What would you do if you brought something amazing to cook at a potluck BBQ but another person was hogging the grill?

Would you patiently wait your turn, or would you try to convince the person at the grill to share?

In today’s story, one person ends up waiting patiently, and it was definitely worth the wait!

Let’s see how the story plays out.

you wanna gatekeep the grill? i’ll smoke you with a smirk

So i’m at this neighborhood BBQ last summer—sun’s blazing, tunes bumping, everyone’s got a drink and a vibe.

It’s a potluck deal, and i’m hyped to show off my smoked ribs recipe—slow-cooked, fall-off-the-bone, the kind of stuff that makes you a backyard legend.

Then there’s this guy—let’s call him karen (yeah, he earns it)—who’s self-appointed grill master and decides he’s the king of the coals.

This guy seriously sounds annoying.

“No one touches the grill but me,” he barks, waving tongs like a scepter. “One dish at a time—mine first, then we’ll see.”

I’m like, “dude, it’s a big grill—can’t i just slide my ribs on the side? they take hours.”

“Nope. one at a time. my burgers are priority.” he’s got this smug grin, flipping his patties like he invented fire.

Fine, your throne, your rules—let’s play.

First round, i let him strut. he’s hogging the grill, burgers sizzling, while my ribs sit in their marinade, mocking me from the cooler.

Time for the ribs.

Everyone’s chowing down, but i’m patient—petty’s brewing.

He finishes, wipes his hands, and goes, “alright, your turn.”

I nod, all innocent, and haul out my setup: ribs, a little foil tray of applewood chips, and a plan.

Grill’s still hot, so i slap the ribs on, low and slow, and tuck the wood chips in the corner. smoke starts curling up—thick, sweet, irresistible.

Everyone could smell the ribs.

Karen’s over by the picnic table, mid-bite, when the aroma hits.

People drift over, “whoa, what’s that smell?”

I’m basting the ribs, casual as hell, “just my recipe—takes a while, hope you don’t mind.”

Karen’s burgers? forgotten.

Crowd’s circling me now, drooling, asking for seconds i haven’t even served yet.

Now Karen wants to change the rules he made up.

He stomps over, “you’re smoking out my spot!”

“One dish at a time, right? i’m just following your rule.”

i flash a grin, flip a rib. smoke’s billowing now, a fragrant fog of rebellion.

He tries to muscle in, “let me cook something else—”

“nah, my turn’s not done. you said one at a time.” i drag it out—checking the ribs, adjusting the chips, chatting up the neighbors about “patience in cooking.”

Everyone preferred the ribs to the burgers.

An hour in, his reign’s toast.

Everyone’s raving about the ribs, piling their plates, while his sad burger platter sits there, cold and lonely.

By sundown, karen’s sulking by the cooler, tongs abandoned, while i’m handing out rib tips like a smoky santa.

Host claps me on the back, “best BBQ ever—keep that grill next time.”

“You got it.”

Karen thought he’d gatekeep the grill and flex his burger supremacy, but i smoked him out with patience and a killer recipe.

Petty? Yep.

Tasty?

Like victory with a side of BBQ sauce.

I hope he brought a lot of ribs because it sure sounds like they were popular!

Let’s see how Reddit reacted to this story.

It takes a long time to cook ribs.

BBQ is no joke.

This person know ribs are better than burgers.

This person used to host BBQs.

Don’t hog the grill!

Unless you’re making me ribs.

If you liked that post, check out this post about a rude customer who got exactly what they wanted in their pizza.