Fivetide reminds me...
Well, fivetide and the fact that I've just sat in a meeting with him.

I don't know who he is, or his department, but I have to go to a fair number of pointless meetings attended by other unwilling people from around the University. One of them cannot have been taught elementary etiquette as a child. This would be bearable (noone need know in most situations) but for the fact that he has permanent catarrh.

He invariably spends the duration of these meetings making loud snorting, sinus-clearing noises. "Loud" here means that I'm half convinced that this post is superfluous. You probably heard him and wondered what the din was.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:49, 2 replies)

I used to work with a fella
who walked around thinking he was the cleverest bastard to ever grace this planet. In fact there were 2 of them over the years.

Both of them ended up taking IQ tests within the department that we all did. Both came at the bottom, both around 90 IQ scores. Laugh? I nearly shat!

The best thing though was when one of them turned round and said it was unfair as it wasnt in his native language! The twatbag was from Scotland :)
( Redsushi! Whoop! Whoop! Yes, that one!, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:35, 11 replies)

one of my manager-types
loves a wind up, so much so he saw fit to stick little holes in some of the plastic cups for the water cooler. One of our staff didn't realise until well after he'd got back to his desk, and couldn't fathom how his cup was leaking.

Same fella also put salt into someones water and left it, while he sat back and waited for the inevitable spluttering reaction.

Oldies, but goodies. As long as it's not happening to you!
( McBadger COW, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:33, 1 reply)

Currently....
... it's me. I have a very annoying persistent cough at the moment and i'm taking sneaky joy in the fact that two different collegues have today asked me if i REALLY think i'm well enough to work.

Have it at you! *cough*
(fivetide, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:29, 2 replies)

Beware of Belgians bearing gifts
Picture the scene: me, an innocent young PhD student and Fjames*, a less young, brilliantly-gifted and very fucking psycho lecturer from the flatlands of Europe.

Part the first: with absolutely no provocation on my part, Fjames announces he will shower me with gifts from Belgium. I arrive into work to find two bottles of Duvel and 2 Duvel glasses in a presentation box on my desk. I am liking this a little but want to make sure there's nothing going on in his head, so I say "thanks, but nothing is going on or will go on". That makes me feel like a arrogant twat but I just wanted to make sure things were appropriately friendly.

Days pass.

Part the second: I arrive into work to find Belgian chocolate propping up my monitor. Nice. Again I thank him profusely and make it clear I'm really not interested.

Days pass. I continue to behave as if nothing is happening between us as, in fact, nothing is happening between us.

Part the third: I arrive into work to find a lacy bra and equally lacy thong (new, designer, bnwt as they say on ebay) draped across my keyboard. Draped across my keyboard in my huge shared lab space. I stare at it, half-amused and half-horrified, and contemplate what to do.

I approach my Fjames' office door, knock hesitantly and in my best diplomatic voice manage to say "thanks but, er, no thanks", at which point he starts screeching at me that I'm a psycho prick tease from hell, that I'm an evil bitch who tramples over people's feelings and that my doctor should probably up my medication because I'm mad.

I immediately make sure absolutely everyone at work knows what just happened. He lasted another few months before disappearing up his own arse in a puff of mathematical genius.


*Name changed to protect the guilty
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:21, Reply)

Mini Michelle
Michelle was five foot nothing high and a complete pain in the arse. Working in an office with her for 7 hours a day was like working with a furious spitting feral cat, every time the phone rang she would throw whatever she was holding down and exclaim “Oh for FUCKS SAKE!” before picking up the receiver. She also claimed to be the world’s biggest fan of Manchester United Football Club. In fact, she wouldn’t shut up about it. Most of the lads in the office were Bristol City fans, and whenever they had a chat it would invariably turn to football and how Bristol City were doing, at which point Michelle would pipe up “Not as good as Man U”, and “Man U would kick their arses” and “Why don’t you support a proper team, like Man U”….

Now Michelle came from Trowbridge, a town near Bath, and we worked in an office in Bristol. According to Google maps, Trowbridge is 197 miles away from Manchester, so Man U was hardly her local team. One day when she was spouting on about Man U, I called her a “Glory hunting wanker”, much to the amusement of everyone in the office. Looking totally gobsmacked she explained; “ACTUALLY, my dad comes from Scotland, so THAT’s why I support Man U!”. (For anyone who is interested, the Scottish Border is 131 miles away from Manchester).

One day the shit hit the fan. We all had what looked like a white Toblerone box on top of our monitors with our names on. One of the lads in the office had cut a face out of a newspaper and glued it to Michelle’s name, and she was going mental; “RAPIST! It’s that rapist! That’s disgusting! Who did this?! This is bullying! I’m taking it to a tribunal!” Eventually our manager got involved: -

Manager: “What’s going on?”
Michelle: “Somebody stuck a picture of that rapist on my monitor! I want this taken to a tribunal!”
Manager: [Looks at Michelle’s monitor] “That’s Roy Keane”
Michelle: “Yeah, that RAPIST”
Manager: “No…he’s the captain of Man United”
Michelle: …..”oh”……

That was the last we heard about Man U for a while.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:10, 6 replies)

Uncivil Servants
When I was young I worked in a government laboratory as a dogsbody/bottle washer/radiation canary.

It's difficult to say who was the specific "office bastard", as everyone had their own little quirks. Phil, who groped me and was married? Geoff, who would go on and on about the Falklands? Bob, who dressed like a leather clone (until he found out that this was actually a gay thing) and set up the Dungeons & Dragons group? Bob 2, who never came back from the pub at lunchtime? Mark, whose bonhomie concealed rabid fascism? Eric, who was normal outside the presence of ether? Mrs Fittle, who had buried 2 husbands and sexually assaulted me in the lift? All par for the course.

And then Carl arrived from the Jobcentre. Carl came from the Worst Estate in East Anglia. He did not wash. He could not write. He could read, mostly by guesswork. He drank absolute alcohol from the bottle. He sniffed chloroform and passed out. He didn't do any work; it was too dangerous after he tipped radioactive tracer down the sink and we had to shut down the plumbing and call in a chemical incident. He lasted 10 days, and this was because he was arrested for raping his 12 year old sister.

Length? four wasted years.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:07, 4 replies)

Having done all sorts of crap temping jobs
I, along with probably quite a few of you, have done many jobs below my level. Generally, I'm quite good about this, and don't get all snobby or anything. What I don't like, and what will cause rants such as this, is being patronised.

For example, I working in a factiry putting bits together by hand. I have various pieces, which I was told how to put together, then pass on to the next bloke.
Fine, off I go, in the vauge haze I always get when doing something like this, staring at something a thousand miles away. With tits.

"No! That's wrong!" wails the person next to me, who's been there for years and could never get a better job. "You need to have things like this," and proceeds to move things so they're in exactly the same arrangement as he has. "That's the best arrangment." Right. Any time I arrange things slightly differently, the self-important fool ("I've been here longer, I know the best way to do it" - actual quote) next to me thinks it's more important to 'correct' me. This continues, leading to in fact considerably less productivity overall than if he just left me to it, and irritating me no end.

I've come across this plenty of times. I am sympathetic to and respect someone who has a crap job but is proud of it. But self-important tits wind me up. Rant over.
(Bearded Whumpus In chav Britain, schoolgirl offers sweets to YOU!, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:57, 6 replies)

Ouch...
.
Long ago and far away I worked as a consultant for TSB.

It was that far back that I was designing the rollout from Windows 2.0 to Windows 3.11.

We had an engineer called Rob. A really lovely bloke but he was ugly and had *zero* social skills - especially with women. But the thing was Rob *knew* he was ugly. He *knew* that women found him repulsive and he'd accepted it.

With blokes he was OK but quiet. He could take a joke even if he was sometimes a bit slow on the uptake. He could do his job - follow exact instructions on a crib-sheet and if it didn't work Phone me, mark the PC with a big red X and move on. In short, a nice guy who could do his (limited) job.

Then we hit head-office.

Within a week I had the HR Harpies circling. (aside: has anyone else ever noticed that HR are almost always women?..)They'd had a complaint.

The complaint came from the receptionist on the floor to The Treasury, which was also the floor where me and my engineers were based. Apparently, when Rob came into work, he got the lift up to our floor, the lift bells dinged, and the receptionist then put on a beaming smile. That was her job. Most people coming to that floor were important and an impression had to be made.

Sadly, a lot of the time it was me or a member of my team and the false smile would drop and she'd get back to what she was doing. (Filing her nails springs to mind.)

But with Rob it was different. The bell would ding, he'd come out of the lift, she'd beam at him, he'd go red and scurry for the safety of the engineers room. What he never saw 'cos he couldn't hold eye-contact with any woman, was the look of disgust that came over her face.

I'm woffling now I fear.

So the complaint went in. She felt violated and ashamed by his reaction. A smile from her put him in a frenzy that left her feeing unsafe (he went red and ran to the comfort of the engineers room.) He never, in the whole time he was there, spoke to her, e-mailed her, had conversations about her - in short, he didn't do a single thing wrong -except be shy and ugly.

And so the Harpies descended.

They demanded that I fire Rob. I mean, he wasn't a *real* employee - he was a contractor, brought in to implement my upgrades. And here was me thinking..

"I'm a contractor as well. I'm only here because you don't have the skills in-house to do this. And he's done fuck-all wrong...."

Upshot was a seriously shouty meeting with me saying "He goes -I go!" and a compromise reached.

I wouldn't let them sack him and they wouldn't let him work on-site as, and I para-phrase, "he's a potential rapist",.

"You mean - just like me? I'm a man. I'm a "potential rapist" I'm also, potentially, the discoverer of the cure for cancer".....

It ended up with me shifting Rob to the warehouse where he'd unpack the new stuff coming in, load my image, and make sure everything worked.

He kept "a job" - but I lost a decent engineer as some blonde bimbo "knew her rights.."


Shall I just mention now that I'm incerdibly drunk?.....

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:48, 8 replies)

A Walking Disaster
I work backstage at an arena as part of the 'local crew' basically meaning we're the slaves of the road crew. Anyways the first few shows I did I ended up working with the most retarded kid in the place...over the course of about 5 events the kid managed to drop a stage block on my shoulder, almost break a rack of spotlights and the piece de resistance...running like a complete clusterfuck with a crate on wheels, losing control of said crate and ramming it into me at highspeed slamming me into another crate and leaving a gash on the inside of my knee.

Everyone knew he was a disaster so he started getting allocated with all the really crap jobs...last time he turned up for work he was given the job of holding a set of curtains for the entire shift (about 4 hours) How i did chortle!
(Freak on a Leash is jerking off to centre himself on, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:47, Reply)

An ex colleague..
If anyone from where I work now is reading this (and I know you do), this isn't someone who worked at the company I am now.

Part of my old job was to prepare some monthly figures for my department. These figures where rather important, as our department got allocated budgets based up them, and any money we recharged to other departments (tens of thousands of pounds a month).

Now, some of the people I had to rely on for the figures where, how shall I say, less than co-operative, and frequently gave me late, or incorrect figures. Something which my Boss knew about, but totally failed to sort out.

One day, I was doing some photocopying. All of a sudden, the boss walks into the print room, starts ranting about the figures and hitting me.

Sadly, for her, the tall, stunningly attractive Blonde woman (who she failed to notice) was the Director of PR. She stepped in, told my Boss to go wait in her office, made sure I was OK and offered to act as a witness if I wanted to pursue charges. I later heard that she talked to my boss, and politely told my boss that things would be easier if my boss resigned.
(Ok, I'll get me coat, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:44, Reply)

Dan
I do a little bit of work in a warehouse sometimes, and last time I went there after an absence of a few months, I got the full story on this lad named Dan who'd worked with them temporarily.

Dan was a bit special. Not thick in the normal sense, but the guy wasn't all there. He was lanky, about 20, had a vacant smile and was about as fun to talk to as the cardboard boxes that we pack stuff into. Every day he would turn up looking and acting a bit dopey, and he'd have that kind of glazed-over vacant look like he was in some other world.

He was tolerable at first, but then he started acting like a fucking nuisance. One time he spilt a small box of little plastic fittings. No problem, little mess that takes 30 seconds to clean up and dump back in the box. Not for Dan, though. No, he proceeded to sob and cry. He lamented that nobody liked him and that he can't do anything right. The guys were were nice to him the first couple of times, as he was obviously a bit naive. They tolerated his behaviour for a while, but it became a daily occurence. Crying was a natural reaction to being told to do something, making a mistake or just being in a bad mood. He nearly cried one time when someone (jokingly) asked him to count the thousands of pieces of packing foam in a box. Gullible fool believed it too; he then proceeded to open the box and look all teary-eyed. When they started laughing at him for his gullibility he started screaming and crying and telling them he was going to "beat them up" (he was tough as a wet toilet roll).

He'd always talk about his mother as one of his main conversation topics and show up from his lunchbreak acting especially dopey, we reckoned it must have been some kind of meds he was taking. He'd always deny taking any drugs of any kind.

Of course, he was just temporary and soon had to leave, and they really needed him for that temporary period. He wasn't bad-natured per se, but they were pleased to see the back of him. He was quite clearly autistic in a rather profound manner, so much so that he was just intolerable to work with, especially when he just hides around the pallets crying while everyone else is picking up the slack, and trying to get things sorted before deadlines.
(I have a face also had a sig on, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:43, Reply)

'R'.
Quite possibly the most annoying workmate I ever had was called 'R'. He was in the God Squad (which I don't mind, being a spiritual person myself, but this guy would get deeply offended if you said 'Christ' in his presence).

But that wasn't the worst of it. Oh no. He was amazingly heavy-footed. He would shake tables by walking around on the other side of the office. And he never did any work. He'd been working as a programmer for 5 years, and he COULD NOT program. At all.

One thing he was good at, however, was banging his fist on desks, and shouting very loudly at people for no discernible reason.

He also used to bounce around making tweeting noises, and to boot he was the most sarcastic bastard I've ever met.

Length? About 2 lines of code in all the time he was here.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:39, 1 reply)

Blue Collar workers are the best
I worked in a factory for 5 yrs and there were no end of bastards and weirdos. There was the guy who got busted knocking one out in the toilet not once, but twice, the Indonesian guy who used to salute all the white bosses and mutter under his breath when anyone of colour went past, the maintenance guy who used to wear shrek ears permanently and who came to the xmas party off his nut and tried selling his stash off to some managers to buy booz and my colleague who I had the pleasure of sharing an office with who had not even heard of the concept of blowing your nose. He used to let it run down his lip and he would sniff loudly at the same time as licking his snot. Lovely!

However the champion bastard was this guy who came to our xmas party one year and hooked up with the company secretary. This in itself wasn't too bad, but I felt sorry for his wife(of only 6 months) when he returned home the next day and promptly moved out his stuff from the house and told her he was moving in with aforementioned secretary.
The next year at our xmas party his now ex-wife turned up with her new beau and phoned him and said she was outside the party and would like a chat. He went for the 'chat' outside only to return to the safety of the xmas party because he had seven shades of sh*t kicked out of him and he needed to get an ambulance. Needless to say the MD was not happy with the blood on the dancefloor and he was summoned to the office on the monday and got a severe bollocking.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:38, Reply)

Uniform
I worked at a large private hospital for a few months recently, and most of the staff had a corporate uniform to wear, which they all did, with varying degrees of adherence. One woman who wore her trousers backwards, every single hour of every single day. After a few weeks, someone plucked up the courage to ask her why... "Ohh, I think they're much comfier that way round!" came the reply.

She left soon after.
(Merrep, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:37, Reply)

My boss is a loud talker.
I could go on for pages about him, but my favorite story is this one:

I was in my office, happily working away, and I could hear my boss down the hall talking to someone. Nothing new, sometimes he's mad about something, but this time not.

Suddenly, my boss needed to talk to our co-worker Craig.

"So where's Craig?" he yells, which is his way of calling Craig, instead of using the phone or walking to Craig's office. "Hey Craig!"

I could hear Craig's muffled voice somewhere.

"Craig?" my boss called again.

More muffled responses from Craig somewhere.

"Craig?" My boss was now walking down the hall. "Where are you?"

Another muffled response from Craig.

"The bathroom?" My boss yells, in genuine surprise. "What are you doing in the bathroom?"

He had actually opened the bathroom door before he figured out why Craig was in the bathroom.
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:36, Reply)

the bedshitter.
that is all.

well, it's not, i have loads more, but i have got to ask....

who the hell is this bernard??
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:34, 17 replies)

Spock Lives
Ahh Stephen, a bastard, and lazy with it.
We needed a new developer, so interviews were had, technical questions were asked and Stephen was employed...
He didn't turn up on his first day (bad sign one)
So boss rang him and found he'd not found anywhere close to live and still lived hundreds of miles away (we should have sacked him then).
Turned up on Tuesday and was given a bit of self contained work to complete, our senior developer had said it should take two days, so Stephen was given until the end of the week.
Didn't turn up on his third day.
My boss called him (never the other way round) and found the driving had been too much, so he was going to spend the day finding somewhere new to live. My boss told him to sort that out this week and start over on Monday.
Friday I'm asked to call Stephen, and find out if he'll be in on Monday. He still hasn't found anywhere, I ask his budget and find him several places to visit over the weekend.
He arrives on Monday and as far as I'm aware starts working away. He is however always on the phone, attempting to find better accommodation.
Friday arrives and boss calls Stephen in and asks how he's doing. Stephen has "almost finished" but asks if he can show it all working on Monday. Monday comes and goes, as does Tuesday, we other drones persuade Stephen to join us for lunch (a walk to the sandwich shop) we get half way there when he runs to a phone box and stays there, on the phone for 20 mins.
Friday comes and boss, who used to develop himself asks if he can see Stephen's progress, and if he needs it potentially help. Stephen graciously declines this offer and says he'll show boss everything on Monday.
Stephen starts arriving exactly 30 mins late and leaving 30 mins early.
Stephen starts making coffee just for himself.
Monday rolls round, as does Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.
On Friday boss calls Stephen in and asks to see his work, when Stephen pleads to wait boss says "This has stopped being funny, and show me the work or I'll give you a verbal warning." Stephen accepts the written warning.
I find out Stephen's Password is Spock Lives.
Monday occurs and boss has talk with IT director re: Stephen.
Wednesday IT director and boss call Stephen in to the office. Boss - "Show us what you have been working on or here is a written warning."
Stephen - "I'll take the written warning."
IT director - "Seriously just show us what you've been working on."
Stephen picks up written warning and walks out.
We discover that Stephen is late because he's working as a cleaner in the mornings to pay the rent on his house.
We find out Stephen has 13 Chinchillas.
Friday comes round, this is officially the last day of Stephen's probationary period. Boss and IT director call Stephen in and give him the option of showing what he's been doing for the last 3 weeks (we've all noticed him coding) or he'll be asked to leave.
He said "Fair enough" and left.
It ended up good for me though, I got his computer, when going through the recycle bin I found two vbs files, containing a half finished novel set between Star Trek 2 and 3 entitled Spock Lives.
Epilogue
Head of HR decided that he hadn't been sacked properly so he was paid for the next 3 months, and then they failed to stop paying him so he ended up with 5 months pay for writing a rather poor Sci-Fi novel.
Sorry about the length, you'd have been sorrier if I'd posted the novel.
(nebbie, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:30, 3 replies)

My husband's boss
Reads a page out of Gordon 'fucking' Ramsey's 'How to be a Boss' or what ever the book is called, every staff meeting.
It's a wonder he hasn't kicked her face off.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:26, Reply)

Irony
I used to work in an office down south, was a great place with lots of friendly people, good managers and plenty of events on.
Now there is this guy that i gave a lift to when he started (mainly cos he lived in the same town as me, had to get at least 2 trains to work, which would take an hour and a half at least and didn't drive). Everyday without fail:

He'd get in the car, mumble a greeting then read the fucking paper for the rest of the journey, usually blocking my inside wing mirror (lots of fun when trying to pull in)
He'd sleep in, leaving me outside waiting and getting late for work
Always had to be asked for petrol money
Claimed he was learning to drive but 18 months on has manged about 3 lessons and is no closer to driving.

Thankfully i got promoted and now work in a different site so no idea what happened to him, think he got someone else to help out
The ironic thing is:
I advised him to go for the sodding job

Fuck Karma
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:24, Reply)

I work with a guy...
who said he had met the love of his life and was moving in with her soon. Not long after he came to work on a Monday proclaiming that he had shagged 3 birds that weekend. My first reaction was to ask if he was still moving in with said woman to which he replied 'Yeah of course. I just wanted to get all the shagging out of my system before I move in'.

'So I hope you used protection' I said.

'Yeah, of course mate. I didn't give none of them my number' he replied.

(hence my sig)
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:23, Reply)

How not to work with autistic children
Until recently, the sweary other half worked in a school, supporting kids with assorted learning difficulties. Full autistic spectrum, Downs Syndrome, you name it, she worked with ‘em. I couldn’t do it, but she has a natural affinity for it – bloody good at her job. And she loved it. Until she was well and truly shafted by the head, who informed her a day before the end of summer term last year that she was being made redundant, but ‘you’ll have to come back after the summer holidays and work your notice while we work out what your redundancy entitlement is’. The excuse being that as she didn’t have any formal qualifications, they needed to consider the qualified staff first, no matter how crap at their jobs they were. And many of them were very crap.

Mightily pissed off, she went back for a couple of days, but when the head was still pissing around working out her entitlement, walked out, figuring her time would be better spent looking for something else or doing some training. OK, she missed out on the redundancy payment (which would have been about 3 weeks wages, so no great loss), but at least she had the satisfaction of landing the head in the shit because of her assumption that she’d have extra help until the half term. Apparently the head had a mini-breakdown not long afterwards…

Anyway, many of the people working there, quite frankly, shouldn’t have been as they hadn’t the first clue about kids with special needs. One in particular (Jo) was an indescribably huge woman, who when she got down on the floor needed an industrial crane to get her back on her (greatly protesting) feet. She was massive – not really the type of person you would want supervising if a kid with ADHD decided to make a bolt for freedom. I met her and her husband socially once – he was as skinny as a rake, so a bit of an odd couple. And they had 2 kids as well – the thought of them at it makes me shudder. Probably like poking a vat of custard with a knitting needle…

Jo suffered from an unshakeable belief in her abilities, and thought she knew everything about kids with autism. She didn’t. Most autistic kids don’t do communication very well. If you talk to them, they tend to look away otherwise their senses get overloaded and they panic. Jo couldn’t be told this, and every day would reduce these poor little buggers to terrified, emotionally distraught jellies, by going right up to their faces, bombarding them with language and facial expressions, whilst prodding and poking them. And then doing it even more when they started screaming and telling her they didn’t like it and could she stop please.

Honestly. And they made my other half redundant?
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:15, 6 replies)

The boss
the boss in the department of the hospital (which will remain nameless) in which I worked always seemed like a lovely bloke to me, friendly, attentive, smart, and in control.

After he retired, I heard some stories that made me understand why some of the female staff weren't particularly enamoured of him. Apparently he frequently watched soft porn on his computer in his fishbowl office in the middle of the department, he seemed to think that ladies' only purpose was making tea and babies.

Then, one time he called a female member of staff, who had miscarried several weeks previously, into his office, and asked her when the baby was due...

Talk about keeping your finger on the pulse of the department

(go easy on my- it's my first QOTW reply)
(devilstickz, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:10, 1 reply)

Brian fucking Quin, Angus, and the cowering Swede
No apologies for the title. Brian Quin is a cunt of the first water and, if I was a religious man, I would pray for him to get a seriously agonising disfiguring and lingering disease with no hope of cure or any effective pain relief. It cheers me to picture him writhing in unrelenting agony whilst begging to die.
He was the manager of the Birmingham office of a Swedish office furniture company (not Ikea)who interviewed me and offered me what I thought was a great job. How wrong I was.
Brian had no social life. Really, none at all. He would ring my home at 3 a:m to discuss projects. If I didn't reply he would send a sarky email to me and the boss. He would fuck about with my diary and book me to see customers at night, weekends, whilst I was on a booked holiday and would take personal affront if I told him I couldn't see the client. He even tracked me down when I was on holiday in Singapore asking when that week I could see a client to amend a floor layout. When I told him that I was on the other side of the world he then tried to take me through disciplinary when I got back. It all collapsed in farce when I pointed out that:
1/ HE had signed my holiday form.
2/ HE had recommended the hotel I was staying in and had arranged accommodation for me via his contacts.
3/ He had been wrist slapped for precisely this same disregard for other peoples' time on several occasions before.
He hated me after that but I didn't care because he was a cunt.
Angus.
WHAT A CUNT.
Angus was one of the senior salesmen in the organisation and he decided to "take me under his wing" as Brian the cunt didn't want to talk to me anymore.
"Fair enoughski" I thought.
Wrong again. Angus was the scruffiest, smelliest, least organised backstabbing waste of blood and organs that God ever put breath into. He tried to get me fired for pointing out that he'd not only got the wrong DAY for a meeting, he'd got the wrong WEEK. He was always late for meetings with clients and had the worst bad breath I have ever smelt. Only once did I share a car with him and I could smell it on my clothes the rest of the day. Worse than that, he was short-sighted and slightly deaf so he stood TOO FUCKING CLOSE.
It came to pass that we were in Newport in Wales one day and, whilst driving out I'd had my car forced off a roundabout by a truck full of rebar. I remonstrated with the driver in my gruff Coventrian way advising him that, if I ever saw him again I would "tear off his head and shit down the hole". Angus was so traumatised by this exchange (in which he was not involved)that he had three weeks off with stress! Twat. He then tried to take me through disciplinary always quoting "you have to realise I've sold over £2 million in furniture so I know what I'm talking about".
It didn't go far.
The cowering Swede was the last straw. I had won a large furnishing contract for a midlands firm and was expecting a seriously large bonus.
When it didn't materialise I asked why?
It appeared that one of the Swedish members of staff once had heard of someone who might have walked past a van which had delivered to the site once, so it was HIS contract!
I was less than pleased with this so I took matters into my own hands. I followed him into the head office toilets for a full and frank exchange of views. My reputation preceded me and he started cowering and whimpering before I'd even said a word or got within six feet of him. I'd had enough of the snidey ways of the company by now and had another job lined up so, with nothing to lose I hauled up the now snivelling turdbag, marched him into the MD's office and proceeded to vent my spleen about the piss-awful state of the company and the utter utter cunts who worked there, then offerd the same treatment as the lorry driver to the MD, the cowering Swede and anyone else who came close. They wanted the sales manager to eject me from the building but he was having none of it.
I swanned round the office, picking up whatever I fancied and taking it with me. No-one challenged me.
I didn't even give them the car back for 8 weeks and they didn't ask for it.
Rant over



Apologies for length but I have an enormous cock.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 13:53, 10 replies)

Simon Chicken Station
On the back of several Maccy D's posts...

Simon Chicken Station is infamous where I come from.

First a little history. I was a floor manager at a maccy d's in the late 90s just before I went to uni. We had the usual misfits, losers, crackheads, and dweezels. But there was a shiny beacon of weirdness which was called Simon Chicken Station.

He was a 30yr old mentally retarded bloke who the local job centre had forced upon my branch of mcdonalds and to be fair the mcmanagement wanted to look good in the community so they went along with it. He worked pretty much 6 days a week, and then took the bus back to his house and his mum to watch his frankly astonishingly large collection of disney videos.

He always wore his mcdonalds baseball cap even when going home and social occasions i.e. awful, awful team nights out (indeed I always wondered if he actually had more than a fringe of hair), had appalling teeth, and dribbled literally everywhere and on everything. Not the type of person who you want manning the chicken station really (you would be forgiven for thinking that this desciption of a McDonald's employee is nothing out of the ordinary) but he would cry if asked to man the quarter pounder grill or the fry station.

His notoriety and appearance grew to such proportions that customers (either on the drive thru or at the front and who wanted a faux chicken product) asked who was on the chicken station. If the reply was "simon", then they hastily re-thought their choices on the menu.

I never really knew what happened as I left and went on my way, but I did hear that that particular McD got closed down due to the semen content of the mcchicken sandwiches. It might have been an urban myth, but it certainly did get closed down. I would like to think that Simon Chicken Station had grown up and it was his way of both sticking it to the man, and professing his love for Ariel the little mermaid.

Incidentally if i get enough clicks I will reveal the location of the now re-opened MD branch. Who knows, he might still be there?
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 13:52, Reply)

I used to work at a driving school...
I basically functioned as a receptionist, but it meant that if the instructors came in (either they were picking up a pupil here, taking a tea break, or they needed to go for a dump), they would sit down and talk to me. I was there when the manager interviewed one - let's call him 'A' - for a job with our school.

'A' did most of the talking. When the manager asked him a question, his usual response was "Well, let me tell you a story..." and then he'd drone on and bloody on with some story which was usually connected with the time he worked as a fireman.

His first day was in the summer. Warm weather, ergo most of the instructors are driving around in shorts and t-shirts*. Then 'A' pulls up outside the office. Through his car window I see a shirt and tie.
"Fair enough," thinks I, "he's taking this a bit seriously, but he is new..."

Then he gets out of the car, revealing that is lower half is adorned with a very short pair of lime green shorts and an equally hideous pair of trainers. Picture, if you will, a grey-haired man in a smart shirt, tie, green shorts and green trainers.

And he has taken himself far too seriously. His missus works as a teacher of sorts, so he likes to use phrases like: "Because my wife and I are both in the teaching profession..."

You're a driving instructor. Sure, it involves teaching people, but to call it "a teaching profession" is getting a little lofty, isn't it? You're a fucking driving instructor.

He also changed his name by deed poll. It would be unfair of me to identify him this way, but he had a perfectly reasonable name to start with, and changed it to something utterly fucking ridiculous. All I'll say is that this form changed his middle name to Cornelius.

And pupils have actually phoned us to complain that he never seems to teach them: in an hour's lesson, he's likely to spend 30-odd minutes talking at them. Probably about the time he was in the fire brigade. Perhaps he ought to go back to the cocking fire brigade and spend a bit more time polishing his helmet.

_{*And a car, obviously}

Apologies for length - it's still shorter than a conversation with that pillock.
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 13:49, 1 reply)

Re: Colin the Temp



Ours was Simon.


He was obsessed with the receptionist and, despite her being attached to and living with her longtime boyfriend, pestered her every day with offers of a date.

He once called me out for a fight as my friendly banter with her was construed as "Poaching his girl". He used to follow other female staff members home and then watch the house for hours at a stretch from across the street. Unfortunately, in those "Stalking? What's that then?" days, the cops had him marked down as 'Mostly Harmless' so nothing was ever done.

His obsession with women led him to be often seen wandering the building, clad in his trademark ski pants, with a 'semi' on display at all times. He was utterly unable to use a computer despite having a computer degree and would spend his days either stalking the female colleagues as they worked or else letching at clients in the lobby from his favourite vantage point on the main stairs.

His pet hobby was conspiracy theories and, in those pre-internet days, had a library of cheapo paperbacks catering to every nutjob fantasy there was. He'd convinced himself that he was the holder of all forbidden knowledge and that 'They' were monitoring him. He refused to have his photo taken under any circumstances because of this and would take great lengths to avoid appearing on CCTV and the like. To avoid the camera at the entrance to work, he'd knock on the staffroom window so that he could be let in via the fire exit and would leave work the same way.

He shared a tenement flat with his dad who was a racist, misogynist of a drunkard who imparted pearls of wisdom such as "All women are whores - especially your (long separated) mother" while watching hardcore porno movies and not caring who saw him doing so. I had the misfortune to go round there once - the place reeked of stale booze, stale smoke, damp and rancid grease.

He left work one day and never came back. His dad disappeared too and nobody ever heard from them again - all we had to go on was something Simon said about them going to London to visit his other brother and that was it. So, if you're a female and living in London - big bloke, built like a brick shithouse with straight black hair, pasty complexion, distracted smile and Buddy Holly specs - run!
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 13:44, 1 reply)

Not my story . . .
But it does involve me, in a small way.

My mum used to work for a very small estate agents in the 'posh' area near where we leave. It was a very small office with just Mother, the two bosses who owned it and an 'proper' estate agent. One day, Woman Boss decided to 'expand the company' after going to some ridiculous course for two days and sets about hiring another estate agent. Applications flooded through the door and two were picked for interview. The first guy was charming, intelligent and funny, he would have fitted in well. The second guy turned up late, sweaty and dishelleved without an apology. He marched in, helped himself to a seat behind a colleagues desk and ordered a cup of coffee. The second guy was hired.

He was a nightmare. Thought he was a bit of a wideboy, always out in 'his motar' or 'on tha blowar'. He put fake viewings in the book and would disappear for hours on end 'with clients' but would come back with different hair. My mum drove past his house once whilst he was 'on a viewing' and saw him, cleaning out his house. My mum was constantly having to pick up his slack and was getting really pissed off with it.

One day, a letter comes through the door whilst Wideboy was out, and as Mother Dearest was on post, she opened it. It was a Bailiffs letter for Wideboy. He had done a runner from his last place up country, leaving many debts and they had tracked him down. So my mum typed up Wideboy's name and new address and sent it back to the bailiffs. And here's where I come in.

I had been doing a little bit of modelling, doing pageants to try and get a lucrative contract. A quick word with the boss, and he had agreed to let my mum use her office computer to upload and print several photos of me, for her personal use. One of the rounds in a pageant is Clubwear, meaning dress like a ho. So my photos were duly uploaded to her comp, and left there. The female Boss returns from a viewing, and only Wideboy was in the office, acting sneaky and jumpy. When female Boss walked in, there was my pictures, on his computer screen.

He got fired. Asshole.
(missc, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 13:33, Reply)

Not a bastard as such
We once had an accounts girl working for us who, whilst being perfectly nice, wasn't the sharpest tool in the box.

There was one occassion where she displayed almost Autistic odd-ness that still totally baffles me today.

It was a quiet "accounts" day so she had little to do so I asked her to tidy some shelves that had a load of books just chucked onto them by the dirty techies. Now this is the bit that still gets me today. Any normal person, even my 2 year old, would put them onto the shelf with the spines facing outwards so you can see what each book is. Amazingly she did the complete opposite and neatly lined each book on the shelf but with the spine of every one facing inwards.

The result was that you obviously had no idea what each book was. I know that it is a small thing but in my mind, it is such a fundementally obvious thing, I am still perplexed by it.
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 13:27, 1 reply)