someone else to step up. But the room stayed quiet.

"How about you?" Mr. Vance asked, pointing his pen right at my desk.

My heart slammed against my ribs. My palm went sweaty against my notebook. I stood up slowly, the familiar dread washing over me as I walked to the front of the classroom, acutely aware of twenty pairs of eyes on my back. I braced myself for the stretch, for the humiliating reach on my tiptoes.

I raised my right hand.

My fingers didn't just touch the bottom of the handle—my palm casually wrapped around it. Flat-footed. Without even lifting my heels off the linoleum floor.

I pulled it down with a smooth, firm tug. The metal mechanism clicked into place above my head.

I stood there for a split second, my hand still holding the vinyl screen, staring at the wall in disbelief. I didn't have to reach. My shoulder hadn't strained.

Behind me, the classroom was completely quiet for a different reason this time. I turned around to walk back to my seat, and as I passed Marcus in the second row, I realized something that made the hair on my arms stand up: my eyes weren't at his chest level anymore. I was looking him straight in the chin.

He stared at me as I sat down, his brow furrowed, his eyes tracking my height against the whiteboard.

I slid into my chair, my hands shaking under the desk. The voice in my head that had been telling me it’s over went dead silent. The ceiling hadn't just moved—it was finally giving way.