An entitled man parked in front of our garage, sparked a fight, and flung his business card at me, thinking he’d won. But I turned his arrogance into a lesson, using his own card to create chaos and reclaim my power.
I’m Noah, and our garage opens to a cramped alley by a convenience store. People block it often, assuming flashing lights excuse them. My fiancée, Lily, and I usually stay calm, but one night pushed us. We’d fetched Lily’s mom, Grace, from the airport for her first stay. I’d tidied our place, and Lily arranged roses to welcome her. Exhausted, we craved Lily’s baked ziti, but a car blocked our garage. I recognized it as Ethan’s, a guy from a company event who boasted about his “creative studio”—a rented desk with a sign.
“Who’s Ethan?” Grace asked. “Nobody important,” I said. Ethan strutted out, sipping a canned cocktail, grinning. “Noah, what’s up?” he said, lounging on his car. I got out, staying polite. “Ethan, you’re blocking us. Can you move?” He smirked. “In a bit, chill.” I insisted, “It’s quick. Please.” He snapped, “I own my schedule.” His smugness stung, with Grace watching. Lily said, “Let’s call the cops.” Ethan nudged me, taunting, “Try me!”
I called 911, reporting his behavior and drink. Ethan shouted, “He’s threatening me!” acting for an invisible crowd. Lily recorded it. Police arrived, and Ethan played innocent, but the video, Grace’s words, and his drink betrayed him. He claimed he “found” the can, testing just below the legal limit. They warned him to leave. As he drove off, he tossed a sleek business card, yelling, “Know my name!” It listed his contact details and résumé, a bold move that backfired.
I hid my plan from Lily and Grace, eating dinner calmly. As a data analyst, I know how job systems work. Late at night, I used Ethan’s card to apply for jobs in his name—grocery stores, diners, call centers. I sent his résumé to 85 places, crafting answers to fit his style. I pictured him baffled by emails from recruiters. At a family barbecue, my sister said, “Ethan’s getting weird job calls—movie theaters, delis!” I shrugged, “Tech glitch, maybe.” His website soon disappeared, his profiles private.
Ethan thought his card proved superiority, but it handed me control. I felt no remorse—he ignored our stress, shoving me and lying to police. His card was meant to intimidate, but I turned it into his nightmare. I’d do it again, sipping coffee, clicking “submit” in pajamas. This wasn’t just revenge—it was empowerment, showing I could outsmart a bully without raising my voice.
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