When I politely asked my neighbor to stop sunbathing in bikinis in front of my teenage son’s window, she retaliated by planting a filthy toilet on my lawn with a sign: “FLUSH YOUR OPINION HERE!” I was livid, but karma delivered the perfect revenge.
I should’ve known trouble was brewing when Shannon moved in next door and immediately painted her house purple, then orange, and then blue. But I’m a firm believer in living and letting live. That was right up until she started hosting bikini sunbathing spectacles right outside my 15-year-old son’s window.
A woman lying on a lounger | Source: Pexels
“Mom!” my son Jake burst into the kitchen one morning, his face redder than the tomatoes I was slicing for lunch. “Can you… um… do something about that? Outside my window?”
I marched to his room and peered out the window. There was Shannon, sprawled out on a leopard-print lounger, wearing the tiniest bikinis that could generously be called dental floss with sequins.
“Just keep your blinds closed, honey,” I said, trying to sound casual while my mind raced.
A woman opening curtains | Source: Pexels
“But I can’t even open them to get fresh air anymore!” Jake slumped against the bed.
“This is so weird. Tommy came over to study yesterday, and he walked into my room and just froze. Like, mouth open, eyes bulging, full system shutdown. His mom probably won’t let him come back!”
I sighed, closing the blinds. “Has she been out there like that every day?”
“Every. Single. Day. Mom, I’m dying. I can’t live like this. I’m going to have to become a mole person and live in the basement. Do we have Wi-Fi down there?”
A teenage boy frowning | Source: Midjourney
After a week of watching my teenage son practically parkour around his room to avoid glimpsing our exhibitionist neighbor, I decided to have a friendly chat with Shannon.
I usually mind my own business when it comes to what people do in their yards, but Shannon’s idea of ‘sunbathing’ was more like a public performance.
She’d lounge around in the skimpiest of bikinis, sometimes even going topless, and there was no way to miss her every time we stood near Jake’s window.
A woman sunbathing | Source: Pexels
“Hey, Shannon,” I called out, aiming for that sweet spot between ‘friendly neighbor’ and ‘concerned parent’ tone of voice. “Got a minute?”
She lowered her oversized sunglasses, the ones that made her look like a bedazzled praying mantis. “Renee! Come to borrow some tanning oil? I just got this amazing coconut one. Makes you smell like a tropical vacation and poor life choices.”
“Actually, I wanted to talk about your sunbathing spot. See, it’s right in front of my son Jake’s window, and he’s 15, and—”
“Oh. My. God.” Shannon sat up, her face splitting into an unnervingly wide grin. “Are you seriously trying to police where I can get my vitamin D? In my own yard?”
A furious woman | Source: Midjourney
“That’s not what I—”
“Listen, sweetie,” she cut me off, examining her hot pink nails like they held the secrets to the universe. “If your kid can’t handle seeing a confident woman living her best life, maybe you should invest in better blinds. Or therapy. Or both. I know this amazing life coach who could help him overcome his repression. She specializes in aura cleansing and interpretive dance.”
“Shannon, please. I’m just asking if you could maybe move your chair literally anywhere else in your yard. You have two acres!”
A startled woman covering her mouth | Source: Pexels
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, then reached for her phone. “Let me check my schedule. Oh, look at that! I’m booked solid with not caring about your opinion until… forever.”
I retreated, wondering if I’d somehow stumbled into an episode of “Neighbors Gone Wild.” But Shannon wasn’t done with me yet. Not by a long shot.
Two days later, I opened my front door to grab the newspaper and stopped dead in my tracks.
There, proudly displayed in the middle of my perfectly manicured lawn, was a toilet bowl. Not just any toilet. It was an old, filthy, tetanus-inducing throne, complete with a handwritten sign that read: “FLUSH YOUR OPINION HERE!”
I knew it was Shannon’s handiwork.
A toilet with a sign installed on the lawn | Source: Midjourney
“What do you think of my art installation?” her voice floated over from her yard. She was perched on her lounger, looking like a very smug, very underdressed cat.
“I call it ‘Modern Suburban Discourse.’ The local art gallery already wants to feature it in their ‘Found Objects’ exhibition!” she laughed.
“Are you kidding me?” I gestured at the porcelain monstrosity. “This is vandalism!”
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
“No, honey, this is self-expression. Like my sunbathing. But since you’re so interested in giving opinions about what people do on their property, I thought I’d give you a proper place to put them.”
I stood there on my lawn, staring at Shannon cackling like a hyena, and something inside me just clicked.
You know that moment when you realize you’re playing chess with a pigeon? The bird’s just going to knock over all the pieces, strut around like it won, and leave droppings everywhere. That was Shannon.
I crossed my arms and sighed. Sometimes the best revenge is just sitting back and watching karma do its thing.
A woman laughing | Source: Midjourney
The weeks that followed tested my patience. Shannon turned her yard into what I can only describe as a one-woman Woodstock. The sunbathing continued, now with an added commentary track.
she invited friends, and her parties rattled windows three houses down, complete with karaoke renditions of “I Will Survive” at 3 a.m. She even started a “meditation drum circle” that sounded more like a herd of caffeinated elephants learning to Riverdance.
Through it all, I smiled and waved. Because here’s the thing about people like Shannon — they’re so busy writing their own drama that they never see the plot twist coming.
And oh boy, what a twist it was.
People at a party | Source: Unsplash
It was a pleasant Saturday. I was baking cookies when I heard sirens. I stepped onto my porch just in time to see a fire truck screech to a halt in front of my house.
“Ma’am,” a firefighter approached me, looking confused. “We received a report about a sewage leak?”
Before I could respond, Shannon appeared, wearing a concerned citizen face that deserved an Oscar. “Yes, officer! That toilet over there… it’s a health hazard! I’ve seen things… terrible things… leaking! The children, won’t someone think of the children?”
A firefighter holding a fire extinguisher | Source: Pexels
The firefighter looked at the bone-dry decorative toilet, then at Shannon, then back at the toilet. His expression suggested he was questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.
“Ma’am, making false emergency reports is a crime. This is clearly a lawn ornament,” he paused, probably wondering why he had to say a phrase like that as part of his job.
“A dry lawn ornament. And I’m a firefighter, not a health inspector.”
A firefighter staring at someone | Source: Pexels
Shannon’s face fell faster than her sunscreen coverage rating. “But the aesthetic pollution! The visual contamination!”
“Ma’am, we don’t respond to aesthetic emergencies, and pranks are definitely not something we respond to.”
With that, the firefighters left the property, but karma wasn’t finished with Shannon. Not by a long shot.
An angry woman gritting her teeth | Source: Midjourney
The fire truck drama barely slowed her down. If anything, it inspired her to reach new heights. Literally.
One scorching afternoon, I spotted Shannon hauling her leopard-print lounger up a ladder to her garage roof. And there she was, perched up high like some sort of sunbathing gargoyle, armed with a reflective tanning sheet and what looked like an industrial-sized margarita.
I was in my kitchen, elbow-deep in dinner dishes, and wondering if this was the universe’s way of testing my blood pressure when the sound of chaos erupted outside.
Close-up of a woman sunbathing | Source: Pexels
I heard a splash and a screech that sounded like a cat in a washing machine. I rushed outside to find Shannon face-down in her prized petunias, covered from head to toe in mud.
Turned out that her new rooftop sunbathing spot had met its match — her malfunctioning sprinkler system.
Our neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, dropped her gardening shears. “Good Lord! Shannon, are you trying to recreate Baywatch? Because I think you missed the beach part. And the running part. And the… well… every part.”
Shannon scrambled up, caked in mud. Her designer bikini was now accessorized with grass stains and what appeared to be a very surprised earthworm.
A shocked woman with mud on her face | Source: Midjourney
Following the incident, Shannon was as quiet as a church mouse. She stopped sunbathing in front of Jake’s window, and the dirty toilet bowl on my lawn disappeared faster than a magician’s rabbit.
Shannon invested in a privacy fence around her backyard, and our long suburban nightmare was over.
“Mom,” Jake said at breakfast the next morning, cautiously raising his blinds, “is it safe to come out of witness protection now?”
I smiled, sliding him a plate of pancakes. “Yeah, honey. I think the show’s been canceled. Permanently.”
A teenage boy smiling | Source: Midjourney
“Thank god,” he muttered, then grinned. “Though I kind of miss the toilet. It was weirdly starting to grow on me. Like a really ugly lawn gnome.”
“Don’t even joke about that. Eat your pancakes before she decides to install a whole bathroom set!” I said, sharing a hearty laugh with my son as we looked at the wall around Shannon’s yard.
Window view of an empty yard | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
I Overslept on the Morning of My Crucial College Entrance Exams Because Someone Turned off My Alarm
The morning of my medical college entrance exam I woke up late to find all my alarms mysteriously turned off. As I raced against time, my 8-year-old brother stepped in with a plan that would save everything.
Ever since I was little, I dreamed of becoming a doctor. When my mom died of cancer, that dream only grew stronger. I wanted to help people like her, to understand the disease that had taken her and to help others fight it.
A dreaming woman | Source: Pexels
I worked for this moment for years, through late nights, countless books, and more exams than I could count. Today, all that work was about to pay off: it was finally the day of my medical entrance exam.
Last night, I did everything to make sure I wouldn’t oversleep. I set three alarms on my phone—6:00 a.m., 6:15 a.m., and 6:30 a.m. I even left my curtains open so that the sunlight would wake me up. As I lay in bed, I thought of my mom, promising myself I’d make her proud.
A sleeping woman | Source: Pexels
When I opened my eyes the next morning, something felt wrong. It was dark, too dark. I reached for my phone, and my heart stopped—9:55 a.m. My exam started at 10:00.
“No, no, no! This can’t be happening!” I threw my blankets off and grabbed my phone. All three alarms were turned off.
“I know I set these!” I muttered, my hands shaking as I got dressed in record time. My mind raced with questions. How did this happen?
A shocked woman in her bed | Source: Pexels
I bolted down the stairs, half-dressed, my hair flying everywhere. “Linda!” I called out, desperately looking for my stepmom. “Linda, please! I need a ride to the college. My exam is in five minutes!”
She was in the kitchen, sipping her coffee calmly, her eyes following me with a look I couldn’t quite place. She raised an eyebrow, giving me a look that was as cold as her coffee cup was hot.
A woman sipping coffee | Source: Pexels
“You’re late already,” she said flatly. “Maybe next time, you should learn to set an alarm properly.”
“I did set them!” I almost shouted, feeling the sting of frustration and panic in my voice. “I triple-checked. They were on, all three of them.”
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
She shrugged, a slight smirk on her lips. “Clearly, you didn’t. Maybe this is a sign that you’re not cut out for med school, hmm? If you can’t even manage to wake up on time, how will you handle something serious, like a patient?”
I stood there, feeling my face grow hot, my mind swirling with disbelief and desperation. This couldn’t be real. My stepmom wouldn’t do this to me, would she?
An angry woman in a red T-shirt | Source: Pexels
I turned toward the door, knowing I’d never make it on foot but feeling I had to try. Just as I reached for the handle, I heard a small voice behind me.
“I know who did it,” my little brother Jason said, his voice shaking with nervousness but his eyes steady.
I turned, confused. “Jason, what are you talking about?”
A young boy | Source: Pexels
He took a small step forward, looking at Linda cautiously. “I saw her. Last night. She turned off your alarms, Emily.”
Linda shot him a sharp look. “Jason, stop making up stories,” she hissed.
Jason gulped but didn’t back down. “I’m not lying! I saw you go into her room, pick up her phone, and turn off the alarms. You said she didn’t need to be at that stupid exam anyway.”
A serious boy | Source: Pexels
My mind was spinning. I looked at Linda, searching her face for denial, for any sign she’d say it was a misunderstanding. But she just sighed, crossing her arms.
“You know what, Emily?” she said coolly, her voice hardening. “Fine. Yes, I did it. You’re not fit to be a doctor. It’s a waste of time, energy, and, frankly, a lot of money that your dad could spend on something worthwhile.”
“Like… your beauty salon?” The words came out before I could stop them.
An angry middle-aged woman | Source: Freepik
Just as I was about to push past her and leave, I heard sirens in the distance, getting louder, heading toward our house.
Jason, now clutching my hand, gave me a small, hopeful smile. “Don’t worry, Em. I called for help.”
Linda’s face hardened as she looked at Jason, who stood at my side, clutching my hand. “You seriously did this?” she asked, barely able to form the words.
The police sirens | Source: Pexels
Jason’s small voice cut through the tension. “You are the bad guy, Linda,” he said, his eyes fierce despite his small frame. “Emily is going to be a doctor one day. Mom would be proud of her.”
Linda’s face twisted, and before she could say anything, the wailing sirens outside grew louder. I watched her look toward the window, her eyes widening with surprise.
The front door opened, and two police officers stepped inside. One of them, a tall, broad man, spoke with a calm authority. “Is everything alright here?”
A policeman on duty | Source: Pexels
Jason didn’t miss a beat. “I called you,” he said, standing tall despite his young age. “My sister needs to get to her entrance exam. Linda turned off her alarms so she’d miss it.”
The officer’s eyes moved to Linda, who immediately put on an innocent act. “This is absurd!” she scoffed, folding her arms. “They’re just children, making things up because they’re late.”
But the other officer, a woman with kind eyes, knelt down to Jason’s level. “You called us to help your sister?” she asked gently.
A serious policewoman | Source: Pexels
Jason nodded vigorously. “Yes. Emily studied so hard, and she was ready. Linda turned off her alarms so she’d miss her test.”
The officers exchanged a glance, then turned to me. “Is that true?” the male officer asked.
“Yes,” I whispered, feeling the weight of everything settle over me. “I have to get to my college right now, or I’ll lose my chance to take the exam.”
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
The officers nodded, exchanging another glance. “Alright, young lady,” the female officer said, standing up, “We’re going to get you there.”
Linda’s face contorted with disbelief. “Wait, you’re actually going to escort her?” she stammered, her voice full of frustration. “This is ridiculous!”
“It’s our job to help people,” the officer replied, coolly dismissing Linda. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
A serious policeman | Source: Pexels
I turned to Jason, who was smiling proudly, a little hero in his own right. “Thank you, Jason,” I whispered, hugging him tight. “You saved me.”
As I left with the officers, Linda’s face was a mix of fury and disbelief. The officers helped me into their squad car, and we sped down the road with the sirens blaring, weaving through traffic as we approached the college. My heart pounded in my chest, but this time, it was with determination.
A police car in the city | Source: Pexels
At the exam center, we pulled up just minutes before the doors were set to close. The officers stepped out with me, guiding me toward the entrance.
One of the proctors noticed us and approached, looking confused. “Ma’am, the exam is about to begin,” he said, glancing at the officers.
The policewoman explained quickly. “This young lady had her alarms sabotaged at home, but she’s here now. I understand if you can’t make exceptions, but if there’s any way she can sit for the exam…”
A policewoman talking | Source: Pexels
The proctor’s stern face softened as he listened. He looked me in the eyes, as if weighing my sincerity, then gave a brief nod. “Alright. Go on in.”
“Thank you,” I managed, barely believing I’d made it.
I found my seat, still rattled but refusing to let the morning’s events get the better of me. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and thought of my mom. This was my moment, and I wasn’t going to let anyone take it from me. I picked up my pencil and began the test.
A young woman writing an exam | Source: Pexels
Hours later, I walked out of the exam room, exhausted but relieved. The officers who had helped me were gone, but I felt their kindness in every step as I headed home. Jason was waiting on the front steps, and he jumped up as soon as he saw me.
“Did you do it?” he asked eagerly, his eyes bright with hope.
I nodded, a smile breaking out despite my exhaustion. “I did, thanks to you.”
A young smiling woman | Source: Freepik
He threw his arms around me. “I knew you could.”
Inside, my dad was waiting. His face was pale, his mouth set in a grim line. He’d been waiting for me to come home to hear everything. Jason took the lead, explaining every detail of what had happened while I was gone.
A smiling young boy | Source: Unsplash
My dad’s face grew red with anger, his eyes narrowing as he looked over at Linda, who was trying to look calm and unaffected. “Is this true?” he demanded, his voice trembling with restrained fury.
Linda’s eyes darted between us. “I… I was just trying to keep her from a mistake. I didn’t mean for it to go so far,” she mumbled, finally looking cornered.
“You sabotaged her dreams because of your own selfishness,” my dad said coldly. “You’re not staying here another night.”
An angry man | Source: Pexels
Linda’s face turned pale as she realized he was serious. She tried to protest, but he shook his head firmly. “Pack your things, Linda. This family deserves better than this.”
Jason and I stood by the door, watching as she finally left. There was no satisfaction in it, just a sense of justice and relief.
A woman looking through a gate | Source: Pexels
Liked this story? Consider checking out this one: I was heartbroken and furious when I discovered my mother-in-law Linda and her friends had devoured my $1000 wedding cake. I couldn’t believe they would ruin my special day on purpose, leaving only crumbs behind. Determined to teach my spiteful mother-in-law a lesson, I started plotting my revenge.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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