When an entitled jerk blocks Rook’s garage, throws a tantrum, and flicks a business card, things escalate fast. But instead of losing it, Rook stays quiet and clever. Revenge doesn’t always shout—sometimes it slips in through job applications and gentle, perfect chaos. One petty move lights the fuse for a masterclass in soft payback.
Our garage opens onto a narrow alley behind a little liquor store. If that sounds like trouble waiting to happen, it is. You’d be amazed how many people treat the garage door like a polite suggestion, parking square in front of it, hazards blinking, as if that makes everything okay.
We’d lived here five years. My fiancée, Lunet, and I usually stayed calm. But on this particular night? Calm had quietly walked out the door.
It started simply. Doesn’t it always?
Lunet and I had just picked up my mother-in-law, Orlin, from the train station. She was staying for the week—her first visit to our place. I was already nervous. Normally we’d book her a hotel, but Lunet wanted real time with her mom. I’d cleaned top to bottom. Lunet had set fresh flowers in every room. We were trying our very best.
We turned into the alley, and there it was: a car parked dead center in front of our garage, owning the space like it belonged there. No driver in sight.
I knew the car instantly.
I parked and let out a slow breath. All I wanted was to get inside, eat the pasta Lunet had made, and relax. I was tired.
“Of course it’s Cort,” I said quietly.
I’d met him at a holiday party. He’d cornered me by the coat rack, whiskey in hand, going on about “elevated spatial narratives.” Velvet blazer, dramatic pauses—the works. He talked about building a creative empire from his downtown studio (really just an overpriced desk in a shared loft with a logo and cold brew on tap). Big energy, small soul.
“Who’s Cort?” Orlin asked from the back seat.
“No,” I murmured. “Just… someone I know.”
Right then Cort strolled out of the liquor store like the alley was his personal runway, cracking open a can of hard seltzer. He took a slow sip, leaned against his hood, and flashed a lazy, smug smile.
“Heeey, Rook! Small world!”
I stepped out, keeping my voice low. Orlin was watching. Lunet looked tense.
“Hey, Cort,” I said, polite but firm. “You’re blocking our garage. Could you move, please?”
He lifted the can in a mock toast.
“Easy, Rook,” he said, stretching the word. “Give me a minute. Just finishing my drink.”
“It takes five seconds to pull forward. You can finish after.”
“Relax,” he drawled. “You don’t own the alley, man. I own my time.”
That landed wrong. Cort had a special talent for making your skin crawl without raising his voice. He was theatrical. Deliberate. I felt Orlin’s quiet attention from the back seat like gentle pressure.
“Cort,” I said again, softer but clearer. “Please move the car.”
He stepped closer. Too close.
“Or what, Rook?”
I didn’t move.
“Don’t do this,” I said.
“Do what?” he mocked, puffing up. “Scared? Look at you—so tame, so house-trained. Picking up mommy-in-law like a good little boy.”
Lunet opened her door, half-standing.
“Rook, let’s just call the police,” she said, calm but firm.
That’s when Cort shoved me; palms hard against my chest. “What’s your problem?” he barked, tossing the can to the ground, liquid fizzing across the concrete.
Lunet was already filming, phone steady. “Cort, back off right now!” she called.
I pulled out my phone too and dialed dispatch, calm as I could. Reported illegal parking, aggressive behavior, open container.
Cort lunged closer, shouting loud enough for the whole alley to hear.
“He’s attacking me!”
“I feel threatened!” he yelled.
I almost laughed at how quickly he flipped the script. Lunet’s camera never wavered. Orlin sat perfectly still in the car.
Police arrived in under five minutes. Cort’s whole demeanor switched; suddenly cool, hands in pockets.
“Officers, I was just about to leave,” he said smoothly. “This guy got hostile.”
We stayed quiet. Lunet played the video. Orlin confirmed everything. The car was clearly blocking private property.
One officer raised an eyebrow. The other just shook his head.
“Been drinking tonight, sir?”
“This?” Cort said, picking up the crushed can. “I… found it. Was going to recycle.”
They ran his info, issued warnings, and told him to move.
As Cort climbed in, he rolled the window down, smirked, and flicked something at my feet: a business card.
“Don’t forget who I am, Rook!” he shouted.
I picked it up. Matte black, embossed gold lettering. Over-the-top, self-important, and packed with every real contact he had. His mistake. He wanted the last word. He wanted to feel untouchable. But that card? He’d just handed me the quiet keys to his entire kingdom.
I said nothing to Lunet or Orlin. Smiled, carried bags inside, helped Orlin settle, laughed at the right moments while Lunet reheated pasta.
Later, after the apartment was asleep, I poured a small drink, opened my laptop, and began.
Every night that week, I applied for jobs as Cort. Dozens. Slow, deliberate, almost meditative. Gas stations, fast-food chains, overnight stocking, call centers, big-box retail—entry-level everything. I used his actual résumé, portfolio, answers—no lies, just perfect, gentle redirection.
“Why do you want to work here?” “I thrive in dynamic, people-focused environments and bring creative problem-solving to every task.”
Eighty-nine applications in total. I pictured him waking to a flood of emails: “Thank you for applying!” “We’d love to schedule an interview!” “Excited about your interest in our Team Member role!”
A month later, my mom laughed at Sunday roast.
“You remember Cort? My boss’s son?”
“How could I forget,” I said.
“He’s having a full meltdown. His mom says he’s getting job offers nonstop, places he’d never apply to. He thinks someone’s hacked his life.”
Inside, I smiled quietly. His empire went dark. Socials private. Portfolio offline. And I never breathed a word.
Some revenge shouts. Some revenge storms. Mine just clicked “submit” eighty-nine times, then went to bed.
Karma doesn’t always wear combat boots. Sometimes she’s barefoot, sipping cold coffee, and hitting send with a gentle, satisfied smile.