Read Sweet Revenge: 200 Delicious Ways to Get Your Own Back for Free Online Page A
Authors: Belinda Hadden, Amanda Christie
that this was not his idea. He had just joined the firm as articled clerk and his senior assistant solicitors devised a gentle revenge to put a rather tedious man in his place.
This fellow had never arrived late for work, neither had he been off sick in thirty years. He would arrive at the office at 9.26 a.m., remove his bowler hat and hang it on the rack. When he left at 5.31 p.m. it was on with the bowler and off into the night. The lads did some homework. They examined the hat, procured an identical one but a couple of sizes smaller and effected an exchange with that of their victim. He left that evening and was not seen the following day.
The boys in the office did not find out until later but the man was greatly puzzled and went to his doctor
who could not explain his incredible expanding head -perhaps it was the weather or maybe he needed a haircut? When he came back to the office he gave no clue of his trauma but was well teased about being off work.
Stage two was put into play. The small hat was replaced with one a couple of sizes larger than the original. He did not appear for work the next day either as he had by then been referred to a consultant. The lads returned the original hat thereafter, but safe in the knowledge that they had the other two should they ever need them again.
A woman who heard herself described as 'the office tart' by a clerk, tried to avenge the insult by poisoning his drink with typing correcting fluid. She poured the white liquid into a carton of milk left on the desk of Michael Cavendish. He was taken to hospital after drinking the milk but was not seriously harmed. She was lucky - she had thought it would make him 'a bit ill'. The court was told that a teaspoonful of the fluid, containing trichloroethane, is enough to kill.
'Some years ago - and in another life - I was features editor of the News of the World, when Derek Jameson was appointed editor. We did not get on. He, no doubt, found me insufferably arrogant. I found his Cockney yo-ho-ho bogus and irritating. After some weeks he called me in to review the workings of my department. It was not an easy discussion; he seemed to find many of my ideas inadequate for the great paper he intended to produce.
'Finally, he leaned over his desk and said in his best Bow Bells accent: "You know Rod, don't you, that I'm Britain's first psychic editor?"
' "No Derek," I replied calmly. "I had no idea you were so blessed."
' “Oh yes," he said, warming to his theme. "My Ellen (his wife) and I, we're both psychic. I can tell when things are going to happen. I knew I was going to get this job, 'cos I'm psychic, see? 'Course I got the timing wrong
- psychics do that -1 thought I was going to get it a year ago when it went to Asker. But I knew it was coming. What do you think of that?"
' "Very interesting," I said, as non-committally as possible. But all the time I was thinking: "Oh, no! I've just had a year working for a tricky editor. Now I've got a psychic one."
'He interrupted my reverie: "And, you know, Rod," he said, "being psychic, like I am, I can see us not getting on."
'I left the paper about a month later - and have not regretted it one bit since. Derek lasted a bit longer; but, in the end, the circulation continued to tumble and he, too, left suddenly.
'The day he went, I sent him a postcard. It was addressed to Derek Jameson (Britain's First Psychic Editor) and it said: "Pity you didn't see it coming." '
- with thanks to Rod Tyler.
A major TV executive summoned a junior editing hack and insisted that a particular current affairs programme, which had been transmitted very late the previous night, must be 're-edited' for a showing at the board meeting the following day. The young-but-enthusiastic editor protested, but was advised that, unless the major exec's will was followed, his neck would be on the line.
The programme had been broadcast 'live' and contained complicated errors involving high
This fellow had never arrived late for work, neither had he been off sick in thirty years. He would arrive at the office at 9.26 a.m., remove his bowler hat and hang it on the rack. When he left at 5.31 p.m. it was on with the bowler and off into the night. The lads did some homework. They examined the hat, procured an identical one but a couple of sizes smaller and effected an exchange with that of their victim. He left that evening and was not seen the following day.
The boys in the office did not find out until later but the man was greatly puzzled and went to his doctor
who could not explain his incredible expanding head -perhaps it was the weather or maybe he needed a haircut? When he came back to the office he gave no clue of his trauma but was well teased about being off work.
Stage two was put into play. The small hat was replaced with one a couple of sizes larger than the original. He did not appear for work the next day either as he had by then been referred to a consultant. The lads returned the original hat thereafter, but safe in the knowledge that they had the other two should they ever need them again.
A woman who heard herself described as 'the office tart' by a clerk, tried to avenge the insult by poisoning his drink with typing correcting fluid. She poured the white liquid into a carton of milk left on the desk of Michael Cavendish. He was taken to hospital after drinking the milk but was not seriously harmed. She was lucky - she had thought it would make him 'a bit ill'. The court was told that a teaspoonful of the fluid, containing trichloroethane, is enough to kill.
'Some years ago - and in another life - I was features editor of the News of the World, when Derek Jameson was appointed editor. We did not get on. He, no doubt, found me insufferably arrogant. I found his Cockney yo-ho-ho bogus and irritating. After some weeks he called me in to review the workings of my department. It was not an easy discussion; he seemed to find many of my ideas inadequate for the great paper he intended to produce.
'Finally, he leaned over his desk and said in his best Bow Bells accent: "You know Rod, don't you, that I'm Britain's first psychic editor?"
' "No Derek," I replied calmly. "I had no idea you were so blessed."
' “Oh yes," he said, warming to his theme. "My Ellen (his wife) and I, we're both psychic. I can tell when things are going to happen. I knew I was going to get this job, 'cos I'm psychic, see? 'Course I got the timing wrong
- psychics do that -1 thought I was going to get it a year ago when it went to Asker. But I knew it was coming. What do you think of that?"
' "Very interesting," I said, as non-committally as possible. But all the time I was thinking: "Oh, no! I've just had a year working for a tricky editor. Now I've got a psychic one."
'He interrupted my reverie: "And, you know, Rod," he said, "being psychic, like I am, I can see us not getting on."
'I left the paper about a month later - and have not regretted it one bit since. Derek lasted a bit longer; but, in the end, the circulation continued to tumble and he, too, left suddenly.
'The day he went, I sent him a postcard. It was addressed to Derek Jameson (Britain's First Psychic Editor) and it said: "Pity you didn't see it coming." '
- with thanks to Rod Tyler.
A major TV executive summoned a junior editing hack and insisted that a particular current affairs programme, which had been transmitted very late the previous night, must be 're-edited' for a showing at the board meeting the following day. The young-but-enthusiastic editor protested, but was advised that, unless the major exec's will was followed, his neck would be on the line.
The programme had been broadcast 'live' and contained complicated errors involving high
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