My friend and I invented a game in high school with a bottle of dangerously hot sauce. One drop on my tongue felt like it burned a hole straight through for twenty minutes. People were afraid to even smell the stuff. .
So when Alex said he liked hot stuff, we knew it was chicken tender day at lunch. He dipped half a nugget in and turned beet red instantly, sweat pouring off him. He jumped up and sprinted for the milk. While he was gone, I poured a ton of that sauce into the barbecue sauce on his plate.
He came back a minute later with three cartons of milk, still sweating and breathing hard. I suggested he try the barbecue sauce to mask the heat, told him it always helped me. He scooped a huge glob onto a couple tenders shaped like a spoon and shoved it in his mouth. He swallowed, and I can still see the alarm on his face as he whispered, “That didn’t help at all.
” He went home early that day and said he felt like he was passing fire for the next couple days. . In elementary school, snow meant one thing: watch your feet. We used to run at each other and slide into someone’s legs like we were stealing home plate.
In fifth grade, I caught a kid in my class perfectly. He flew through the air in what felt like slow motion and came down hard on his elbow. He was crying, went inside, and went home for the day. I felt terrible, especially because he didn’t rat me out.
He told everyone he slipped on ice. The next day I found out his arm was broken in three places and he needed surgery. I did that. .
In college, I worked at a coffee shop. On closing shift, a single mom came up to the counter with her kid in her arms and another in a stroller. She just wanted me to microwave soup she had in a Tupperware container. I figured sure, nice guy, two minutes, easy.
The lid came loose during the handoff and she was drenched in steaming soup. No burns, thank God, but she was mortified, and all we had left was stale pastries. She just wanted to leave. I ruined that night for a woman who was clearly struggling, and her hungry kids went hungry.
I still feel awful about that one. . I lived in the Arctic for years, in a tent outside a small town tucked into a fjord. The locals, especially the kids, were thrilled to see someone new, someone white who actually wanted to learn about their way of life.
Before I left, a little girl, maybe eight years old, asked for my address back home. I didn’t think she’d write, but I gave it to her anyway. A few months later, a darling letter showed up full of kid questions: Did you see any squirrels? How’s the weather?
Is it hot? They don’t have squirrels there, and she thought they were the cutest things. That letter arrived right when I was moving. I meant to write back, but it got lost in the chaos, and I lost her address.
I don’t even remember her name anymore, no way to find her in such a remote place. I think about that at least once a week, and I have for over ten years. Some little kid reached out to a new friend and got nothing back. I’ve searched high and low for that letter.
It’s gone. Of all my regrets, jobs, exes, missed chances, bad decisions, that one ranks with the worst. The thought of her checking the mail on the rare days it could get to that village, only to find nothing, just breaks my heart. .
When I was in fourth grade, I was walking home with two friends when I saw a bunch of kids playing in fresh asphalt, leaving footprints all over it. For some reason I went up and told the oldest girl, “Why are you ruining this? People worked hard on this and it costs money. Stop.
” She said, “Shut up, you fat loser,” and kept going. I wasn’t even fat, but everyone laughed, including my friends. It was probably the first time I’d ever been laughed at, so I shoved her. She fell backward into another layer of fresh asphalt, which was extremely hot.
It was also hot outside, so she was in shorts and a t-shirt. I still see her standing up, screaming, smoke coming off her arms and legs covered in hot asphalt. Two adults started chasing me and I ran like crazy. I never knew what happened to her.
The only reason I shoved her was because she was younger and a girl, and I knew I had the advantage. I was a coward as a kid. I would never have done that to a guy my size. My friends stayed behind and claimed they didn’t know me, then later told me she was fine, just scared, with some mild burns.
But they were also in fourth grade, so what did they know? I still cringe thinking about it. I was at a restaurant with friends, on our way out, supposed to follow my friend because I didn’t know where we were going. He parked closer to the door than me and took off without waiting like a jerk.
I panicked. No cell phone back then, no idea even which turn to take out of the parking lot. I ran to my car, gunned it, and in my haste scraped the entire side of the car parked next to me. The worst part: the owner was sitting in it when it happened.
I was so desperate to catch my friend, now out of sight, that I made the horrible call to speed off and pray he didn’t catch my plate number. Another friend who witnessed it told me later the guy was livid, yelling at the top of his lungs, making threats. I never got in trouble for it, which somehow makes it worse. .
My best friend at the time was dating my high school sweetheart, living with her. He had anger issues, always had. One day he got so mad at her that he assaulted her and seriously injured her face. She ended up with a plate surgically installed in her face.
In the aftermath, over the next year, she and I got back together, eventually married, moved into an apartment. Turns out my ex best friend worked right around the corner from us. My wife was understandably upset. Our neighbors turned out to be ex-Crips from Detroit who moved here to get away from gang life.
They were pretty cool, and we hung out sometimes. One night her facial injury came up. Once they found out the guy worked around the corner, they decided on their own justice. We followed them down there.
He was closing by himself. We hid across the street and watched them wait for him, confront him, and beat him mercilessly. I knew they had fist packs. He wasn’t moving much when they left.
We didn’t stay to find out more. We moved away from those neighbors shortly after. I’ve never told anyone, and I’ve also never felt guilty about it
. In kindergarten, there was a little blonde brat named Heather.
She always played tricks on me: pulling my chair out, scribbling black crayon all over my princess coloring book, putting gum in my desk. Then she pretended to be my BFF, couldn’t get enough of me. I got sick of it after months. One day during arts and crafts, I told her I wanted to braid her hair.
She bought it. I put her hair in a ponytail and picked up the safety scissors. I hacked away slowly, making it seem like tugging a braid, saying, “Ooh, it looks good. ” When I finished cutting the whole thing off, I dropped the hunk of hair, seven to ten inches long, in front of her and ran.
The screams didn’t stop. Don’t mess with my princess coloring book, Heather, especially before picture day
. My mom always told me this story before dances or gatherings to remind me not to be mean, because it takes courage for guys to approach you. In high school, she wasn’t popular at all, the only Mexican in an all-white school, chunky.
But one skinny, scrawny, nerdy kid was always begging to go out with her. One day she got so annoyed she said yes to a dance with him. Afterward, she didn’t want to go. When he came to pick her up, all dressed up with flowers, she hid in the bushes.
Her mom didn’t know where she was, so she told him she wasn’t there. She said the sheer sadness on his face as he walked back to his car haunts her to this day
. In middle school, we had an annual contest to design the yearbook cover. I went to submit mine and saw the latest entry sitting on top.
It was awesome, no way mine would win. Jealous, I swiped it, filled in part of the signature to make it look like it belonged, signed it myself, and turned it in as my own. A couple teachers complimented me. Then it hit me: if that cover won, the original artist would know.
I went back the next day and said I wanted to make changes. I never turned anything back in. Some other lame cover won. The one I tried to steal was way better.
In fifth grade, I defeated my nemesis and utterly ruined the rest of his life. The guy wasn’t that bad in hindsight. I was a huge jerk. He was this kid nobody liked because he was weird, but in that gifted class, everyone was weird by normal standards.
You had to be special, and he was quite special. He hung around me because I tried being nice, felt bad for him, let him sit with me at lunch sometimes. Every time I immediately regretted it. He became convinced we were best buds and kept following me around.
I grew to loathe him, but I’m bad with confrontation, didn’t know how to get rid of him. . Then a bunch of elements lined up perfectly. I showed up to school an hour early every day because my parents had to leave for work.
I’d help our teacher set up. She trusted me to do it alone while she made copies. Then our regular teacher got pregnant and we got a substitute, one of those aggressively controlling, mean-spirited types clearly not cut out for the job. We all hated her.
Valentine’s Day rolled around. She joked she liked chocolate if anyone wanted to give her one. My young mind started working. My mom had had my sister a few months earlier and had issues with constipation.
We had laxatives around the house. My dad had gotten my mom a heart-shaped box of chocolates, which we devoured. I had an empty box and a box of chocolate laxatives. I put the laxatives in the box, put the ribbon back on best I could, ended up taping it, and before class, while she was out, left it on her desk, signed, “Your students.
” Class started. She was so happy. I would have felt bad if I hadn’t been so nervous. As soon as she walked in, I got cold feet, but too late.
She opened it and devoured most right there. About an hour later, she started looking uncomfortable. Then she let out a massive fart, among other things. It sounded like a soaked towel hitting tile.
She ran out, moaning, having a terrible accident in her pants. Worst smell I’ve ever encountered, like a methane leak. Kids who weren’t laughing were running out to escape the mess on the floor. I was terrified.
I expected her to be stuck in the bathroom for hours like in the movies, not erupt like a digestive disaster. Giving someone laxatives without them knowing is technically poisoning. It got worse when we found out she had to go to the hospital. I was in deep trouble, knew it.
. The next day I got called out of class. We had a sub for our sub. I was terrified.
They know it was me. They’re calling me in to suspend me. I walked into the principal’s office ready to face it. The principal smiled, offered me a soda, asked if I’d seen anyone with that box of chocolates.
They didn’t suspect me in the least. I’d never been in real trouble, was such a perfect little kiss-up that it never crossed their minds. But if I couldn’t provide a scapegoat, suspicion might turn to me. I gave them the name of my nemesis.
Got someone I hated in trouble for something that should have been my fault. Two birds, one stone. . .
Long story short, he got expelled. That was the end of it until I met up with an old friend a few years ago. I’d moved away not long after sixth grade and mostly forgotten. He told me nemesis had come back to school after a few years, covered in piercings, struggling with addiction.
When he got expelled, he had to change districts, which meant his dad had to live separately to keep his job. They eventually divorced. Nemesis fell into addiction. I don’t know that I caused his parents’ divorce.
I can’t say I was the root of his addiction. But I also can’t say I didn’t help push him there. I’m a jerk and deserve what I’ve got coming. .
I had a best friend of about ten years, the best friend anybody could ask for. Supported me through everything, endless sleepovers, access to all the food in his house, constant gaming, bro stuff. At the peak of our friendship, he started dating this girl in our friend group. Total babe.
They dated about a year, maybe more, but her parents were overprotective and they had a nasty breakup. She and I had been friends for a while before them, even more so after because of how much we all hung out. After the breakup, she turned her attention toward me. I figured she needed a shoulder, but we started hanging out alone, then cuddling.
My buddy only wanted me to be a bro, but I was blinded. He’d call or text and I’d blow him off completely. Within a short time, this chick and I hooked up multiple times. That didn’t really matter.
My friend was in a state he’d never encountered, not exactly heartbreak but close, and he needed me. But all I could do was hook up with the girl he cared so much for. Needless to say, our friendship ended quickly. The girl and I never went anywhere.
She’s now dating another friend’s roommate. It’s been about three years, and I still can’t forgive myself. Maybe eventually I’ll get over it, but I think it’s a regret I’ll carry for the rest of my life
. When I was younger, I was playing outside with friends, throwing rocks, sword fights with sticks.
One of my friends turned to go home. I threw a stick at his back. I’ll never forget him turning just as it left my hand. It hit him right in the eye.
I can still see him running home with both hands over his eye. His mom came by; I got in huge trouble. He needed surgery on his eye. I’m shocked we weren’t sued.
I try not to do bad things, so it might not sound that bad, but I felt awful. On New Year’s Eve, two years ago, one of my girlfriend’s best friends wore a very revealing dress. She had a new boyfriend who wasn’t there. I was very drunk and commented her dress was a bit daring, asked if her boyfriend would approve.
I wasn’t careful how I said it. She took great offense and put a sweater on. The next day, my not so happy girlfriend told me this girl had very low self-esteem and some kind of eating disorder. Some of her guy friends confronted me that evening, one headbutted me.
I hit him back. My friends joined. We beat them pretty badly. They shouldn’t have attacked me, but I still felt bad for them, and for her.
That’s the worst thing I’ve done as an adult, I think. I don’t hate many people. I can count who I hate on one hand and still have fingers left. But every once in a while, someone comes into your life who deserves dealing with.
This guy deserved it all. I met him through a mutual friend, from day one we had problems. Lies, theft, backstabbing, general jerk behavior. I cut him out.
He didn’t stop trying to destroy anything he could get near, tried to turn my friends, family, co-workers against me. After a while, I ignored everything. Then he decided to move back in with his mother. He asked our mutual friend to forward his mail there.
That’s when I struck. He came from an extremely religious, uptight family. No drinking, drugs, smoking. I had newsletters and pamphlets from Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and several other groups sent to his mom’s house.
I even had a group that helps people come out to their families call his mom’s house and speak with her about him. I heard from our mutual friend that all his belongings were thrown away and his family cut him off. I haven’t heard anything about him since
. .
Early in my first semester of college, some girl thought it would be funny to switch my drying laundry with her wet sheets. Judging by pink, frilly sheets, I assume it was a girl. She could dry her stuff without paying. The only issue, I came down fifteen minutes after starting my load to grab my forgotten soda.
I found my wet clothes on the floor. I put my laundry back in the machine, put her sheets in the garbage, and dumped my Coke all over them. Don’t mess with my laundry. Not me, but my mother.
I have two sisters, none of us look alike. I never thought about it until my daddy caught my mom cheating. I was about ten. After that, I guess my dad put two and two together.
He found out we all have different biological fathers, and my daddy didn’t father any of us because he’s been sterile the whole time. It really messed up our family for a while, created a stay-together-for-the-kids situation, which sucked. My daddy is a great guy and their relationship is pretty happy now. But I know for a fact she’s never stopped cheating.
It’s really sad. He deserves so much better. I can’t imagine what it’ll do to him if he catches her again. I often hope he knows and they’ve just chosen an open relationship, but I can’t bring myself to tell him.
If he doesn’t know, I hope he lives blissfully unaware until they grow old and she stops. But she’s still pretty young. She’s done plenty of other awful stuff.
But cheating through a whole twenty-year marriage and having all your kids with different fathers takes the cake.