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This is a question Bastard Colleagues

You've all known one. The brown-nosing fucker, the 'comedian', the drunk, the gossip and of course the weird one with no mates who goes bell ringing, looks like Mr Majika and sports a monk's haircut (and is a woman).

Tell us about yours...

Thanks to Deskbound for the idea

(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:09)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I'm a military man.
I was born to a whore in the reactor room of a trident submarine, that's most likely the reason I've got seventeen toes. I can't tell who my father is because everyone on board had a go at my dear old mum, even me sometimes, but that's just how it is in the navy, I guess.

Thanks to a small politically sensitive mis-entry in the ships log, the location recorded at the time I was born was somewhere in US waters in the Gulf of Mexico, handily gaining me dual Anglo-american nationality. A quirk I would come to benefit from in the future. When I reached 16, I had enough of being groped and interfered with by my 37 fathers so I applied for, and was granted extended shore leave.

I disembarked in Florida and a few quick narcotic exchanges provided the funding to see me through US military college. I met a whole new family of soddomists there, and remain in the military to this day. With my deep-rooted connections, I'm now working in the military wing of the pentagon among many generals who I refer to as my dear 'be-starred colleagues'.

Take that one up the 'arris! I just got promoted to Punnery Sergeant!
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 9:38, Reply)
Mr. 'Less use than a broken pencil'
First post from a long time lurker...

As other people have noted, people who work for IT companies tend to be a pretty odd crowd. I should know, being a bit geeky myself. However, they are nothing compared to the caliber of employee you meet at Government research centres. I worked (and still work) for a certain IT services company, so occasionally I would work onsite for various customers.

So there I was, just out of Uni, with my first proper job onsite with a customer. On my first day I was warned about X, and told that I should be grateful that he wasn't there. Uh oh. The next day I met him. He obviously was a smart guy but he was impossible to work with.

His quirks included:

- A pathological desire to prevent other people from working. He once made the mistake of asking one of my fellow contractors for a appraisal review. It read 'If you have a broken pencil you can't do any work. X actively prevents everyone from working. He is therefore less use than a broken pencil.'

- A bizarre fetish about Minis. He thought that any car that couldn't have had a walk on role in the Italian Job was a soulless box on wheels. His was a rusty death trap. But it Had Soul.

- An equally bizarre sex life. One of my colleagues was a quiet, unassuming type who had been born again a few years previously. X's reaction to this was tell him in gruesome detail what he had been up to with his long suffering girlfriend the previous night. This apparently involved anal sex and coprophilia. Nice.

- Insane nationalism. Yes, fine, be proud of being Welsh, but not everything in the whole world revolves around your national identity and what the English did (real or imagined) several centuries ago. We know you made most of that stuff up.

- Angry outbursts. We were never more than ten minutes away from an irrational explosion of pent up rage. Obviously the bum fun wasn't doing it for him. Luckily he came in at 10am, had a two hour lunch break and buggered off again at 4pm, so we did get some respite from him.

So, after eighteen months of telling us long suffering contractors that we were money grabbing scum, he left to become... a contractor. His new company then tried to place him onsite in his old job. Now for some funny reason, his old employers wouldn't let him anywhere near them.

Oh how we laughed.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 9:28, 1 reply)
University of Wales, Aberystwyth
This is a little known fact among the heaps of myths about Wales. Not a country of sheep-shaggers are we, not content with our rugby-playing depression nor our 264:1 consonant to vowel ration. We have a far deeper secret lying nestled amongst the slate mines of Western Ceredigion, where men are men, women are women, and no-one's quite sure about the children.

In Aberystwyth, a peaceful town lapped by the gentle waves of the Irish sea, a coil of smoke spread out from beneath a door. Behind the door , a maniacal glee could be heard as of one who has reached a goal after long and hard research including more than a few third-degree lovehandle burns. The smoke spread slowly through the town, mingling with the morning mist. At every door or passerby, a smaller tendril split off and entered every house or the lungs of every young person it encountered.

Time passed. Not years, or months, or weeks but a single day. Friday. As is the wont of certain enlightened human beings of which Aberystwyth houses many, many students headed to that high-point of their social interaction locales, the pub. Hours passed with the habitual procedure of downing pints, wagging or snogging tongues and friendly chatter. Yet, over time, more and more bartenders began noticing something strange.

As if in a fairytale, the students, that species most reputed for inebriation as a hobby, were still standing. The townies, that local bunch of chavtastic neanderthals, were long departed to their beds beneath the table of in their Micras. Yet, the students plied on into the night, not a single drop of alcohol going to their heads. Beer, spirits, absinth, moonshine, nothing could be done. Eventually, their money ran dry and the students returned to their dorms, not a one of them waking hungover.

The mist had done its work. From now on, the University of Wales, Aberystwyth, would forever be known as the.......Beerstud College.

First post in 3 years, totally worth it.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 8:09, 6 replies)
the woman at the uni bar
who gave me crabs.

What a bar STD college.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 7:20, Reply)
So once upon a time
I worked with a mate and it transpired his parents weren't actually married. Long story short...
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 6:42, Reply)
If You Can't Beat 'Em

Bloke I knew was the manager of the local working mans club and he was very well liked.

In fact, he was so popular that I did a tribute to him which consisted of me cutting out lots of pics of him and making a HUGE pic with all the little ones.


It was a Bar-Steward Collage....

I wins!

(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 5:06, 4 replies)
scullery maid
When I got fired from being a scullery maid in victorian London because my employer gave me a dose, I got a job as a prostitute. My pimp who was Mr Fagan out of Oliver Twist used to collect the scabs from our fannies and sell them as 'snackettes' to our customers. They were OUR scabs from OUR personal fannies therefore we should have got to keep the money from them...cunts
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 4:26, Reply)
Always keen to help out the girls....
... he got caught wanking in the secretary's coffee. And madder still tried to appeal against the sacking.

Don't ask how he made her morning cappuccinos with both froth and choco bits....
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 4:23, Reply)
Now this is probably mostly my own fault and im still angry at myself even though it was a couple of years ago.

First of all I work in advertising (and yes its full of smug wankers)

Now my flatmate of the time was a bit of a twat but a nice enough bloke and we got on ok. He had just lost his job working as a print/production monkey and was struggling for cash. The shit hole I was working at needed a production guy for a couple of weeks so I put his name forward so he could get working again (and pay some fucking bills).

Within a week of working he had –

Pissed off pretty much everyone with his shit boring stories
Shag 3 girls (and im convinced one bloke)
Dropped me in the shit a number of times by saying I told him to do things a certain way
Got pissed on 2 beers one lunch and fell asleep at his desk
Left on the Friday without doing one piece of work, which I had to then do as I had recommended him to the company.

He got paid nearly 2 grand for that one weeks work for doing not one thing and left me with a stinking reputation in the company.

That weekend he accused me of trying to get him the sack and punched a hole in the door. I chucked him out the next day.

But the worst thing.

18 months ago I moved to Sydney. First day of work, who is my new boss??? That’s right it was fucko. He had been on holiday whilst I was being interviewed. I lasted 3 weeks and then we had a punch up and we both got sacked. Cheers mate.

Although he did serve me dinner the other night as a waiter in some shit restaurant so that made me smile.

He was shit at that too.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 3:44, 2 replies)
Oh dear...
I've got a sheepdog. I didn't pay for him; I swapped something for him...

He's my bartered collie.

It's all right, I'll get it myself on my way out...
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 3:15, 2 replies)
One person
(start rant)

1. Religious as all fuck, even suggesting that she can baptise me (as I am a heathen, and gosh darned proud of it!) and I wouldn’t be admitted to the Kingdom of Heaven unless God’s water was sprinkled on my forehead.
2. 45 years old and STILL a virgin (even though she is an attractive woman and her singular personality is bearable at close range for approx 48 hours solid contact – when the other ones kick in it can be a bit disturbing)
3. Stalks male members of the staff. Has actually approached girlfriend of one staff member to explain to her that she cannot help the way he must feel about her as she can sense it whenever she walks into a room where he is. (he does not like her at all)
4. spread rumours about above male staff member and another female staff member (not girlfriend) having an affair. When pointed out by me that this was definitely NOT the case, she commented that ‘she must have got it wrong’.
5. also semi stalks other staff members (female) to the point she goes around to their houses after hours (after looking up their addresses on our data base) to complain about how nobody likes her. Unfortunately, the people who she visits end up disliking her too.
6. Told me once she didn’t like having a bath because she didn’t like seeing her body naked. (I presume she showers, but I don’t think she scrubs her ladybits)
7. she smells (see above)
8. is obsessed with other peoples lives. If you ask her any personal questions she avoids answering them. I once let slip a bit of information that she had recently purchased a small flat (completely innocently and with the only intention to initiate normal conversation between her and co worker) and was told in no uncertain terms that I was not to speak to ANYBODY about her personal life.
9. Has had no boyfriend in the time she has been here. (8 years). But then again, she probably wouldn’t tell anybody. (see above). Actually, has had no relationship that we are aware of. But talks about how she can’t wait to get married and have children etc etc…….. (she’s 45)
10. Is completely incompetent in her job. (Reception work) We have complained for 6 years about her, she is finally being moved elsewhere so she can be incompetent somewhere else.
11. She sucks up something shocking to the hierarchy who think she’s ‘sweet’. That’s why she has survived so long.
12. She complains to above hierarchy that we treat her bad. No we don’t. We just choose to minimise our dealings with her and avoid her as much as possible (hard when you work directly with her – but we’ve kept it professional and limited all contact to only work related issues). This has lead to us being pulled into the big bosses office and berated that we are ‘bullying her by exclusion’.
13. She can go out for two hour lunches with her hierarchy ‘friends’ that she sucks up to here, but we can’t go out for lunch (just once in 14 years mind you) with our line manager who is leaving (this was included in the ‘bullying by exclusion charge)
14. She has no memory retention. Even just this morning I was explaining I had to leave to pick up my cat from the vet. Her comment ‘you have a cat?”. (I have discussed my cat with her on numerous occasions over the last 8 years as she also has a cat – yes, something in common) This also applies to things people ask her to do, and just general day to day stuff. She has to write EVERYTHING down. If she remembers to do so, that is.
15. Anybody who has held that position in the last 14 years I’ve been here has fitted in brilliantly. We have had nothing but trouble with her since she started. Yet we are the ones at fault. Even though other staff members have complained about her as well, and the last year she has been ‘sampling’ her new job – she has rubbed people up the wrong way. Yet she is still not at fault and to add insult to injury – her new job has put her on the same wage scale as me and they have actually ‘created’ another 6 weeks of employment for her because (shock, horror) SHE HAS A MORTGAGE!!! and can’t take a cut in pay (as the new position was only 42 weeks a year)
16. She has the most incredibly loud and fake laugh.
17. She is currently training her replacement and is protecting her from us (obviously as we are EVIL). When we get hold of her next week, we’ll have to erase her memory banks, and reprogram her, as everything she has been told will be wrong. She will become one of us, and we will rejoice.

I’ve never truly hated anyone before, but I dread the days that she comes in here. Even the sound of her voice makes my hair stand on end. Considering the fact that I get along with EVERYBODY here (about 160 staff) – I am one of the bitches in this situation, and yes, I’m looking for another job………..
(rant over)
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 2:47, 1 reply)
Rocking The Boat..
Over the years I've worked with some right twats. But, to balance the equation, I've also worked with some true stars.

Moody The Black-Bearded Bastard. Strict Moslem, was convinced I was Steven Segal. Desiganted driver on works piss-ups, lovely bloke.

All of my PFY's over the years. Teaching them and watching them blossom into mini-BOFHs made my heart swell.

All the great teams I've worked with - and there have been many. It's a great buzz to work with people who you can count on and who know their jobs. When the shit hit's the fan, t's special kind of magic watching a well trained team swing into action and turn a crisis into a mini-triumph.

A few of my bosses. I've had some cunts but I've had some stars who knew the rules. They kept the political crap away from me and let me do what I'm good at. Fixing things.

Ladies and gentlemen, this post is for you. It was a pleasure to work with you.

I salute you one and all....

(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 1:44, Reply)
Like brocky, I did do something once that could be construed as a bit twatful...
Back in the DSS (to quote Half Man, Half Biscuit - now there was a band)...

Before the days of having a tea club, everyone used to bring in their own supplies - tea, coffee, sugar - which were all kept in individual drawers. The milk, obviously, was kept in the communal fridge in the kitchen. Which was fine, but some of the more light-fingered, council estate-dwelling co-workers would help themselves. Often before you had even opened the fucking bottle yourself, and despite sticky labels plastered on said vessels with 'this milk belongs to Davros - fuck off' written in large, friendly letters.

After a few weeks of this I started to get a bit hacked off with going to make a brew only to find that the full pint bottle I had brought in that morning hadn't enough liquid left in it to successfully drown an ant. Drastic action was needed, and I had just the plan...

The kitchens were stocked with communal salt, pepper and other condiments, so that those going to the chippy at lunch time had something to sprinkle on their daily heart attacks. One morning I came in, armed with bottle of milk, ready labelled up, poured half of it immediately down the sink (I would buy some more at lunch time), tipped a good number of teaspoons of salt into the remaining liquid, and put a discreet mark on the bottle where the level was at. Then I placed the bottle in a prominent position in the fridge. Sure enough, when I went to the bottle an hour later, the level had gone down.

I never found out who the culprit was, but surprisingly, I never had any milk pilfered again. And the thought of someone, whoever it was, taking a swig of salty tea or coffee more than made up for the inconvenience of having to go out at lunchtime to get more milk.

On a similar note, one of my colleagues had brought a pie in for lunch one day. Come lunch time, he put the pie in the oven to heat up, went off for a shit, came back five minutes later having divested himself of his breakfast...

Only to find that some bastard had nicked his lunch.

Worra bunch of cunts!
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 23:08, 14 replies)
I can be a bastard
A couple of months ago, I was put at risk of redundancy at work. Nothing to do with my performance I found out later, just the Directors wanting to play silly buggers and give everyone a kick up the arse. Just before Xmas with a young family, it went down as well as a shit sandwich at a buffet.

I wondered for a while how I could get my own back and then the opportunity presented itself.

We were running low on bog roll in the Gents. What little we did have left, I hid in a drawer, telling my mates there to use it if they needed to. I left 2 tiny sheets in the dispenser, so at first glance, you would be none the wiser until the deed was done.

I couldn't have written what happened next. The director in question comes into my room bemoaning the fact that there is no bog roll left. He didn't realise until after the event when he found 2 tiny single-ply tissues (which apparantly ripped when he tried to wipe.

He gave us the story of what had happened. After finding no bog roll in sight (and certainly hadnt finished his wiping), he was forced to fasten his keks and do the awkward walk to find something suitable. All he could find was A4 printer paper so had to make do with that which made his ring-piece sore and then bleed due to a paper cut.

I had a smile on my face all day and am still giggling about it now.

(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 22:14, 3 replies)
Bad boys...
... were sent to Borstal College.
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:56, Reply)
Campanology Thursdays.
In my office I am the comedian, the drunk, there are two of us who ring bells and one brown nosing fucker who has no mates, looks like Mr Majeika and sports a monk's haircut, but we have no women at all.
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:55, Reply)
This isn't one of mine
but one from my mum. Now, she has a pretty high (non-british) diplomatic position in a large European organisation which mostly deals with human rights issues and currently has a twunt tory at its head. he is a twunt for many reasons, but let's ignore that and get straight to her secretary.

The woman has worked in that office as a temp for about 20 years. This basically makes her un-sackable. She does fuck all, is unable to perform the most basic tasks and natters on the phone to friends and family all the time, at the cost of the taxpayers from almost 50 countries. Every time she's asked to photocopy something she asks how the bastard thing works AGAIN so people are starting to give up giving her the job and have passed it on to the poor buggers who are there on apprenticeships.

My favourite story, which despite my mother's anger I laughed at, concerns this woman's amazing archiving skills.

For some security reasons my mum can't put anything in the shared folder of the office network so that her underlings can receive documents easily. Instead, she always has to email them. bearing in mind that this office has about 8 workers and deals with loads of different requests every day she only ever passes the most vital things on to them and keeps the rest herself. The rest would be merely interesting to others at a later date.

Come July/August this year and NOTHING is happening, and only her and her secretary are sat in the building. So she decides to clear the huge backlog of stuff that needs to be put on the network for all to see. Thinking this would be a good exercise for her dimwitted secretary, she tells her to put these documents into the shared network. "no problem", comes the reply.

So my mum begins the time-consuming task of attaching these documents to emails. For some reason she could only send about 50 or so at a time, so she sent about 15 emails with 50 documents.

job's a good'un! she thinks and forgets the whole episode. Until about christmas, when she's looking for one of these documents (since they're on the network she deletes them off her computer) the shared folder. Using "search" brings up nothing. Strange, because they're all sorted by date and subject. About to give up hope and just randomly clicking through, hidden in the depths of some nonsensical folder name is "*morrybyte's mum*'s emails". She opens it, and what does she see? 15 Outlook email files (or something similar). And they're all named things like "Documents to put on shared folder", "more documents", "even moooore documents", "wow, that one took a while", "I'm getting bored now" etc etc...

The silly bint had just put the saved emails into the shared folder, which effectively meant that no one could find anything from those hundreds of documents. Goodness knows how much grief that caused for her other co-workers who will have had to embarrassingly ask for a new copy directly from the sender. When questioned about this she said "What? extract them each and every one and sort them? But that would have taken hours!" she seemed unaware that this was (and, sadly, is) her job.

She cannot be fired, and is apparently thinking about taking my mum to court for harassment and bullying because she always gets negative reports at the end of the year.

(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:53, Reply)
In the past it has been my misfortune to work in the soul-destroying cesspit that is local journalism. Not only is the calibre of 'news' mind-numbingly tedious - I've honestly seen cases of missing cats being turned into full page stories - for the most part my colleagues were either brain-dead, refugees from reality, or worse, people who wanted to be journalists but could never in a million years make it on the big papers.

I've worked with several of these tossers, and believe me, if you knew what aresholes they were you would never pick up a local rag ever again. One clown had been at a paper I worked for since she left uni - after studying four years - and was convinced she was adding to the world of journalism by writing weekly features on how the local primary schools were doing. Another went mental, absolutely mental, when given any work to do and would tear around the town banging on doors demanding answers to her queries. Given what I've said about the quality of the news on offer, it was painful to watch this deluded bitch hammer herself into the ground over reports of minor assaults, the odd road prang or the aforementioned lost feline.

Choked for quality stories as they were, another twit once jumped up and started celebrating because he had found a 'meaty' exclusive - a four-year-old girl in the town had caught menigitis (she lived, thankfully).

But worst of all, by a long, long way, was the editor who was convinced he worked at the top news-gathering instituiton in the land, if not the world or possibly the universe.
Every day this twunt would act like Jonah J Jamieson (look it up, spidey fans), tearing round the office expecting stories of the calibre of a national exclusive (on a local paper?). What's more, he would repeatedly fuck around with what copy there was until the paper missed its print dealine - the worst crime possible. He would then try and blame someone else, occasionally me.

As a sideline, he was also a repressed homo, and, as I am young and pretty, made a point of rubbing my back when reading my screen over my shoulder. I should have complained, but I was young then, and foolish. But everyone noticed - strangely, the other repressed homo in the office even got jealous!

Thankfully, the inevitable burn out came along and took him out, but it took a long, long year........

As for me, I fucked off and got a proper job, which paid much much more, allowed me to travel and had a generous expense account. Oh, and the people I work with now are all lovely.
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:40, 1 reply)
hospital porters
jelly was his name. he asnt fun like jelly. he smelt like unwashed dead folk. not the recently deceased that we came across every few hours in our line of work. but real been in the ground maddeline mccann type dead smelling. he once drove a tug through a wall into the canteen and then tried to drive off hoping nobody would guess it was him. it was lunch time.

my favourite jelly story involves him being caught stealing dirty nurses from the changing rooms. when asked at his tribunal why he had done it his response was simple and brilliant

"i'm a pervert arent i"

legnth girth etc
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:30, 2 replies)
Bastard colleagues
One Bastard colleague that I'll refer to as bastard-prick-colleague that we used to work with was one of those bastard colleagues that got all the way to the high ranks of assistant trainee supervisor.

Now there used to this girl who was doing the rounds with all the guys in work, she did bastard-prick-colleague and she bought him a teddybear as some sort of present for all the stupid presents he may have bought her.

After a very short while his time with her was up as she moved onto her next victim, so she ditched bastard-prick-colleague for my mate.

On hearing this his reaction was to get pissed and drive his new car around to her parents house,so in a drunken rage he set fire to the teddy bear and throw it into her garden and drove home as fast as possible still pissed.

So my mates doing her now and bastard-prick-colleague is still assistant trainee supervisor and my friend is just a simple shelf stacker, taking shit off him everyday because he says he took his girl away from him, although the girl in question was just doing the rounds.

well he also starts on me as he knows were friends, so we decide to plot his downfall like one example was to...

1) shit in a paper bag
2) place paper bag on his doorstep
3) set fire to it
4) run like the wind

....and hope he would answer the door and in doing so stamp the fire out and get his shoes covered in shit

Anther idea was to get his new beloved new car... by putting turps on the bonnet,nails in tyres some even talked about brake fluid pipes but most of all it was just talk about how we could get revenge but never really doing it,the best we could do was to spread the teddy bear story around so everyone knew about his burning teddies obsession.

There was also a few love letters we got hold of that he had sent to her " I don't care if you love someone else, I'll drive you around anywhere you want to go" there was a time when I thought about photocopying these and placing then around the store
However time passed and princess Di died and my best mate left but he was still a bastard-prick-colleague but no longer with us old sweats, just with the no starters.
Well after 5 years I hadn't forgot and a window of oppunity shone in my direction, my time had come it was now or never as the stoneroses classic "this is the one" rang in my ear.

This is the one
This is the one
This is the one
This is the one
This is the one

She's waited for

This is the one
This is the one
This is the one
Oh this is the one

This is the one
She's waited for

I'd like to leave the country
For a month of Sundays
Burn the town where I was born

I had spotted he had left in a handover book a message for a manager about a higher deputy store manager just slagging him off calling him a stupid little man etc etc etc
So to exact revenge I photocopied the letter making many copies and placed them around the store,even in the staff canteen,pride of place went to the one I placed on the deputy managers office.
well the shit hit the fan and bastard-prick was forced to leave he ended up working in lidle which is revenge enough but I never did get the ultimate revenge that of telling him "I did it"
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:23, 5 replies)
On that...
On what? I don't know and that fucktard doesn't know what it means either but that's how he finishes most of his sentences on the phone. And how can he get english so wrong? He's been speaking it for 30 something years.
Angry customer- 'Shooting Bricks'
My new haircut- 'Very Soiree'
His wifes drinking capacity- 'Light heart'
His leg hurts- 'Extortionate pain'
How is he in charge of me?
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:20, Reply)
there are more
racking my brain I am reminded of the first sales office I worked in, first job post uni blah blah. Me and two other guys started at exactly the same time, and I later found out one of the older guys refused to learn anyone news name til they'd been there at least a month, and that he refered to us all as the clones as we'd all started at the same time, and we all wore glasses. Wow. Another guy at this awful little place Carl R****** was a dodgy wide boy of the dodgiest and widest level imaginable, which is usually a bonus in sales. Anyway for reasons which I can't be arsed going into the company expired, we all got the push and on the last day we wrote our names and addresses down for those who wanted to, to stay in touch.
Two months later my Dad phones me up, as I was living away, 'Do you know a Carl R*******?'
'Yes'I had forgotten about weasel boy, 'Why?'
'Because he's switched out electricity from one supplier to another' thats correct, he'd arranged the whole transaction to switch my Dad's electricity using the briefest of details I'd written on a contact sheet at a previous job. My Dad personally got him sacked for that! and then he applies to work at where I was working at the time. He strolls through the door like the cocksure little fuckwit he was, see's me ensconsed at my desk and his face falls. He doesn't get the job and I have an amusing half hour pointing out all the lies in his CV to my sales director.

edit: I have worked in some shit places, with some shit people.

On the other hand I have met a lot of good close friends through work, where we've had fantastic nights out, great weekends away, have swapped blood, sweat, tears, stories and occasionally bodily fluids with colleagues, so on the whole I do think that I'm up on the whole deal.
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:06, Reply)
Telephone manner
Once again, a DSS related tale. This one goes back to 1995, when I'd just received my first permanent promotion. Only one problem - it was 50 miles away, in Berwick.

Fuck. I come from there, and know what some of the people are like. Only when I got there, I soon came to realise that some of the staff were just as odd. Actually, that's a slight exaggeration, the staff were mostly OK. But there was one woman who had been there since (I would imagine) the initiation of the Welfare State, and showed no sign of slowing down. She looked well past her retirement age (Christ, she looked well past her decompose-by age), with deep set, yet strangely bulging eyes, skin like a dehydrated Boxer dog, and and widely spaced teeth.

She also had a fondness for cakes.

Cream cakes.

Big, gooey, squidgey cream cakes.

Of which she would bring in a box of half a dozen a day, and place precariously on the edge of her desk (think 'Bambi' episode of the Young Ones).

Why was this annoying, you may ask? Well, the simple answer is, it shouldn't have been. But it was. For the main reason that every time her phone would ring, she would answer it.

Er, yes, you may say. So she should. Ah, but, before she answered it, she would immediately take a bite from a cream cake and proceed to greet the caller "Hellmmmpho, hmoow mayahhelph oo"? With, for added effect, fresh cream squirting between her tombstone teeth.

It just annoyed me greatly. I have a thing about good eating manners anyway; this just really pissed me off (and turned my stomach).

Sorry. A bit off topic, but I don't care. Most of the people I have worked with have actually been OK, so it's hard to think of examples of real twuntishness.
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 20:54, 3 replies)
A pub-related one
I used to work at a factory which made springs for various forms of pub seating. There was a bit of a competition organised amongst the various firms working in this particular industry to see who could come up with the best design for a certain kind of spring.

To cut a long story short, we ended up with the best score of all the entrants, and were therefore top of the bar-stool coil league.

(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 20:44, 1 reply)
Fat Club
Ah, Fatty Bathshitter. Tends to spend most of the day stuffing her fat face and talking to her assistant (who sat opposite her) on MSN much of the day. When I was in the office, you could tell because one would be typing, and then the other would start laughing. I actually found it difficult to be in the same room as her. I'm still not sure what she actually does all day.

A little while after I started, I was told that she was almost timing me every time I was away from my desk, a little petty, but I kept my nose clean. She blamed me for something in front of the whole office, but when I protested my innocence (and pointed out that the computer program we were using actually had logged who had done it, and it wasn't me) refused to believe me. I kept my nose clean.

There was a lot of this petty bullying, like talking about me behind my back, but I tried to rise above it. This was helped by the fact that ninety-five percent of the other people in the whole office despise her.

At a leaving do, she told people that she had shat in her bath, and left it. To be fair, she didn't mean to tell everyone, only her friend/follower, but apparently she said it in one of those "everybody goes quiet at the same time" moments.

Yesterday she was called into another managers office, after a little while she stormed out. I've been told an advertisement for her job was on the printer this evening... oh how my heart sings.

My other boss, the one who had given me the job was a bit strange, we had our ups and downs, and he made me wear a shirt and tie, but I can forgive him. Turned out his wife had to stay in a hospital or such due to a brain aneurysm, which I assume left her pretty paralysed. He would spend EVERY weekend with her. Apparently she had lost most of her memories, and didn't even recognise him, and would talk about how she used to have a lovely husband. He would still spend his Christmas day feeding her himself though. When I found that out, well, let's just say that my respect for him rocketed from near rock bottom to quite high. A man who is prepared to do that for his wife... I kind of regret not telling him how much I respected him for that.

I'd better stop, if I say much more it could be quite identifying.
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 20:09, 1 reply)
Bastard Colleagues
Like many people here i have had the misfortune to work with a variety of downright tosspots,many years ago i was working in a 7-11 store and my deputy manager was a supreme example.
Petty wasnt the word for this miserable specimen-i was put on a charge for not doing an inventory of the magazines one morning ( couldnt be arsesd frankly ),he had a haircut that when we first met i thought was just the result of an unkindly barber but he had it done EXACTLY the same months later.

However a supervisor at my current job is the worst to date-she is as thick as a whale omlette and to give you an idea of her ignorance she once enquired " this Hitler-wot did he do ??"

Length ? - currently the concern of Mrs Shug
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 20:01, Reply)
Just musing
Not a proper post, flame me if you will, but I'm sure I cannot be the only person this week thinking:

FUCK! If this many morons, perverts, half-wits and plain old cunts are inhabiting the labour market, why in the name of all things fluffy and nice am I stuck in a shitty job doing crappy tasks for pathetic remuneration?

To any employers out there: I'm polite, respectful, hygienic, hard-working (only lurk on b3ta when there's nothing else to do), literate, numerate, able to use office applications, and leave all my perversions at home.

Can I have one of these nice-sounding jobs that a cnut has been removed from please? (North East England region preferred)
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 18:22, 3 replies)
Peter the Pervert
This particular "bastard colleague" inhabited the basement. A dark dingy wee space perfectly suited to his warped personality.

He was possessed of a fine collection of pron mags. Actually, I used to think he was just possessed, but that's another story. His pron collection was mahoosive - filled two big cardboard boxes. Had he kept it to himself (oo er) no-one would have cared very much. Being a quiet pervert wasn't good enough for Peter though ... he had to show off.

Any time some poor junior was sent down to help with the filing, he'd make a big point of leaving a magazine open on his desk in plain view - then inviting an opinion. As the juniors were all female, this went down as well as a turd in a wedding punchbowl. Scared wee lassies just out of school don't generally have the balls to tell pervs like this where to stick his dirty books. He'd proceed to turn the pages slowly, making odd noises and suggestive remarks every now and then. He wasn't averse to touching the girls up either. Eeeeurgh.

Then, one glorious day, it all came to a screeching halt. The junior sent to help him was only filling in til the university term started in the Autumn. Her kindly old uncle had arranged the job, to give her some pocket money, a bit of work experience, etc.

Her kindly old uncle was also the MD.

The perv went through his usual routine, she reacted with utter horror and bolted for the stairs. The stairs which led to uncle's office. Where, amid tears and snot, she blurted out her tale of woe.

It was later reckoned that it took less than 15 minutes for the Personnel Director to escort the perv off the premises, with his "collection" in a black rubbish bag. The union had complained about this bloke for years to no avail, the excuse being that there were no witnesses to his shenanigans. They were absolutely raging! Grope young, innocent (well some of them) teenage girls on a regular basis? Fine. Grope the MD's niece? Sacking, effective immediately! It made that year's pay negotiations a little tense, to say the least.

A democratic decision was taken NOT to have a collection or buy a great big card for everyone to sign - but we did have a fun afternoon trying to imagine the job advert that would soon be placed.

"Troglodyte wanted for sub-terranean filing room. Must have own collection of dirty magazines and wandering hands, and be able to differentiate between the MD's niece and other random teenage girls."
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 18:12, Reply)
My colleagues and other animals
My industry, being the games industry attracts a variety of nerds, geeks and garden variety freaks. Even suspected asperger's sufferers and absolute social lepers are relatively common. This is pretty much par for the course, and I can hardly disassociate myself from them, much as I'd like to. For despite the quirks and eccentricities, we are good folk, who toil and try to bring the public something good that might provide a bit of entertainment.

At least, the workers are, but take two steps or even one step up the hierarchy, and you will quickly encounter ineptitude, carelessness and boundless stupidity, pretty much across the board.

So without any further ado, I introduce my last, much maligned boss, Stewart (surname is a colour falling between yellow and blue). Here, we have a man who despite his best efforts at bankruptcy and fostering seething hatred amongst his employees, still runs (figuratively) a successful business. Highlights of my employment include:

-Attempting to pay someone in ice cream; we aren't talking an insubstantial amount either.

-Going bankrupt n to the power times, each time reopening with a subtle variation on the name, but always remembering to pay employees via a different company that never went under.

-Losing the right to be an MD due to his stunning bankruptcy skills.

-Sacking and escorting an employee off the premises for sending an email about a boat race (yep, just a boat race).

-Claiming that despite a person receiving email confirmation receipts from his pc, that he had not in fact looked at the email.

-Emailing a blanket request for mandatory overtime, the oxymoron level was high with that one.

-Actually giving people reason to suspect that he had bipolar disorder, schizophrenia or a good old fashioned evil twin.

-Joked while the 9/11 stuff was going on (between buildings being hit), I'm rarely given to violence and i'm not a huge merkin fan, but that nearly got him a punch or three.

-Employed countless people contract wise and didn't pay them.

-Cheated on his wife with whom he has 3 daughters.

-Has a knowledge to ego ratio somewhere in the region of zero:infinity.

All's I can say is, I'm glad that he isn't paying my wages anymore, and the jobs I'd take before that happened again would probably involve cleaning glass up with my tongue.

Apologies for length, but a cnut of this degree deserves it, preferably from a guy named bubba
(, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 17:58, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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