When my neighbor Jenna knocked on my door the night of her birthday party, I assumed she was inviting me over or at least offering a slice of cake. Instead, she asked if I could unlock my Wi-Fi so her guests could use it. I was taken aback it wasn’t exactly a normal request. I politely declined, assuming that would be the end of it. She frowned and walked away, and I figured that was that. But I was wrong.
Soon after, the party noise dropped, and my phone rang. A strange voice laughed in a foreign language before hanging up. I didn’t think much of it until the calls kept coming, one after another. Dozens of guests began calling me, each asking for Wi-Fi access, each in a different language. Confused and irritated, I tried to understand what was happening. Then came the final straw someone called and asked to use my bathroom. That’s when it hit me: Jenna had handed out my phone number without my permission, clearly hoping I’d give in under pressure.
Instead of caving, I chose to return the favor just with a twist. I posted in our local neighborhood group chat that Jenna had a cozy spare room available for rent at an unbelievable price. It was “first come, first served,” I wrote. The next few days, her phone didn’t stop ringing. She’d wanted to inconvenience me, and I made sure she got a taste of what that felt like on full blast.
Maybe it was a petty move, but it felt justified. Jenna crossed a major line by giving out my personal number and trying to manipulate me into doing her a favor. A simple “no” should’ve been enough. And while I don’t usually go looking for revenge, sometimes a little poetic justice is the only way to set the boundary loud and clear.
