When I was in third grade, a new kid in school took a dislike towards me pretty quickly for some reason. Since he was mischievous, his elder sister paid a visit to our classroom whenever she could and asked his bench-mates to take care of him. The teacher eventually figured out that making him sit in a corner away from all the kids was good for everyone, which only encouraged him to focus on me even more. (That teacher needed to be banned!)

One Friday, my math teacher was acting monstrously toward every student that hadn’t learned their multiplication tables. So, she thought that locking him in the classroom after school would teach him a lesson! I know how crazy that sounds, but that’s actually what happened!

I hated that kid but not to the point that I wanted him to suffer. I waited until everyone left and informed his sister about it, as she always picked him up, and she knew that something was wrong when her brother was nowhere to be seen. The door was locked from the outside, so she was able to get him free.

That poor kid was terrified to death and I still remember his crying face. I am not completely selfless, as I did my fair share of complaining about that boy’s bullying to his sister. She told him that I was “off-limits” from then on. He actually used to look out for me when someone picked on me!

Sadly, the teacher walked away clean because we were children, and the parents didn’t want to make it even hard for the kid in school, but they told us to inform them if anything else happened in the class.

When I was around 12, I got rather depressed. One of the ways this showed was that at school I would walk into the classroom, sit down, cross my arms on my desk, rest my head on it with my eyes closed, and get up again when the bell rang for the next class.

Obviously, the teachers weren’t fans of this, but I was able to focus pretty well this way, got good grades, and wasn’t disruptive so most just ignored it. Some classmates found it extra fun to mess with me, though, stealing pens and doodling in my notebooks.

One time, the guy sitting next to me kept poking me with a pen. A few times, I cracked an eye and hissed, “Quit it!” at him.

After the fifth time I cracked an eye, I saw the teacher with her back to the class, grabbed my hardcover textbook from under my arms, and gave the guy a solid WHACK! on the head. In a flash, I was back in my regular position.

The hush told me that some classmates had seen it, but the teacher either missed it or accepted it.

One bully down, a few warned through the grapevine, and several more to go.

(I’m in middle school and I’m dealing with bullies. The ringleader has made it her mission to make my life miserable. My parents know and have contacted the principal several times. Unfortunately, it’s a very small private school, so not much is done. These kids are in all my classes, and there’s nowhere to move them or me. My homeroom teacher caught them at it one morning and has done her best to keep them away from me, but no other teacher has noticed. I’m on my way to science, and my main bully has come up behind me and is making loud, nasty comments. I stay quiet. I know from past experience that she wants me to react badly so she can go running to a teacher and claim that I “started it.” I notice that my science teacher is standing outside his classroom, watching, with a frown on his face. I enter the classroom. He stops my bully. Note: we’ve got a very strict dress code. One of the rules is that everyone’s uniform shirts must be tucked in. My bully’s shirt is not.)

Teacher: “Miss [Bully]. Forgetting something?”

Bully: “Huh?”

Teacher: “Dress code.”

Bully: “Oh, come on.”

Teacher: “Fix the shirt.”

Bully: “It’s always like this!”

Teacher: “And now you have a dress code and detention!”

Bully: *shrieks* “What?! That’s not fair!”

Teacher: “Keep running your mouth at people and I’ll give you another one!”

(She meekly accepts her detention slip and sits down. Her seat is always near mine. My teacher looks at my side of the room, makes a face, and claps his hands.)

Teacher: “Surprise! We’re moving seats!”

(Cue assorted groans from the class.)

Teacher: “Yeah, yeah. Change is good.”

(He moved everyone around. I was now seated at the back of the room. My bully and her friends were seated on the very front row, as far away from me as they could get. For the rest of the year, my science teacher stood outside his door and watched my class enter. I switched schools the next year. Years later, I realized that he’d figured out what was going on and was trying to help as best he could. For that, I’m thankful.)

(Back in the 90s, when I am a little kid, my dad’s house is at the end of a cul-de-sac. This means that most kids end up playing near my dad’s house to avoid traffic. My dad has no problem with this, and he even nicely set up a walking path through some nearby woods behind our house so the kids can safely explore nature. There is one boy, however, who is a complete neighborhood terrorist. He uproots the stepping stones from the nature path, and he steals from other kids. My dad, one of the most patient men in the world, ends up hating this boy because of it all. One day, I am riding my bike in loops down the street and back. The bully is playing with my basketball and my full-size basketball hoop right next to the house. I want to avoid him but I can’t, since he’s standing in my dad’s driveway to play. He sees me coming and tries to throw the basketball at me but fails to make me fall off my bike. In a rage, he runs over and shoves me off the bike and takes off with it. I grab the basketball and, despite my complete lack of sports prowess, manage to throw it right into the front wheel of the bike, which causes the bully to topple over the bars and smack his face on the road. My dad, who saw the whole thing from the backyard, catches up and grabs my bike and basketball.)

Dad: *to the bully, sternly* “Did you learn anything?”

(He had been sitting there dazed, but as soon as he gets an adult’s attention he starts sobbing dramatically without tears.)

Bully: “SHE HURT ME!”

Dad: “She wouldn’t have hurt you if you hadn’t hurt her first and tried to steal the bike. So, did you learn anything?”

(The bully keeps intentionally scream-sobbing for attention, even occasionally stopping to glance around to see if anyone else is coming.)

Dad: *sigh of frustration* “Shut up and go home. Now. You got what you asked for.”

(The bully sprints home. My dad does some yard work and I relax in our swing-bench. A short time later, the bully’s mom, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, stomps down the street in a thigh-length leopard-print silk bathrobe.) 

Bully’s Mom: *snaps fingers at my dad* “HEY! You need to deal with your f****** b****!”

Dad: *sets down the tools and turns to face her* “What did you call my daughter?”

Bully’s Mom: “I called her a f****** b****. The little whore hurt my kid and I want money to take him to see a doctor.”

Dad: *shrugs* “Only on one condition.”

Bully’s Mom: “And what is it?”

Dad: “You and your son have to replace everything he’s stolen or broken from the other kids around here. I know this includes one electric toy car, two model planes, several sports balls, a baseball bat, some action figures, and a telescope. Additionally, I want payment for the hours I’ve spent fixing the walking path after he’s torn it up. If I can get that, then we can talk about seeing a doctor for the singular scrape I saw on his chin.”

Bully’s Mom: *enraged* “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY SON–”

Dad: *calmly* “It’s not an accusation until I take the security camera footage to the cops. I have, on video, everything that happens on the walking path and in front of my house. I can do that if you’d like.”

(The mom raises her hand like she’s thinking of hitting him, but she stops herself and storms off. To no one’s great surprise, a police car comes and parks outside our house. The officer knocks on our door.) 

Dad: *while opening the door* “Hi, officer. I’d like to see about getting help returning some stolen items currently in the possession of the [Bully]’s household.”

Officer: “We can talk about that, but first I know your daughter hurt a boy today–”

(I am about half of the bully’s height and maybe a quarter of his weight.) 

Officer: *looking at me* “–but there must be some mistake about that. Moving on, then.”

(My dad gave a copy of the security footage of the thefts and destruction of property to the officer. The next day, several cops were at the bully’s house; they took the bully and his mom to the station. I never had to deal with the bully again, because he ended up being sent to live with his aunt in another city. It was discovered that the bully was stealing higher value toys and collectibles at his mother’s demand to fund her drug addiction. I was mad at the time that he never got punished, but today I just hope that the better environment made him learn how to be a good person. I’ve never managed to dunk the basketball or hit any other target intentionally before or after this singular stroke of karma.)

(I am working in customer service for a store that customers can order merchandise from. Everything is going well, and then I notice two women walk in. They are greeted by someone else and then I take another look. The younger one I recognize as being a bully in my elementary school! She bullied me a lot when I was going through a tough time. I couldn’t do much because she was two times my size in height and weight. We also played in a soccer league together, but we didn’t really interact much for some reason. I think it was because I avoided her. Anyway, I try to go hide in the back, but my boss gives me a look, so I end up taking their order.)

Old Bully: “Say… I know you from somewhere. You look familiar.”

Me: *playing dumb* “Oh, really? I don’t recall.”

Old Bully: “Did you live in [City]?”

Me: “Yes… when I was a kid.”

Old Bully: “I knew it!” *turns to the other woman* “Ma, this is a girl I used to play soccer with.”

Bully’s Mom: *beaming* “Oh, how nice!”

Me: “Uh, I don’t remember. Anyway, back to your order…”

(Everything went smoothly with their order after that, and they left, giving me weird looks. I would’ve loved to say how horribly she bullied me but I felt like it was overkill with her lovely mom there. It’s funny how she remembers the soccer but not the classroom!)