I accidentally scraped a car in the office parking lot while trying to squeeze into a tight space. The sound of the faint crunch made my stomach drop. I got out immediately to check the damage and was still inspecting the small scratch when I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

My boss came sprinting out of the building, his face already twisted with anger.
“Who hit my car?!” he bellowed, his voice carrying across the lot.

Embarrassed, I raised my hand. “It was me. I’m so sorry. I’ll cover the repairs, of course.”

But instead of calming down, he launched into a full-blown lecture right there in front of everyone about how careless people ruin other people’s property. He went on and on about responsibility, accountability, and how people these days don’t respect what doesn’t belong to them.

I stood there nodding, cheeks burning, until one of my coworkers—who had just come out for a smoke break—strolled past and looked at the car. He tilted his head and said casually, loud enough for everyone to hear:
“Boss… isn’t this the same company car you scratched last week when you backed into the loading dock?”

The parking lot went dead silent. My boss froze, turned beet red, and muttered something under his breath. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed back inside, leaving me—and half the staff who had been watching—trying not to laugh.

That day, the whole office had a new favorite story… and my boss got a taste of his own medicine.