b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Bastard Colleagues » Page 15 | Search
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, ... 1

This question is now closed.

rather odd fellow
Currently studying a postgrad qualification, so I'm counting a fellow student as a 'work colleague'. It's a 9-5 / Mon-Fri course with a job at the end, none of the 3-hour weeks and going out on Tuesday nights typically associated with being a student, so I reckon it should count.

Anyway, I live in on-campus accommodation with this gentleman who shall remain nameless - the upshot of which is that I have to put with the twunt in lectures all day and then in my spare time during the evenings.

What's wrong with him, you may wonder? It's hard to sum it up in a single sentence - there's no single thing that stands out, but after a while his endless capacity for social faux-pas and unwittingly obnoxious behaviour becomes quite wearing.

Firstly, despite living in the same building where our classes and lectures take place, he somehow manages to arrive up to 20 minutes late every day for the first lesson. To get from our accommodation area to the classrooms involves a two minute (or less) walk down a few flights of stairs, yet somehow the guy manages to get beaten in the promptness stakes every morning by people who commute in from an hour away.

His best excuse, after a week of consistent lateness, was that he underestimated how long the lift journey would take. Another time, when asked why he was running stupidly late, he said: "I'm sorry, but I've only just got out of bed." Then said nothing else, as though somehow that were a satisfactory explanation.

He gets away with stuff like this all the time, because his excuses are so pathetic that staff have given up trying to get him to turn up on time. Yet whenever anyone quite reasonably and politely asks him to try and make more of an effort he runs off to the college counsellor, or anyone who will listen, and whinges about how he is being bullied and victimised by everyone else on the course.

Despite failing to arrive on time more or less every morning, however, this didn't stop him complaining to the higher-ups that he felt he wasn't getting enough tuition from lecturers.

When it was pointed out that he missed over an hour a week by his lateness, he got indignant and spent an evening chewing everyone else's ears off about how the college was victimising him and failing to support him adequately.

The same gentleman takes appalling care of himself outside of the course - I've never once seen him wash, and in his room there's barely any carpet visible for all the used laundry scattered over the floor. Normally I wouldn't object to how people conduct themselves in their personal lives, except that this little hygienic lapse means our entire corridor smells like dead cats and unwashed feet.

This is just the tip of the iceberg - I haven't got time to go into detail about the late-night suicide threats, his seemingly exclusive diet of plain rice and Red Bull, and his ability to ramble on about entirely irrelevant subjects (railway service providers in the North-East being a particular favourite) until you genuinely want to kill yourself.

Apologies for length etc. etc. etc.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 18:19, Reply)
Only ever had one bastard colleague...
...she didn't start off being a bastard, that only happened after I fucked her and then ignored her.

Should have known better.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 18:12, 1 reply)
OK - this once it was ME that was the bastard colleague!
Back in the late 90's I got this gig working at MTV - yes, THE MTV down in London. It involved commuting down from Brum and crashing on a mate's floor Monday to Thursday night (for which I am still grateful and give Andy a bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey EVERY time I see him.)

Unfortunately it also gave the cheap bitch-slut-whore I had mistakenly married in a mosque under Islam to sleep with my ex-best mate... - but, give the religion it's due, all ya gotta say is "i divorce you, i divorce you, i divorce you" and you are allowed to throw the cheating bitch out into the street and then burn all the shit they left behind.

ANYWAY! - this is all getting further from the point; after all this kicked off I obviously REALLY needed to keep my job - and I was a "mere" temp on the IT helpdesk. And there was another temp also working there - and worst of all there was only one long-term temp contract up for grabs.

Now; I thought it would be really hard to out-shine this bloke in pure work terms - we were evenly matched skill-wise, and there are only so many fuckwit users you can help in a given day.

So: I decided to resort to dirty, underhand, lowlife technques... - I decided to give him the nick-name of "Mr Logic" from Viz as he had a slight, passing resemblance to said character.

Nuff' said! - once everyone started to call him that there was NO WAY he was gonna stay there!

I ain't proud - but my need was greater!
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 18:08, 2 replies)
No pun here
Short story: I slept with a colleague's long-term girlfriend..a few times a week for about 6 months. When he found out, he moved departments as he couldn't work with me. He quit within a year.

Long story: Many years ago I worked on the Cycles Dept. in Halfords. As it's kind of shift work, sometimes you don't certain people all the time. The guy in question worked on a Saturday and started doing a few Friday shifts which after a year of working there, is how I met him. Myself and another colleague were on the rebound (not from each other, obviously) so he suggested we get some beers with him and his missus. She would provide some friends. 4 guys, 2 girls. Oh the fun. Anywho, the dating couple had a huge row and he'd had a few drinks so stormed off in his car. The missus and her mate burst into tears - apparently this guy's a right bastard to her and can lash out.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, said couple are still seperated and she's on the rebound. Her mate was seeing my mate, so the logical step was for us to hook up.

Word got round work - some people found it highly amusing, pictures of the ex girlfriend were circulated..he was totally in the dark. A few people thought I was a right cunt, and I nearly felt bad - but I didn't really know the guy, and I didn't really like him anyway so I didn't care.

Two months later and they're going to try and sort it out. That was fine with me as I was still getting my leg over, and it was dawning on me that the lass did still quite like her ex fella, even though he was an ass. He turned up at my house one morning as he'd found out she had spent the night with me. I fobbed him off with a 'seperate rooms' story and then coincidently he started asking me for advise..there's a nasty rumor about me and women going around, sheesh!

Around the six month mark the lass takes an overdose (luckily I was in the building). Sitting in the hospital, her ex shows up. The truth comes out in true Eastender's style with lots of crying, shouting and dramatic pauses. But wait, turns out the work colleague has been seeing someone on the quiet anyway.

So, I'm a bastard colleague. Or am I? This sneaky bastard used me as an excuse to switch departments - easier job, better incentives so he started making more cash. Him and the significant other were also pulling a fast one and every so often, shagged like rabbits before realising they just weren't going to sort it out. This happened a fair few times. He'd also posed crudely for some 'sexy' photos for the lass - which myself and my friend came across when searching her phone photos in the folder 'empty.' Those images are burnt into my memory forever - his long gangly body laid out across her bed, with bunches of his hair pulled up and secured using assorted colour hair-bands, and a raging hard-on to boot. This one never got passed around work.

To tip the scales, I did tell a few folk he asked for things to be inserted into his bottom. I'm not sure how true it is, but it was spread around work, and it came from the mouth of his ex. On the Store Manager's last day, he went to shake everybody's hand as we left. There was one hand he didn't shake - followed by the words 'Careful son, I know where that's been.'

He quit within a year, mainly for a better job as it all went downhill after the above Manager left. Still, makes the short version far more interesting.

I was probably 18 at the time, and they were together for 2 years or so. I still see the guy and we get on well. He actually thanked me because it got him together with a lovely new lass - infact I believe they're still a couple. The lass is now at Uni and doing really well for herself - apparently they were holding each other back.

Length? I didn't study the photo for too long, but it looked more than adequate.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 17:56, Reply)
brocky's bog-roll bastratiousness
reminded me of my deceased Granny. She hated my grandad so much (I never could stand the twitchy-tashed twat either) she kept that awful skiddy Izal paper in the bathroom for 'HIM' (she never referred to him by name). She had a secret stash of Andrex for the rest of us though *chortle snigger*
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 17:27, 3 replies)
There's a bloke in our office...
Who is a proper cunt.

He spends all day on B3ta slagging us off and writing fuck-awful puns, consequently getting no work done whatsoever...

lazy twat.


The rest of Pooflake's office
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 15:42, 17 replies)
I'm loosing the will to live now....
...and I've always been vivacious and loved life.

Ok that may not strictly be true. I was voted student most likely to be found dead in a pool of blood.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 15:38, 6 replies)
Back in the day
I worked in a bar as a steward, with my colleage - also a steward. He poured a pint over my head one day for a laugh, so I called him a "bastard colleague" to which he replied "Yes I know."

What a strange person.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 15:18, Reply)
If anyone's going to post any more puns, can you at leat put a warning in the title so I don't have to waste me time reading it?

/miserable cunt
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 15:10, Reply)
I once worked with someone...
...who was a complete bastard. You could say he was a BASTARD COLLEAGUE.

Shit. Harder than it looks this pun thing. Still, the interest level is about the same...
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 14:44, 3 replies)
Even though its late, but better late than never :D
Not a colleague, a classmate, but JUST as much as a bastard.

Our villan of this tale shall be called George, for that is the name of this annoying prick.
At the start of the year when we were all getting used to each other and introductions were quiet and polite, George seemed ok.

But dear readers, that changed.

It started off small and unnoticed by all but a few classmates (rather much like a zombie infestation lol) and tales were told that he was backstabbing, refused to do work and was just an arse. I regret to say I turned the other cheek and started speaking to him and I quickly found out I shouldnt have turned anything!

Within the past few months he has:

- tried to make one of the girls in the class cheat on her boyfriend (and nearly got away with it too, thank FUCK she saw sense)
- fall out with everyone including one of our lecturers.
- managed to disgust us all in Burger King when he litterally, eats a DOUBLE whopper thing in less than four bites, and does this EVERYTIME!

Id go on but i'm too ill thinking about it.

Not even there on him.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 14:05, 5 replies)
Hey...it's me!
Having just been passed another sodding leaving card this morning, I've realised that I may be the bastard colleage around here. As I couldn't give a toss about most people I work with, and as I'll never see them again once they've left, I can't be arsed to give any thought whatsoever to making up a witty, interesting or heart-felt comment in a leaving card. Same goes for birthday/wedding/baby etc. cards. What I do each and every time is copy someone else's comment exactly, but write it just above where they've written it...so it looks like they copied me. Saves me hours of brain-wracking each year.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 14:02, 9 replies)
Just had a staff meeting...
I WILL say, /scream/, it to your face the next time if polite notes aren’t enough you bunch of twunts! *grrr*

The Assistant Manager who never leaves the office and had the cheek to /shout/ at me about crumbs in the bread oven?! -What about the days old filth on the baking mats that he uses every day and then expects me to wash?! Or his empty fag packets and mouldy teacups that are everywhere and his half eaten lunch slobbered all over the office?
He’s employed his family and friends, so when they don’t turn up to work on a regular basis I’m the chump that has to come in.
I’d love to know what he does in the office for 8 hours a day between his fag breaks, the wanker. - He actually invited us to come and sit in with him today, but to be honest the thought of being stuck in a tiny office with that fat grunter makes me feel ill.

His sister; who does nothing but stuff her fat face all day and does no work as soon as Management leave the building. -It's also her self-appointed job to bitch about everyone and alienate members of staff she doesn't like. Oh and she uses her kid as an excuse to not turn up to work.

G - Gives you her life story (At the meeting – “I’m on hormone tablets for my mood swings” *boik*) when you REALLY don't care and is intent on having EVERYTHING done as it should be: perfect. She can't even turn up for work on time! And "I was going to cycle, but changed my mind." is not a bloody excuse! She’s also our “Energy Saving” person, her idea of saving the planet - 2/3 day out of date chickens for dinner! YUM! (Her parents also go through the /bins at Sainsburys/)

The reason I have to work the most tedious shift this week; the Supervisor who has worked for about a month and been off with “depression” – read cash in hand work from a pub her partner runs – for the last 2 and a half months. Whoops… better be careful what I say her bloke has “CONNECTIONS” to all the local criminals… ohhh, wet my frigging pants! About the only connections he has are to his bloody weed and booze!

And one last one: the filthy fucking pig who decided to excavate their earwax with a pen and leave it on the office FOR ME TO USE!!!

(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 14:00, 6 replies)
I work in Richmond park and one of the sadder aspects of my job is to keep the deer numbers down.

One afternoon we realised we had left our shotguns at home. The work had to be done that day and we didn't have time to go back, so my friend had the rather bizarre solution of battering them with his artificial limb! The carcasses could then be stacked up and dealt with afterwards.

Anyway, in order to keep a tab on the numbers, each time we battered one of the animals we put a little asterisk on the side of our weapon.

It was all going well when, halfway through the job, by partner stopped and looked at me in astonishment.

"You do realise what we have here, don't you?" he asked.
"No?" I replied, "What's that?"


And indeed we did.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 13:48, 7 replies)

Bast: The long strong fibers from the inner bark of woody plants such as kozo, mitsumata, and gampi.

Hardcol: Hard Colour Singlet exchange processes in PYTHIA

Eges: Some Dutch website about Dyslexia

Insert story here:

(Can you tell my heart’s not really ‘in it’ anymore???)

(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 13:47, 12 replies)
Not so much bastard, as thick.
Daft bint in the cube next to me in an old job I had, brought her own landline phone in from home and plugged it in a spare socket under her desk as she was 'expecting an important call'.
On her home number.
I didn't know if she was joking or not until it rang, she answered it with her home number greeting "hello, 557799etc.......how did you know my home phone number.......?"
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 13:46, 4 replies)
Dunno 'bout you lot....
...but I'm rapidly gaining the skill of spotting a backstory to a piss poor pun and skipping over it.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 13:41, 1 reply)
So this one time when I was at home,
one of my workmates was helping me try to fix a couple of springs to the underside of my bed. Let me tell you, we had to put in an enormous amount of effort to fix it.

And that was our Bedstead coil eke

*hangs head in shame*

Length? Depends if you were sitting on it or not...
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 13:33, 1 reply)
I once took lots of pictures of a Rik Mayall character, cut them up and stuck them onto some card


I had made a B'stard Collage.

(If thats bindun im gonna be pissed)
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 13:14, 4 replies)
My first ever post
I saw this and had to answer it, I worked with a woman called Cheryl.She was the most stupid person on earth, by a wide margin. Of the many things she did, and this sounds like it is lifted from an awful American sitcom, she once asked "Is a thesaurus a dinosaur?" She was not joking, being ironic or referencing something, it was a genuine question. I nearly died laughing at her. She walked away crying and I got a bollocking from my manager.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 13:05, 1 reply)
I won't win this one, too late... and too crap
But back in 1988/1989 I worked in mainframe systems. We used something called Roscoe as a text/data editor, and I discovered that you could message friends across the company.

Then there was a move, and it was clear that my boss wanted to move me in such a way as to keep a closer eye on what I was doing (I was poorly motivated, unsupported and understretched) so I messaged friends to say "my bastard boss is moving me."

I didn't quite appreciate that as well as being a bastard (he truly was - his initials were SS and he liked to sign them like the famous Nazis... who he appeared to broadly sympathise with) he was also actually quite intelligent.

The next day he asked me into a room and showed me a huge printout. There, carefully highlighted, was every bad thing I'd said about him over the past six months.

To his credit, he didn't get me fired or tell any senior managers. But to an awkward, shy and confused teenager it was the end of my IT honeymoon.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 12:18, 1 reply)
I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to think of this…I sit opposite her EVERY DAMN DAY!

….and this is a real one…please keep reading…this is a pun-free zone GUARANTEE!

Her name…is ‘L’

I suppose the reason she didn’t immediately strike me as a bastard colleague was because her bastardness is not about what she does…but what she doesn’t do.

The thing is…she doesn’t.do.anything.

Being the proud owner of more fat than a deep fried kebeb, and weighing a quarter of a metric Tonne, she slouches on her chair like Jabba the Hut’s uglier sister. She still insists on wearing low-cut tops that make me want to gag on my own bile.

The only time she moves all day is to waddle the 5 yards outside where she can have a fag and add another dimension to the stale honk that surrounds her.

She chums up to management so badly I’m surprised you can actually make out her head, and not just the imprint of the boss’s anal cavity.

However, she does know exactly who to manipulate and blatantly take advantage of

She is picked up at her front door every morning by someone who indulges in ‘lift sharing’. It will not surprise you that after a few years of this, it hasn’t quite got round to L’s turn yet. This might have something to do with the fact that L never drives her car. So it’s become less a case of lift sharing, than lift scavving.

We also have a ‘sandwich van’ that stops by everyday to dispense its wares (I can recommend the badly heated pasties, but my arse can’t – see previous posts). She gets someone else to go and get her food for her. Why the sap does it for her is a mystery to me.

Despite the fact that I put together an Access database for her department that saves her 4 hours work a day (which she has quickly managed to ‘fill with additional tasks’ so is unable to help anybody else in her department) she still whined when there was a slight overlap on one of the reports which means with her printer settings, it prints 2 pages instead of one.

Oh, the horror!

Still, it doesn’t stop her snarling “Are you ever going to get this right?” when my boss is around.

Another thing she doesn’t do is wash herself properly. Think Waynetta Slob if she really let herself go (apologies for Britishness of comparison). Only the other day I stumbled across a very animated receptionist engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation with a colleague. I soon discovered that they were merely discussing their frustrations with ‘L’. It became apparent when I heard the phrase:

“I just wanna pin her down and give her a good scrub”

But all of these things pale into comparison to the one thing that well and truly leaves my cheese out in the wind. It might seem small, petty even, but when it happens to you with such freakish regularity it can eat away at the very fibre of your soul…

There are four of us in a coffee group…and she has NEVER ONCE made a coffee.

So every single fuck-facing day, the three of us will make ourselves…and her…a drink. She doesn’t even say ‘Thank you’, she just takes it and waits for the next one.

I can’t comprehend the sheer bloody-mindedness of a person who will accept 5 cups of coffee a day and never, ever offer to make one back.

In over a year.

I would feel sooo embarrassed that if I even suspected people considered I was taking the piss to such an extent, I would’ve taken my own life long ago.

Yet she continues…and nobody says anything.

I now try desperately to wait for her numerous fag breaks before getting the round in, as every coffee I get her makes me want to throw it into her Moomintroll face, then stick a hunting knife in my own spinal column in protest at my pathetic weakness.

One of the other guys in the coffee group is a bloody nice bloke, and so does whatever it takes to keep everybody happy, the third guy says he sees it as a challenge, to see how long she will go before she finally caves…

I think he’s got a fucking long wait…longer than me in fact, cos I’m getting out of here.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 12:17, 11 replies)
And the smelly one. There's always a smelly one....
Back at the finance house, we had a smelly guy.

Same orange shirt every day, which became more fragrant as the week wore on. Possibly the same black trousers, too, which had shiny legs from him rubbing his thighs a la Vic Reeves whenever he spoke to an attractive girl.

He was also bewilderingly incompetent, but a brown-noser of the first order. God alone knows how he kept his job despite complaints from several colleagues.

As previously mentioned, the last I heard of him he was in the press for designing covers of Abdullah el-Faisal's recordings - which urged his audience to kill Jews, Hindus and Americans. Bless him.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 11:52, Reply)
The Tale of Buttercup
Several years ago now, I found myself out of work and with a bit of time on my hands. I was living on a small organic farm in the West of England. It was mostly dairy, but with a sideline in organic produce – home-made bread, cakes, spreads and all other things fashionably organic.
Not having much to do, I used to help out around the place. One of my duties was to tend to the colony of bees that inhabited the hives dotted about this rural idyll, which we harvested for their honey. I also used to help with the herd.
One day, I went out into the fields in the evening as usual to get the cows in for milking, and I noticed that my favourite heifer, Buttercup, was lying on her side looking mournful and lowing at the sky. ‘Good gracious!’ thought I. ‘Whatever can be the matter?’ Picking up my skirts, I scampered over the grass to her side, and saw that she had somehow broken all four of her limbs at once.

Now, as anyone with any experience with dairy stock knows, this is a disaster for the animal concerned. More than that. It’s curtains. Time up. Game over. Goodnight. Vets are expensive, and the bovine joint structure a fiendishly complicated thing. I laid my head on her heaving flanks and wept copiously, as I knew that the farmer would surely show no mercy even to this, my favourite cow.


With urgency and my love for Buttercup lending wings to my feet, I fled back to the farm and to my room, where I threw open the cupboard containing my collection of rollerskates. They were precious relics from my days working as an extra on ‘Xanadu’, and were normally kept under wraps for very special occasions. But this was for Buttercup.
Grabbing four special skates and a bundle of bandages, I dashed back to the field, where the poor beleagured heifer awaited. As quickly as I could (for night was falling and the wolves were beginning to gather at the edges of the wood) I bound up her limbs and laced the Golden Rollers firmly to her hooves. When I was finished, her legs were rigidly encased in plaster and unable to bend. With the manic and disprortionate strength that only true love lends, I hauled her to her feet, where she stood, perfectly still and unable to move and inch. Cows can’t skate.
I admit, I had failed to allow for this fact of nature. I was on the point of despair. It seemed that all my efforts were to prove in vain. If I couldn’t get her to move, the game would be up.

But then came the flash of genius, the Archimedes-in-the-bath moment that was to change both our lives forever.

Slightly fed up of all this dashing about though I was, I ran back again to the farm where I made a beeline(narf) to the nearest hive. Showing no fear, I plunged my arm deep into the swarming bowels of the colony, plucking out a handful of the most active and ferocious little beggars. I ran back to Buttercup, trailing fuzzy friends, escaping their stings through sheer serendipity. I reached her. I snapped open the casing on the specially-modified wheels. One by one, I coaxed the bees within. And then, through a mechanism inexplicable through a conventional understanding of engineering principles, the circling of the bees within began to turn the wheels. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, my dear Buttercup began to move, trundling across the field, then out through the gate, and off into the sunset and pastures new.

I stood, briefly, watching her silhouette move across the evening sky, full of satisfaction at a job well done and a unique sense of pride at the things I had just invented.

They were bee-steered cow legs.

I’m really sorry.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 11:47, 11 replies)
This is my first one, I'm ashamed to say
I was out in the wilderness on a boat with a few Higher Education Entrepreneurship Groups. They were on some teambuilding trip involving eyeliner or something, I didn't delve in too deep.

One morning, whilst I was having a coffee and a cigarette, a huge fucking bear jumped on the boat and started smashing things up! I was shit scared and jumped in the water, and upon surfacing the bear had made it's way to the bridge and having dispatched the Captain turned it's attention to breaking the wheel.

No matter how hard it was hitting the wheel it would not break and the ship was going left and right wildly. That's how I left the

"Bear-steered kohl-Heegs."

I feel dirty now.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 11:18, Reply)
Print room pervert
Eric in the print room won the first (and last) Employee of the Month award at the government office in which I pretented to work for several years.

Always staying on well into the evening, the Big Boss congratulated him on his dillengence, industry and determination to stay at his post until all the official reports were printed up.

This goodwill lasted right up to the moment that the real reason for his long hours was discovered: using the advanced printing, binding and mail operation to run his mail order porn empire.

Not just any old jazz - virtually every deviant act under the sun including stuff of the Chris Langham variety, the Crown Court was told, before he was marched off to prison, emerging several years later - we hoped - with an arse like a wizard's sleeve.

Now THAT'S a bastard colleague.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 11:04, 7 replies)
I don't know which to pick...
After 22 years in IT, I've worked in a few places and have met quite a few people, so picking the ones to write about is quite difficult. Her are a few of the 'best'.

The Big Man - Worked for a bank in The City, drank a lot and was very loud, rugger-bugger type. Used to berate people in the office, loudly and proclaim "I'll have you sacked", or "You'll never work in IT again". Never had anyone sacked and was "made redundant" after being found drunk, asleep, under his desk on several occasions.

The Zealot - one of the nicest people it's been my pleasure to work with, as long as you didn't mention religion. Spent almost all of his holidays on pilgrimages to sights were Our Lady had been sighted. On one occasion, almost exploded when someone, mistakenly, made a quip about the Pope.

Mr I.T. - the senior manager who knew nothing about IT, but was responsible for spec'ing and procuring hardware and capacity planning. On numerous occasions, evaluated servers by multiplying the number of processors by clock speed, "So this new server has four 1.2GHz processors, so we'll have 4.8GHz, and the old box only had 4GHz".

The Un-Sackable - The lady who worked for a law enforcement agency, who was suspended for having a relationship with a known criminal, who was spotted by a CID officer, driving past a police station, in her car, without a licence or insurance. Six weeks suspension, full pay, colleagues taking up the slack and working extra hours. When she comes back, convinces management that she's left the crim, but colleagues can tell, from her endless phone calls to her friends that not only was she still with him, she'd moved in with him.

There's lots more, but writing about these four has just about sapped my will to live.
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 10:58, Reply)
Right, this is the last one…I PROMISE! (Edit - this is a lie)

Born in Seattle 1908, I always considered my self to be quite a good commercial artist in the field of Lithography (look me up later if you're bored).

However, right up until I died in 1992, I could never find a drinking establishment where I felt really ‘at home’. Every one I went into, the regulars would mutter, tsk under their breath and make disapproving noises.

One day I decided to ask the nearest purveyor of alcohol why this was, and he explained that it was simply a case of all the local drinking folk not liking my name…



‘Bars tut Carl Hagues’

/puts coat over head and gets pushed into police van
(, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 10:54, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 1