T-junction: go left or right, yes? Well...
While temping at the council's street cleaning department, met a bloke called Dave. Nice and freindly, not the sharpest tool in the drawer, so the same as a fair few other people mentioned in this question then.

Dave was allowed to drive the small vans, but not the large transit vans. This was because he'd tried once, and got things slightly wrong.

While approaching a T-junction, he had a bit of a panic moment. And I do sypathise from when I was learning to drive, sometimes the mind just goes blank. Poor Dave decides the best thing to do is just keep going, an admirable course in some situations, but alas not here.

Thus he is the only person I've ever heard of to go straight ahead at a T-junction, steaming across both lanes, over the curb, and through a hedge.

I asked him about it later: "I didn't know what else to do." Bless.
(Bearded Whumpus In chav Britain, schoolgirl offers sweets to YOU!, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 11:37, 3 replies)

Mouthy sales managers
I've had a few sales jobs, and thus have met some prime bullshitters in my time.

One that springs to mind was Lee, who started at the same time as me, we both did well, but due to some vaguely relevant experience Lee got promoted at the end of his probation. No probs for me, I was caning the old targets and collecting lovely amounts of commission each month. Lee was given a fixed salary and carte blanche to loaf off and big himself up to all the newbies.

Cue Lee one day anouncing to the sales floor that they weren't selling enough - not like in the old days - Operating B3tan will tell you what it was like when we started, when we used to smash those targets.

After a few months of listening to his self serving drivel I had had enough.

So I answered, to all present - "No Lee, I don't remember that, why don't we look at some old sales reports to jog my memory. Oh yes, that's right, you never actually did hit your target did you?".

A stunned silence ensued, followed by that "what the fuck did I just do?" feeling.

Still, after a brief bollocking noone could argue with the facts, and Lee left shortly after.

There's nothing better than rumbling a blagger, especially in front of lot's of people :-)
(Reverend Samson Fapohunda B3tan, B3tan, B3tan, B3tan, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 11:04, 2 replies)

Colin
I used to work with a fat bloke. Now we've all seen someone who's enjoyed the pies too much but this guy was clinical. He had walking sticks, presumeably because he's knees couldn't take it otherwise. His navel hung between his knees, he was so fat it was a disability.

But that wasn't what was so bad about him....
It was the smell.

Not just any smell. You could forgive him if there was a "I just farted" odour in the air, but this was nasty. It was kinda vinegary. The stench of stale sweat in the folds on the back of his neck and other places made it so unpleasant to be anywhere near him. I kid you not it actually stung your eyes like onions.

It was so bad we gave him his own office... at the other end of the main office.... and through some double doors. We were that keen to distance ourselves from him.

If he needed to talk to you he'd phone up and get you to come to him as he knew by the time he'd walked to your desk you'd have gone home for the day.

Trouble was, he was on a contract. And like any cow that's already on the truck to the slaughterhouse he knew he was fucked when that contract expired.

So he applied for every and any IT job that came up. The company was large so this was probably about 1 vacancy per fortnight. Then he'd play the disability card.

I mean he applied for a job installing microwave network antennas as part of a networking project. We needed a man to climb ladders up church towers and other tall buildings then delicately wire up the equipment... the man had fingers like thick sausages! He couldn't even wire up his shoe laces, he had velcro for fucks sake!

So upon not getting the job, as always, he asked for the feedback from the interview to double check he wasn't knocked back on account of his size, as that would be discrimination etc.

That was 8 years ago and if he's not died of a heart attack by now I'd be astonished.

If you're an employer, for gods sake steer clear of anyone too fat for their own good. It'll cost you hundreds just for a re-inforced chair!
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 11:03, 5 replies)

Okay, not strictly a colleague...
(...but at least this won't be another driving school one)

One of the guys in my office has some equipment parked up in the BT tower for taking atmospheric measurements. This week he was supposed to go there to supervise the delivery of a couple of gas canisters which were needed for this experiment. Quite why BT's enormous militia of security guards couldn't take care of it, we'll never know.

Just yesterday, he got a phone call from someone at the tower:

"These gas canisters have arrived. I think you were supposed to come and take care of them."
"Yes, I was waiting for you to call me to tell me when they were due to arrive."
"Sorry, we had trouble getting hold of you as we don't seem to have a correct phone number for you."

Yes, that was a telephone conversation. On his telephone. With British Telecom. I despair...
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 11:02, 1 reply)

Now I don’t work for Virgin Media…

But if I did, then every single one of my colleagues would be a bastard...

(Particularly the bearded gusset-scrape who owns the place)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 10:39, 1 reply)

The Tourette's Kid
I shan't mention his name as he's a fellow geek and probably frequents this board, but i worked with him at a IT firm who supported GP Software. He wasn't a wanker or owt but still, well worth a mention.

It was 5 or 6 years ago, we were (for some unknown reason) bang into those old fashioned british sitcom type shows - 'On the buses', 'Carry on thingy', etc and would all regulary reel off lines to each other to relieve the boredom, our favourorite character always being Jack Douglas's character - the twitchy one! Carry On girls being a personal fav, he tries to help an old lady over the road and FFFWWYWAAYYYYY, GGGUURRRN you get the idea!


Clicky the youtube, you'll see what i mean www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJVmecTLQ0k

This lad started, and he had a blatant tick and being an office full of basically kids - we laughed behind his back mercilessly. He was like me a smoker so we'd often be out the back door for a crafty fag, he's offer a light and more than once or twice i'd get a lighter in my eye as he'd spaz out.

His chin would stick out, he'd make a joey type sound, his elbow would flap like a chicken, it was constant amusment for us - he once even managed to nut the toilet door and spark himself out. Brilliant!

1 of the lads was on a training course with him, he said it was the worst day of his life, Twitchy was in front of him, gurning away for 6 hours during an SQL talk, he sat behind literally pissing his pants, red faced, trying not to laugh as he FFWWWAAAAYYYYYY, NNNNNGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH and flapped his arms infront of him for all that time.

Brilliant. He was just like Jack Douglas, i can remember him now "Would you like a FFFFWWWAYYYYYYYYY NNNNGGGGGHHNNNN light?"
(TheManofScience, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 10:22, 6 replies)

(Shudders)
Well, this one's still a little bit raw (the twunt left a bit over a year ago), so apologies if I lose it a little.

Where to start? I work for one division of a UK based multi-national financial services company - one of those ones with profits in the £billions - I'll not name it, for obvious reasons, and you can quote me on that (I didn't say 'happy'). If you've ever worked for a similar organisation, this will probably seem familiar to you, and if you've been following my posts carefully over the years, you will also know that I started my adult life with no direction whatsoever. After many a blind alley and wrong turn I washed up on the shores of this great institution towards the end of last century. I was in my mid-30s and earning the same as a school leaver, though I'd recently (finally) got myself a degree.

The most commonly used metaphor for a career is a ladder. A plain old ladder: start out at the bottom and work your way up one step at a time. Experience has shown me the picture a little clearer: The organisation is like a huge hall; over the floor are dust-sheets and various obstacles ready to trip you. To get to the other side there are ladders, but they are rickety decorator's ladders; the ladders are connected by planks, some level, some are sloping upwards, none are properly fixed in place. At the entrance to the hall you're handed a massive tin of paint and a huge bucket full of shit, then they put a paint-brush in your mouth and tell you to get to work. You don't know exactly what you're supposed to paint but you do know that if you spill so much as one drop of shit from your bucket, then you go back to square one. Now try climbing those ladders. Oh yes, and watch out for the other fuckers dipping their brushes in your paint, trying to make you spill some shit, trying to trip you up. That's a career path.

I've been here a decade now and I'm pretty good at painting with a brush in my mouth and I could balance shit-buckets for England. What annoys the hell out of me is that people are constantly being brought into company with neither of these skills, onto ladders much further down the hall from me. Then they ask me to wipe up all the shit they spill and sand down the lousy paint job they've done, re-paint it neatly and then sign their initials at the bottom for them, while continuing to do my own stuff too.

Meet Rix. I won't give his first name as I don't want to go to court. He'd been in the company just six months when I was put in a new team with him. Well, a team of two: me and him. Due to my wide experience in various parts of the company and the exams I'd taken, I'd finally managed to get a job in an interesting (that's a relative term) area: Strategy.

He, supposedly, had had similar roles in different companies and came highly recommended. LIAR. How can I put it? He was so clueless that if he was sat down in front of a Bumper Book of Crosswords, with Inspector Morse on his left and Sherlock Holmes on his right to help him, he still wouldn't have been able to discover a single, fucking clue. I can honestly say that he added absolutely no value at all in the year or so I worked with him. Mostly, I did the work then he picked over it. He fussed like an old woman and knew nothing and nobody that would help in our role. He was completely free of gorm.

Funny thing was, I quite liked him at first. He was fairly easy to get on with and although ten years younger than me, that wasn't a problem for me: virtually all the managers I work for are younger than me, because they've had a decade's head start. But then his habits started to annoy me. Constant stories about his car, a BMW 3 series, e.g. it had a scratch and he spent the best part of three weekends sanding and spraying it until he'd ruined a whole panel and had to get it done professionally. OK, but why tell us the whole story every single day? Also, he'd constantly, but surreptitiously sniff his fingers - yuk, and when he said 'marketing' it came out as 'margeding' and WITHOUT FAIL, at every meeting we ever went to he'd use the word 'predicated'. And he would moan about how the work we were getting wasn't interesting enough. He thought he should be advising the executive board on strategy. The total sum of his knowledge was a passing familiarity with the BCG Growth-Share Matrix (try Wikipedia if you're very dull), which is probably taught in term one of A-Level marketing [that's Marketing 101 for our American cousins]. Imagine going to the top guys at NASA and suggesting that to get more thrust, they should have a look at skateboard propulsion technology principles.

This numpty I then discovered, was actually two grades higher than I had supposed and consequently earning over £50,000 a year, while I scraped by on roughly half that, while I did his job. Towards the end, we weren't given any new work to do. Stuff we should have been doing was given to other people and what did Rix do about it? Did he have a frank discussion with his boss, ask why, suggest stuff we could usefully do? Did he fuck. He'd call a 'team meeting', which meant we'd get up from our desks with our pads and pens and wander off out of the building. If the weather was nice, we'd go to the park, find a nice bench or some grass and sit and chat, or rather he'd bitch, I'd advise him to pull his frigging finger out of his arse, stop sniffing it, and get something done. Then we'd go back to our desks no further on; this went on for a year.

Only two positives: 1. In the next reorganisation he opted for redundancy and was refused, so he had to resign, while I finally got a decent job, and 2. In our part of the country there's a small independant petrol station company called Rix. Every so often while driving into work, I'm stuck behind one of their tankers going 40 mph on a 60 mph road. Without fail, when this happens I shout out, almost loud enough for the tanker driver to hear: "RIX YOU BASTARD, GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY YOU TWAT", and I feel a little better.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 10:14, 5 replies)

Boss from hell
He really was a complete wanker and is extremely short. In fact, after I left they started calling him Poisonous Dwarf. He drives a massive Harley and the biggest fuck off Audi you've ever seen to make up for the fact that he makes that guy from The Isle of Dr Moreau look like Andre the Giant. He wears custom made shoes that make him 2 inches taller.

He would fine you for every minor infraction:
- being late for an internal meeting, even by seconds
- being late with an internal report
- a client cancelling a meeting (WTF!)
-being late for work (being late for work 3 times in a month was a firing offence)
- someone else fucking up on your project when it was obviously not your fault
- the client paying late
- having more than an hour for lunch
- not talking in English

Other notable things he did included:
- Charging his own employees for using a coffee machine he got for free
- Not paying someone a months wages because he was impudant enough to call a meeting to tell the boss what a cunt he is and thus wasting valuable company time
- Telling me i was letting my mum and dad down by quitting
- Charging his daughter and her boyfriend for dinner when they stayed with him, lucky for her she is a vegetarian and got hers half price
- going on business trips to the far-east 'to recruit people' when everyone knows he is going there for the sex holidays

The one shinning light is that his youngest daughter is shapping up to be a real slapper and will probably have a couple of kids by the time she is 16. Nothing wrong with that, but the way he goes around you would think she is going to be Marie Curie and Anna Kournikiva rolled into one.
(camel, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 10:00, Reply)

When I'm being a musician...
...I am actually that bastard colleague. I have been known on occasion* to fart on stage.

In fact, I have been nicknamed "The Devil's Arse" because of it.

*actually, quite frequently
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 9:51, 3 replies)

Another driving instructor
(Sorry...I'll keep this one brief)

Weird bloke. Unhealthily skinny* feller who looked like he spent too much time on a treadmill and/or sunbed.

I only really met him once, talked to him for about half an hour while he was in the office. And through this whole conversation, he seemed unable to sit still. Not a nervous twitch or anything - that I could understand - but full body movements. I swear: he was leant on my desk and virtually gyrating. Then every so often he'd move away from the desk and wobble around the room a bit like he was in some crap music video.

Only lasted a couple of weeks: they fired him after he tried chatting up one of his pupils. (And considering the veritable dance routine that normal conversation involved, I dread to think what he was like when flirting...)


*_{Yeah, I know that's unusual enough for a driving instructor.}
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 9:36, 6 replies)

Cash and Carry... Again
Aha! A QOTW that finally allows me to get a pea roast in!

As you may know, yet probably won't because I'm an incredibly boring person, I used to work at a Cash and Carry. Now the Floor Manager (read: less important than a boss) there was a loonie of global proportions. This was one of my first jobs at the fresh, pimply faced age of 15 and I was regularly sodomised by her for the most minor of infractions. These included:

1) Another work aspect of mines was looking after children with severe learning difficulties (All the women now coo, and someone calls me a spack.) I had signed up for some 5 day training/team building nonsense up North, mainly so I could abseil and other interesting things under the pretense of liking people. I signed up for my time off with the manager and everything was hunky dory, it was even marked on the calendar "Mr Cavalier shall not be here for x week, phone Mark."

This would prove to go outwith Tina (For that is her name) 's notice. I returned after my five days to plug out a bit of work, only to be dragged into the office and have a 10 minute chewing out about how I was not allowed to simply walk in and out when I fancied it. After trying vainly to convince her to look at the calendar, she finally did. Did she admit she was wrong? Did she buggery, she simply told me I was late and to get started. I was late because of her bollocks. However this was not the worst

2) I had phoned up my work to let them know I'd be needing time off. Now at this point I'd worked there a year, and apart from having those 5 days off, I had never been late, nor had I had a sick day either. I phoned on the Monday to ask for the Thursday shift off. This shift consisted of three hours of pulling my tadger in the office because there was bugger all to do. It was statistically our least busy time, and I really did do bugger all. I was not given it off. I was pretty pissed, so I phoned back on the Tuesday to again request the time. Again I was denied.

The reason I wanted that time off? To play rugby, in the Scottish final, at Murrayfield, the International stadium. I decided they could kiss my ginger pubus and I would not be in attendance that evening. Or any other time from there on in.

Last I heard the geordie bloke that worked there had went mental and not turned up for about 4 months but was still on the payroll, the forklift operator's wife had left him and he had gone insane, drunk himself daft and tried to hang himself. Best of all, that bitch Tina had been transferred out of the Edinburgh sector. "But to where Mr Cavalier?!"

The bitch is now in Dundee. Screw you God, your not funny.
(TheVomitingCavalier entered one image challenge and failed miserably, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 9:02, Reply)

"Fuck em, have a fag."
Working on a demolition job years ago, there was a chippy on site. He'd "forgotten" to bring any tools, and the cunt decided to "become" a gaffer. The fat bastard basically walked up and down, looked at waht you were doing, rolled a ciggie, said "fuck em, have a fag", then walked off.
He did this for a month. Noone clocked the fact that although living in digs, he never bothered to collect his tools every time he went home at weekends.
he was fat, filthy, thick, could hardly speak, and he was getting top wack for doing nothing. Cunt.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 8:17, Reply)

I have to deal with a proofreader with OCD
Now, I appreciate it's a recognised condition, and he's a ncie enough bloke.

The only problem is he completely fails to take on any new information that's given to him. Including instructions given by the manager.

This week, he was given a brand new set of proofing guidelines, to help him cut down his workload cos we're falling behind.
He has chosen to ignore EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE, and still checks a 12 page document in the time it would take one of us to read War and Peace.
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 8:16, 4 replies)

Dances
.
One bloke I worked with was tiny so his nickname was "Dances"

As in "Dances With Voles"


Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 7:33, 3 replies)

I am seriously concerned,
but not surprised, by the large number of stories involving God-botherers. Although I am probably what most would call a fully paid-up member of the God Squad, I can't understand why people so often become twats at the same time that they become Christians.




So, just to say, not all those who would call themselves Christians are weirdos. Just 60% - 70% ish. Oh, and the pick of the bunch is definitely Benny Hinn -- look for a Google video of him.


I have worked with some utter bastards, in a variety of places. But, th two worst were in the same place.

Number one would send me (aged 16) to the offy to buy him whiskey so he could get through the shift. He'd then get me to drop him off at the brothel on my (very obviously branded) pizza delivery moped.

Number two was the full-time carer for his friend, who had suffered colossal brain damge in a car accident, and was wheel-chair bound. Sounds like a nice enough guy, looking after a pal in such difficult circumstances, right?


Number two was thusly receiving a large sum of money from his friend's insurers, as part of the payout, and didn't wish to pay tax, so he was working at a pizza shop to show some legitimate income. Which may have interfered with his care-giving, right? Nope. He just put his friend in the car, and left him parked in the road out back. I was speechless for the first and last time when I found out. I couldn't even summon the words "you are clearly an utter cunt".



Not really bastard-like in my direction I guess, but as the guy couldn't walk, talk, or do anything for himself, someone had to do something. I actually hoped his brain damage was sufficient to stop him realising how he'd been betrayed.
(Exiled Youth [witty comment], Fri 25 Jan 2008, 7:26, 6 replies)

oh so many places, and people....
Hmm.
The girl in a coffee shop that I caught smoking crack in the storeroom. And said "it's okay, it's just crack".
Cleaner I sacked, for persistently trying to shag a 16 yr old waitress, spy on her getting changed, spray her perfume on his jacket, invite her to pose for pictures etc. He was 59. And looked like a urinal cake.
A chef who used to wank into the soup EVERY SHIFT, and then would still have a bowl on his break - "It dunt matter when its yer own"
Scottish barman who would think nothing of leaving the bar unnattended whilst he went and shagged a customer in the kitchen/cupboard/office. Class act.
A part time assistant who would go on about his diet, how much he tried and couldnt lose weight, how depressed it made him - and then take home 20-30 muffins at the end of each shift "For a treat after tea".

Lovely people all...
(jameslib, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 6:49, 6 replies)

because
i'm ordinary. I work for a major supermarket on nightshift. People who have held jobs at my workplace for a reasonable length of time (6 months+ ) or still do:

The cokehead - bounces around at 200mp/h (still employed)
The alcoholic - smelt of alcohol even at 4am, 4 hours into her shift (6 months)
The slacker manager - would cut out 1 hour before shift ended to avoid being bollocked (4 years)
The serious dole-dodger - managed to wangle his contract down to one shift a week, but still on full pay due to his wife having 'cancer'. Seen at pub every other night (2 years)

And me? 2 years. Unblemished record (apart from the odd sick day). Up for review because i don't, as my manager put it, "match up to company standards".

What, because i'm not a smacked-up alchy waster with no prospects? Because i only use my job as a money spinner? Because in 3 months time i'll be more qualified than him?

Yes, of course. Perfect.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 6:11, Reply)

Zogg
.
This was one of the strangest people I ever worked with. A black guy who's name I forget who we all just called Zogg.

He'd been working with us for about a week when we had a meeting of all the senior IT geeks about a planned upgrade we were going to do at the weekend. The meeting was going well with everyone seeming to know what needed doing, by when and by who. And then Zogg piped up:

"Do you know that the dolphin is the only animal, apart from man, who masterbates?"

"What the fuck are you on about" says Tony The Nose who had been in full flow before Zogg interrupted "And what fucking planet are you from - Zogg?"

And so Zogg was christened.


"Anyway" calls Tony. "Dolphins can't wank 'cos they haven't got any fucking hands!!"


There was a another incident with Zogg that amused me. He had a shaved head and, on the back of his nick he had a thick scar about three inches long where he'd had some growth removed. It was very noticeable.

So Zogg was working away one day when Tony The Nose walked past behind him, checked in his stride and stopped. Then he got his wallet out, pulled out his cash card and tried to stick it into Zoggs scar..

"What the fuck you doing man!" cried Zogg

"Take it easy - I'm just trying get a tenner out" says Tony....


Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 5:41, 5 replies)

Rupert
.
I don't suppose I could let this QOTW go by without posting at least one Army story. Even though I was only in for a short while, the sheer amount of fuckwits I met hasn't been surpassed by any organisation since. A case in point was my first officer or "Rupert" as they were know.

My Rupert was fresh from university and then six months in Sandhurst. Then we got him. He was a prime fuckwit. Public School bray and less sense than than a mong. He had a penchant for mud. He loved the fucking stuff and he loved marching us through it on every possible occasion.

On exercise once, in the middle of February he had us practising formation attacks through a fucking swamp. Ice cracking beneath our feet, wind howling and then "DOWN" and we had to hit the deck into the freezing mud and water. 5 guys shipped back to unit with hypothermia in two days. Lovely.

Still, we did have some fun with the thick twat. He was a sucker for "saluting traps". We'd hide ourselves in bushes lining the route to the officers mess and, as he was walking to his dinner, we'd pop out at predetermined intervals and salute. And he'd salute back. Then another guy would pop out and salute and he'd salute back and so on. The net effect was him walking up the road with his hand going backwards and forwards like a demented tic-tac man.

Another thing we did to drive him crazy was salute his uniform when he was in the barracks. He'd given us this stern lecture on why saluting was important and that we weren't saluting him, we were saluting the uniform and all it represented. So, when we went in his office, for any reason, we'd close the door, turn our backs on the seated Rupert and salute the coat hanging on the door. It used to drive him battty. But he never twigged on we were taking the piss - he just thought we were stupid.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 5:31, 5 replies)

we had one girl
who would openly wax her legs when bored. in front of customers.

when questioned about this, she didn't seem to see the problem.
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 5:21, 4 replies)

Off Mugs and Muslims
Got to the office, made coffee and proceeded to get my morning caffiene fix!

AAaargh, sugar, fucking loads off it, some other bastard had used my mug and it had not been washed properly!

Cleaned the said mug and waited for the Office Boy to arrive.

On his arrival I ensured that he saw me get my knob out and wipe it around the inside of the mug!

As planned, he told everyone, I was confident that no-one would ever use my mug again!

The best laid plan's etc etc came undone when our bitch of an accountant heard about this and went fucking ballistic! No need to go into detail but she is a first class, dyed in the wool, biching fucking cow!

Later, I got a delegation of (muslim) female staff demanding that this mug never be allowed into the kitchen again as they did not want their own "mugs" infected.

Bollocks! Had to buy a new mug, but, I have been informed they suspect the new mug got the same treatment and no-one dares use it now!
( fagilliD Fuck I'm good!, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 5:10, 1 reply)

Piss poor paramedic...
My boss asked me to partner up with a particular paramedic (I’ll call him ‘B’) as no-one else wanted to work with him. This was due to his arrogance, bullying of student officers, refusing to attend cases close to the end of shift, argumentative nature with anybody (dispatch, colleagues, police, nurses, etc) and performing clinical procedures he was not authorized to do (he was still at the lowest rank of skill levels despite being a veteran paramedic).
Sure, I’ll work with B – how bad could it be?

I was a higher clinical rank but he'd still do stupid shit if he thought I wasn't looking.
I get a phone call from B one day after a ‘random’ audit of some of his cases and B pleaded with me to tell management that it was me that had done the intravenous injection of a particular drug on a patient, despite him having done it unnecessarily and without the required training (actions that constitute assault).

Things never improved and despite repeated warnings he continued with his bad habits.
How did management resolve this? They promoted B to Officer in Charge as this role never required him to attend any clinical cases. B was a nightmare in this job – worse than before.
B used to lecture student officers on ethical behavior of all things – oh the hypocrisy.
Senior management did eventually decide enough was enough and that B was no longer suitable for the Officer in Charge position.

So B got promoted to an even more prestigious and higher paying job in the states capital.

Karma? I don’t believe in it…yet.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 3:52, Reply)

The teaching profession has more than it's fair share of cunts, bitches, arseholes and wankers. Especially those who teach younger kids, they're the biggest bastards of all. It seems they mostly hate children ... and most of them are mothers.

Being a young, fresh-out-of-uni teacher, on a staff full of 40-something women, seems to automatically bring out the latent bully in otherwise-mature ladies.

A sample - not very funny or interesting, just venting:

My first job, working with a fat cow who worked 2.5 days a week, yet was always slacking off and asking for more APT (additional preparation time).

Her main topics of staffroom conversation were the new shoes she'd just bought (which were always ugly and obviously too small for her lardy feet), and the diet pills she took that gave her an explosively squirty bum whenever she ate fatty foods. Which she did, almost exclusively.

Who would blag an afternoon off, then bark at me, 5 minutes before classes started, "You have to teach the class today!", then leave. I would have to ask the kids what they'd been doing, and make up a lesson on the spot.

She also berated me for letting a few kids out a couple of minutes early. These kids went to the classroom of their siblings to wait for them, which she considered a disturbance.

Cue her screaming at me, in front of the remainder of the class, plus their waiting parents, with the general theme of, "Who do you think you are?"
Never said a word to the kids who had allegedly caused the 'disturbance'.

We used to smoke in the disused PE storage room, that was usually left open, so that teachers could go in and smoke during their leisure.

She decided that it should be kept locked, in case some of the kids went in there. They never did, but ... She bullied another teacher, who was the PE coordinator, into locking it between breaks. HER breaks. Which meant the rest of us had to smoke with her, or not at all.

This was ridiculous, so the key was kept at the front of the PE teacher's pigeon hole, and we could run and collect it, have a quick fag, then put it back.
However, she decided that I didn't need to smoke with the other teachers, as I had my own office to smoke in.
Never mind that it was in my classroom, and the windows were sealed shut.

So, she complained that I took too many smoke-breaks (I was only able to take them with her, remember?), and the ensuing fuss she made ensured that all teachers were banned from smoking on the premises.
Which she twisted into a story that made it sound like I had caused the whole ban.

All because she was a spiteful old cow who was trying to piss me off.
Found out on my last day that she'd applied for my job and been denied, which was why she was such a cunt to me. Very mature.
(Celerydemon, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 3:10, 1 reply)

my local council employee. the parking officer.
i am a contractor. an electrician to be precise. i am used to foul mouth, plain speaking, no-bollocks builders who know what they want.

i like this. a lot. its a no-hassle way of communication.

i've just been posted for a few weeks to do some work at the local council offices. i am fucking surrounded buy petty squabbles, bitchy remarks, office politics, and mug theft.

FUCKING WOE BETIDE YE WHOM DRINK FROM A MUG NOT DESTINED TO BE YOUR OWN.

are all offices like this? TO THE POINT---------

THIS TWAT- we'll call tony. i had to turn the entire ground floor off earlier to do a quick test. everyone huffed, all 70 staff, but continued to shut down there computers nevertheless. all but tony. his computor was important, in his own words, "sod your issues, lets all deal with the important issue shall we (pointing to HIMSELF)" he also proclaimed he'd been there 10 years who am i to tell him to switch his machine off, and its "ridiculous, proposturous, and i'm a fool."

well i got the last laugh, his pc's U.P.S. didnt kick in when i did the shutdown, and the whole days car parking fines from the town centre records were lost forever. ha. fucking prick.

i'm pissed off with using/hearing fucking keywords like "team" "target" "liase" "meeting". it just makes me thankful i dont work in an office. god bless any of you that do.

3 more weeks of this cunt i have to deal with. geuss that makes him a co worker then.........
(mr kyle he's a silly bastard, the one who posted before me, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 2:13, 1 reply)

Wackers... Land of the dim and the old.
We fry fish for old poeple, and get paid minimu wage, but its the people i have to work with what makes getting out of bed in the morning almost intolerable.

Debbie: Manager
Problem: God complex, does honestly believe she is this all powerful being who can fire you at any given moment and tells you how shit you are at your job at every opportunity. (which means all the time)
Tolerated because: She has to give me money.

Lee: Fish Fryer
Problem: He said he weighed 15 stone, its closer to 25... He cant fry fish, he lives with his parents (he's 28), virgin and spends all day on the phone like a 13 year old chavette. Also he smells something awful.
Tolerated because: I know he's going to die of heart failure in the next 10 years or i lose a £20 bet.

Lucy: Waitress/Mong
Problem: She's a downright ugly mong, javelin face catcher at an olympic level, ugly cunt etc. Goes out with a 30+ year old (she's 19) and just plain sucks at her job, apparently got pregnant a few weeks back and walked about clutching her stomach like this baby was going to fall outgiven that she'd only been pregnant for a week now and it also apparently wasn't to the 30+ guy... and she thinks its fine to tell me this whilst I eat my shitty undercooked fish.
Tolerated because: Not tolerated. She knows not to speak to me.

Nathaniel: Kitchen worker
Problem: Apparently has one testicle, again thinks he thinks its fine to tell me this whilst i eat yet another shitty undercooked fish. General weirdo.
Tolerated because: He's easy to boss about and make him do all the cleaning im meant to have done. (like im going to put effort into a job that pays £4.60 per hour)


Lord I can't wait to start university in March. (yes March)
(boshalake attempted to be sober on, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 1:59, Reply)

Guy at my friends work...
my mate works at the local Sainsburys and was telling me last week about some guy who got fired that day.

Now over the few years my mate has worked there, he has told me a fair few stories about this guy; He is about 40 who is going out with a 16 year old...he is pretty retarded as well.

Anyway, apparently this guy, on his break, decided to knock off a couple of knuckle children. Did he go to the toilets? Hell no...he flopped out his cock, right there, right then, in the Staff Common room and went to town on himself.

The last thing my friend saw of him was him being escorted off the site...

length? around 4 inches my mate said
(Foulkesy123 The one and only..., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 1:20, Reply)

law firms
seem to attract the ignorant and the arrogant. but the partner who headed up the insolvency team when i was a trainee was something else.

he would be at his desk, rain or shine, by 6.30am every single morning. sometimes at the weekend. and he made sure that we all knew he had exercised 3 horses or run 3 miles before leaving for work. at about 7.30am he would go for a stroll around the office. then the phone would be picked up.

"morning," he'd boom to the answerphone of whichever department head he had picked on that morning. "magnus here. just been up to your floor and it's like the marie celeste. where are you all?" thus ensuring that the hapless assistants got bollocked first thing.

did i see him going around after 5.30pm, or at 2.30am, telling people to go home? did i fuck.

magnus was (well, still is, unfortunately) one of those people who lives to make other people unhappy. with a shit eating grin on his face. he would say very rude things or fire career destroying missiles with a sweet smirk. a smiling assassin, i think the term is. my first experience of him coincided with the last experience of his 14th secretary of the year.

marnie was a really lovely girl and the best legal secretary i've seen before or since. i found her sobbing in a meeting room, two copies of a consent order in front of her. i asked what the matter was, and she sobbed, "it's magnus. he's sent these back four times and i... just... can't... see what's... wrong!"

i have a very anal eye (so to speak) for spelling and grammar, so i said i would read through it. there were no mistakes that i could see. one was to be sent to the landlord and one to the sub-tenant, and both covering letters were fine too.

eventually, the red-eyed marnie and i went to find magnus together. we explained that we just could not see the problem. magnus rolled his eyes in disgust.

"well," he sneered, "if you can't see that one of them is stapled this way (horizontally) and one this way (vertically) then you need your eyes testing."

FOR FUCK'S FUCKING SAKE. even if that weren't the most sadistically anal thing in the entire world, they are GOING TO DIFFERENT PEOPLE YOU EVIL NASTY PULSATING BOIL INFESTED SPACKING CUNT is what i felt like yelling.

"sorry magnus," is what i murmured.

marnie walked out the next morning, and the "staplegate" story made it around the firm in record time. it didn't do him any favours. what a cock!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 0:41, 7 replies)

Heart attack
I worked for a total oxygen thief. I mean, the kind of cnut that you resent for using air you might want to use for something useful.

Our relationship deteriorated the day I told him to fuck off. This was the day he told me that he'd made it his work to "break my spirit". Not the best way to win friends and influence people, that. Fortunately for me, I was more useful and productive than him - so the five times he tried to fire me and failed became more amusing for me and more stressful for him. However, this story does not concern me but a colleague.

It was review time. That wonderful, festive time of year when you get to compare your idea of your performance with your boss'. It usually goes like "I think I deserve a raise and possibly a promotion", while boss says "I think you are underqualified to clean the toilets". Then the salary negotiations begin. Ahh, happy times.

So there's this guy. I shan't name him here, so let's call him Negil. This is an American company, an American boss and he's a Brit. A clever Brit. Our friendly boss doesn't like clever, and doesn't like non-Americans. So our hero hasn't started the review well. (bear in mind that I, too, have been called "too clever for my own good", am a Brit, and I'm going in after Negil...).

Just to set the scene, Negil has put on quite a bit of weight, what with American portion control and all. So he's not in brilliant health.

Negil goes in with boss for his review. It's not going well. So poorly, in fact, that the shouting can be heard from quite a way away. Peeking through the blinds reveals both of them standing up, red in the face shouting at each other. Boss is shaking his fist. Then Negil stops shouting. Peeking through the blinds again reveals the worst, most cold-blooded scene I have ever witnessed in business.

Negil is lying on the floor, turning blue. Boss is standing over him, still haranguing him and shaking his fist. Negil is having a heart attack. A genuine, call-the-fucking-ambulance heart attack. We burst into the room and one of the secretaries started giving Negil CPR while I called 911. Only when she started the pump-pump-pump-BLOW did the boss stop shouting at Negil.

Negil was out for four months, after a quadruple bypass operation. He came back to work much reduced in both spunkiness and size. His spirit was broken.

Later that year, in a rare case of karma, after attempting to fire me the fifth time, boss was fired for cause. He lost his pension, his wife and his career.

I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. Waste-of-flesh wanker.
(lustfish, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 0:38, 3 replies)