My brother made me his butler when I was poor. Then he went broke and came crawling back

The Butler and the Backfire

My brother laughed at me when I was poor and forced me to be his butler. Then he lost all his money and came crawling to me.

“You need to iron my underwear again. You did it wrong,” my brother Gremlin said, throwing his Calvin Klein at my face while his friends laughed from the couch.

I caught the underwear before it hit me and added it to the growing pile of humiliating tasks Gremlin had invented since hiring me two months before. The pay was barely minimum wage, but after getting laid off and seeing the state of the job market, I had no choice.

“And when you’re done with that, I need you to hand feed me grapes while I play Call of Duty because my hands are busy with the controller”.

“Don’t forget to peel the grapes first,” Gremlin added, his buddies howling.

“And you need to say your grape, my lord, before placing each one in my mouth”.

The next morning, Gremlin had me call his ex-girlfriend while he listened on speaker. I had to say horrible things while his ex screamed at me. Gremlin got to feel like he’d won their breakup.

“Tell her she’s getting fat and Gremlin’s new girlfriend is way hotter,” he said.

“Tell her that Gremlin says she was boring in bed and he had to fantasize about her friends to get through it”.

Every day got worse because Gremlin kept dreaming up new ways to torture me. I became his human barbell at the gym, lying across his shoulders during squats while girls took photos. I tried not to puke.

At his college reunion, I had to follow him around telling everyone about his fake business deals while wearing a stupid earpiece that wasn’t even connected to anything.

The really sick part was that Gremlin got all his money from our grandmother, who left me nothing because she thought Gremlin was going places.

Now, those places included making me warm his toilet seat every morning and using me as a foottool during his stupid podcast about how everyone else was lazy.

He’d actually prop his feet on my back while recording himself talking about work ethic and grinding for success. His listeners had no idea their guru was inherited money trash who’d never worked a day in his life.

He made me go to restaurants before him to ask if they were fancy enough for the great Gremlin. He had me call every girl who’d ever dumped him to tell them they were ugly now.

I had to tip valet with my own cash while making sure everyone heard me thanking them for Gremlin. My own money going into strangers pockets just so people would think my brother wasn’t cheap.

Some nights I’d lie in my crappy apartment staring at the ceiling, wondering how I’d gone from a marketing manager with a future to a 30-year-old man who spent his days pretending to be furniture.

My college friends were getting promotions and buying houses while I was learning the perfect temperature for Gremlin’s toilet seat. The contract he’d made me sign was airtight because Gremlin’s lawyer friend made sure of that.

I sent out job applications between peeling grapes and ironing underwear. I wrote cover letters while Gremlin used me as a coat rack at parties.

I did phone interviews in my car during my lunch breaks, which I spent eating peanut butter sandwiches because I couldn’t afford anything else. One interviewer asked why I’d left my last position and I had to make up some story about downsizing.

Gremlin texted me demanding I come back inside to hold his protein shake during his conference call. Finally, a marketing firm called back. $90,000 a year starting now.

I gave Gremlin my two weeks while he was literally standing on my back trying to reach something on a high shelf.

“Whatever,” he said.

“Plenty more losers where you came from”.

Eight months later, I had my life back: real apartment, real food, a girlfriend who thought I was normal. I almost forgot what Gremlin’s toilet seat felt like.

Then Gremlin called at midnight, crying so hard I could barely understand him. We met at a diner where he looked like death had sucked out his soul and spit back the husk. His hands shaking so bad he could barely hold his coffee.

“I invested everything in this cryptocurrency called Moon Rocket,” he said.

This Instagram model with 13 million followers said her boyfriend was a cryptogenius insider. She DM’d me personally and said I was special. My brain broke trying to process this. You gave all your money to some random IG girl.

“She guaranteed 10,000% returns and I sold the house and emptied the trust fund and now the website’s gone and I have $17 total”.

His voice went up like a little kid’s. “I’m living in my car and eating ketchup packets for dinner”.

I stirred my coffee real slow, enjoying every second of watching him squirm like I’d squirmed for months.

“Please,” he begged, grabbing my wrist with his clammy hands.

“You have to help me”.

“I’ll help you, Gremlin,” I said, pulling out my phone. “But I think you know what you’re going to have to do to get money from me”.

I opened up Amazon Prime and typed in French costume requested reads is on Spotify now. Check out link in the description or comments.

The morning after the diner, I sat on my couch staring at the cardboard box on my coffee table. Amazon Prime had delivered it at 7:00 in the morning. The Frenchmade costume just sat there like a loaded gun, waiting to go off.

I picked up the package and turned it over in my hands; the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. My brain kept replaying every single time Gremlin made me warm his toilet seat before he sat down.

Every morning, I had to kneel there with my hand on the porcelain, waiting for it to reach the exact temperature he wanted. I remembered being his foottool during those stupid podcast recordings while he talked about work ethic.

His followers had no idea he’d never worked a real day in his life. The vindication running through my body felt better than anything I’d felt in months.

I opened the package and pulled out the frilly black and white fabric. Gremlin was going to put this on and he was going to clean my apartment. He was going to know exactly what humiliation felt like.

My phone rang at 9:00 and Gremlin’s name popped up on the screen. I let it ring three times before answering because I wanted him to sweat a little. His voice came through hollow and shaky like he’d been crying again.

He asked if my offer last night was actually serious or if I’d just been messing with him. I could hear cars in the background in the beeping of a gas pump.

I pictured him standing in some parking lot with $17 to his name. I told him to come over at noon so we could talk about terms. He asked what kind of terms and I said he’d find out when he got here.

The power in my voice felt amazing, like I was finally the one calling the shots after months of being treated like furniture. He agreed to come and I hung up without saying goodbye.

At 11:30, I started getting the apartment ready. I put the costume box on the coffee table where he’d see it right when he walked in. I wanted him to see what actual earned success looked like compared to his grandmother’s handout money.

I checked my bank account on my phone and saw the $90,000 salary sitting there as proof that I’d rebuilt my life the right way. My girlfriend was at work and wouldn’t be home until later, which was probably good because I needed to handle this conversation alone.

Gremlin showed up at noon looking worse than he had at the diner. He wore the same wrinkled shirt and jeans from last night and his hair stuck up in greasy clumps.

The smell hit me when I opened the door: that sour, unwashed smell of someone living in their car. I stepped back and told him to use my bathroom and clean up first. He looked surprised, like he expected me to make him gravel right away.

I pointed down the hall and said I’d make him a sandwich while he showered. He walked past me without saying anything, and I heard the bathroom door close.

While the water ran, I made a turkey sandwich with actual fresh bread and real turkey, not the cheap stuff, because I could afford it now. I put chips on the plate, too, and poured a glass of actual orange juice.

This felt generous, giving him basic human dignity before we got into the real conversation. He came out 20 minutes later with wet hair and my towel wrapped around his shoulders.

I handed him the plate and he sat on my couch eating like he hadn’t seen real food in days. I sat across from him in my nice chair and waited until he finished the sandwich.

Then I leaned forward and started laying out how this was going to work. Any money I gave him would come with work requirements, and that work would involve the same kind of tasks he made me do.

I pointed at the costume box on the table. His eyes went to it and his jaw got tight, but he didn’t stand up or walk out. We both knew he had absolutely nowhere else to go.

I told him every dollar would be earned through humiliation, just like he made me earn my minimum wage paycheck. He stared at the box and I watched his face turn red.

The front door opened and my girlfriend walked in early from her shift at the hospital. She stopped when she saw Gremlin on our couch looking miserable in my borrowed clothes.

Her eyes went from him to me to the costume box and I saw her expression change. She asked if she could talk to me in the bedroom real quick. I followed her down the hall and she closed the door behind us.

She asked what exactly I was planning here and her tone made it super clear she wasn’t comfortable with whatever revenge thing I was setting up.

I tried to explain that this was just about fair consequences. She crossed her arms and said there’s a difference between setting boundaries and becoming the person who hurt you.

That made me defensive because I wasn’t ready to hear it. I told her Gremlin deserved this after what he put me through. She said she understood I was hurt, but this wasn’t the way to fix it.

We went back and forth for a few minutes until she checked her phone and said she had to get to her evening class. She looked at me one more time before leaving, and I knew she was disappointed.

After she left, I went back to the living room where Gremlin still sat on the couch. I picked up the costume box and dropped it on the coffee table in front of him.

I told him he could earn $200 by cleaning my entire apartment in this costume tomorrow afternoon. He stared at the box for a long time without saying anything.

Then he looked up at me with this expression of pure hatred that actually made me feel powerful instead of small for the first time since I’d escaped his employment. He asked if I was serious and I said completely serious.

He could wear the costume and clean or he could go back to his car and figure out his own life. He agreed with his teeth clenched and I felt this rush of satisfaction.

I told him to come back tomorrow at 2:00 and to bring his appetite for humble pie. The next afternoon, my doorbell rang at exactly 2:00.

I opened it and Gremlin stood there with the costume in a plastic bag. He walked past me without looking at my face. I pointed to the bathroom and told him to change.

He went in and closed the door and I heard him moving around in there for a while. When he came out, his face was bright red with shame.

The black and white frilly dress looked ridiculous on him, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I handed him cleaning supplies and told him to start with the kitchen.

He walked over and got on his knees to scrub the floor. I pulled out my phone and took a few pictures just for my own satisfaction at first.

Then I opened my close friend’s story and posted one with the caption, “Karma is a maid,” before I could think better of it. The rush of posting it felt incredible.

While he scrubbed my kitchen floor, I walked over and stood above him. I told him I needed collateral for any money I might loan him and I wanted his gaming PC.

He stopped scrubbing and looked up at me. He said that was the only valuable thing he had left. I reminded him that I had to give up my dignity for eight months.

A gaming PC was nothing compared to that. He argued that he needed it to make money streaming or selling it later.

I said if he wanted any financial help from me, the PC was coming to my apartment today. He went back to scrubbing without answering, but I knew he’d agree because he had no other options.

After he finished the kitchen, I made him do the bathroom in the living room. Every time I walked past him, I felt this surge of power.

That evening, after he left, I sat on my couch and went through all the photos on my phone. The images of him in that ridiculous costume scrubbing my floors made me feel vindicated in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

I opened the group chat with three friends who knew everything Gremlin had put me through. I sent them the best photo, the one where you could really see his face read with shame.

Their responses came back fast with laughing emojis and messages saying he finally got what he deserved. One friend wrote “Yss” with like ten exclamation points.

“I was a legend for making this happen,” another said. The third sent a gift of someone doing a victory dance. I read through their messages, feeling completely justified.

The universe had finally balanced itself out, and I was the one holding the scales.