True revenge of the geeks stories

In My Humble Opinion
21

My best friend in 8th, 9th and 10th grade was named Summer. Summer had a full head of frizzy, out-of-control hair. She was also slightly chubby and was into drama and chorus and stuff like that. Kids at our school loved to make fun of her hair. They called her “Frizzo” or various versions of that. Summer tried and tried to do something with her hair, but it was tough. These were the “big bangs” days and she used a curling iron and flattening iron, but her hair still looked funny. The poor girl’s hair was the bain of her existence…little did she know it would be her best feature someday…

Ok back to the story. There was this snobby girl Michelle who lived in our neighborhood and we all rode the same school bus together. Michelle was one of Summer’s tormentors, constantly being a snotty bitch to her. We hated Michelle.

Well, revenge came 10 years later, at our 10-year high school reunion. Summer had changed A LOT. She was tall, thin, and tan. And her hair…it was beautiful. What we didn’t realize back then was that Summer had this thick curly hair that just wanted to be curly. It was the curling and straightening and brushing that made it frizzy. All it needed was some gel or mousse and it was gorgeous. She showed up to the reunion looking like a model, in a sexy little black dress, with her cute husband on her arm…

Summer and I were hanging out together at the reunion when Michelle showed up, still with that snotty smirk on her face. Michelle hadn’t improved with age like Summer had. Throughout the reunion, Michelle kept staring at Summer. Summer finally said that if she kept staring, she was going to go up to Michelle and say, “what the fuck is your problem?”

Well before she had the chance, Michelle came up to her and said, “Wow Summer, you look so beautiful! Your hair looks so good!” Summer said a nice thank you, turned her back and walked away…

It was sweet revenge for Summer. Also, many other people at the reunion were amazed at how beautiful she was and told her how much they loved her hair.

22

My soon-to-be-ex-wife (who is a lovely person, even if we didn’t turn out to be compatible as spouses) was a social outcast in high school. Her only male “friend” was the sort of person who would only spend time with her when nobody cool was watching. He acted as though hanging out with her was something he did “out of the goodness of his heart”, and constantly tried to demonstrate how superior he was to her in every way. Each time she expressed interest in a subject or activity, this loser (let’s call him shit-for-brains) would begin boasting about how amazingly knowledgeable/skillful he was in that particular area. Michelle, having no self-esteem and no notion that she deserved to be treated better, just went along with it all. The creepy thing is that shit-for-brains was obviously carrying a torch for her, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone. He exhibited his affection through controlling behavior. A wife-beater waiting to happen.

After their high school graduation, shit-for-brains left town and moved a couple hundred miles away. He did have a brother, though, who was about five steps higher on the evolutionary ladder. The brother once let Michelle know that Shit-for-brains was having really bad luck trying to get a date, but constantly stating that “if this next thing doesn’t work out, I can always go with Michelle – she’ll always be available.”

A few years after that, Michelle and I had the amusing experience of running into shit-for-brains while attending an SCA event. He approached her, said hello, and only then noticed that she about eight months pregnant. A look of utter rage crossed his face, and the only word he managed to get out was “who?” delivered in an icy tone. I stepped forward, took her hand, kissed her tenderly, and started to lead her away as if I had never even noticed shit-for-brains standing there. He gave an annoyed “ahem”, and Michelle, playing the part beautifully, stopped and said “Oh, I’m sorry. Dear, this is xxxxx. Xxxxx, this is my husband Kizarvexius.” Shit-for-brains was fairly tall, and accustomed to being physically intimidating to people he didn’t like. I was tall enough to look him in the eye, but about three times his width. I have a big frame with a lot of padding, which in court garb may easily be mistaken for muscle. I shot him an unimpressed glance, gave him a firm but not overly aggressive bone-cruncher handshake, and said, “oh yes – I’ve heard plenty about you.” Then pretended to forget he was even there. I gave Michelle another kiss and said, “His Excellency is asking for you, carrissima.” We walked off, arm-in-arm. I turned back to look and saw him still standing there, clenching his fists in utter rage. I dismissed him with a shrug and we walked away triumphantly. It took Michelle hours to stop giggling about the encounter. She’d been SO looking forward to showing shit-for-brains that she could find somebody better than him – someone who wouldn’t treat her like a doormat.

23

Michelle … El Paso? I wonder if her maiden name wasn’t a word for a particular color of untreated wood …

:slight_smile: That would be freaky.

No stories for me, just living well.

24

I was a hybrid geek/freak in high school in the 70’s. Glasses and a stack of books under my arm, but long hair and tye dye or heavy metal band tee shirts, and followed by a cloud of tobacco and pot odors. (“Dazed and Confuzed” was a pretty darn accurate portrayal of my high school years.)

I sat down on the first day of Geometry class in the 10th grade, right next to the sexiest, hottest blonde girl in the room. She had on a long-sleeve tee with the word “dancer” down one sleeve, and I worked up the nerve to ask her if she was a dancer.

And when she answered, she addressed me by name. She knew my name! She knew who I was… and I had no idea who she was. She smiled at me and honestly liked me… This was simply the most amazing, mind boggling thing to a little freak-slash-nerd like me. None of the pretty girls would even make eye contact with me.

It turned out that she remembered me from the 5th grade, at another school, when we had both been fat kids… And I was the only one that was nice to her that year. Everyone else made fun of her but I was nice to her. (And we were both in the gifted program.)

And between the 5th and 10th grades, we had both undergone growth spurts that had overtaken the excess weight we carried as pre-teens. And did I say she was a hottie? (Well, the word back then was “fox,” but you get the point.) She was the foxiest chick in the class of '80 at my school, and she looked old enough to buy beer and liquor.

So in the 10th grade we became best of friends and a few weeks later, she jumped my virgin little bones… she turned out to be more than just a little freaky herself – in both the 70’s and 90’s definitions of the term. And she took great pleasure in snubbing the jocks and preps that hit on her.

The day that following summer that my parents told me that our family had to move out of state was the saddest day of my life. I remember when I told her, “Bennie and the Jets” was playing on the radio… we cried. I missed her for years… she would never write back though… I think it hurt her too much.

25

Names have been changed to protect the innocent, guilty, and everyone in between.

26

At my dad’s school, everyone had the kind of school bag that you put with two handles over the shoulder. Some of the kids took to taking knives and grabbing the two handles together and cutting them so that the bag would fall off your shoulder and everything would fall out.

My dad and his best mate started reinforcing their bag handles with wire, but the bullies just moved to using boltcutters.

Finally, they had had enough. Dad, who was an electronis geek and cadet with the school’s army cadet corps got hold of about 15 20V batteries from radio transmission packs, and filled the bag with them, wired up the handles and put just enough insulation in so that you could put the bag on your shoulder without getting a shock.

When the bullies came along, they grabbed the two bag handles together and gave themselves a shock. Litterally. The way dad tells it, it was a couple of hundred volts and they had a bit of a burn on their hands for a while.

No one ever tried to cut their school bag handles again…

27

When I was 15 I played soccer in the 15 and younger league wanted to also play in the 16 and older league. I showed up at a game and asked to play and the coach put me in 10 minutes before the half. Apparently I made the grade because I played every minute of every game thereafter. During one of my first practices I had a run in with one of my new teammates. He tried to trip me up and I ended up dumping his ass on the field (something I picked up in the lower league). He jumped up and lunged at me and I grabbed him in mid-air and threw him on the ground in a perfect Judo throw. My meager year at Judo was not enough training to do this on a bet but for some reason it went off flawlessly. Needless to say the look on this older boys face was priceless. It was like getting beat up by mini-me. Again he got up and took a poke at me but was hesitant to fully engage in a fistfight (which I would have lost). We became good teammates after that.

Ah good times. Picture yourself at 15 playing in a tournament with all older people, and all you had to do was hold your hand up and a beer would fly onto the field with your name on it. Sigh… After practices we would pile into a van and go swimming in an old quarry. It was like living in a Huckleberry Fin novel.

28

After reading all youy stories and sleeping on it, I’ve decided to share my ‘revenge of the geek’ story. Yay me!

It was my sophmore year of high school and I had moved to a new school. New, as in 3,000-miles away from my old school. An actual, honest-to-Og fresh start. Only those of us who have been picked on all our lives by the same people, year after year, can truly understand the importance of this.

It was a very small and (apparently) tight-knit school. And there were cliques. I had never experienced teasing and torment from cliques before, only individual people. A new kind of torment, what fun! :rolleyes:

Determined as I was to make a good start, I kept a low profile. I was doomed. Everyone knew I was the new kid. Rumors were flying about me before I even opened my mouth. Nobody spoke to me. No one. I was tripped, snickered at, and written about on bathroom walls. Eventually I discovered the other outcasts and made a few friends.

The first day of my junior year, I was walking to class when the ‘popular’ girl clique surrounded me. I got into my defensive stance anf kept walking. To my great shock, they did not shove me around or put signs on my back. Instead they were honestly nice and talked to me as if we had been fast friends since before birth. They complimented me on my hair, asked if I was coming to a pool party that weekend, wanted to sit by me in class… ect.

I stopped walking and looked at them as if they had all grown three heads. Eventually they noticed that I wasn’t responding and just stood there, silent, awkwardly looking at me. I said, “Wait. I wasn’t worthy enough to socialize with all last year and now you want to be my friends? What makes you think that I wanted to talk to you?”

I walked away as they just stood there, silent and stunned. I kept my real friends and nobody messed with me since. I guess once they realized I had some respect for myself I wasn’t a fun target anymore. The looks on their faces still cracks me up.

29

My senior year I turned 18.

Through jr. High and the beginnings of High school I was the second most hated person at school. Guys that had wood shops made these wooden… things… with my name burned into them. They would come at me running full tilt and smack the back of my legs while I was lugging my backpack from class to class. This was just one of the myriad things that made Jr. High a miserable experience for me…

By the time my Jr. year rolled around, I had found a group of friends, and managed to make myself fairly popular with the underbelly of the school.

On my 18th birthday, I was absent. I was in Oakland, at the MEPS center trying to get into the Army.

While I was gone, a small host of my tormenters from years past had shown up at my hang out (the Little Theater… hehehe) throwing balls of clay and yelling my name. My friends informed them that I wasn’t there, but if they wanted me, I should be back tomorrow.

When I showed up at school I had a VERY well armed escort. When the guys saw about 15 people, several of whom were known to be armed by everyone, and myself just sitting there, staring at them, intent on killing at least one of them before they beat me unconscious… well, things got odd.

They left, and I’ve never had that problem since then.

30

Whoa, whoa, whoa there!! Stop the bus.

You can’t throw something like that out without expecting us to be a little curious. Can you tell us anything at all about it?

31

Qadgop works in a prison – I’m betting he’s taking the in-laws in for the fifty-cent tour or something like that.

32

And Mrs. Mercotan says I have to bring them back, too! :smack: