I never imagined I’d be the kind of person to plot revenge against a roommate, but life has a funny way of surprising you. It all started about a year ago when Jenna and I moved into a charming little apartment downtown.
At first, everything was great. We split chores, had late-night movie binges, and even hit up bars on the weekends. But slowly, things started to unravel.
Jenna had this effortless way of getting people to do things for her. She’d ask with such guilt-laced sweetness that saying no felt like kicking a puppy.
It started off small.
“Hey Maya, can you grab some milk on your way back? I’ll Venmo you later,” she’d say. Sure. No problem.
But then things started to escalate.
See, Jenna had expensive tastes.
“Maya, could you get some of that aged truffle cheese? I need it for a study snack. I’ll pay you back, promise!” Spoiler: she never did.
At first, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She was always going on about her “intense study schedule” and being “chained to her desk.” But I knew the truth.
While I was out grinding away at my job, Jenna was home hosting get-togethers and lounging with her friends.
Then one night, after a long shift, I came home to find her curled up on the couch, phone in hand, like always.
Without even glancing up, she said, “Hey Maya, could you grab a few things for my party this weekend? You know—some nice cheese, fruits, wine, imported chocolates. The list is on the fridge.”
That was it. I stood there, keys still in hand, mentally exhausted and fed up.
“Sure, Jenna. I’ll get right on that,” I replied, my voice thick with sarcasm she didn’t even notice.
That’s when I decided I was done being taken for granted. If she wanted high-end, she was going to get my version of it.
I went shopping with her list in hand: premium wines, exotic fruits, gourmet cheese, and chocolates.
But instead of going upscale, I hit the bargain aisle.
First, the wine. I grabbed a dusty box of the cheapest stuff imaginable—the kind that tastes like regret and hangovers.
Then, the cheese. Bright orange processed slices. The kind toddlers get with crackers.
For fruit, I grabbed the blandest apples and bruised bananas I could find. And for chocolates? I found some off-brand bars that probably came from the discount bin.
I came home feeling wickedly satisfied. Jenna barely looked up when I walked in.
“Did you get everything?”
“Yep,” I said, placing the bags on the counter, trying to hide my smirk.
“Thanks, I’ll pay you back later,” she muttered.
“Sure,” I replied, heart pounding. The trap was set.
Party night arrived. Jenna was in her element, playing hostess, beaming with fake humility as she showed off her “fancy” spread to a room full of guests.
I leaned against the kitchen doorway, sipping a drink, waiting.
The moment of reckoning came fast. She poured the boxed wine, and her guests exchanged skeptical glances. One guy actually spat his sip back into his cup.
“Taste like vinegar,” he muttered.
Jenna’s smile froze. She grabbed the box, reading the label with horror.
“I… this can’t be right…”
Trying to recover, she moved on. “Let’s get into the cheese!”
She proudly peeled back the wrapper, only to reveal plastic-wrapped cheese slices. The room fell into awkward laughter.
“This is the gourmet cheese?” someone snorted.
Her face turned beet red. Still, she kept going. “Okay, chocolates then!”
The moment a guest bit into one of the cheap bars, they grimaced.
“This tastes like dust!”
The party deflated like a popped balloon. One by one, her guests found polite ways to bail.
I finally stepped forward.
“Wow, Jenna. Your party really is… unforgettable,” I said, not even hiding my amusement.
Jenna’s Perspective:
It’s strange how someone can flip the script on you when you least expect it.
Maya and I had been roommates for nearly a year. She seemed perfect at first—helpful, easygoing, always there when I needed something. And yeah, maybe I leaned on her too much.
I didn’t mean to take advantage. I was always going to pay her back. Eventually. I mean, a few bucks here and there didn’t seem like a big deal.
For my big party, I wanted everything to be flawless. I made a list—expensive cheeses, imported chocolates, premium wine, the works—and asked Maya to pick them up.
She didn’t look thrilled, but she agreed. I didn’t think twice about it.
But she definitely thought twice—because what she brought back wasn’t even close to what I asked for.
The wine was undrinkable. The cheese? Embarrassing. The chocolates? Honestly, I’m still not sure they were chocolate.
My party crashed and burned in record time.
I stood in the middle of the room, humiliated, while Maya leaned casually in the doorway, that smug look on her face.
When she said, “Everything okay?” I snapped.
“What the hell, Maya? You did this on purpose!”
She didn’t blink. “Oh, did I? Must’ve been a mix-up. But hey, just pay me back for what I did buy… whenever that day comes.”
Her words landed like a punch. I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. She was right. I owed her—money, time, respect.
I stormed to my room, slamming the door. But the silence that followed was worse than any fight.
The next few days, I avoided her. Too embarrassed, too angry. But as the days passed, guilt crept in and settled hard.
I realized I’d been using her. I never meant to, but I did. I took her kindness for granted and treated her like an unpaid errand runner.
The vibe in the apartment shifted. Maya didn’t need to yell or lecture—her message had been received loud and clear.
I stopped asking her for favors. Started shopping for myself. Started showing her respect.
We’re not as close now, but there’s a new kind of understanding. One built on boundaries. And honestly? I needed that wake-up call.
Sometimes, humiliation is the only thing that opens your eyes.
Maya taught me a lesson I won’t forget: people aren’t doormats. And if you treat them like one, eventually, they’ll stand up—and let you trip on your own mess.
