When an entitled couple refused to pay my hardworking plumber Dad, they thought they were clever. Little did they know their smugness would backfire, leaving them with a bathroom crawling with regret. Here’s how my Dad flushed their entitlement down the drain.

Hey there, folks! Phoebe here, but you can call me Pippi — that’s what my Dad does.

Speaking of which, let me introduce you to Pete: 55 years old, ruggedly handsome with a white beard, and hands like a roadmap of hard work. He’s your friendly neighborhood plumber and my superhero without the cape. Dad’s the kind of guy who treats every project like it’s his own home, redoing entire jobs if a single tile isn’t perfect. But some folks mistake dedication for weakness — and try to take advantage.

That’s exactly what the Carlyles — or as Dad nicknamed them, “the Pinchpennies” — tried to do.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, old man?” I asked.
Dad grinned. “Oh, Pippi. You’re not gonna believe what just happened. It’s a doozy.”

He leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Remember that big bathroom remodel I was working on? Well, let me tell you about the Pinchpennies.”

The Carlyles had wanted everything: brand-new tiles, high-end fixtures, the full spa-style treatment. They personally chose every detail — even the placement of the toilet paper holder. Dad worked tirelessly for two weeks, turning their vision into reality.

But on the final day, just as Dad was finishing the grout, they dropped the act. Mrs. Carlyle suddenly wrinkled her nose.
“Pete, this isn’t what we wanted at all! These tiles are wrong!”
Wrong? They had picked them out themselves.

Then came the real kicker: they announced they’d only be paying half of what they owed. “Finish the job and leave,” Mr. Carlyle said, puffed up with arrogance.

Dad, being the decent man he is, tried reasoning with them. But they wouldn’t budge. Finally, he nodded and said, “Alright. I’ll finish.” But as he told me later, he wasn’t about to let them walk all over him.

That’s when he came up with his little trick.

Instead of mixing the grout with water, Dad used sugar and honey. To the naked eye, it looked perfectly fine. The bathroom gleamed, and the Carlyles thought they’d pulled a fast one. They pocketed their “savings” and strutted around smugly.

But oh, karma was just getting started.

A few weeks later, Mrs. Carlyle stepped into her pristine shower — only to find ants marching neatly along the grout lines like they owned the place. Soon, it wasn’t just ants. Cockroaches, beetles, and every creepy-crawly in town began making guest appearances. Their “dream bathroom” had turned into an insect buffet.

“How do you know all this?” I asked Dad, wide-eyed.
He smirked. “Johnny — their next-door neighbor. He’s been giving me updates.”

Turns out, the Carlyles spent a fortune on pest control, but nothing worked. The sugar deep in the grout kept luring the bugs back. To make matters worse, they blamed the exterminators for “damaging the grout,” never realizing the real source of their misery.

Johnny told Dad about the disasters: Mrs. Carlyle shrieking during a fancy dinner party when a roach scuttled across the guest bathroom wall. Mr. Carlyle trying to DIY the problem with gallons of bug spray, only for the entire house to stink for weeks — while the bugs returned the moment the smell faded.

“This went on for over a year,” Dad chuckled, puffing on his cigar. “They even redid the bathroom once, but the sugar residue in the walls meant the infestation kept coming back. Last I heard, they were talking about selling the house.”

I laughed so hard I nearly cried. “Dad, that’s evil genius!”
He shook his head, a half-smile on his face. “Not proud of it, Pippi. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I don’t ever plan to again. But they tried to cheat me out of my wages — my pride, my work. In this business, if word spreads that you let people walk over you, you’re finished.”

As the sun set, painting the sky orange and pink, I thought about it. Sure, it was a little harsh. But the Carlyles had learned a lesson the hard way: don’t stiff an honest man who gives you his best.

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“If you ever redo my bathroom, I’m paying you in full upfront.”
Dad burst into laughter, pulling me into a bear hug. “That’s my girl!”

And just like that, we both sat there, chuckling over the thought of the Carlyles swatting at bugs in their “luxury” bathroom. A reminder that sometimes, karma crawls in on six legs… and it bites.