When an entitled couple refused to pay my dad, a hardworking plumber, they thought they’d pulled a fast one. But their smugness was about to backfire spectacularly, leaving them drowning in regret. Here’s how my dad turned the tables and flushed their entitlement straight down the drain.
Hey, folks! I’m Phoebe, but my dad calls me Pippi—and, honestly, it suits me. Let me tell you about Pete, my dad. He’s 55, ruggedly handsome with a snowy white beard and hands etched with years of honest work. He’s not just your go-to plumber; he’s my superhero, minus the cape but with a trusty wrench in hand.
Close-up of an older man smiling | Source: Midjourney
Dad’s the kind of guy who approaches every job with the same care and precision he’d put into his own home, even retiling an entire bathroom if a single tile doesn’t line up perfectly. But some people mistake that dedication for an opportunity to take advantage—like a certain entitled couple who thought they could outsmart him.
Oh, how wrong they were.
It all began a few months ago when I stopped by Dad’s house. There he was, lounging on the patio, cigar in hand, chuckling like he’d just heard the punchline to the world’s funniest joke. I knew right away something was up.
A plumber installing pipe fittings | Source: Pexels
“What’s got you in such a good mood, old man?” I asked, plopping down next to him.
Dad’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he grinned. “Oh, Pippi, you’re not gonna believe this one. It’s a real doozy!”
He leaned in, still chuckling. “Remember that bathroom remodel I was working on? Well, let me introduce you to the Carlyles—or as I’ve started calling them, the Pinchpennies.”
I smirked and settled deeper into my chair. Dad’s stories were legendary, and I could tell this one was going to be no exception.
A bathroom interior | Source: Unsplash
“These folks, they wanted it all. New tiles, fancy fixtures, the works. They picked out every little detail themselves—even down to the exact spot they wanted the toilet paper holder.”
“Sounds like a dream job,” I said, trying to imagine the level of perfectionism.
Dad snorted. “Oh, it started out that way, alright. But then…”
His face shifted, that familiar look of knowing something was about to get good. “What happened, Dad?” I asked, leaning in.
An older man fixing a faucet in the bathroom | Source: Midjourney
“Well, Pippi, on the last day of the job, just as I was about to start the grouting, they’re sitting on the couch, looking like they’re about to pull a real fast one on me.”
Dad’s voice dropped into a mocking imitation of Mrs. Carlyle. “‘Oh, Pete, this isn’t at all what we wanted! These tiles are all wrong!’”
I gasped. “But didn’t they pick everything out themselves?”
“Exactly!” Dad said, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “And get this—they had the nerve to tell me they were only gonna pay half of what they owed me. HALF!”
My eyes widened. “No way!”
An older couple sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels
My jaw dropped. “HALF?? After two weeks of busting your hump to make their dream bathroom come true? No way! What did you do?”
Dad’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well, I tried to reason with ’em at first. But they weren’t having any of it. Mr. Carlyle, he gets all puffed up and says, ‘Just finish the job and GET LOST, Pete. We’re not paying a penny more.’”
I could feel my blood boiling. “That’s not fair! You worked so hard!”
A shocked young woman holding her face | Source: Pexels
Dad gave my hand a reassuring pat. “Now, now, Pippi. Don’t you worry! Your old man had a little trick up his sleeve.”
“What did you do?” I leaned in, my curiosity piqued.
Dad’s grin spread wider, and I could see the mischief in his eyes. “Oh, I finished the job, alright. But instead of using water for the grout…”
“…I mixed it with sugar and honey,” he said, his eyes sparkling with delight.
I blinked, trying to wrap my mind around what he’d just said. “Sugar and honey? In the grout? But… why?”
A bottle of honey near a small mound of powdered tile grout | Source: Midjourney
Dad leaned back in his chair, taking a slow drag from his cigar. “Just you wait and see, Pippi. Just you wait and see.”
He continued, his voice full of satisfaction, explaining how he’d packed up his tools, pocketed half the pay, and left with a grin, fully aware of what was about to unfold.
“But Dad,” I interrupted, “wouldn’t they notice something was off with the grout?”
A smiling older man holding a toolbox | Source: Midjourney
He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Nah, not right away. It looked just fine when it dried. But a few weeks later…”
I leaned in, practically on the edge of my seat. “What happened a few weeks later?”
Dad’s grin stretched even wider. “That’s when the real fun began.”
He gestured dramatically with his cigar. “Picture this: The Pinchpennies are sitting pretty, thinking they’ve pulled a fast one on old Pete. Then one day, Mrs. Carlyle goes to take a shower, and what does she see?”
Smiling older couple holding ceramic mugs | Source: Pexels
I shrugged, totally hooked on the story.
“Ants!” Dad exclaimed with a grin. “Dozens of ’em, marching along the grout lines like they own the place!”
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “No way!”
“Oh, it gets better,” Dad continued. “Next day, it’s cockroaches. Then every creepy-crawly within spitting distance joins the party.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s insane! But how do you know all this?”
Close-up of an army of ants on a bathroom floor | Source: Midjourney
Dad winked, his grin widening. “Remember Johnny? My old pal? He’s their next-door neighbor and has been keeping me updated.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And the Carlyles? What did they do?”
Dad’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, Pippi, they tried everything. Spent a fortune on pest control, but nothing worked. You wanna know the best part?”
I leaned in, practically on the edge of my seat. “Tell me!”
A pest controller outside a house | Source: Pexels
“They blamed the pest control sprays for ruining the grout! Can you believe it?” Dad burst into laughter, shaking his head.
As his laughter faded, I couldn’t help but feel a small pang of sympathy for the Carlyles. “But Dad, don’t you think that was a bit… harsh?”
Dad’s face softened, and he leaned forward, his tone more serious. “Pippi, you gotta understand. These folks tried to cheat me out of my hard-earned money. Two weeks of backbreaking work, and they wanted to pay me half?”
I nodded slowly, digesting his words. “I get it, but still…”
Close-up of a stunned woman | Source: Pexels
“Look,” Dad said, leaning forward, his voice steady. “In this line of work, your reputation is everything. If word got out that I let clients walk all over me, I’d be out of business faster than you can say ‘leaky faucet.’”
I paused, considering his words. He was right. “So what happened next?”
Dad’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Well, according to Johnny, they ended up redoing the whole bathroom about a year later.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Did that solve the problem?”
A man working on a renovation project | Source: Freepik
Dad shook his head, chuckling. “Nope. The sugar residue was still there, lurking beneath the surface. The bugs just kept on coming back.”
“And the Carlyles?” I asked. “Did they ever figure it out?”
Dad’s eyes twinkled. “Not a clue. Last I heard, they were planning to redo the entire bathroom… again.”
I sat back, taking it all in. “Wow, Dad. That’s… something else. But didn’t you feel bad at all?”
Construction worker laying ceramic tiles | Source: Freepik
Dad sighed, his expression turning serious. “Pippi, let me tell you something. In all my years of plumbing, I’ve never done anything like this before. And I hope I never have to again. But these Carlyles, they weren’t just trying to cheat me. They were insulting my work, my pride.”
I nodded, understanding dawning. “They thought they could walk all over you.”
“Exactly,” Dad said, pointing his cigar at me. “And in this business, word gets around. If I let them get away with it, who knows how many other folks might try the same thing?”
Side view of an older man looking up | Source: Midjourney
“I guess I see your point,” I admitted. “But still, bugs in the bathroom? That’s pretty gross, Dad.”
He chuckled. “Well, I never said it was a pretty revenge. But it was effective.”
“So, what happened after that?” I asked, curious. “Did you ever hear from them again?”
Dad shook his head. “Nope. But Johnny keeps me updated. You should hear some of the stories he’s told me.”
“Like what?” I leaned in, eager for more.
Ants near a bathtub | Source: Midjourney
Dad’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Well, there was this one time Mrs. Carlyle was hosting a fancy dinner party. Johnny said he could hear her screaming all the way from his house when she found a cockroach in the guest bathroom!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh man, that must’ve been embarrassing!”
Close-up of a cockroach on a bathroom sink | Source: Midjourney
“You bet it was,” Dad chuckled. “And then there was the time Mr. Carlyle tried to fix the problem himself. Bought every bug spray in the store and went to town on that bathroom.”
“Did it work?” I asked, already guessing the answer.
Dad shook his head, grinning. “Nope. Just made the whole house smell like a chemical factory for weeks. And the bugs? They came right back as soon as the smell faded.”
Close-up of gloved hand holding disinfecting solution | Source: Freepik
I shook my head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. How long has this been going on?”
“Oh, must be going on over a year now,” Dad said, puffing on his cigar. “Johnny says they’re at their wits’ end. Talking about selling the house and moving.”
I whistled low. “Wow, Dad. That’s some long-lasting revenge.”
Side view of a cottage with a beautiful garden | Source: Unsplash
He nodded, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “Maybe it went on a bit longer than I intended. But you know what they say about karma.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s a real… well, you know.”
We shared a hearty laugh at that.
Close-up side view of an older man with his eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the patio, I sat back, processing everything Dad had told me.
“You know, Dad,” I said slowly, “I gotta admit, that’s pretty genius. Diabolical, but genius.”
Dad nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. “Sometimes, Pippi, you gotta teach people a lesson they won’t forget.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I bet the Carlyles won’t be trying to stiff anyone on their bill anytime soon.”
Close-up grayscale shot of a smiling woman | Source: Pexels
“You promise me you won’t pull a prank like that on anyone else?” I asked, half-laughing, half-serious.
Dad gave a mock sigh, puffing on his cigar. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep my tricks to myself… for now.” He winked at me. “But I can’t promise I won’t have a little fun now and then.”
I chuckled. “I think that’s fair.”
Side view of an older man smiling | Source: Midjourney
Dad’s hearty laugh echoed through the air as he hugged me tightly. “That’s what I like to hear!”
We sat together, enjoying the last rays of sunlight as the sky turned shades of purple and gold. The Carlyles’ pest-ridden bathroom was a distant memory, but the lesson it taught remained clear: sometimes, karma has a way of making itself known, and it doesn’t always come in the form you expect. In this case, it was a little sweeter… and a lot more crawling.
I chuckled to myself, knowing that Dad’s reputation for doing the job right, and his playful sense of justice, would never go unnoticed.
An older man laughing | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and certain details have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved and to enhance the storytelling experience. Any resemblance to actual individuals, living or deceased, or to real-life events is purely coincidental and unintended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims regarding the accuracy of the events or the portrayal of characters. Any opinions expressed are solely those of the characters within the story and should not be interpreted as reflecting the views of the author or publisher. This story is provided “as is,” and the author holds no responsibility for any misinterpretations.
