I’m sure most of us have experienced the joy of being victimized at school by some big dickwad(s). I was not immune; and I am ashamed to say that when I found out that the bully, as an adult, died in a commercial airline crash, I said “All right! Awesome!”, and got some strange looks. However, if you’ve been there, you’ll understand.
How about it? Need to unload some bitterness? Here’s the place.
Hell yes, I can relate!
I remember a girl who used to make my life HELL my freshman year because I once complained in a note to my friend that she kept putting her feet on the back of my chair.
I was thrilled thus, when I found out in my senior year that everyone was making fun of her and making her run to the bathroom crying in one of her classes.
I was fortunate to be one of those invisible kids at school and never got picked on. I do remember one kid from grade school who had the real potential to be a big-time bully. He WAS big, much larger than the rest of us, and he DID pick on a few kids a few times. But I think someone got to him and said the right things because he turned into a pretty nice guy. (I also remember seeing him stuff an entire Twinkie into his mouth in one try and being very amazed at that.)
If I were picked on by a bully, I’d probably feel pretty good to see them get their comeuppance.
I think the biggest bullies I’ve run into are the last few months.
I have to agree with the general concept that somebody’s death could cheer you up, although the only ones I’ve known have been politicians I despised.
I was one of the lucky few to get up the nerve to confront mine. I shoved him through a bush. On top of that, I did it just as a really cute girl a liked came around the corner, and was somewhat frightened at first, but later impressed. Ahh for the joys of middle school… 
Ha! I came back from summer break about 3 inches taller, and with about 40 lbs more muscle! There are benefits to working in ditch digging!
Anyway, I picked on him in the hallway, and pushed him into a locker, and made him cry in front of a bunch of girls. Then I told him that I’d spank him next time I saw him, and that he should stay out of my way.
One of the bullies from my school was arrested at about age 25 for molesting kids at an elementary school. He was said to have incredible chemical imbalances and couldn’t tell right from wrong. And we just thought he was mean.
These 2 girls from 4th-6th grade, Bridgett and Lindsey. They made my life a living hell during those years, and always took some time to shove me, knee me in the pelvis, or verbally taunt me as many times as they could get away with. They even tripped me in a softball game (but I still made the run, damn it!) in P.E. class. GRrrr. They left me alone more after I took the 5th grade’s dodgeball and made the whole class go in for recess, though.
Grrr…
Justin Talley. Big ol’ shit loaf, he was. Him and Luke used to always shut off the lights in the locker room and rough me up a bit, I never really had the balls to fight back. I was a chubby kid, dorky, and an all around wuss. I had to have Jason protect me, since we were only in 9th grade, and Jason was already 6’2" and 250 lbs. Sadly, Jason moved away. The harassment finally stopped when I realized what a pussy Justin was, and that he had to rely on his lackeys for support. He also used to smack me in the back of the head with a textbook when the teacher wasn’t looking. I got him away from his worshippers one day in class, and tore into him, verbally, until he was nearly crying. He never really bothered me after that, and after he dropped out of school, Luke became a really nice guy, since he didn’t have an evil overlord anymore.
Jason Fox. Not the Jason in the first story. He used to pick on me on the bus. He would always slap me, and push me around, and kick me when I was walking down the aisle. One time he tried to smash me in the back of the head with a full pop can, but my older brother rode the bus that day for some reason, and when Jason raised his arm, Jacob thumped him in the head, hard, and told him if he fucked with me when HE was around, he’d get his short torn in half. After that, he resorted to more clandestine terrors. This kid was a real napoleon, shorter than everyone else, chubby, with a unibrow. Ugly little fucker. Finally, one day I was just sitting in my seat doing a slow boil, when we arrived at school. As I got off the bus, he was right behind me, and he tried to trip me. I spun around, stepped back, and swung with all my might. I missed his face and chipped his shoulder, and he came at me. I’m a pretty squirrely guy, so I slipped around him, headlocked him, and proceeded to hold him with one arm, and smash his face in with the other. He got 3 days OSS, I got one day ISS, and the principal said he didn’t know why I hadn’t done it earlier. Jason ended up moving to a nearby town, and I heard he had written, in paint, on his house, that Jason Fox RULZ!! Last I heard he was run over by a car, but then a few months later I saw him at a fair. Everyone was watching some kids fight, and I told him I thought he got run over and died. He says “naw, it just winged me a bit…” as he eyed me up and down. I was now 6’ and 150lbs, with a pretty good physique. He kept a close eye on me, he must have known I would smash his throat at the slightest provocation.
Charlie Villanueva. He used to harass me along with Jason, until he got in trouble and had to ride at the front of the bus. So it was sit in back, and be beaten by Jason, or sit in front and be beaten by Charlie. One day, after he was allowed to sit in back again, he kept leaning around the seat and punching me in the knee. His older brother said “Tim, I don’t know WHY you put up with this,” so the next time Charlie leaned around, I drew back and walloped him in the jaw. We both jumped up, he swung, I ducked, and pecked him in the lip again. Then the bus driver interrupted us, and since them, we’ve been friends. Not buddy buddy hang out friends, but nice to each other, chat at a party for 5 minutes type friends.
Ahh, the joys of going to a hick rural school, population 700, K-12.
–Tim
I tried my best to be invisible. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. I wasn’t treated as terribly as some kids were, but I got crap sometimes.
I remember one girl who just hated me in 7th grade. She was with her friends, and would come up and insult me. She was a weird girl, and uni-brow (later got her eyebrows plucked, but I knew there was a uni-brow under there.) Anyway, one day she comes up to me with her friends and says (in a cruel and triumphant tone) “I HATE you.” For whatever reason that day I had my wits about me. I just replied “I don’t care.” and walked on. She looked so crestfallen, and really didn’t bother me anymore. It was too easy, so I guess she wasn’t much of a bully.
In 8th Grade Math, these horrible boys sat behind me and tormented me. Stole my books, yanked my chair from underneath me (my tailbone hurt for days after I hit the ground with a smack) and were total assholes. They constantly said evil, vile sexual things about me. Bear in mind, I was a plain, not-well-dressed girl, so it was easy to find things to be cruel about. (But I also, as some guys would put it, had a “great rack”, so I sure that was a motivation behind some of the vile comments.) These guys were little asshole monsters, but very popular to most of the school. The teacher thought they were adorable as well. She looked the other way as they tormented me. I still do not feel like authority is worth the powder to blow it to hell in many schools. If teachers (“well-respected” teachers) can look the other way, and be enchanted with your tormentors, well…screw public schools. Oh. Right. I digress.
Anyway, my small comeuppance with these assholes: In 9th grade, I had developed quite a reputation for being a portrait artist. Was always sketching my classmates. (This was also a great tactic to get less abuse - if you had a unique “talent”, people tended to leave you alone.) Anyway, the school homecoming dance came up, and someone had the idea that all the portraits of the homecoming guys be drawn by me. All my tormentors (or most of them) were in this homecoming group. I did the portraits, making them less-than-flattering. Now, bear in mind, my talents were good, but I was just a 9th grader, so I was no Master Portrait artist or anything. But I did try to be unflattering. I remember, one of my tormentors had a slight wall eye. I made it worse. I went out of my WAY to make it worse, but I knew if I pushed it too far, it would be obvious. I guess I did a decent job, because everyone liked my portraits. They never caught on. (After all, I was a kid, and if in the drawing the guy’s eyes were a little too wall-eyed, well, I was 14 years old—what do you expect?) I got away with it. It really wasn’t much of a revenge, but it still helped.
In junior high school, three black girls absolutely hated me. The ringleader was Charmaine Woodruff. They used to surround me when I got off the bus in the morning and threaten to beat me up and “cut off my blonde hair.” Don’t know why they hated me so much.
We moved prior to my sophomore year in high school where I acquired a new bully in my junior year, Tammy Feagle. She thought I had gone out with her boyfriend (didn’t) and made my junior year hell. I heard she had cancer a couple of year’s ago. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person! I know that sounds heartless, but she was pure EVIL!
Ooooh…I remember one, Sean. In grade school, we both went to a Catholic school, and ended up in the same room in seventh grade. He would alternate between tormenting me and making me crack up laughing in class, getting us BOTH in trouble. EVERYONE used to tease him and tell him he liked me. (Don’t know if it was true.). Well, Sean came from divorced parents, was adopted, and had ADHD, as did I. Only in Sean’s case, he was aggressive and wild, whereas I was daydreamy and shy.
Anyhoo, seventh grade, he became out of control, and he was eventually expelled…hmmm…well, the last day he was there, he smacked me and my friend Kim each in the back of the head with a textbook, which hurt like hell. So I wrote a nasty poem about how he was leaving, and gave it to my teacher. (she actually LAUGHED!) Sean was in so much trouble he had to spend the rest of the day in the principal’s office. I remember him making the teacher cry, lose her temper, and SWEAR at him in class (when you go to Catholic school…) I remember him getting in trouble for pissing on the wall in the boy’s room.
Anyhoo, Sean left, and I later would see him come in to get meat for the pizza place he worked at when I worked at the grocery store, and he couldn’t have been nicer. When I first saw him I was like, Omigawd! You’re not going to hit me, are you? He laughed and said, no, I’ve grown up now.
He turned out to be a very nice guy, with a good sense of humor, and he’d always say hi to me when he came in to where I worked.
Sometimes what goes around does come around…
I very quiet and studious in high school; nevertheless there was a group of guys that picked on me whenever I failed to avoid them.
Some years after high school, the ringleader found the love of his life, the girl he would marry. He worshiped her and would do anything for her and the good wishes of her family.
She is my little sister. Snerk! He knows if she ever found how he treated me, she’d kill him! I’ll never tell. Too much fun watching him squirm.
Maybe it’s just 'cause I’m stressing today (workworkwork) but many of these stories are causing me pain. I wish I could find humor in my bully memories…
When I was in 8th grade, I got jumped on the way home from school by some pig of a girl named Michelle. I offended her, you see, when I said something like “Leave me alone, bitch!” after she yanked my skirt up on the street. So, she beat the crap out of me. We were directly across the street from the neighborhood high school at the time; a teacher on his way home tried to stop her, so her boyfriend went after him! I’m fuzzy on some details but I did get home (bus driver who knew me from my grade school days was going by at the time, and drove me home). My mom called my school and somehow the cops and the emergency room figured into it-- I think the vice-principal at the school may have told my mom to take me to the E.R. and call the police, but I’m not sure why. Michelle and her stupid boyfriend were both suspended briefly, and I believe the cops sent a guy to her house to scare her.
I wanted so bad to press charges but my parents evidently thought it would make it worse. And they may have been right, because for the rest of my 8th grade year, I was tormented by Michelle’s sub-human friend Stacey. How dare I stand up for myself in any way! I got Michelle suspended! Stacey and her idiot friends made me fear for my life. I was constantly looking for reasons to stay home, I was constantly feeling physically like hell because it was tearing me up-- for some reason I hid most of it from my parents, I guess I was afraid that having them involved would be like signing my own death warrant. I was absolutely terrified.
Stacey and Michelle were a year ahead of me so 9th grade wasn’t so bad-- though I did have some fear that we’d meet up again in high school, which in my home town means we moved to a different building in 10th grade. They seemed to disappear after that, however… I was once told that Michelle had gotten pregnant and dropped out. I hope that wasn’t true, though, because I can’t imagine her having the brains or compassion to raise a healthy, happy child.
Maybe I’m taking the topic too much to heart, but I can’t begin to describe how much I despise bullies. If there are medical reasons for behavioral problems, fine, I understand. But aside from that, few things would make me happier than seeing true, nasty bullies get what’s coming to them.
-There was a girl who used to pick on me. Meagan Turner, don’t know why I didn’t fight back, we were the same size, But I was too shy and she was really, really popular.
-A group of my so called “friends” wrote me a note in Junior High outlining 22 seperate reasons why they didn’t like me. They handed it to me after lunch and broke in to my locker during afternoon classes. I went home very upset. There my (st the time) much bigger and tougher ( and well known) sister and a bunch of her (scrappy)friends found out what had happend and called each one of the girls on the phone. They merely said, it’s nice to know five of you can pick on my little sister, we’ll see you tomorrow after school. Each one of those girls called me later scared to death my sis and her pals were serious. I let them sweat it out.
Last one, Basic training. Got in to an argument with the six other girls in my troop. One huge chickie, Jodi stepped up to me toe to toe and started yelling. I stood, looking UP at her and matched shout for shout. She backed down. I thought I was going to get my ass kicked. I mean she could have fallen on me and killed me.
Another vicious girl story-in 11th grade, some girl who was going out with an old boyfriend of mine decided she didn’t like me. She had her girlfriends torment me in the hall, call me names, etc. I stood up to them, called 'em names back. So she brings out the big guns. Some scummy chick that didn’t even go to our school, breathing alcohol fumes all over me, comes up and is going beat the living crap out of me. I give quarter, but I don’t get beat up, just humilated.
I hope that girl, whoever she is, is so miserable!! I hate her still to this day. I hope her husband beats her, that she is an alcoholic/junkie, lives in a hovel, her kids are crap.
I don’t hate people but I hate her. No, really.
So how about girls vs. guys as far as bullies? There seems to be a lot of horrid girls out there. In my opinion, nothing can compare with the viciousness of a teenage girl.
I’d hate to generalize, but does it seem to anyone else that girl bullies can be more hateful? Guy bullies just seem to have a “beat 'em up” urge and will redirect it if sufficiently challenged. Girls get more personal and can carry a grudge toward another individual for years. They fight meaner, too.
I had a girl bully keep it up toward me from grade school through high school. Yeah, I mean YOU, Sue Yano! Don’t know what her problem was – she was just sneeringly mean and insulting towards me whenever a teacher’s back was turned, and when she reached high school, she found a mean little toady to help her with her good work. I hope she picked on the wrong person eventually and got her clock cleaned. Obnoxious bitch.
Word on girl bullies. Girls can be mean as kitty litter to other girls.
I remember this bitch, Krissy, who lives in my neighborhood, picked on me for YEARS…once, to piss her off, I told another friend of her’s that Krissy was a slut. The reason I did this was because this girl had been MY friend then dropped me to hang out with Krissy who was a lot older than me…for three fucking YEARS Krissy harassmed me over one stupid comment when she herself had done much worse to me over the years.
Well, my friend Jill and her sister, Shannon, were sort of friends with Krissy. One day, Krissy was talking to Jill and told her to go and get me, because she wanted to appologize. Instead, when Jill brought me up, Krissy started in on me. I ran home crying…(I was fourteen…oh the horror! Oh the humiliation!) Well, when we got back to my house, Jill called her sister, and Shannon called up Krissy and told her to leave me the fuck alone.
I’m in! Though I am speaking for my whole neighborhood.
Stanley was 5 years older than everyone in our neighborhood and actually lived in a nearby trailer park. He was 15/16 and just loved to pick on us - all of us! - because we were so much smaller than him. Also, there were no other kids his age to keep him occupied - male or female - therefore he was an outsider, quite literally.
I remember him sitting on my chest, attempting to drop spit on my face. I was trying my damnest to break free - as much as an 80-lb, 10-yr old could from someone who weighed twice as much. Screaming for help. Eventually, he let me go. He never did spit on me but it still pissed me off! I always wanted to get my revenge.
This ritual was during Evel Knievel’s hey-day. We would build ramps and jump them with our bikes. One day Stanley thought he would 1-up us. He had a Suzuki motorcycle - a 175 something or other. We had this ramp made of a peach basket and a 4’x8’ sheet of plywood. Needless to say, it was pretty bouncey and we made some pretty far jumps - as far as our little legs would propel us.
Well, Stanley wanted to try this “new” ramp out on his motorcycle. Off he goes, probably doing about 25mph when he hits this ramp. The plywood bends and before he can get off the ramp, it propels him staight up in the air! He comes straight down, landing on his front wheel and flips over the handle bars! The bike follows. A mass of teenager and motorcycle tumbling down the street and eventually, rolling into a neighbor’s yard that would have made Evel smile! We all gravitate towards to see if he is still alive. A friend’s father comes running out of the house and picks up the motorcycle from the crumpled, broken body of Stanley. He then started screaming bloody-hell! “My arm! My arm!” He had a compound fracture of his right elbow. He face was all bloody - did I tell you he was NOT wearing a helmet? He had scrapes on both legs - did I tell you he was wearing shorts? He survived - DAMN!
Now, for the coupe-de-grace.
I used to work in a modular office (aka trailer) at a commercial warehouse development site. One day after Hurricane Floyd, we noticed this horrible odor whenever we stepped out doors. Come to find out, the men’s toilet was never plumbed! All of the sewage was going right on the ground! So, we called GE to send a guy out to fix this “gross” oversight. Who do they send? You guessed it! Stanley. At age 40, he is a plumber’s assistant. 25 years later, I recognize him immediately but I don’t say anything. I show him the problem and the task that lay ahead for him. Once he finishes the job, he changes his shirt and there is the confirmation. A scar from halfway up his bicep to halfway down his forearm. I asked him if his name was “Stanley”? He said, “Yes. How did you know?” I made up a lie and told him the foreman told me to give him this message.
I was beaming! There was Stanley, my childhood tormenter, covered in my shit!
There was a guy in my neighborhood named David. He was a preppy Army brat, while I was (and still am) a scruffy rock and roller. This guy decided he didn’t like me, for reasons still unknown, and tried more than once to kick my ass. Twice we got into it in school and were broken up by teachers. I didn’t mind that much. He, being much bigger, was kicking my ass. Then one day I’m out on my skateboard, doing rail slides on a high curb, when David drives by in his mom’s Suburban. He flipped me off, I flipped him off back and took off. He chased me–me on my Powell Peralta Tony Hawk and him behind the wheel of an 89 Chevy Suburban. I got away by diving into some bushes and going off road. Not long after that I joined a pickup football game in my neighborhood. He showed up and insisted on covering me when my team was on offense. I made him look silly; I burned him all day, as I caught six passes on him and ran three back for touchdowns. The last time he got pissed off, tackled me in the end zone and started punching me. That did it. The whole world receeded, and I went berserk. He pounded me pretty good, but I got a couple good shots in. The next day, I showed up at the bus stop with a shiner as well as an assortment of other bruises. That did it. He left me alone after that, presumably because it’s no fun when the person you’re picking on fights back.