“My dad had just lost his job, so we moved to a new, less expensive building. I was thrilled that we now had direct access to a courtyard and cement pathways that I could ride my bike on. While my parents were still unpacking, some of the kids from down the hall came to our door and asked if I wanted to ride bikes with them, which became our weekend routine for a while. It only stopped when an old lady from the same side of the hall made a complaint about us being in the courtyard. Not that we were being loud or vulgar, just that we were present. Mind you, all of the apartments on our side of the hall faced the road, which was completely opposite to the courtyard we used, so she couldn’t even see us when we were outside.
“She claimed that people had complained to her specifically, worried about walking in the courtyard while there were a couple of kids on bikes in the general area. My parents pretty much ignored her and just told me to play with my friends on one of the nearby streets, but none of us wanted to do that since we couldn’t practice bike tricks on the road.
“About a week after I ignored her complaint, I had stayed out past the time I was meant to be home, and left my bike around the side of the building so I could get it in the morning. However, as you might have guessed at this point, I woke up the next day to find my bike missing. I, being a dramatic little kid, ran up the stairs to our hall sobbing and told my parents what had happened. Apparently, the old lady told my parents that she had taken the bike from outside because we were still in the courtyard, and they were mad at me for not going to the street like they asked. They then told me to go down the hall and politely ask for the bike back, which I did. Unfortunately, the old lady told me that I needed to be taught a lesson, and if I gave her a written apology (yes, actually), I could have it back at the end of the week (it was Sunday morning). I was, of course, pissed and started to plot my at-the-time brilliant revenge.
“Next Saturday, I put my plan in motion. I had put on a pretty good show of being remorseful to my mom, who lent me some money to buy a tin of biscuits to apologize with. I had my written apology, the biscuits, and several voblas in a sandwich bag I had hidden in my coat. For those who have never heard of vobla, it is a salted, dried fish popular in Russia, and that I personally think is one of the worst smells maybe ever. My mom is Russian and loves them, which is why we had so many in the apartment. I knocked on the old lady’s door, and she invited me in to put the things down. She accepted my letter and the biscuits, and I asked her if I could use her bathroom before I left with my bike, which she allowed.
“While she was sitting in the living room, I was hustling quietly around her bathroom and bedroom, hiding one of those gross dried fish anywhere I thought she wouldn’t look regularly. I stuck them between pipes under the sink, under her giant wardrobe, and even the top shelf of her closet. With the all-natural stink bombs deployed, I washed my hands and all but sprinted out of her apartment with my bike, thrilled with the stunt I managed to pull off.
“From what I overheard, the old lady complained to the landlord about the ‘awful fish smell’ on several occasions before she finally hired a company to come deep-clean her apartment. She found and complained about the very old, very nasty fish, and actually moved out a couple of months later (although I’m not sure if that was due to the lasting effects of the fish incident or something else entirely). Of course, I feel bad about it now, but at the time, I felt like the biggest, coolest genius known to man.”
—u/real_mothra
Source: https://www.buzzfeed.com/angelicaamartinez/petty-neighbor-stories-reddit
