I used to work at weekends...
which, as you can imagine, sucked.

I love scuba diving, have been diving for ages and have dived in many sites all over Scotland.

One day the dive club decide that a whole weekend trip to Isle of Mull would be in order. I couldn't afford the whole weekend, so I decided to go the Sunday. One problem - work.

Because me and another girl were leaving very early on the Sunday morning (5 in the morning...Mull is quite far away and we wanted to be on the dive boat by 9) I had to phone and arrange cover the night before. It was a small shop and would have been shut if I hadn't got someone in.

I get my cover on the phone. I tell her that I've fallen down some stairs at my mates house. I'm stranded at her place (I actually was - she lives quite far from my home, but she was closer to Mull!) and can't possibly drive down. Much pity ensues and she rings off with the final words "Make sure you phone the shop tomorrow though, to speak to the manager".

Bugger.

Up at 4am, leave at quarter to five, and on the dive boat at 9. Have my first dive of the day, everything's awesome, and everyone thinks it's hilarious that I've pulled a sickie.

Until I remember I have to phone the shop.

And that's how I ended up lying on the bottom of a boat in the middle of the sea, phone shoved up under my dive hood so my manager can't hear the noise of the waves/engine/gulls/wind/big hairy divers pissing themselves laughing at my theatrics.

What made it worse was the fact I had to wear a bandage on my "injured" ankle for the next few shifts at work.

I now have another job with a male manager. "Women's problems" is a much easier/neater excuse.
(The Oncoming Storm, Fri 9 Jun 2006, 12:11, Reply)