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This is a question Jobsworths

All over the world there are little people following the rules and being arsey because, let's face it, it's fun.

Tell us about your experiences with petty jobsworths, or, if you are a petty jobsworth, tell us how much you get off on it.

(, Thu 12 May 2005, 9:53)
Pages: Latest, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Reading Rock
In the early 80's I used to attend the Reading Rock Festival every year. It used to be the highlight of my year, a week of stoned pissed up sex and music - halcyon days.

One year, I forget which, it was absolutely baking hot - real melting Mad Dogs & Englishmen type of weather. Sometime in the early morning I wandered down to the Thames which ran by the camp site and then up to Cavendish bridge and leaned against the parapet and watched the crowds of rockers and hippies enjoying the weather. Then some bright spark had the idea of depth charging the boats passing under the bridge. It was quite a technical operation with a spotter on the other side of the bridge and a team of drunken rockers on the upstream side ready to jump.

As each boat started to go under the bridge, the spotters would indicate where it was likely to emerge and the jumpers would ready them selves in two groups. They'd be over the parapet and hanging onto the guard rail waiting for the boat to emerge and as the prow came out from under the bridge they'd launch themselves in teams of two and land on either side of the boat in the depth charge position. As they surfaced and cleared the jumping area the next pair would jump.

Watching from a few metres away it was really impressive watching these nutters soak every boat passing under the bridge and a large crowd formed on the bridge and on the tow-path to watch their antics. Of course, eventually Plod had to step in and spoil the fun.

About 20 coppers formed up on one side of the bridge and started clearing the bridge and asking everyone to move along under pain of being arrested on whatever trumped up charge they could think of. Eventually they got to me and a fresh faced young sprog of a copper (he looked about 12) told me to remove myself from the bridge immediately.

"What for?" I asked - "I'm not doing any harm"
"'Cos I say so" says Plod "Now move or I'll nick you"
"But I'm not doing anything wrong! I'm enjoying the sunshine in a public place. I'm not drunk and I'm not harming anyone. What grounds do you have to move me on?" says me.
"Look smartarse. I've been told to clear this fucking bridge and that's what I'm going to do. I don't give a shit about what you think - I want you off this bridge, right now, or you're nicked!"
"So if I don't get off this bridge, right now you're going to arrest me? I asked grinning at plod.
"You've finally got the idea into your tiny mind says" copper "Now move"

So with a shit-eating grin flashed at the copper I put both hands on the guard rail and launched myself over the bridge and into the Thames. - A creditable dive even if I do say so myself.

As I surfaced, I looked up at the bridge and could see the copper charging over the bridge and towards the steps that led down to the tow path. The crowd of hippies were jostling and hampering as he ran but the bastard was determined to reach the bank before I did and nick me.

I swam as fast as I could, cutting through the water like a demented epileptic and reached the bank absolutely knackered. As I crawled out, plod was almost at the bottom of the steps and I was too fucked to run. Looks like I'd be spending the rest of the weekend in the cells.

As I staggered to my feet and resigned myself to my fate there was a roar and this trail bike appeared in front of me.
"Jump on mate" Says this greasy biker.
"Way-hey!" yells me and I leapt on the pillion of the bike and we screamed off up the tow path with the copper just missing grabbing my collar by a couple of seconds. Great times.

I remain, as usual,
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 10:56, Reply)
Magic Words - parking ticket - get out of jail free!
I don't need to tell a jobsworth story - I you ever get a parking ticket on a single or double yellow line check that they have bars at the end. If not, take a piccy and cut and paste these magic words. They have got me off five times so far!

The form of signs and road markings are prescribed by the Traffic Signs Regulations and General Directions 2002 (the Regulations). The Diagrams showing single and double yellow lines are 1017 and 1018 respectively. Both clearly show a T-bar at one end of the yellow line(s). The tables under the Diagrams, at item 4, contain the entry, "Permitted variants: None".

The Regulations therefore permit no variation to the form of the yellow line(s) as shown in the Diagrams, and a T-bar must appear wherever the yellow line stops and starts, for whatever reason. The road markings in question do not conform to this prescribed form and thus have no legal force whatsoever. They terminate at a point where there are no further restrictions in force but do not have the prescribed T bar ending. This violates both the regulations and usual practice. For this reason any parking tickets given on this stretch of road cannot be valid.

Go on, front page - you know you want to.
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 20:27, Reply)
Council Refuse Site Attendant
I had a load of garden rubbish to dispose of, so I decided to load up my car and take it to my local council tip. On arrival I found it was quite busy, and there was a VERY long queue of people waiting to unload their rubbish into a single garden waste skip.

There were, however, a long line of empty skips, all with 'garden waste' painted on them. I asked an attendant why they couldn't open up another skip to ease the congestion.

"Can't mate... it's more then me job's worth" (seriously). "wait till that one's full and then we'll use the next one".

I was in a bit of a hurry to be honest, so I thought 'bollocks to this', and started emptying my car into the next empty skip.

He ran over to me, spitting with rage. "You can't do that. It's against the rules!!".

"What are you going to do about it then?" I asked.

"I'll... I'll... cone your car off!". And indeed he did. He started placing traffic cones around my car, as though they somehow made a difference to my ability to unload my car or drive away. I carried on unloading my car.

When he'd finished, he just stood there and gave me a triumphant look. I finished unloading my car, went around to the front, picked up the cones, lobbed them into the skip and drove off, leaving the jobsworth attendant slack-jawed and speechless.
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 10:12, Reply)
Custard ?
I used to work at Kwik Save for beer money while I was at 6th form. One day a very strange looking old woman pointed at a packet of custard powder on the shelf and asked "Do you sell this ?". After a second or 2, I replied "no, sorry, we don't, try Tesco". I still remember her wandering off without her custard, head drooped in disappointment.
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 12:01, Reply)
I was
on a Stagecoach bus having an argument with a fellow passenger (who worked for Comet) about whether Scottish/English banknotes are accepted as legal tender by train conductors, whilst also on my mobile to HSBC call centre enquiring as to whether i could exchange my faulty fridge; when suddenly we were run off the road by an ice-cream van driven by a bouncer.
I attempted to disembark only to be asked for ID because i was wearing trainers.

er, then i got chilli on my cock.
(, Wed 18 May 2005, 15:27, Reply)
Fame and celebrity...
One of the few perks of working on a motorway service station is the chance to meet many celebrities and famous faces.

The beauty of this is that for every genuinely impressive celebrity you meet, an equally random yet amusing z-list celeb will follow them in. So, for every Jarvis Cocker, Dave Grohl or Helen Baxendale you meet, you're just as likely to come face-to-face with a Russell Grant or (my personal favourite) a Chuckle Brother.

Ironically however, the celeb who came in the most was also the most famous of all; David Beckham. We were based just down the road from his Beckingham Palace, and most people at work had served or seen him at least once. Sometimes he'd be driving, sometimes driven, and on special occasions he might also be accompanied by the spotty mess he calls a wife.

On one such occasion Becks came in to fill up with petrol on a blazing hot but quiet Monday afternoon. Festooned in his traditional beenie (in case he was spotted), he strolled down from his meaty 4x4 and into the shop to pay. At the time, I was working with a lovely, bright and hard-working Indian lad called Sandeep. As nice a colleague as he was, Sandeep (bless 'im) had very little knowledge of footy.

Although I was desperate to serve Becks so I could try and engage him in some amusing football based banter, he went first to Sandeep who was oblivious to who he was serving. Becks cooly peeled a fifty note off the roll to pay for his forty quid's worth of juice.

What happened next deeply amused me, as Jobsworth Sandeep reacted as if he'd been given a hand grenade. He suspiciously eyed Becks and proceeded to go through the entire rigmarole we'd normally reserve for some pikey handing us a fifty note to pay for a Mars Bar. He checked for the watermark, made a small rip to check for the metal grain and finally ran a special detector marker pen over the note, all as an increasingly tiresome Beckham looked on.

It's with no small pride that I chose the moment to take my chance to engage David, as I said loudly to Sandeep: "It's OK mate, I think he's good for it", and then winked at Beckham! And you know what? He loved it.

Normal apologies apply.
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 10:40, Reply)
'Revenue Protection Officers'
On the train service that runs between Brighton and Bedford and begins with the letter 'T' ...............
I HAVE to use this godforsaken train company to get to and from work and in the past they have employed some pretty offensive units as 'Revenue protection officers' in particular one gentleman who seemed to take great pleasure in harrassing tired single mums who hadnt had time to pay for a £2 ticket, by shouting and threatneing them with court and generally acting the cunt.
One evening I clocked the jobsworth in question getting on a train at Luton..so I thought Id have some fun with him...as soon as he entered the carriage I was sitting in I vaulted off the train and began to sprint down the platform to the other end..now to this chap this was like a red rag to a bull 'fare dodger' was what went through his tiny little mind..so off he jogs after me, frantically bellowing into his walkie talkie to 'hold the train hold the train!' When he reaches the far end of the train he finds yours truly sitting smugly wating for his abusive outburt....
'Get off the train sir or I will have you arrested' I ask him why, 'you are deliberately trying to avoid paying your fare' I ask him how he knows I dont have a ticket..as I produce my season ticket..his face falls and he starts muttering why I ran off?? ,my reply:
'you're a fat cunt mate and I reckon you needed a quick run'
he exits pretty sharpish
(, Mon 16 May 2005, 10:44, Reply)
i
desperately wish i'd been there for this one, but i know it's true, because there were witnesses.

anyhoo; one of my best mates has (unsurprisingly enough) a car. he also happens to look about 12. (sorry steve)
driving along, as you do, when a police car pulls him over. this car's got four coppers in it, and steve guesses what's coming at this point;
copper: "you know why i've pulled you over, right?"
steve: "um... could be that i don't look old enough, right?"
copper: "yep. you got your license and registration, then?" (clearly expecting to have trapped some chav joyrider at this point...)
steve: *long drawn out sigh* "yes. here y'are"
copper: "oh. bugger. right you are, then"

the copper passes it back to steve trying not to lose too much face in the process. this was not helped by one of the other coppers in the car sticking their head out of the window and yelling "so you'll be eating that hat, then?"

heh. sounds minor, but quite satisfying...
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 23:08, Reply)
Pub bouncers
Normally the suggestion of going to a Wetherspoons pub fills me with dread but after 6 hours drinking comercial grade lager in Leeds I was up for anything,

Upon arriving at the aforesaid establishment (Stick or Twist at the back of the Merrion Centre) the only seats available (by this point verticality was a real challenge) were in the non-smoking area. Not-to-worry we thought, only 4 of us smoke, and we can at least see if we can sup a pint without a smoke for once!

So off we troop from the bar to sit down. Within 3 minutes the cubic doorman appeared and said "I'm sorry lads, I am going to have to ask you to leave".

Cue stunned silence followed by a "why?"

"'cos this is a non smoking area"

*looks round to see who had sparked up*

"But none of us are smoking" says I

He just pointed to my packet of snouts and said "but you might" before reaching out to 'encourage' me to leave.

Luckily I had the presence of mind to hurl myself backwards over two tables sending drinks flying and attract the attentions of the manageress who promptly came and sacked him on the spot, called the police and gave us £50 worth of Wetherspoon vouchers for our 'trouble'

When my mate (who was by now trying to chat up the manageress) said "Actually I don't think the bouncer touched him" she replied "SO! I've been looking for an excuse to fire the little jobsworth c**t!"

PS - I'm sorry but I am not apologising for length
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 21:30, Reply)
Heroic Security Guard
First post… Meh!

Leaving a party in a block of flats I accidentally clipped a plastic drainpipe backing out of a parking space. The security guard must have seen in on his CCTV monitor as he came running out frantically waving his arms screaming at me to turn my engine off and get out of the car! Not wishing to cause a scene I did as I was asked and got out to take a look at the “damage”. There was not a scratch on the pipe and the little wall bracket thing that holds it has a very slight crack in it, hardy noticeable. I dismissed the damaged and told the dude not to worry about it, would he accept this? Would he bollocks!

He went crazy, stamping his feet demanding my name, address, credit card details, driving licence and started to ramble on about me causing £££ worth of damage. I could not belive we where looking at the same drainpipe. Alarm bells where going off in my head and I decided giving this guy any personal information was a BAD idea so I just shrugged and started to get back in my car.

To my utter disbelieve the guy (at least a ft shorter than me I might add) positioned himself between me and my car door shouting “Just you try and leave! Just try and leave!!” in a very strong Nigerian accent. At this point I couldn’t contain my amusement any longer and I started to laugh at him. I walked around to the passenger door, the guy followed round on the opposite side of the car. I quickly changed direction to go back to the driver’s door and the guy mirrored my movements. I decided I had enough silliness for one night and marched over to my driver’s door and shoulder barged the guy out of my way…hard. I managed to get my door closed before he could get up and started to reverse out of the space. Now for the best bit, without hesitation the guy runs behind my car and dives down on the floor shouting “Just try and run me over! Just try and run me over!!!!” It was utterly surreal! “So what are you going to do then?” I shouted out of my window “lie there all night?!” He seemed to take this under consideration and realising he had no mobile phone he slowly got up of the floor, “You stay!! I go inside to call police, if you drive off... they arrest you, I have number plate!” he said and ran back inside the building… that was it. I drove off and never head anything about the drainpipe again!

What a Hero!
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 11:40, Reply)
W4nky Gym Receptionists
At our local Gym and Leisure facility we decided to start playing Badminton weekly.

After the first time we played we wanted to book a court again for the next week and so we went to pay at the counter on our way out.

We didn't have any cash on us but my partner had her bank card. The awkward "Jobsworth" receptionist insisted that we couldn't pay by card as it would result in the Gym incurring a surcharge. Despite this apparent "RULE" we could book by card if we booked by phone.

So, my partner picked up her mobile phone and whilst standing opposite the receptionist, rang the Gym and booked a court for the next week - by credit card.

You should have seen their faces!

Quality.
(, Sun 15 May 2005, 0:17, Reply)
At the solicitors...
Just popped in....

"Is Deborah in" (my solicitor)
"Erm, what?"
"Is Deborah In?"
"Er, yes"
"Can I have a quick word"
"You can't see a partner without an appointment"
"Oh, is she busy"
"No"
"Can I make an appointment then?"
"Yes...When for?"
"Now."
".... ok"

I am the winner, no more posts required thanks.
(, Mon 16 May 2005, 15:53, Reply)
I
broke my arm once, and wanted a wank. Tried knock one off with other hand but it blatantly refused to polish the old boy.
I looked at the left handed fucker with much disgust imagining it saying something like "not my job that mate, never had the training"
Fucking jobsworth left hand.

Still, it did manage to use the phone so i could call Mrs. Rash to bob round and finish me off.

Every cloud etc.
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 10:50, Reply)
Petrol Station Attendent
Was in Salt Lake City, Utah with a German friend of mine, when he needed to buy cigarettes. I pulled the car into the next petrol station and he jumped out and ran inside to purchase said ciggies. After around 5 minutes of him standing at the counter he came back out without cigarettes saying that they wouldn't accept his German ID as proof of age.

With a derisory snort, I got out the car and confidentally strolled up to the counter with my British Passport in hand.

"Hi! 20 Marlboro please!"
"Could I see some ID?"
"yeh sure, here you go"
"no, I need to see Utah state ID"

I asked why it wasn't acceptable to present a British Passport issued by the British Consulate as proof of age/ID and she said it was easy to fake(?). I then asked her why she needed the ID anyway, and she replied "to prove that you are over 21".

Since I was 33 at the time I just burst out laughing and thanked her for the compliment.

"Do you really think I am under 21?"
"I need to see ID to prove you are over 21"
"But....look at me!"
"that's not the point Sir"
"But...I need to be over 21 to buy cigarettes and I am clearly over 21.. so what's the problem?"
"I need to see proof of that"
"But I've shown you proof"
"That's not acceptable"
"Why not"
"It could be fake"
"I managed to fly across the world using this"
"It's not acceptable"
"Is it impossible to fake a Utah State ID then?"
"Yes"

.. more dumbstruck silence...

"er, can't you just make an intelligent decision based on your eyes?"
"ok Sir, I am making the decision not to sell you cigarettes"

btw, my German friend was 37.


Apologies for size of bellend.
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 9:13, Reply)
Thameslink turds
Had the worst sh*ts I've ever had one day after a dodgy chicken and mint yoghurt sarnie.

As a rule, I can't bear to be in the same carriage as a train toilet, let alone use one, but this time I just had no option short of filling my boxers with thin black gruel. Cue a knock on the door 2 mins after I'd boarded.

"Tickets please"

"Do you mind? I'm a bit preoccupied"

"Tickets please - I'll need to see a ticket"

"What? You want to come in?"

"I'll need to see a ticket"

All of this punctuated with gravy bubbles and the occasional backfire. So, I reach over to my bag to get my travelcard out, and push it meekly under the door.

"Can you come out please?"

"You're really going to have to wait"

So, now with the added inconvenience of an audience, I spend the next 25 mins curling a painful pile of the most noxious filth that's ever left my body.

Having washed my hands extra, extra carefully, I leave the cubicle to be handed my travelcard back by this blank, expressionless grey old man. The f*cker had waited nearly half an hour listening to me sh*t fire for the sake of verifying that I was indeed the person pictured on my photocard.

Length entirely appropriate, under the circumstances.
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 3:38, Reply)
Apologies for (lack of) length
If the last line of a post reads "Apologies for length" I count the number of words, and if there are less than a thousand I refuse to read it.
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 17:21, Reply)
I turned up to a
[nightclub / pub / casino / supermarket / train] when I was [drunk / high / unsuitably dressed / obviously underage / not in possession of a valid ticket / without ID], and the [bouncer / landlord / manager / conductor] wouldn't [let me in / let me on / serve me].

I mean, come on! How petty can you get?

Anyway, I went back the next night and did something so petty that he probably [wouldn't even notice / thinks I'm even more of a pillock than he already did], by way of exacting my revenge.
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 14:35, Reply)
Stagecoach Bus Drivers
Here's a good one for anyone who lives in an area Stagecoach have busses, and with their borg attitude that's most of the country by now.

One thing they really hate is issuing "Change Vouchers" - so I INSIST on it. Basically, they have to give you change but first thing in the morning they often don't have change for a twenty quid note, so they tell you to get off the foxcubbing bus so it doesn't hold them up. BUT, although most of the lazy bar stewards don't bother to read the foxcubbing manual, their ticket machines are capable of issuing a change voucher ticket, so if you give them a twenty quid note at 7:30 in the morning, for a 60p fare, they have to issue you a change voucher for the difference.

Extra points for the jobsworth expert. This is the person who then insists on their right to redeem PART of the change voucher for another bus ticket - this involves the driver getting out his manual to work out how to tell the ticket machine that the customer not only is paying for their 60p bus ride with a change voucher for £19.40 but also needs ANOTHER change voucher for the £18.80 they're still owed by the company.

Finally, ultimate points to the bastard who turns up at 4:59 at the main stagecoach office in the bus station demanding to redeem their change voucher for cash when there's bugger all left in the till, because it is their right so to do - thereby causing every stagecoach employee in the place to dip into their own pockets rather than have to unlock the safe or call supervisors etc.

To which you can cheerfully say, "Same time tomorrow then?" - I love stagecoach buses, I really do...
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 14:47, Reply)
First Great Western
Bristol Temple Meads lost property.

Here dwells possibly the biggest arsehole jobsworth in the universe. He lives in a kind of glass monkey cage in the underpass.

I lost my wallet on a train a year ago, and I got a letter a couple of months later, asking me to go to the above station with the enclosed ref number to pick up my lost property. Down I went, with said number in hand, having parked semi-legally outside, because I thought it'd only be a flying visit. I gave the number to the man behind the counter. The man went into the back, and came back with a brown jacket.

I said 'Sorry - but I lost a wallet, and this jacket isn't mine'.

He checks the ref number against his book of pedantry. 'It says here 'brown jacket''.

Me 'Yes, that may be, but I've come here to pick up my lost wallet - maybe there's been some mix up'.

Him 'It says here you lost a brown jacket'.

Me 'Yes, I think we both understand that, but I have come to pick up my wallet. I have never owned a brown jacket'.

Now - repeat the last 2 section about 40 times. This went on for 15 minutes, until I eventually got so fucked off, I went to get the station manager. As I walked off, I heard a satisfied, sneering chuckle from behind me. I'm not normally an angry person, but I felt like strangling this c**t with his own intestines.

Anyway, when I eventually got hold of the station manager, he gave an 'oh God, not again' kind of resigned sigh, went down to the lost property, took a quick look at the book, apologised for the mix up, went into the back and retrieved my wallet, all in about 10 seconds flat.

And I got a parking ticket.
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 10:27, Reply)
My efforts as a jobsworth...
Have rarely done the jobsworth thing to anyone and am always happy to meet reasonable requests even if it means bending the rules slightly. Once picked up a male English tourist in my ambulance from a medical center – he had been bungy jumping earlier that day and had now had palpitations, chest pain, shortness of breath, severe headache and his eyes had bugged out in true Marty Feldman style. I told him we would need to go to A&E urgently.
He had about 4 or 5 mates with him who were very concerned about him and they asked if we could give them a lift to hospital too.
I explained that I’m only supposed to take one passenger that can be properly seated and seatbelted, but they were really nice folk and we bundled/squashed them all in the ambulance (it was only a short journey.)

My Officer in Charge at the time (a tosser who commanded nil respect) got wind of it from some from bitchnurse friend of his, but couldn’t prove it. He proceeded to lecture me anyway on unauthorized use of an emergency response vehicle, Operating Procedures, Code of Conduct, etc, etc.

About a week later we picked up a patient and her friend came with us. Recognized the friend as the Officer in Charges’ girlfriend.
She was always a nightmare to everyone and constantly enjoyed reminding staff that her partner was our senior officer.
We were still at the hospital when she approached me to tell me that I was to drop her back at her home (which was on our way back to our station) and I delighted in telling her that I couldn’t do it, more than my jobs worth, etc.

Exactly as I hoped, she phones up the Officer in Charge who contacts me to instruct me to drop her home.
I took great pleasure in reminding him of the recent lecture he gave me.

She got a taxi.
(, Sat 14 May 2005, 13:52, Reply)
Again in the hotel
(Didn't want to add to the bottom of the last answer - length problems - such is life!)

I answered the phone at 8.30am on a Sunday morning. The woman on the other end of the line asked to be put through to Room 365. I tried to connect her but there was no answer. So I asked her did she want to leave a message. She said that she would call back later.

This happened another 4 times with the same woman, never leaving a message, saying she would try later.

By the fifth time, she had obviously had enough, and this time she wanted to leave a message. Pen in hand, I was ready to scribble down the message. This is the message, verbatim:

"Tell that f*cking lying cnut that he can sleep with as many dirty f*cking prostitutes as he likes, but he's never coming back to this f*cking house again. And he'll never seen his children"

I paused on the telephone, expecting her to slam the phone down. Unstead, quite calmly she enquired, "Did you get all that?" I muttered, "A huh".

True to my word, and only doing my job (hey, it was in the rules that all messages should be given promptly to guests), I proceeded to pass on the message to the guest in Room 365. Via the messaging system in the hotel rooms!

The guest in Room 365 came to check out later, and when he did, I asked him (with a grin) whether he had got his message. He had. I had carried out my job correctly, and as far as I was concerned, another happy customer!!
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:36, Reply)
Have recently discovered that...
...the internet filter for the Department of Work and Pensions refuses to let you view b3ta, as they have classfied the site as "useless".

That's rich coming from the place that runs the fucking Child Support Agency.
(, Sun 15 May 2005, 10:56, Reply)
Stranded
On Tuesday, I went to a lovely little town called Needles. Anyone who lives in Southern California knows that you turn off at Needles to go to the river (Laughlin). They also know that it's approx 286 miles.

After doing my 15 minute job in Needles (I took four pictures) I turned around to come home. 100 miles from Needles, and 56 miles from the nearest town west of there is a place called Ludlow. It's a 1 horse town. It has a restaurant, 2 gas stations, a Dairy Queen and a tire and belt repair shop. (I'm just setting the scene).

So, I pull into the "town" for more gas and some food as I was starving. My transmission decided that now would be a good time to blow up. Mmmmmmmmmm, says me, there's a tire/belt replacement shop and in I walk.

Me: "Hi, my transmission just blew up"
Redneck: "How do you know?"
Me: "I can't get my car in gear, and there's transmission fluid leaking everywhere"
Redneck: "You've got an oil leak"
Me: "Nope, it's my transmission"
Redneck: "What would you knwo little lady?"
Me: "Okay, please can you look at it?"
Redneck: "No, I'm not authorized"
Blah blah, who the fuck is authorized? I'm stranded and miles from the nearest town.......etc. *sob*

The nice man from the gas station comes out and pops his head under the hood and told me what I already knew, then explained that the tire/belt shop really isn't allowed to do any work on the hunk of junk. At this point I'm 150 miles from home, and it's fucking obvious my transmission blew up, so I sob. Well I am a girl.
I call AAA (RAC equivalent) who will be there in an hour and a half. I ask the nice man in the gas station where I can go for a beer (knowing I can't drive at all that night). Ludlow is a DRY town. It's owned by a Mormon, no alcohol is allowed to be sold.
Here's where jobsworth comes in.............I had a 6-pack in the car that I picked up Needles as it was $2.50 cheaper. So I went into the gas station and grabbed a cup with some ice. Gas station guy comes out for a smoke while I'm pouring beer into my cup of ice. Yells across the parking lot "Ma'am, you can't do that. It's illegal in this town". 29 people stop and stare at me with a can of Bud in my hand. Gas station guy comes over and grabs the can from my hand and throws it onto the freeway! By this point, I'm sobbing. My car just blew up, I have to figure out how to get home and all I want is a FUCKING BEER!
Gasman goes inside. I sit in my car in the 90 degree heat and pour another beer into the cup.

That's probably the best beer I ever had. My car is still in the town 56 miles from there, the transmission is being overhauled and I need $2,000 to pay for it. Donations are welcome.
(, Sat 14 May 2005, 7:09, Reply)
My new belt!
A few days ago (Tuesday I think) I got a brand spanking new belt, one of those ones where the buckle can be removed. Anyway, I'm in the cubicle at college, readying myself for a shit. Having first put toilet paper all over the seat, I proceed to remove my pants. However, my belt needed some force to remove as I had done it quite tightly. Unfortunately, this force made the buckle come off, and it flew straight into the bowl. I first think "Fuck it, just leave it there" but then realise that it was the first time I had worn the fucker, so I wasn't gonna give up that easily. Ever the quick thinker, I decide to go straight in with my hand. Fortunately, the toilet brush catches my eye before I commit the deed.

I lifted the brush, but it was dripping wet in what I can only imagine was piss, so i wrapped the brush part in bog roll, so that I could fish the buckle out with the handle. I am successful in my plight, and scoop the buckle off the floor with my hand (ready wrapped in bog roll). I wash the buckle in the sink, and then have my well-deserved shit.

I'm not sure what relevance any of this has, but I though that you might like to know of my tale.
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 19:23, Reply)
Me, as Barman, c. 1997
Being the nearest rock pub to the local college (which had a large Art dept.) we used to get 10-15 sixteen and seventeen yr old goths come in every weekday afternoon. I instantly hated them, but the owner put up with them because they drank their own bodyweights in our foul coffee, never asked for alcohol and ploughed all their bus money into the pool table and jukebox. After telling them for the thousandth time that gobbing in the ashtrays and having crisp fights is not really acceptable, the gothest, most miserable and most heavily made-up of the bunch comes to the bar and asks for a Pernod and Black. I ID him, and he leaves, looking even more sullen and muttering unpleasantries about me being `worse than Hitler`. The next day they all come back in and he asks for the same thing, I ID him and he pulls out his birth certificate. I look at him, look at the BC, then back at him before loudly asking "Your name is Clifford?!?" before breaking with fits of laughter.

Everty time he came in for the next 6 months all the big hairyarse bikers at the bar would break out into a chorus of `Living Doll` and I would roar with laughter.

They kept gobbing in the ashtrays though. Twunts.
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 15:05, Reply)
I'm german...
any questions?
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 13:23, Reply)
My car was on fire
In a gas staion in LA (Volkswagen beetle, dodgy electrics) many moons ago.
Being like any sane individual I went to the cash registrar and asked if I could borrow a fire extinguisher. This is roughly how the conversation went with lumpy sweating female who worked there.

"Can I borrow your fire extinguisher"
"why"
"Well.... my car is on fire"
"What kind of car is it"
"It's a bug, what difference does it make"
"Don't you have your own fire extinuisher"
"No I don't I used it up a while ago"
"You can buy one if you like they are over there in the corner"

At this point I lost it. Reminded the lump that there was a car ON FIRE in her Farking GAS STATION and if she did'nt sort this out right now I would sue the Fark out of the company blah blah.
Strangly enough she reacted more to the thought of being sued than the fact that there was a smouldering lump of metal on her forecourt .
Septiks..

No Apologies, none
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 9:56, Reply)
My form tutor
The most anally retentive bitch I have ever had the displeasure of dealing with. She realy looked the part of an uptight teacher as well - huge glasses, blouses buttoned up to the neck - as if she'd never had an orgasm.

I had her for R.E. in Years 8 and 9, when she had this complete obsession with paragraphs - all the reports I got from her banged on about how I needed to "work on paragraphing skills" so of course I wrote all my essays in one paragraph just to piss her off. Come parents' evening she had contracted apoplexy as a result of this. I was her last appointment of the evening, when she banged on about the importance of paragraphs for a good 20 minutes. All the other teachers had gone home already and the caretakers were desperate to get home too, so they started sweeping up around us in the hopes that she would get the message. Then they turned the lights out. Then they stood right in front of her tapping their feet and glancing at their watches. Mrs Paragraph continued unabated whilst my parents and I stifled giggles - this pissed her off even more!

The best story about her was from Year 11 though. Mrs Paragraph was the head of health education but was uncharacteristically disorganised about it, making members of her form do lowly admin tasks for her. Cow. Anyway, one lunchtime she cornered me and gave me an important task - sorting a load of jumbled up STD leaflets into piles. I'd been working on this for a while, when she came up to me and uttered the immortal line, "I've got herpes, chlamydia, gonorrhea and syphillis. What have you got?" I couldn't help laughing like a maniac at this and said, "I haven't got anything, thankyou very much!" thinking that of course, she couldn't fail to see the funny side of it. Wrong! After being stared at inomprehensibly for several seconds it dawned on me that her sense of humour must have been surgically removed along with her personality.
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 19:52, Reply)
Another Video Rental Story
There was a small local video store, before the days of Blockbusters, where this spotty stuck up twange of a kid used to work. My uncle used to be a member, but used to get allot of grief about returning videos and not rewinding them etc.

Me dad and his mate called Wynford (an oil worker who done alot of work in Libya in the 80's) went to the local video store, where the welsh/libian was trying to join their rental club. Both walk in wearing sunglasses and leather jackets, (as for some strange reason it didn't rain that day in wales) and approach the counter to join the club.

They are greeted by a snotty student jobsworth, who'se looking at these two men and starting to get a bit nervous. Cowering behind his acne he asks "How can I help?"

Wynford shouts out directly down to this jobsworth with lots of arabic (which we found out later was "How much for your camel?"). The jobstworth now looks as my father who is smiling, and nervously asks "What did he say?"

"Ah, my colleague has asked how do you become a member of this establishment?".

The jobsworthy calms down a bit, and asks me dad to ask him if the other person has any forms of id. Now me dad, quick as a flash, barks out a load of bollocks, which sounded roughly like Arabic, but was just jumbled crap. The jobsworth looks at Wynford, and Wynford smiles and pulls out his wallet. Then he does a "Fletch" impression, and drops 20 forms of rolled up ID down to the ground, ranging from a libian green card to foreign exchange. The jobsworth shit himself, run out the back and called the management in, which as soon as they turned up at the shop's front desk they were greeted by two normal middle aged men with their sunglasses and jacket off, and just looking to rent a video. Bless.

Christ, apols for length like, tis fecking huge.
(, Fri 13 May 2005, 12:29, Reply)
Jobsworth webpages
I like creating web forms that instist on a valid US State and ZIP code from all customers, including international ones. And when I create a list of countries, I always make sure that United Kingdom is missing, prefering England in its place.

I also make sure that all fields are wiped when a page fails validation and that 50% of the time, I generate a server error after submitting it.

It is just a pity I can't see the users faces and long to work in retail.
(, Thu 12 May 2005, 16:23, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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