“Back in my first year at uni somewhere in the west of England, I lived in this big old Georgian student house with 23 other lads — a mix of undergrads and postgrads. We had three kitchens, but food theft was rampant. No matter how well you labelled your stuff, someone would pinch it.

At the time, we were doing microbiology practicals, working with an orthopox strain — basically a very mild cousin of cowpox. Harmless enough that first-years could handle it with just masks, gloves, and goggles.

One of my lab partners wasn’t great with sterile technique and ended up with a blister on her lip from accidentally creating an aerosol with the inoculating loop.

After yet another round of my food going missing, I snapped. I took a tiny sample of that same strain and rubbed it onto a block of cheese I kept in the fridge. A couple of days later, the two serial food thieves both showed up with blistery sores around their mouths. Nothing serious, but enough to keep them from going out for a while.

They suspected it was me, but I made a point of having cheese on toast in front of them (the heat denatures the strain) without a mark on me.

My food was never touched again. In hindsight, it was reckless — but damn effective.”

“The other day, I was driving home from work and hit one of those classic stretches of stop-and-go traffic. When that happens, I like to back off about 75 feet from the car in front of me so I can roll along slowly at a constant pace — kind of like how semi-trucks do it. It saves my brakes and my sanity.

Well, the driver behind me, in an Acura crossover, wasn’t a fan of my strategy. I guess he expected me to be two feet off the car ahead like everyone else.

He started tailgating and laying on his horn. I just chuckled to myself and turned up the radio.

But then, he began flashing his high beams at me — and these weren’t ordinary headlights. They were those super-bright LEDs, and since my car sits much lower than his, they hit my mirrors directly. The first flash was so bright it left spots in my eyes. He honked again, waited about ten seconds, and flashed me a second time. By now, I was getting seriously annoyed.

The third time he flashed me, he held the high beams on for about 15 seconds. And that’s when I noticed the 14,000-lumen searchlight sitting in my passenger seat — a tool I usually use for camping or night hikes.

I suddenly got the mischievous idea to give this guy a taste of his own medicine.

I waited until I was sure he was looking forward, then grabbed the flashlight, cranked it up to its highest setting, and aimed it right out my rear window. I can only imagine the shock on his face when I turned it on. It was so bright, his car’s automatic headlights turned off, thinking it was daylight. I could see him clear as day through his windshield, covering his eyes and trying to shield himself.

After a few seconds of this impromptu light show, I decided I’d made my point and turned it off.

He immediately backed off and changed lanes, giving me plenty of space for the rest of the drive.

Was it the safest or most responsible thing to do? Probably not. But did it feel incredibly satisfying in the moment? Absolutely. Moral of the story: be kind and patient on the road — you never know who might be prepared to brighten your day in a way you weren’t expecting.

Drive safe out there!”

“When I was in third grade, I was a pretty awkward kid. I had a tough home life, struggled to make friends, and was often the target of bullying. One of the kids in my class — let’s call him Derek — was one of the regular culprits. But one day, seemingly out of nowhere, he was nice to me. Being so unused to kindness, I was over the moon. We hung out during recess, joked around, even talked about the girls we liked. He apologized for how he’d treated me before. I was thrilled.

The reason for his sudden change of heart?

I had brought a popular, expensive Batman action figure to school — something I’d saved for months to buy. By the end of the day, Derek asked if he could borrow it and, eager to hold onto my new friend, I agreed. The deal was that he’d give it back the next morning.

But when I arrived at school the next day, everything changed. He pretended not to know what I was talking about. When I asked for my toy back, he denied ever borrowing it. When I persisted, he threatened me. I tried to tell my teacher, but she scolded me for bringing toys to school in the first place, and I was too scared to push it further.

I knew if my father found out, things would only get worse at home.

It didn’t end there. Derek also went around telling lies about me to our classmates, making up cruel stories. I became a complete outcast. Kids avoided me, threw things at me, vandalized my things — it was an awful time. I didn’t fight back. I was a scared, quiet kid who just kept my head down and cried when nobody was looking.

Eventually, the bullying eased up, and I focused on schoolwork. Derek tried talking to me again like nothing happened, but I ignored him. Whenever he’d deny what he’d done, insisting I had imagined it, I’d just stay quiet.

By the end of that school year, my family moved, and I transferred to a new school.

Things got better. I made friends, toughened up a little, and wasn’t quite as trusting. In high school, I probably overcompensated for my timid childhood — I wasn’t afraid of a fight, and worked hard to stand my ground.

In my early twenties, I worked as a bartender, then trained as both an electrician and a plumber. I started my own business, built a good reputation, and did well for myself.

Then, one night when I was 29, I got a call for an emergency job at 2 a.m. A burst pipe had flooded a house. When I arrived, the place was a disaster — water everywhere, electrical hazards, even a partial floor collapse.

The homeowner’s wife, who I’ll call Jane, was in tears, blaming herself for the mess. I reassured her it wasn’t her fault.

And then Derek walked in.

He didn’t recognize me at first and was his usual impatient, irritable self. He didn’t shake my hand, barked orders, and demanded I start immediately. I stayed professional, gave him a rough verbal estimate, and told him I’d be happy to help. When I told him my name, it clicked for him, but I acted cheerful, as if I was happy to reconnect.

As we worked, he began loosening up — cracking jokes, reminiscing about school.

He had no idea I was documenting every unsafe, illegal thing about his house. Turns out, nearly everything was unapproved and dangerously installed. Worse, that pipe had been leaking for weeks, and the water bill would be enormous — unless a certified plumber signed off on a rebate.

I called a city inspector I knew, and by the next morning, he was there documenting everything. The list of violations was long. Derek and his wife would have to tear down their illegal additions, completely redo the wiring and plumbing, get new permits, and basically start over — to the tune of about $950,000.

When Derek found out, he was furious, threatening legal action, but the inspector had enough evidence to hold him accountable.

I left an invoice for my time and left.

Later, Derek called me every name in the book. I stayed silent. He vented about me online, but it backfired — people shared their own stories of how Derek had mistreated them over the years. Apparently, he hadn’t changed much.

A while later, he called asking to meet. He sounded defeated. Out of curiosity, I agreed. We met at a local café, and sure enough, I spotted his phone face-down on the table — probably recording. He apologized, admitted he was nearly bankrupt, confessed to cutting corners, and pleaded with me to sign off on the water bill so he wouldn’t be charged tens of thousands.

Then he asked me, “Why did you do this?

I know I wasn’t great when we were kids, but do I really deserve this?”

I looked him in the eye and calmly said, “I said no such thing.”

He insisted, “You told me you’d help. You promised.”

And then, after all these years, I repeated the same thing he told me as a kid: “You must have imagined it.”

The look in his eyes said it all. He realized exactly why I did what I did. I stood, gave him a quiet nod, and walked away. I slept better that night than I had in years.

To this day, he’s tried to reach out a few times, but I made it clear there would be no more contact.

Derek — you know who you are — if you’re reading this, just remember how expensive that little Batman action figure turned out to be after all these years.

And that’s the long, overdue lesson.”