Pub-grub rub creates bitter aftertaste
I was once sacked from the kitchens of a Wetherspoons (for kitchens, read "place where things that were once food and are now 40% saturated fat are microwaved to order") for refusing to work new year's eve. I went out on the afternoon of new year's eve with some of m'colleagues and got them and me terribly terribly terribly drunk. I of course was not working; they were incapable. I was not popular - and the axe fell.

A month or two later I was foolish enough to ask my ex-manager for a reference for a new job, and he perhaps unsurprisingly refused. And as a result I didn't get the new job.

A week or two later I saw ex-manager walking down the pavement coming towards me. I'd clocked him, he hadn't clocked me. When he was about a foot away I stuck my face in his and screamed a slang word for ladies' genitalia as loud as I could. Which is very loud, indeed. I am a big lad, and have strapping, er, lungs.

If you've never seen anyone jump out of their skin before it goes something like this: person's essence (or soul, if you will) leaves the body at high speed, leaping back about two feet and up around a foot. The remaining body, deprived of its very core, its being, turns white as if a sudden physical shutdown were beginning to take place. Then the corporeal moves backwards very quickly to rejoin the ethereal as if pulled savagely by invisible strings. The bladder then loosens, and a comedy dark patch appears at the crotch.

"That'll learn 'im", I thought. But I'm willing to bet money that it didn't. Life experiences never seem to penetrate into what passes for the minds of short-arsed, dim-witted service industry middle managers. But then, I'm biased.
( petuniadb, Tue 28 Feb 2006, 17:00, Reply)