About 4 years ago I was at a low point in my life. I had just graduated college, and yet a real "adult" job was nowhere in sight. In the meantime, I began to work with a local TV station. There were a variety of tasks, but mainly I helped film college sports. I have never really been interested in sports at all, much less college sports. So the prospect of filming D3 basketball for 5 hours every Saturday really wasn't all that appealing. Every weekend it was the same monotonous bullshit, and me hating myself and life choices for five hours.
With that as background, one week we were about halfway through the first game and I feel somebody tapping on my shoulder. I figured it was an accident so I ignored it. Again, somebody tapped on my shoulder. Turning back, I locked eyes with my new tormentors. Two younger boys, probably 11 or 12 (but certainly old enough to know better) were smiling and laughing. I asked them what they needed, and they ran off.
Over the course of the next 4 hours these boys repeated the same pattern several times. They'd tap on my shoulder or push me (fucking up my shot and pissing off my director in the process), then I'd turn around and in the most nasal voice they could muster they'd say, "What are you going to do about it?" And then they'd run off.
On a good day, I don't take a lot of bullshit, and these were not good days. So I decided I was going to exact my revenge. I watched the boys for the rest of the game, and saw that they were both there with an older woman, presumably their mother. After the game was over, I went over to her and started to work my magic.
"Hi there, sorry to bother you. I'm a camera man with the arena. Are those your boys running around up there?"
I pointed to them and she confirmed that they were.
"I hate to tell you this, but they've been messing with me the whole game and calling me... well I hate to say it ma'am, but they've been calling me the N word the whole time."
Slightly skeptical, she called the boys over.
"This man here tells me that you've been saying bad stuff to him. Is that true?"
They say there's no honor among thieves. I don't know about that. But I can tell you that there's certainly no honor among 12 year olds. After a pregnant pause, one of the boys, trying to shift the blame, says, "It wasn't my idea! He made me do it!" Not aware that he had just confessed to using the N-word in public, the boy apologized to me. As I walked off, I could hear his mother lecturing the boy on how disappointed she was and how there'd be hell to pay once they got home.
As I was leaving with the rest of the crew, my main tormentor was sitting on the floor next to the exit. As I walked by he looked up at me. In what was the single most satisfying moment of my entire life, I met his gaze, raised my arms and said, "What are you going to do about it?"