Love child of Chris Evans and Bianca (Rickeeeeeee)
My best mate Colin started working at the same McD's as me about 6 months after I had started there. When he started I told everybody to call him by his nickname, ginge, as that's what he's been called all his life. As the days went by I refused to ever call him by his first name which soon caught on.

After a couple of weeks, nobody called him Colin, it was always....."Can I go for my break now, it's ok Match Head will cover for me", or "Can I have a ciggie break when Red Man Walking gets back?".

There was one time though, on a busy Saturday afternoon, and the store manager was helping out on serving drive-thru. As he was collecting his order together he noticed the fry machine was empty, so he shouted over to Colin, "Tangie Bollox, the fry machine needs refilling". Now shouting this infront of a shop full of customers was ill advised, but defnitely a big no no considering we had some big cheeses in making quality inspections in the store that day.

Our manager still calls him Sammity Sam and other such names however, but he was forced to give Colin a proper name tag, one that didn't encourage the customers to call him Copper Nob.
(Lt Columbo, Mon 24 Jul 2006, 1:55, Reply)

where to start
i am a chef
a hard working
poorly paid chef
my boss talks about his cock to much, sings a long to songs that he doesn't know the words
shouts at everyone
pretends hes a fitness freak when he spends his time smoking and drinking
has a really sound girlfriend who he doesn't deserve
he steals the kitchen staffs tips
fires people for no reason and acts like a cunt all the time
i have 4 days left

anyhoo stories. . .
well theres the spanish guy dani who used to steal my bosses hashish for a smoke after work
gael who used to throw the stuff he hadn't finished out the window
irene who cant cook
and jose, the alchoholic with a ponytail

oh wait, none of that is funny, its depressing

i hate my job
(classic-spastic, Mon 24 Jul 2006, 1:21, Reply)

Plump cow with special sauce...
A few years back, I used to cover the occasional waitressing shift at the place I worked.

I didn't mind this. I worked hard, was polite to the customers, & made a bloody fortune in tips. Same went for most of the waiting staff.

We were relied upon to administer our own breaks, with no formal times given to us. However, it was generally understood that no more than an hour or so in total of the course of an eight-hour shift was considered to be the norm, & that's what we all stuck to.

Except for this one girl. A lazy, pudgy little heifer who I shall call That Tubby Bitch, for that is her name. Honest...

That Tubby Bitch would spend at least fifty percent of her working day sat on her arse in the staffroom doing bugger-all, regardless of how busy the place was, or how many other waiting staff were available.

As if this wasn't irritating enough, That Tubby Bitch also had a painfully obvious crush on my bloke, who also worked at the same place, & would practically fall over herself to get down to the staffroom whenever he was on break.

One day, I got asked to cover a shift as two staff members had gone off sick. That Tubby Bitch was the only other person waitressing, & predictably, left me doing all the work on what turned out to be one of the busiest nights of the year. Just as I'm finally about to break for lunch with my bloke, & am on my way to the staffroom, plate in hand, That Tubby Bitch, (who had already eaten several hours earlier) comes rushing past (having spotted my bloke) after having been out of the staffroom for no more than about 15 minutes, claiming to be gasping for a ciggy.

When I eventually do get to eat my rather cold lunch half an hour later, it's nearly the end of the shift. That Tubby Bitch comes into the staffroom & sits down next to me, acting all buddy-buddy. And has the nerve to ask me to share my tips with her, as she hasn't made much that night.

That was it. I somewhat loudly informed her that maybe if she'd actually done some fucking work, she'd have some money of her own, & that the only tip I'd consider giving her would be how best to fit her fat head into the kitchen oven.

A passing manager overhears this, asks me to explain myself. Which I did, backed up by other members of staff. Manager sends her out to do some work for the last couple of hours under strict instructions not to return to the staffroom until the end of the shift, & tells me to take half an hour's break & chill out.

All well, & good, but there was no way I felt like chilling out. I wondered around the staffroom for a bit kicking random objects, until eventually, the bloke decided to pass through the staffroom on his way to the bog.

A swift explantion of what was wrong, & the bloke disappears to the prep room (where us waiting staff made the sandwiches for the customers). He returns a few minutes later looking pleased with himself, but won't tell me what he's done, as there are now other people in the staffroom.

About five minutes later, That Tubby Bitch is escorted into the staffroom by a female manager. Said manager escorts her into the locker room to collect her coat, & the off the premises.

Eventually get home a couple of hours later, & get to ask the bloke what he did.

Turns out that just before he came in to use the loo, he heard one of our very fussy regulars ask for a sandwich & a cup of tea. This woman, who put quite a lot of business our way, tended to be a bit on the rude side to staff, & never tipped. As a result, she was somewhat paranoid about people tampering with her food, & would throughly inspect anything before eating it.

The bloke had managed to get to the door of the prep room unseen, & discretely watch as she finished making the sandwich. And then sneak in unobserved, steathily bring up what he described as "the biggest blob of booger-throat-glop you've ever seen in your life" into the sandwhich, & sneak back out again.

When said fussy customer went to inspect her sandwich, the 'special sauce' was immediatly spotted, & the manager called.

That Tubby Bitch was formally dismissed after a displinary hearing the following week. Result!

*Insert length joke here*
( Sylia Stingray is pilfering the biscuits on, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 22:18, Reply)

Please read
www.stainedapron.com/

for tales of American derring-do.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 22:12, Reply)

Gourmet Pizza Place
I got the job just by walking in and asking the disgruntled italian behind the counter if they were hiring. He grunted and said if I can take this guys order.. I'd get the job. So I walked behind the counter.. punched the customer's order into the register... and got the job. 'Course.. then he wanted me to stay and work that very day and show everyone ALL READY working there how to use the register. Pfft. I said I'd be back the next day.

Now Working there - the italian manager spent most (ALL) of his time at the strip club located just across the street. Only coming back over to grab a pizza "for the ladies" or to shag whatever trash was dangling on his arm. And let me say.. the restaurant's back office is by no means sound proof.

The guy was a hoot. Constantly on cocaine and ex. We took his absence as an opportunity to also enjoy a bit of fluff ourselves. Though he did return often enough to shake up some flip outs and encourage more people to quit. I had no clue pizza dough could become such a versatile weapon.

None of the employees had any expereince working at a pizzeria. The veteran of the place was going on 2 and a half weeks.. but he came in hung over most of the time and when he wasn't hung over.. he talked about model boats constantly. We kept him in the back away from the customers.

We were all juvenile misfits or just old skanky pot heads trying to run a fucking restaraunt with out any guidance. We'll stick around and attempt making pizzas and pasta if we get paid.

And we did for a short while - until some suits came in and said they were shutting the place down. Big surprise. Had to go get the manager across the street to let him know ;)

There was some revolting shit going on there... like the food they kept in what looked like amniotic fluid. You know - like eggs and olives etc. After working there.. I never order salads or soup any where.

The place also served tuna and chips and it turns out the tuna was so old.. the other employees had been scooping around the mold and feeding it to the customers for what had to be months..

Apparently there's this thing called "rotation" and anyone who has worked at eateries knows it's importance. Well - we sure didn't..

I saw the italian manager some time later in a booking photo.. something about possession. Too much fun.
(blahism, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 22:04, Reply)

My one job..
The only job Ive ever had was in a very posh restaurant. Now,the customers were all there for weddings (they tended to be the diamond earring,chav squad with lots of squealing brat) or sunday lunch,so they were all quite respectable.

Not only were the wedding guests always revolting,so were the kitchen staff. A few leather-faced old bints stuffed full of gold earrings,and younger bints similarly blinged out. I found I couldnt indulge in the art of conversation with these people,as all they said seemed to be along the lines of "ah,maayte,me sistah came raaahd the aahver day,we got bare drunk on breezers"
God it was rancid. Havent worked since.
(Miharu, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 21:12, Reply)

used to be a barman...
in a london irish pub that also ran a rock/indie club next door.

we were told to empty the lager drip trays into this big bucket under the bar, never gave much thought as to why though; just naively assumed it was to save us the trouble of having to walk over to empty them into the sink every time or something. it was only after working there for a number of months however that i found out the management emptied this bucket back into a barrel at the end of every week to serve back up to the goths next door on saturday night.

thats a second-hand mixture of three lagers they were getting, and for £2.50 a pint as well! if only they knew
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 21:01, Reply)

Apologies For Length...
Get a life mate.

The whole point of this is entertainment...You Gaywad.
(BatCountry organised, attended, and was thrown out on, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 19:47, Reply)

I worked in a restaurant once
I got sacked for sticking my dick in the dishwasher.

Mind you, she got sacked as well.


Ba - dum - tish. Thank you, I'll be here all week.
(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 18:55, Reply)

omigod, i can't find my cock
At 17 I was doing three things - my A Levels, working as a waitress in a local restaurant and taking prodigious amounts of very strong amphetamines.

The head chef and I were meeting for illicit shags in the staff room, office and on the tables after work for a couple of months. Although in his late 20s he had never been exposed to drugs, so one night after the shift I fed him some pretty strong base.

Rushing his tits off he got a sudden urge to drive and we ended up meandering round central London at 4am. The high point was in a back street near Marble Arch when he got out of the car to have a piss in a doorway and I heard the plaintive cry of "Omigod I actually can't find my cock."

Remember children, *just say no*
(MC Kippers Wot U Lookin At, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 18:02, Reply)

OT, but there you go...
All you people out there posting stories of the time you wiped knob-cheese around the rim of Timmy Mallet's cappuccino...

About half of these read like a third-hand urban legend and so can be discounted as obvious lies, but the rest? My God do you realise how petty, vindictive and powerless you make yourselves sound? Is your self respect so easily beaten down by a McJob and a bit of lip from some pissed-up arse, that you can convince yourself that an infant school prank that will never be detected by the recipient is some kind of payback? That really is pitiful...
(apologies_for_length, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 17:38, Reply)

Chip Monkey
I work in a Fish 'n' Chips shop. Apart from the fact that in the summer I have to work 6 hours straight in an air temperature of 40°C all of my cuntstomers believe that as I am wrapping up their dinner for them I must be as thick as pig shit (aside from the fact that I've aced all my exams and am on my way to a masters degree).
Our raw fish is stored in metal drawers and the juice collects in the bottom, usually this gets trhown away but on one occasion we poured it into a mug and dared the kitchen porter to drink it for £1...he did.
Another fun story of my job is in the autumn when the crane flies are about, my manager collects them in an empty pickle jar throughout the evening and then feeds them into the bug-zapper creating a burning stench which fills the entire premises.
(Melmite This is a MUMORPUGUH!, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 17:34, Reply)

Lesson the first..
My boss asked me to taste the new batch of "slush puppy" beverage he has just mixed together to make sure it taste ok. Si i oblige being a bit partial to the blue stuff and when i have finished a very genrous half cup of the nectar and confirm it tasts ok he throws the rest away laughing that a very large fly had shot out of the bin and fallen into it moments before. Cnut
( Damion International - now taking orders., Sun 23 Jul 2006, 16:28, Reply)

Ooh, I have one, pick me!
I work odd weekends at a tourist attraction, which will remain nameless, as I don't want anyone to get the wrong impression about it. There has been some trouble with chefs, though - in the past two years, there has been an incredibly stroppy middle aged woman who left because she did't get on with the manager, her replacement, who looked like the chef from Pigeon Street and who I kept on expecting to have a french accent - he didn't. He left due to health reasons (I think). Then there was the latest chef, who used to take very long lunch breaks in his car, whilst smoking something that didn't smell like tobacco, and trying to get the girls who worked in the catering bit, most aged between fourteen and eighteen, to join him. Luckily, I wasn't one of them. The morning after a particularly busy day, when the staff thought he'd gone home early, leaving them to do his job, one of them looked at the timesheet and saw he'd clocked out at ten, and had been sitting in his car. He left after the boss told the kitchen staff that she would prefer it if they ate their lunch in the back of the tearooms, rather then going to their cars, as then she could get hold of them if there was an emergency. The chef wasn't very happy about this - he slammed down his apron, shouted something like, "Well, I'm not going to take you victimising me like that" and stormed out. They are now using an agency.

Oh, and Legless I - Hells Angels are actually incredibly polite and well mannered, and not as violent as their reputation says. Unless you really piss them off.
(Pretty strangers and promises, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 16:05, Reply)

I've got a few!
Load of stories when i worked as a barman in a hotel bar. Like being the only person behind teh bar for a gypsy funeral. 200 hundred people with sovereign rings and bundles of cash all wanting 'beer'. Made a good living on the tips though...
And when one of my colleagues had set up a 'pipe' in the cellar and I spend a whole shift stoned out of my head.
But my favourite was when a girl and her chavvy boyfriend came in for a drink. Back in the early nineties, there were none of these alcopops; the most sophisticated drink then was half a lagar and lime. Said girl asks for one of those which I duly serve. She takes a sip and says "'ere, i think this lagar's off" I took a sip and, sure enough, it tasted a bit funny. Andy the bar manager had a go and knew instantly that I hadn't given her lagar and lime, more the less known 'pipe cleaner and lime'. The bloke who cleaned the pipes had forgotten to drain them.
Oh how we laughed on our way to casualty...
(Ghostlight, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 14:35, Reply)

Essex County Cricket Club
Worked as a barman here but used to sneak in to the kitchens to grab food.

The kitchen was serving the VIP guests who were paying 120£ a head for their food. The catering company relied heavily on temporary staff who because they were temps tended to have no idea how to do the job and didn't give a shit that they didn't know. The VIP's were served food that had been prepared the day before or earlier by staff with no hygiene training whih would then be eaten by staff and re-arranged so as they wouldn't notice, the cutlery also would sometimes just be wiped down rather than washed to save time at the end of the night.

Not as bad as half the stories on here but I'm bitter cause the fuckers fired me.
(Inglorious, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 13:09, Reply)

Bars
I work in a student bar - and I know it's very very clean (I spent three days cleaning it with 4 other colleages) and the beer lines are cleaned once a week by myself!

That's the worst thing about any other pub in my town though (and across the country), well a lot of them, they don't clean the lines from the barrels to the taps very frequently (by law once a week![i think?])...

This is why you get really really bad hangovers when you haven't drunk that many draught beers and even worse ones when you do...

They try and get away with it with stupid "beer magnets" - they just DO NOT WORK.

So I rarely drink pints unless it's a weatherspoons or some other chain pub - otherwise it's bottles, at least I know it's clean and fresh!!
(anudeglory, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 12:37, Reply)

Extra Protein Rations
In the film 'The Producers', there is only one bit that's REALLY worth seeing. They're trying to find the worst possible film script ever, so they're searching through scripts to find a real stinker. Mel Brooks picks up one script and distractedly reads:

"Gregor Samsar awoke one morning to find that he had been transformed into a giant cockroach...too good!"

and he throws the script over his shoulder. Can you guess what this post is about? Yes, it's COCKROACHES.

To pay my way through study this past year, I worked in the kitchens as a dishwasher. Hundereds and hundreds of plates and dishes (sadly enough, I got to know the cutlery pretty well - I had a favourite spoon, which I stole on the last day and still have with me in my bag). I got to know the entire kitchen very well, so sometimes they'd leave me in charge. Unfortunately, I also got to know the cockroaches rather too well.

This was in Israel, the Old City of Jerusalem no less. There are several pests to watch out for there:

1)cockroaches - they are HUGE and fly
2)feral cats - cute when little, but they all have feline aids
3)American teenagers - deceptively innocent, they sneak in at night and steal all the food for the next day

The cockroaches really got to me though. I like insects in general but cockroaches...and maggots, just aren't my thing. If I hadn't had to share my apartment with them, they may have seemed slightly more benevolent, but I began to suspect they were stalking me. They lived in the wall in our apartment kitchen, and would wave their antennea out of the small holes in the wall, jiggle this way and that, then withdraw. If several of them did it at once, the wall looked strangely pre-pubescent. Then I'd go to wash up, and they'd leap at me from the sink, play dead hanging around upside down, then madly kicking their legs around if I came near to sweep them up. I'd be frying up omlettes, and suddenly grab a pointy stick and try to shove the cockroach that had just appeared on the edge of the hob into the open flames. It also meant I couldn't let too many people in - they might see the little critters running around! It got to the point where one day, I came across a dead one upside down in the apartment and just sat staring at it for about an hour thinking "...I suppose it could be rather beautiful..." before sweeping it up and dumping it in the bin.

If any of the girls knew what the kitchens were really like - heh heh heh - they didn't even see the holes in the floor we had to pour the liquid waste down.

come on, you know you love this just because I've managed to incorporate the word 'cock' into it so many times...
( Hampster Squared has stuff at www.tilla.co.uk, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 12:11, Reply)

beware the lucky dip
I work at a cinema, we sell pick n mix, and until recently sold bags of sweets already picked out called 'lucky dip bags' truth is, these were just all the sweets that fell out of their hoppers into the catch tray at the bottom of the pick n mix stand, the retail staff collected them up and rebagged them of an evening to sell again. cunning and totally likely to get the place shut down.

Also, someone once remarked that our hotdogs taste like keys, everyone else just says they're fucking disgusting.
( spikedirection no frills, no skills., Sun 23 Jul 2006, 12:10, Reply)

a small waitress in a big hotel...
tends to become a chef favourite. unless its one of the the two female polish chefs...
nothing is worse than a sunday morning walking into a packed kitchen on pervy chefs, kitchen porters and scary italian waiters.
so if you happen to be remotely attractive, dont get a job in a hotel kitchen...
(littlebusstudiesone, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 12:09, Reply)

What Is It About Bar Owners...
Im a student, Students work behind bars... But bar owners are always the dodgest people in the world.
Owner of the bar we used to work at was a power mad freak, refused to drink because he didnt like not to be in control.
Since then a bar owner scouted me, because i used to do flair work (tom cruise eat your heart out...(NB. Not gay)) and called my precious all through the interveiw then 2 weeks later got indited for tax fraud...
Has anybody ever worked for a sane bar owner?
(iydlibm ...If I Am Online Here, I Am Definatly Bored..., Sun 23 Jul 2006, 11:48, Reply)

Pizza Hut
As a student i worked in pizza 'shitehole' hut in Luton (another shitehole) and i would never eat in a place like that!
There are recipie cards to follow ... so many grames of cheese, pepperoni etc. The place use to close at 11 but you would still get the odd drunk in just before in closed for a take away. We used to quadruple the chilli. the guy was drunk, we were closing ... made me smile anyway
(uttertosser, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 8:15, Reply)

damaged for life
when i was working in this restaurant years ago, sundays were hell, not only because of the hangover/continued drunk.. but also because of the kids. hateful little run free bastards that they were. anyway, this one little kid with her face all painted like a happy clown, little blonde ringlets hanging around her smiley little face with her little hand holding this red balloon... she wanders into the still room, while i was about 5 metres away facing here in the waiter station. she looked at me, all delighted with herself for running into the off-limits area and stopped dead. I looked back at her and in my best evil voice, I loudly advised her to 'getttttt ouuuuuuuttttt'. her face dropped and she stood there stunned for a while not quite believing the world to be like that. I couldn't stop laughing for ages... I'm still laughing now as I recall it. One of the chefs happened to see me do it as well and was equally stunned, not helped by me going - ah hahahahah did you see that?

ah, fond memories.

this other time, there was this little shit running around causing general mayhem. so i said to him, "you know what you are? you're just a little shit. that's all you are. a little shit." he runs off to his dad then... who was of course, the owner of the restaurant out for a nice meal with his family. I worried for about 10 milliseconds, then remembered that (a) i was right and (b) it was worth it and (c) fuck 'em. nothing happened anyway and when i saw the manager pick him up later and put a knife to his throat in front of his father.. for the laugh... i knew i was in the clear.
(idamonster Reality is something to rise above, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 4:16, Reply)

Went to a really posh restaurant in Didsbury, Manchester.
Having a really nice meal, it was getting late. My girlfriends mother becomes desperate for a smoke, so she goes outside and lights up. After her last drag, she tries to re-enter but finds the door locked. One of the staff finally lets her in with the apology:

"Sorry about that madam, but we're expecting to be robbed by armed men this evening so we have to lock the door."

Kind of took the shine off the evening.
( Watney Heckbulb uhnnnnnnnn has a new blog: www.skepticcanary.com, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 1:49, Reply)

once worked in a kitchen
stuck my cock in the soup. didnt work in the kitchen again
(fwack bang on it, Sun 23 Jul 2006, 0:24, Reply)

Boris
A friend of my godfather's worked in a particular famous London restaurant in the late 70s.
One day soon after joining, he was scraping some raw rough cuts of meat into the bin, when chef shouted 'Oi, no! give that to me!"
Bit confused, he complied.
Further confused, he watched as chef stood on a box and swung a vent door to one side and chucked the meat in.
A few seconds later, the meat started moving.
Christ, thought my godfather's mate, he's keeping a bloody rat!
Er. No.
Because suddenly around the side of the vent curved a huge but slender hairy arm.
A cocking SPIDER.
HUGE.
Apparently, chef had been feeding it raw meat for two years.
The theory was it came in with some bananas and chef didn't have the heart to kill it.
He called it Boris after the Who song.

EDIT: I've heard a different version from someone, but after a bit of prodding discovered a couple of details had been changed when telling it to 'protect the innocent', as the chef in question still has a reputation to maintain... This is completely true, i promise, my godfather fed it himself once...
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 23:46, Reply)

turd with that, madam?
I worked in a restaurant that minged so badly we had to wash the mouse turds off the plates before service. I got two quid an hour and was allowed to eat the chips off of plates that came back to the kitchen. Result!

I also heard Mike Read off of Runaround call the owner a cunt. How right he was.

Length, girth ...whatever
(surlygirl spanked your monkey on, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 23:11, Reply)

I once worked in a Mexican restaurant
in Clapham Junction, where one of the chefs was Croatia, formerly part of Yugoslavia.

At the time, Yugslavia was being torn apart by civil war, so when a group of rugger buggers came in one night and started to share their opinions of how 'those bloody gyppo Yugoslavians should kill each other and have done with it' etc etc, chef was non too impressed.

The loudest of the cretins requested the house special desert, lemon and lime sorbet with tequila, so chef, suffering from a terribly phlegm filled pair of lungs due to an encroaching cold, coughed up his own special lime coloured chewy sauce onto the boy's frozen delight. The recipient complemented the waitress on the meal....
(noodledoodle really shouldn't share his humour, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 23:09, Reply)

Haw
I learnt how to say "hurry up, motherfucker" in Russian, blagged numerous free créme brulées, sang Derek & Clive songs and met the oddest assortment of people ever, from pierced punky pastry-chefs, Polish, Russian, German, French and South African immigrants and clinically insane be-pierced boy-racers to BBW-loving chefs and the obligatory insanely attractive French waitresses, all of 5 feet. Nothing too remarkable.

Except, apparently, one of the waitresses was second-in-line to the throne of Burma, or something. One of those odd little countries.
Not suprised she was a waitress, I though Princesses were meant to be beautiful and charismatic and all that. I seem to recall her being what you'd say a typical female Bingo-player looked and acted like.
(MNNNNGGH, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 23:07, Reply)

Was this your own bowel, uptonogood
or someone else's? Just curious.

I suppose I have to do a story now. Practically my whole class worked as waiters/dishwashers at the local masonic lodge for a while. Unfortunately, no great secrets were learnt, except for the fact that drunk, middle-aged, married masons really enjoy feeling up underage waitresses.

What length?
(T. S. Bundy, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 22:43, Reply)