Getting Even Chapter 02

eZine lover (@eZine)

Published in 

Getting Even

 · 4 years ago

  

  ÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ» 
  º                             ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿                            º 
  º                             ³ ASSASSINATION ³                            º 
  º                             ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ                            º 
  ÈÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍͼ 

     Suppose you have a mark whose ill temper has created problems for you. 
Or perhaps this mark is simply an obnoxious nut whose obsessions have cost you 
personally.  A dentist I know spent many unselfish hours working to get 
flouride into his community's drinking water as a means of fighting tooth 
decay in children.  An apolitical and highly dedicated professional, he was 
concerned only with healthcare for the kids in the community.  A hyper, 
rightwing zealot jumped on the issue and scared the town council with his 
insane babble.  He claimed that flouride was a Communist plot to poison 
America's drinking water and minds and that using flouride would lead to LSD 
as part of the International Communist Conspiracy.  The timid council voted 
"no" on flouride. 

     Beside himself, the young dentist said he surely would like to get back 
at the rightwing firebrand but just didn't know what to do.  Sighing, he gave 
up his fight and put his time back into his practice.  The kids never got 
their flouride treatment, and as a result he had a lot of business.  It's too 
bad that young dentist never met Maurice Bishop. 

     In the hypocritical piety following the assassinations of the sixties, 
physical security was supposedly tightened to protect the chief executive 
chosen by the power brokers who now control the United States.  A former 
law-enforcement official with a probable intelligence background offered an 
astounding dirty trick related to this topic.  To protect this source's 
identity we'll use the cover name of Maurice Bishop. 

     Bishop says that the CIA, FBI and Secret Service all keep a list of nut 
cases, radicals, and others who threaten political figures.  Often, these 
people are jailed, kept under protective custody, or placed under 
twenty-four-hour surveillance by autorities when poltical targets are in the 
area.  Bishop's idea calls for theatening telegrams to be sent to the 
politician in the mark's name.  At the very least this telegram will bring a 
visit by one of the government agencies, and perhaps it will result in a bit 
of jail time if the mark loses his/her cool as a result of this dirty trick. 

     Bishop says this will also work with state officials, bringing a visit 
from state police or some other law enforcement official. 

  ÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ» 
  º                             ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿                             º 
  º                             ³ AUTO DEALERS ³                             º 
  º                             ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ                             º 
  ÈÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍͼ 

     If an automobile dealership screws you, on either the car, the deal, or 
the service, don't get angry--get even.  Wait outside the showroom until a 
prospective customer starts talking to a salesperson about the same type of 
car you got.  Walk right up to the customer and tell him you woeful story. 
The idea is to screw up as many sales as you can (it will cost the dealer at 
least $5000 for each screw-up).  Be factual, be cool, and act as if you're an 
honest citizen trying to save another honest citizen some money and heartache 
--as you wish someone had done for you.  Sincere good faith is the thing here, 
because the salesman is going to blow his about the second time you pull your 
act. 

     When the manager asks you to leave and you don't, he will probably call 
the police.  You had anticipated this earlier and alerted someone at the local 
newspaper or television station--probably the action-line reporters. 
Smalltown media usually won't allow reporters to come--car dealers buy lots of 
ads, and you don't.  A regional TV station may show up--if you promise a 
confrontation with the law.  So when the manager calls the police, you call 
your TV reporter--fun and games for the 6:00 P.M. news. 

     If all this doesn't work, wait off the dealer's premises and approach 
customers as they leave the showroom.  Tell your story there and then.  Offer 
to help them avoid your mistake.  But stay on public property.  And keep after 
the action-line reporters. 

     If you esculate the attack a bit, show up when the night salespeople are 
on duty--they won't recognize you.  Look at new cars; wander around.  Few 
salespeople pay much attention to an obvious gawker.  As soon as someone else 
or a telephone distracts the salesperson, you can do things to the automobile 
right there in the showroom.  A bottle opener is hard on the finish.  See the 
file on additives for things you could quickly put into the fuel tank.  If you 
could smuggle some in with you, stuff roadkill under a car seat or in the 
glove compartment.  Or toss a condom (preferably used) on the front seat.  By 
the way, used condoms make wonderful plants in other locations as well, like 
the boss's desk, or in a customer's car back in the service shop. 

     If you can manage to slip undetected into the service area along with 
your bag of sabotage goodies, such as glue, wire cutters, paint, potatoes, 
M80s, etc., you can run amok.  Work quietly and quickly.  This sort of 
guerrilla warfare can literally wreck a dealer's service reputation. 

  ÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ» 
  º                                 ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿                                º 
  º                                 ³ BANKS ³                                º 
  º                                 ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ                                º 
  ÈÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍͼ 

     It could be time to make your bankroll.  According to Townsend Alexander, 
our financial intelligence agent, you can make good money buying some very 
cheap foreign coins that are the same size as a quarters.  Get a paper coin 
wrapper.  Wrap a few real quarters on the ends but fill the rest of the roll 
with the cheapie import coins.  Wrap the roll and with felt-tip pen write some 
phony account number on it to add to authenticity. 

     Take the roll of coins into the targeted bank.  If you dress like a 
business person and go at a busy time, especially with the account number 
written on each roll, and the rolls in a bank sack or your briefcase, the 
teller will probably give you ten dollars per roll without checking. 

     If you could get a banker to tell the truth, he'd admit that they hate 
college-student checking accounts.  There's probably a lot of justification, 
since most services like this for college students cost far more than they're 
worth in return.  However, that's not our problem. 

     Suppose you have a gripe with the bank.  Acting as the bank's ad manager, 
get in touch with the student newspaper at the school and arrange to run some 
ads with banner headlines reading, STUDENTS WELCOME, plus such services as NO 
SERVICE CHARGE, FREE CUSTOM-PRINTED CHECKS, INTREST ON THE BALANCE, NO MINIMUM 
BALANCE, and so on.  Offer to give away free albums or Walkman radios.  The 
day after the "bank's" ad runs they will be swamped with unwanted students, 
who are going to be very angry at the bank (and probably at the student 
newspaper). 

     Modern banks now have cash machines where you insert your plastic money 
card and the machine gives you the money.  If that institution or its machine 
has become your target, here's a dairyland delight you could easily employ. 
Take some tough, hard cheese and cut it the same size and shape as your 
plastic card.  Insert the cheese "card" into the slot of the machine and leave 
the area.  One banker told me it took a service person nine hours to clean the 
machine and get it operating again when someone pulled this stunt in 
Baltimore. 

     The bank still giving you trouble, or you didn't give them enough?  It's 
time to move things up the scale a notch.  Rent a safe-deposit box under 
another name.  Pay cash for a three-month rental.  That's all the time you'll 
need to collect on this one.  Go to the market and buy a couple of overripe 
fish--I'm sure you'll get a bargain price.  Carry them wrapped in plastic in 
your briefcase.  Go directly to your safe deposit box.  In the privacy of the 
bank's little cubicle, unwrap the fish and lay the big, stinky suckers right 
in the safety deposit box.  Close it, lock it, and store it.  Then carry the 
fish wrappers, briefcase, and yourself out of the bank.  In a few days your 
deposit will gain their intrest.  You'd better do your real banking at another 
institution for a while.  It's quite possible bank officials will have to hire 
someone to drill the lock on the targeted safe-deposit box to remove the 
contents. 

  ÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ» 
  º                                ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿                                º 
  º                                ³ BIKERS ³                                º 
  º                                ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ                                º 
  ÈÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍͼ 

     You're walking along a pedestrian sidewalk, and along come a bicyclist, 
churning away his/her spare calories on that nonpolluting transportaion 
device.  Within moments you're an involuntary participant in a game of chicken 
with that cyclist, who swerves while you weave.  You finally pass each other 
in good dodgeum-car fashion.  Maybe.  Wonderful stuff, adrenaline. 

     On the other cheek, maybe you've been blindsided by an irresponsible 
cyclist trespassing on your pedestrian walk right of way. 

     "No more turning the other cheek," is the war cry of Mel Scafe, an 
anticyclist who is fighting back. 

     "I've declared war on all two wheelers who trespass into my life," Mel 
says.  "I'll get the senior citizen bicyclist who forces me off my sidewalk on 
the same day I get even with the teenage dirt biker who tears up the hill 
behind my home." 

     One of Mel's tatics is to toss a length of chain into the spokes of the 
dirt bike when it's roaring by.  Instantly, the bike stops going forward while 
the rider continues onward until gravity takes over. 

     "I've also used a wire cutter to snip the spokes on a bicycle whose owner 
has done me a disfavor," Mel relates.  "That'll cause a real collapse in his 
biking game." 

     Another time he spread a large patch of grease on the path used by dirt 
bikers. 

     He can't even estimate the pounds of air he's released from captivity in 
bike tires.  He's used all the nasty engine additives mentioned in another 
file for these machines that disturb his world. 

     "I liked that Burt Reynolds movie where the truck driver drove his rig 
over all those goddamn motorcycles," Mel grinned.  Turning seriously, he 
added, "I've thought about the old World War II trick of stretching piano or 
barbed wire across a trail or bikeway, but I think that could be fatal, so I 
don't really do it." 

     "If there were some way I could totally kill the damn machines and only 
embarrass the people a bit I'd surely like to hear about it.  Until then I 
will stick to the old standards that have worked for me so far." 

     He adds, "I know people may sneer at me for being mean to kiddies on 
their bicycles, and I know bicycles are an in thing today.  But maybe if those 
young riders learn some manners early and stay the hell off pesestrian 
walkways, they might grow up to be decent people." 

  ÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ» 
  º                                 ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿                                º 
  º                                 ³ BOOKS ³                                º 
  º                                 ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ                                º 
  ÈÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍͼ 

     Did anyone ever borrow a book from you and not return it?  Our private 
library consultant, Roberta Russell, has a suggestion with an air of financial 
finality behind it.  For the first step, a printer should make you about three 
or four dozen bookplates, all featuring your mark's name and address, plus the 
legend, "If this book is lost and you find it and return it, I will pay you 
$10 cash."  Your next step is the local Goodwill Industries, a local thrift or 
second-hand shop, or a garage sale for books.  Buy two or three dozen used 
hardcover books.  You buy them as cheaply as you can, but they'll cost your 
mark plenty.  Your next step is to paste on the bookplates and distribute 
these books--at the beach, on park benches, in a bus or subway, or in a bar or 
restaurant.  The final step is for you to enjoy a good chuckle at your mark's 
expense, as people find the "lost" books. 

     If your mark has a fine library, you might consider introducing it to 
silverfish.  They love good books; in fact they will devour them.  If you feel 
this nasty, you probably already know where to get silverfish and their eggs. 
This one bothers me, though, since I love good books.  Maybe there's a better 
way.  Perhaps you could put an earwig in you mark's bed pillow. 

     Why not give your mark the image of a philathropic person?  Donate books 
in his/her name to the local library, but without either party's knowledge. 
Buy a bunch of really scuzzy porno paperbacks, especially the colorfully 
illustrated ones from Denmark--the more grossly hardcore, the better.  Your 
printer will produce some paste-in bookplates that say something like this, 
"This book donated to the [Name] library by [Mark's name] in loving memory of 
all the sweet children of [Town name]."  Paste in the bookplates and sprinkle 
the donated books around the local library.  Put some in the children section, 
and others in the religion books. 

  ÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ» 
  º                                ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿                              º 
  º                                ³ CAMPUSES ³                              º 
  º                                ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ                              º 
  ÈÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍͼ 

     Not everyone is hibernating on college campuses.  Although it's true that 
many students have become docile zombies, lobotimized by lethal doses of 
television and the bureaucracy of the educational system, there are a few live 
ones.  At an eastern university, a number of students got upset with the rent 
gouging of a massive corporation acting as an absentee landlord for private 
off-campus dormitories.  After getting nowhere appealing to an untesticled 
school administration, and after being ignored by a housing inspector and a 
city council belonging to the same social class and clubs as the corporate 
landlords, the students held a pizza party. 

     The unusual part was the the pizza party was held in the clothes dryers 
of the dormitory laundry rooms.  One particpant reported, "We dumped a couple 
of really gooey pizzas in each dryer, put in the coins, and turned them on." 

     Try cleaning up that one! 

     Epilogue:  The corporate landlord and his student tenants settled their 
problems shortly after the party, totally to the satisfaction of the young 
protestors. 

     Professor James Shannon claims that college students of the past had 
heinous imaginations.  Today, of course, many students are content merely to 
move around enough to prevent roots from forming on their contact surfaces 
with the ground.  Professor Shannon suggests that if you have a teacher you 
don't like, and he/she lectures from a desk or podium on a raised platform, 
you move the stand so its legs are barely balanced on the front edge of the 
platform.  When the academic leans forward on the structure ever so slightly, 
it will come crashing forward.  With any luck the pedagogue will land on top 
of it. 

     At an eastern university, two looser colleagues filled a humorless and 
bookish faculty member's office closet with several large and irritable geese 
one evening.  The professor was in the habit of arriving quite early for 8:00 
AM class, early enough so that the hasty-tempered birds would just be 
awakening.  When he opened the closet door they woke up and became badly 
aggressive really fast.  Eyewitness reports left no doubt whose feathers were 
ruffled most. 

     This will be truly appreciated only by those privy to the pettiness of 
academia:  Other colleagues of this same professor sometimes send truly 
pedantic, nasty, personal, and vindictive memoranda to various other faculty 
members, deans, etc., in the name of their priggish colleagues. 

     On one occasion they sent really nasty letters to the parents of a few of 
this faculty member's students, giving the poor folks hell for daring to 
produce such genetic drift as their kids, much less turning them loose on a 
college campus.  The school's PR people had a terrible time getting out from 
under that one.  As for the mark, the dumb schmuck had no idea why so many 
people disliked him.  But please take his colleagues word for it--he deserves 
every bit of it. 

  ÉÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ» 
  º                                ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿                               º 
  º                                ³ CARBIDE ³                               º 
  º                                ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ                               º 
  ÈÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍͼ 

     Having been brought up around hunters and miners, I learned all about 
carbide lamps and carbide fishing early.  Working on my grandfather's farm, I 
learned about carbide bombs.  Let me explain some things you might find 
useful. 

     When calcium carbide is exposed to air and water it produces a gas that 
will kill small animals.  Farmers often pour it down gopher, rat, or groundhog 
holes, then dump in some water and put a rock over the hole.  The animal is 
gassed to death. 

     A lot of poor people used to fish with carbide with the same efficiency 
with which legions of GIs fished with hand grenades.  Simply toss a pound or 
two of carbide into a can and seal it, but be sure to punch a few holes in the 
lid.  Toss it into a pond.  The results can play havoc with your mark's fish 
pond or fancy goldfish pool or an indoor aquarium.  Water and carbide can 
produce an explosion. 

     Some of the nastier kids used to place amounts of carbide into the 
toilets at our school.  The idea was to place the carbide bomb in the toilet, 
leave a lighted cigarette on the seat, and run like hell.  The carbide would 
combine with the water to produce a huge cloud of noxious gas, which would 
explode when it hit the lighted cigarette the perpetrators left behind.  This 
little homemade bomb did more damage than an M80. 

     Tim Bell, who later became a Special Forces NCO in Vietnam, explains, "We 
had a kid bully whom no one liked--a real prick.  He always went to the john 
after fourth period to sneak a smoke.  So two of us went in right after him 
and laid a carbide bomb in the water in the next stall.  We were about a 
hundred feet down the hall when the damn thing went off." 

     At this point, Tim burst into a wild laughter.  I was able to learn, though 
, that the bully had his legs burned and cut by flying porcelain, bit 
his tongue badly, was knocked violently off the throne, bruising his ribs 
against the steel wall of the stall, and was deafened for nearly twenty-four 
hours, all by the force of this carbide explosion.  With that kind of 
background as a high school kid, it's no wonder Tim Bell made a good Special 
Forces trooper. 

     Are there more adult uses for carbide?  Some sixties semi-terrorists used 
to dump a pound or so into the toilets of corporate offices and government 
buildings, flush the mess into the system, and walk away briskly.  Enough of 
the stuff could get very dangerous, considering the possible backup of gases. 
A combination of water and carbide has been fed into the ventilating systems 
of various corporate and government buildings, also by semi-terrorists who 
wish to harass the resident bureaucrats. 
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