Almost entirely on topic
I think Vinny's a top bloke, but I can understand that if you were his manager, life could be a little...interesting.

Imagine - if you can - the love child of the Mitchell bros. Mum and Golem from Lord of the Rings. Not just hard, but virtually indestructable and perhaps a little malignant too. He's about my age, but whereas I was brought up in middle-class London suburbia and forged through a series of mindless jobs and careless travel, Vinny left a hard school in York and went straight into the carriage works (that's where they used to make railway carriages back in the days when we used to actually make things here). His favourite occupation at work was 'tossing it off' - not literally, you'll be glad to hear, but metaphorically. If he could get away with doing nothing while still being paid - that was a result. 'And what's wrong with that?' I hear you ask, as you while away the hours at work composing entries for the QOTW.

Vinny brought the sense of humour and sensibilities of the factory floor into the office and I loved it, except for the mornings after he'd had a curry. "Aaaaah, the fragrant herbs and spices of the Orient!" he'd say, with Sid James cackle, as a foul stench spread its way outward from his desk, causing a flurry of wafting paperwork and complaints as the smell insinuated its way around the whole floor.

At ten on the dot, and with a furtive look that would have alerted a tree that he was up to something, he'd pick up a file from his desk and craftily - NOT - insert a copy of the Daily Telegraph, before heading for the toilets for 20 minutes or so. If you had any sense, you'd use the toilet on a different floor for the next hour or so.

Every few months he'd lose his temper in a spectacular way and end up in the boss's office looking like Billy Caspar in the Head's office in 'Kes': unrepentant, faux-guilty, bored, not listening, resentful.

We worked together for a few months, dealing with complaints of all things. He gave me a fatherly word of advice one time after I'd offered to ring a customer back for one of the helpline lasses: "Che, don't be too helpful - they'll keep coming back to you if you put yourself out" ...right. Come to think of it, he was probably right. If you lean over backwards to help people, it usually just gives them a clearer shot when they come back to kick you in the nads.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:06, Reply)

My next "special" colleague
Same place as Mark (see below).

Anyone who has worked somewhere with lots of files will know what I'm talking about here - huge racks that are ceiling height that you move back and to so you can get into different sections. They're quite restrictive and you can only get a few people in at any one time. Think of a library with only 1 metre between the shelves. This point is important.

We had a guy called Peter who seemed to have been employed under some kind of persuasion/force from the local job centre. He looked pretty much like Andy Milman from Mr Gervais' Extras programme though with a shoe size IQ.

Peter was in charge of filing which earnt him the name of Peter File. He thought this name was cool (refer to IQ comment above). Once our (astonishingly patient) HR woman had taught him how alphabetical filing works he ended up pretty good at it.

But Peter had industrial strength BO. In common with many other b3tans posts, he ALWAYS wore the same shirt each and every day. I guess it must've been white once upon a time but now it had a map of Europe in different shades of yellow on the back. We had a good week if he'd managed to wash it at the weekend but if it was on its second or third week then god help you. This is not nastiness on my part, if you were downwind of Peter or it was a hot day in the office he had the power to make you wretch.

Peter helped maintain discipline in our office as if you fucked anything up (minor things, like accidentally bankrupting company pension schemes etc) then you had to pretend to need a file and had to go in there with him for a period of time reflecting your misdemeanour. Newbies were quickly brought up to speed by being sent for files. It quickly descended (if it could get much lower) into post lunchtime drink dares as to who could last the longest in there with him.

After a particularly hot fortnight, we had a new girl start who was duly sent in to "Alcatraz" for a file. Minutes later, tears, hysterics, the works. It later transpired Peter had been determined not to be disturbed from his own filing and was lifting files out from the shelf above her. Some armpit sweat had dripped onto her head.

This was finally enough for our HR woman who had developed a nervous tic in her left eye everytime Peter's name was mentioned. She "had a word".

Peter came into work the following day with the same clothes on, but drenched in some pikey Netto version of Lynx. Someone was sick.

Credit to our clever HR lady, she invited someone senior from whatever screwed up employment scheme/centre that had provided us with Peter in the first place to "discuss other more appropriate opportunities". They were duly put into the smallest meeting room we had plus we agreed with building maintenance to crank the heating up to an unbearable temperature that day.

Accordingly to HR woman, after the meeting the job centre lady had to have a quiet sit down by an open window with a glass of water. Peter was quickly moved onto a more suitable job with a building company. Where he mainly worked outside.

Sorry Peter. But you can't tell me your Mum (who you still lived with) wouldn't let you use the shower? Even if she probably did have to supervise you in it...
( dan j the filthy bastard, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:01, 2 replies)

I could write a book...
...about the bastards I've had to endure in my various roles. More 'assistant managers' in mcdonalds than actual staff, all of whom were younger than yours truly and stuck so far up their pimply asses that they walked with a limp.

In one job as a photographer the manageress Mrs Daddies.Money.Bought.My.Business fired me because she didn't like that my tops rode up when I stretched up to change the backgrounds. But it was ok for her to do the same 9 months pregnant and showing off her cheese wire knickers. Bitch.

I had nearly £8000 stolen off me by another woman.

Where I work now tho, what a fucking farce. The big boss, whos we'll call Dave as I'm not sure if anyone from work reads this. Well he has less people skills than a dead, rabit rat and runs away after implimenting a new system he KNEW wouldn't work but not wanting to deal with the backlash.

We have another angry little rat of a man who can't go 5 minutes without losing his rag for no reason. He's one of those voluntry cops, but looks as if he couldn't arrest a paper bag.

But the winner in the bastard collegues is the woman I have the misfortune to sit next to. You're gonna get bitchiness wherever you go, but this one is without a doubt a shit stirrer on a professional level.

No one can do their job according to her, and for some unknown reason she's managed to marry some Puertorican piece of ass that works there too. Apparently that gives you the right to say what you like, when you like to people you don't even know. She has reduced many people to tears, and even driven people from the place with her words. The funny thing is, if she stopped bitching for 5 mins she'd realise two things.

1.She is shit at her job.
2.She is going to get fired.

Length? about 7 years of different jobs.
(vampyre_gem has been dead since, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 14:58, Reply)

I'm reading this....
But instead of funny or witty stories of self resilience, grace and courage in challenging circumstances, instead of cunning riposte and the use of intellect to extricate oneself from the presence of dullards and life’s little annoyances, all I’m hearing is “whine whine whine”.

Please, if you displayed a modicum of intelligence, soupcon of bloody-mindedness, a dash of charm, a scrap of guile, a suspicion of flexibility and a quanta of empathy and the vast bulk of these chimps and aged bullies would fade into the background leaving little more than a bad memory. These people are not threats to your career, they are mere speed bumps on your journey through life, imagine they are little tests to see if you are capable of handling the rude insults life will through at you with some grace and elegance and as you effortlessly sail past them towards your inevitable peter principle limit, permit yourself no more than one gloating grin in their direction, your self-restraint will do more than a full on victory dance to crush their pathetic egos.

Those that would remain are the, thankfully, extremely rare office psychopaths, and the best way to react when you find yourself in the presence of one of these creatures is un-attributable and somewhat extreme violence.
( edz314 smelled the glove on, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 14:52, 12 replies)

SAUSAGE COCK!
That got your attention :)

I did a brief stint working for a company that prepares airline meals. Unfortunately, for the few weeks I was there, I was also working with a piece of dribble piss that was the boss's nephew and therefore could do no wrong.

It was bad enough that the little shit stain would skive off every half an hour, only to be found in the toilets taking bong hits. It was also bad enough that he didn't give a shit about the health and safety rules, refusing to wash his hands, ever, refusing to wear the boots, headwear and rubber gloves, and refusing even to wear the aprons.

It was also bad enough that he at one point placed a sausage in his zipper and was running around pretending to hump the cute woman that was about 10 years older than him. The look on her face was clearly read as "you don't pay me enough to deal with this string of rectal puss". She didn't return the next day.

And to top it all off, he placed the sausage back into one of the meals. And when the supervisor took it out again, he started gobbing in the meals. She (the supervisor) lost it, and whacked him one. The rest of us cheered. Unfortunately, the little shit then spun a line to his uncle and got the supervisor fired.

I was so happy when my stint ended and I was fucking glad to be shot of the little cunt.

So next time you're on an airplane, remember this lovely story of how your meals are made.
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 14:50, 1 reply)

Obnoxious, poisonous, rancid, vicious little twat-fucker
So; I work in the education sector; overall it's not bad at all and better than most places. They actually value the education you spent so long to feckin' get and listen to your ideas!

Except for one jumped up little fuckwit that is - not even a boss; just a colleague...

See; we run open days so all the youngsters can come look round the institution where they'll lose their virginity and get introduced to the wonders of binge drinking and debt. And the whole damn department gets roped in; no excuses, no get-outs - you just gotta be there.

So; I turn up early and I am assigned to show them round the accommodation; not a bad gig - but a lot of legwork.

I get back early from this one tour and decide to indulge the free refreshments laid on for us minions in the caff all of 15 yards away from the marquee where we do the open day. I get a nice latte and a bacon butty. This ain't exactly a three course meal here; your standard two slices o'bread and two bacon rashers. Must've taken me all of one minute to eat; put it this way - the coffee was still too hot to drink, so I drag myself to me feet and shamble out to the tent to carry on...

.... to be confronted by the most vicious, petty, loud, incoherent, rambling bollocking ever - from someone NOT my manager and not involved with me in any way.

And to top it all - there were four other people from the fucking department in the caff at the same time - which just proved to me that it was purely personal.

Now if a bloke'd done this I'd've decked the cunt on the spot; since it was a five foot tall speck of female vicious vindictiveness I thought I had better let it go... - and console myself with dedicating the rest of my life to ruining her fucking career.

Lenght? - not enough to wipe your arse with.
(brumguvnor www.twitter.com/brumguvnor, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 14:50, Reply)

Bastard
Worst managers I have ever had -

The complete bastard who made me stand outside raising and lowering a small bridge on a canal to let barges into a marina for an entire day, once a week. (I worked for a canal barge company in Stoke for a Sat job and desperately needed the money). He took over the depot and took an instant unfair dislike to me, along with his fuckwit no 2 who was also a complete cock. I hope you both die lonely and bitter, you pair of sad twats.

The bitch I worked for at a financial company in Southampton. She gave me a project to do on my first day, refused to help or support me (what she got paid for), had zero sense of humour and constantly told me that she didnt have to give me any notice if she wanted to get rid of me. I used to get depressed on a Friday because I had to go back on Monday. I got my own back by getting another job and not turning up one day and getting a mate to leave a resignation letter on my desk. She got made redundant not that long afterwards, and yes she did deserve it because she was fucking useless.

The shortarsed cow I worked for at a college of higher education, who extended my probation period because I didnt put a poster up in a certain building and because I got a couple of reports in a day late due to the fact I was run off my feet. She had no clue how to manage people, was an absolute marvel at getting peoples backs up and didnt have the first idea about IT (her job). Typically enough she managed to get a very cushy job at the local council. Her nickname was the Poison Dwarf.

However there ARE some great people (and managers) out there...Mr Ashford, if you read this entry you'll know who I am and I salute you :)
(thejudge2007, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 14:29, 2 replies)

Mark - Complete and utter millitant bastard
A few years ago we employed a guy called Mark as a web programmer. He had previously worked for a large well known web company and was also the cousin of a very well liked and valuable colleague so we thought he would be a good guy to employ.

From about day 5 it became fairly clear that he was crap at his job and couldn't programme for toffee. From about day 2, it became clear that he was an utter bastard. He would come out with all sorts of socialist and anti-capitalist bollocks like the fact that anyone owning any land is morally wrong etc. The most bastardy thing he every did was laugh his head off when we were watching thousands of people die on 9/11. We had it on the tele in the office and he thought it was great that so many capitalist pigs were dying. No matter what your views on capitalism or America, laughing at that just makes you a complete bastard.

After a few weeks he told me that if he didn't take his lunch hour, he should be allowed to go home at 4.30. I also saw emails on his computer to friends saying that he spent each afternoon just mucking about until it was time to go home.

I realised that it was not really going to work out so I had a chat with him and he agreed that the job wasn't for him and he would work out his notice and all would be good and happy.

The next day he stormed into my office and demanded that we pay him his 4 weeks notice but he shouldn't actually have to do any work at all. I, naturally, disagreed and he started ranting about how he was going to take me for everything I had, that everyone thought I was a cnut and that I was "lord of the manor" and stormed off to speak to his union. Yes, he was the only web programmer on the planet who is a member of a union.

Funnily enough, the union told him he didn't have a leg to stand on and so off he sulked into the rain and I have thankfully never seen him again.
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 14:16, 1 reply)

No idea
I used to work for a food distribution centre in North Staffordshire. Amongst the many ladies who worked there was a particular gobby sort who had been there for about a week. She was actually not a bad person, and quite reasonable to talk to sometimes but she generally had a very annoying voice and in your face manner.

Customers used to ring up, put their order in and then that was that. This particular young lady had a habit of chatting to the customers for ages on end, especially about what she was doing at the weekend, enquiring about their social lives etc etc which didnt go down too well with the other ladies who worked much harder.

One day she interrupted a customer by telling them that she was sorry but she had to go as she was desperate for a shit. Hmmmm. Needless to say management werent happy, and she didnt last long after that. Last I heard she was joining the Army, the iittle rascal.
(thejudge2007, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 14:14, Reply)

Mark The Cretin
I once worked at a pensions company in the Woking area (office now closed) where we had a couple of very "special" work colleagues.

The first was a guy called Mark (I'll see if I have more time later for others). Now Mark was intelligent, very good at his job and pretty efficient when push came to shove. The problem? He'd never ever been shown by his inbred bible bashing parents how to eat properly.

So what you might think.

I had to sit opposite this cunt whilst he tried to insert entire sandwiches into his mouth in one go and then proceeded to chomp on them with his mouth wide open. He would make squelching noises, spit food all over his desk and dribble onto his keyboard. The noise made me feel sick and want to pick up a heavy hole punch and repeatedly smash him in the face with it until he would be forced to take in any future nutrition via a straw. He would then sit there all afternoon with bits of food stuck to his face/in his hair/eyebrows/etc. Seriously - there is only so many days of someone doing something so annoying that you can take. He did benefit me (and all those who sat around him) in that we all took full lunch breaks wherever possible to get away from him. However he also made one of our senior management feel so sick in a "lunchtime" meeting where sandwiches were provided which he spat over half those there that we were never allowed food during meetings again.

He did provide a laugh in the end. An admin girl who got moved near to him lost it one lunchtime and after visibly getting increasingly agitated by his disgusting noises screamed at him "CAN'T YOU EAT WITH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH CLOSED FOR GOD'S SAKE?". Mark hung his head in shame and then carried on eating in exactly the same fashion. The pièce de résistance was that he then sneezed and covered (and I mean covered) his keyboard, PC and monitor in some variety of egg sandwich. I had to leave ten minutes later due to hysterical laughing at him whilst he tried to clear up only to have to repeat when on my return the IT Manager was telling him he didn't care the "D" key on his keyboard didn't work now, he wasn't having another.
( dan j the filthy bastard, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 14:11, 9 replies)

6 Months off
I joined my fathers business under the wing of a fellow colleague (Steve) whilst fairly young (well 20's). Steve and I got on well, I learned a hell of a lot about design, layouts and how to present artwork etc etc.

After 4 or 5 years of getting on great and being real good work pals Steve started to change. And over a 5 month period became quite ill, potential nervous breakdown kind of ill. Slightly worried we told him to take as much time as he needed to get better (I was now moving up the ranks in the company so had more of a say in things as father was thinking of retiring)
.
This presented an opportunity for me to go out and see clients whilst Steve was off ill.

Turns out Steve had been ill for longer than we realised and hadn't been seeing any of the clients, not one, for over 3 months.

Seems he was driving around the corner, parking, coming back 3 hours later telling us "no work" or "nothing about today".
Clients I would go to see (who knew I was bosses Son) would be surprised thinking we had stopped dealing with them. As a result I would be bringing work back from all over the place.

6 Months later we have a letter from Steve saying he can't cope with the industry or work and he wouldn't be coming back.

This saddened but didn't really surpsise us all that much, poor bloke.
Until we found out that after he initially went off ill he had set up his own Design and Printing company and started trading.

Apparently it lasted 1 year.

Idiot.

Length: About 12 years before taking over the company :)

Oh and a side note, at one point I worked with my Father, Mother and Girlfriend all at the same time, arguments were tremedous.
Now I just work with my Wife (the aforementioned Girlfreind)
(Opanoid Look sweats dripping off them, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:55, Reply)

Bloody libel lawyers!
There was this libel lawyer who...

Hang on. Probably best not to post that story. Every libel lawyer in the country is probably listening in on this QoTW.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:51, 2 replies)

Bonzo....
There can be only one....

I was 20 years old and after bumming around for a few years after leaving school thought I’d better get myself a decent job and so, with CV in hand I headed into big London to see if the streets were paved with gold.

I stumbled into a recruitment agencies doorway and handed over my CV to one of the people who I swore had to stifle a snigger at my CV brilliance.

And as luck would have it a job was duly found for me working as an input clerk for what was Midland Bank.

And his name was Bonzo, I shit ye not, and to this day I have no idea what his real name was, that’s how he introduces himself in the interview, he dressed in the loudest shirts possible complete with comedy ties, some of which played tunes.

On dress down days he wore shorts and carribien shirts Timmy Mallet stylee

His voice was quite possibly more shouty than the great Blessed bearded one

It turns out this guy was not very well liked in the department, many of whom were there just for beer tokens, I was taken out for lunch several times in my first week and told all about his shouty ways and embarrassing people in the office.

It all came to a head about 6 months after I’d started and he was suspended for finally pissing off one too many people, the downside to this was he was a member of the union, who after 2 months off on full pay gets him reinstated on some technicality.

Best 2 months in the job, quiet, peacefull, calm.

After a brief discussion with work colleagues we all resigned all at the same time*


Oh the look on the managers face was a picture


*Bit of an exaggeration – however we all did leave or get reassigned to different departments as soon as we possibly could

p.s Length ? no idea but he was as bald as a coot so he looked like a cock
(The Dirty Fingernail still picking at the scab of life, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:50, Reply)

Cameron C Gray (The full story)
Ok due to public demand (well 2 replies) I'll tell the story.....

When I first met this guy I thought he was some bizarre offspring of Jeanette Krankie and Beth Ditto with the physique of Violet Beauregard (after the chewing gum incident). His voice was the vocal equivalent of running fingernails down a backboard. A real stereotypical cartoon 'geek'. His wardrobe consisted of numerous identical tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirt tops (usually emblazoned with the Disney logo). His stories were more outlandish than that of Baron Munchausen and caused much hilarity amongst his workmates in the office.

1. He alleged he was born deaf and that his visual accuity was second to none because of this. He alleged he could see speed cameras far into the distance (and around corners).

2. At school he alledged that he and his 'friends' built a laser out of 2 million pounds worth of rubies which had been donated to the school. This laser once completed destroyed a wall.

3. On a skiing holiday in the USA he alledged that he was apprehended by the 'ski police' for speeding and subsequently beating the (at the time) SUPER-G record by minutes.

4. He constantly contradicted himself when referring to the old boys school he attended after claiming he had 'girlfriends' there.

This already may sound like quite a jolly fellow with tall tales to keep us amused. let me tell you I have worked with bosses from hell, colleagues from hell and even temps from hell but none of them compare to this guy. The timbre of his voice alone set my stress levels soaring.

Also his eating habits were consistent, consistent with that of a warthog let loose in Sainsburys. He gorged on food and was the noisest eater you have ever heard.
Daily Diet:
Breakfast: MacDonalds breakfast x2
Bar of dairy milk (big one)
can of coke

Lunch:
Macdonalds chicken nuggets (16)
large fries
large coke
big mac
cheeseburger

No idea what he had after 5:30 (maybe thats for the best).

The guy also drove without a licence. He claimed he had passed his test with flying colours but the DVLA computer had crashed and lost his details.

Anyway the good thing was that he was only with us 3 months which was 2 months and 30 days too long in my opinion.
(Celtican is 10! Old school or what?, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:41, 1 reply)

Lame middle Manager
My Appraisal:

Him: 'I see you put down 10 for Quark skills'
Me: 'Yes'
Him: 'You can't put down a ten, you have to put a nine'
Me: 'So what do I have to work on to get a ten'
Him: ' Well..nothing..'
Me: ' So if I can't improve any more then surely that's a ten'
Him: ' But we can't give tens'
Me: ' I am the fastest most accurate operator here by your own figures. I know the app inside out and train your new starts on it. What do you want me to learn?'
Him" It's not that..we just can't give tens out on appraisals as you then have nothing to work towards.'
me:' So what do I need to work on'

continues ad infinitum.

Familiar?
( BadBadman saw an incorrect comma placement on, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:38, 4 replies)

Cuntsultants




I was wary to post this as it may out me but what the hell - the world needs to be warned.


His name was Zach, a Saffer from some London consultancy mob sent over to show us poor benighted Paddies how to run a project. He looked like a sun tanned version of Waylon Smithers with designer specs, rolex, tailored suits and drenched in expensive aftershave.

We were developing a intranet database for a utility company so that their engineers could double check previous/ongoing work etc.

Anyway, Zach arrives onsite, takes one look at the office, one look at the three of us and exclaims "This? This is what I have to put up with?" and storms off. We heard later that he'd stormed into the office of the area big chief and demanded, not asked, demanded, that he be given an office and not a corner of a floorspace like the rest of us. "I'm the project leader and need an office so that I can work to my best potential" Seeing as senior engineers, with thirty years experience, were sitting alongside us in a cubicle, this line of reasoning fell on deaf ears. He then spent the entire week listing his previous projects and the size and splendour of the offices he'd been given - all in a sulky toddler manner.

We'd now established that he was a cockend of no great use to humanity. We hadn't realised though that he was also the patron saint of incompetent, back-stabbing cry-babies.

To start, he designed a database query for us to use as a template. I tested it, thought I'd made a mistake, checked again, got the other two to give it a go, got similar results and decided I'd better have a word. "Err, Zach, sorry to bother you but this data's coming out all wrong." He gave me a withering look "I'm *never* wrong, ever and don't you forget it." He came over and questioned us in minute detail as to what we'd done wrong. It soon became obvious, even to him, that the only thing wrong was his query formula. "Aah, yes, well, (smug grin) I see you passed my little test then. You see I deliberately created that logic error to see if you could handle real life problems. I'll leave you to correct it yourself as a further exercise" and off he fucked sharpish like.

It got worse, much worse. After a few weeks of testing and the like we needed input from field engineers as to what they'd like to have featured in the capture forms. Zach of course took charge of this. So after repeatedly telling him we were stuck without this info, he eventually provided it, or so he claimed. We made up a mock-up and showed it to the heads of departments - "Err, grand enough lads but where's all the capture forms the engineers asked for?" - "Here they are" we said confusedly "No, no, those were only the sample ones we gave to Zach as an idea of what was required." Before anyone could open their gobs Zach sprang to his feet and pointed across the table at us "IT'S ALL THEIR FAULT! I TRIED TO STOP THEM BUT THEY JUST IGNORED ME AND CARRIED ON ANYWAY! YOU'VE GOT TO BELIEVE ME, YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE LIKE!" There was stunned silence, embarrassed glances floorwards and shuffling of papers.

He then lost two months worth of work by deleting a shared folder from his pc where he insisted we store it. Instead of asking us if we had a back up copy, he went straight to the department heads and blamed our incompetence. "I'm sure they'll have a back up" he was told "NO, NO THEY WON'T THEY'RE TRYING TO SABOTAGE THE PROJECT AND MAKE ME LOOK BAD, I KNOW THEY ARE!" Out they trooped and over to us where we showed them the several back ups, umpteen 'plateau' saves we'd made and complete documentation of all our work to date.

At this stage, the clients had had enough and called in Zach's superiors. Another bloke, Chris, was sent over to 'support' Zach. He was a fucking star - nothing was too much trouble and we especially liked the way he looked at Zach as if he was something nasty Chris had just stepped in. At the end of the project, having a meal and beers with Chris (Zach had gone home 2 minutes after the project ended without so much as a 'goodbye'), he let slip that Zach was for the chop as our project was his 'last chance saloon' and he'd blown it.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:35, Reply)

Docking my pay
Back in the day (aka 1995) I worked several nights a week at a shop stacking shelves.

Vicky was our supervisor and a bit mental.

One evening, we were all shelf stacking and loading our rubbish (empty boxes, etc) on to a roll cage to be taken away. Now you do this as you work, so that at 8.20 it only takes a few minutes to pack up and go.

Not Vicky, she built the biggest pile of cardboard ever and when it got to 8.30 and everyone else had packed up and was ready to go she decided I should stay and clear her mess too.

I #might# have been tempted had I not had a bollicking off her earlier for not tidying up as I went...

So with a cheery wave and a chirpy goodbye, I refused and left. All I could hear behind me was her yelling "I'm docking you 15 minutes pay for this!"

Seeing as that was about 50p and it would take more than 15 minutes to tidy her mess, seemed like a fair deal to me to leave her to it. I was also interested in how exactly she would justify to this large mulit-national company's pay department taking 15 mins out of my wages because I wouldn't tidy her mess.

Turns out she didn't bother and had to leave due to emotional problems a few weeks later. What a shame.
(Wooden meal is. Or is he?, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:21, Reply)

Reuben pt.2
In his last remaining days (at our company, not Earth), Reuben actually began to sense his impending doom. He was the only one who didnt actually know for sure. We watched him with pity and sadness, mainly because he was so nice and stupid and we didnt really need him, but also because we were going to lose so many potential anecdotes with him gone.

Theres another sales meeting going on our office, same sales guy. Its the usual pitch for service renewal and we're on a real service delivery push (hence the hiring of Reuben ironically) but Salesman learnt is lesson and is keeping Reuben out of the way for this one.

Reubens office overlooked the entrance to the building, as did half the office really but reuben had his desk perpendicular to the window, he could look out easily enough and being on the first floor he could see everyone who arrived and left the building. That day he spotted the unmistakeable 'Taylors Corporate Catering & Functions' van arriving. Two of their staff are unloading what is definitely a 'working lunch'.

You know when a cat spots something small and moving, he's goes a bit like that. Instantly frozen yet alert, eyes scouring the scene and flicking back and forth, checking for predators etc. He knows something is most definitely on.

Reuben spends the next hour or so scouring the building looking for the delivery point. He finally spots it and watches helplessly as the food is delivered into the big meeting room. He comes back to our office and makes enquiries as to whats going on in there, we check the office diary and tell him. For Reuben, all the pieces of the puzzle are together.

He spends the next hour or so pacing the corridor, glancing in to the meeting room every 3 seconds and watches painfully as they finally start eating, standing around in slightly awkward groups and laughing and talking about golf handicaps until they finally finish and sit back down. Reuben now looks like a small boy really needing a wee.

With one hand he tucks the front of his shirt in, the other hand through his hair, and he marches in. Sales Man instantly blanches, and goes through about dozen differing emotions in a heartbeat, and thinks quickly. "Gentleman, may I introduce Reuben, our new SDM! I know he's busy so we wont take much of his time but I asked him to pop in and introduce himself". Reuben isnt really listening but joins Sales Man at the front of the room, his eyes not having met anyones yet. Everyone is waiting on him, Sales Man is quietly petrified.

"Erm yeah hi" Reuben starts, "can I have the rest of your sandwiches?"


-Ok in typing i realise its not as good as the first one probably. It still makes me laugh and no one believes he could have done this twice, but he really did, and no doubt has done many times before and since. But really its a love story. Its a love story between an inept Service Delivery Manager and his food. Its a beautiful thing and who are we to say otherwise. Love Reuben. For Reuben is all of us. He dares where we cautiously avoid. He knows nothing of our ways.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:09, 5 replies)

Taking the piss? Quite the opposite, actually.
I probably shouldn't admit to this, but...

Years ago, at a former job, I has this assistant manager called Steve. Steve was loathed by the entire staff, and with good reason -- because in addition to personal hygeine issues (his teeth were so rotten they were fucking GREEN, and he actually wore the same set of work clothes all week, spraying anti-perspirant on top of them to "freshen them up"!) he was the most unpleasant git you could ever hope to meet.

Steve was one of those guys who had reached a middle management position and was using it to make up for all of the years he was bullied at school -- and the more popular you were with the other staff, the more he ragged on you. Subtle, Steve, reeeeeal subtle. Well, one day he pushed too far: he ordered me to make him a cup of tea, with a tone that suggested that I was his personal slave. When I pointed out that I was very busy and he, in fact, was doing fuck all, he bellowed "You'll do as you're told -- I am your MANAGER!".

Fair enough, Steve. One cuppa coming right up. And if you're reading this... That cup of tea I made for you was about 50 percent fresh urine, as was every single brew I made for you after that.

There's something so immensely satisfying about watching a tin-pot despot slurping down a mug of your own piss.
(Orin delurked to post this gibberish on, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:03, Reply)

Biscuit factory
Two of my colleagues at the biscuit factory killed an asylum seeker with a machete. I worked with two actual proper murderers.

That bastardly enough for you?
(weirzbowski, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 13:02, 1 reply)

Duurrrham
Might as well post one of my own (the aforementioned lady in this weeks QOTW was affably called ‘Spam’ BTW, she also ate oranges over the office bin, chomping like a lama on a toffee).

Anyhoo, I had a number of temping jobs after uni, before flitting off around the World. During one of these brain stimulating assignments it was my pleasure to meet Dean (for that was his name). To cut a long and arduous story short, Dean:

• Made his cheese rolls (always the same) one month in advance and froze them
• Wore a white short-sleeved shirt and red tie every single day.
• Was boss-eyed
• Was packed up to the eardrums full of fresh, steaming bullshit
• Waxed lyrical about how much Durham was the jewel in the crown of the British Isles
• Told shit jokes
• Was a complete pervert to the girls in the office and made such silence inducing comments such as, “you’ve got a great set of tits on you”.
• When his contract expired he tried to get a job in a call centre and was declined.

So basically a bit of a socially retarded Joey.

Length? About 5 months on near minimum wage – still don’t actually think I did any work during that period
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 12:40, Reply)

So fat, her blood type was Dolmio.....
A company I used to work for in sunny Blackpool decided to employ this fucking massive scale busting whale to run the Shipping Department.

Now this girl wasnt massive, she was just fucking insanly obese. She had her own timezones she was that wide. It didnt help with the fucking 3square foot of Dairy Milk she used to shovel down her grid every day.

However, she had THE worst personal hygeine regime ever, she smelt like death. And I mean death, if she came near you, you would heave, her clothes were disgusting and covered in stains.

Anyway after months of this rank jam steamer wobbling about, she got pulled up by management and told to get herself sorted. She proper saw her arse over it, and just turned into the company cunt. Nasty with every one, as if the whole world owed her a diet. After 2 months of this she left. But she made every ones life hell on earth.

2 days after leaving she died of a heart attack at her house.

PMSL YOU HUMAN LAND SLUG
(hoogie Original Cunt Horse Author, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 12:35, 5 replies)

Way back when
before I stopped pissing about doing ski seasons I worked as a ski guide in Courchevel in France for one of the more upmarket holiday companies. All in all it was a quality gig. Loads of time skiing, loads of freebies and a decent crew of lads for beers on the day off. The exception to this was our head of customer service, who was, I'm afraid to say, a certifiable window licker.

She couldn't ski, was allergic to alcohol and was openly obsessed with Disney films (immediate nickname). Not exactly an ideal combination in a ski resort. Despite this, within a month of the start of the season Disney was advising me and the three other guides how to ski with the punters and where to take them. Now being a laid back fella I laughed it off and ignored it but one of the other lads took a different tack, after the tenth screeched “suggestion” and told her to do one in fairly blue language. This went down like the proverbial lead balloon and from that point on she refused to talk to, or even acknowledge, my compatriot for the next 6 months, the mentalist.

Adding to the overall nightmare was her sudden decision halfway through the season that I and one of the barmen were evidently madly in love with her and that we should watch ourselves in public as "open displays of affection between staff are not allowed". Some truly hideous flirting on her part followed. Now she wasn't an unnattractive lass but the barman in question was quite happy with his girlfriend, who happened to be one of Disney's reception staff...and yours truly was doing the no pants dance with her other dolly bird. Neither of the ladies in question were particularly impressed by Disney's delusions and told her as much in a frank and open discussion that resulted in all three of them being kicked out of the local seasonnaire bar.

The next day she's behind the desk with a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp and I could see that she was determined to make peoples lives even more of an utter misery than she had so far. Shifts started being changed so that me and the barman never got to see our respective other halves, except on the one day off a week or after work finished (normally 9-10pm). This finally flipped me over the edge and so an evil revenge was planned.

From the first week Disney had been harping on about the guy she’d ridden senseless in training, another ski guide who was working in a different resort. The lad in question had wangled two nights off and blagged a lift over to spend some “quality time” with her. Now the thought of Disney doing a Meg Ryan in the staff accommodation was not a pleasing one, especially for the barman and me as she’d frequently denied us from making our ladies do the same. Cue the arrival of said victim and low and behold it’s only a fella known to both me and the barman. We insist on his arrival that we go out for a few beers and watch the footie in the aforementioned local. Disney arrives three hours later to take the young gent out for dinner as a precursor to taking him home and raping him to find all three of us propping up the bar with him in what can only be described as an “absolute state”. No sexy time for Disney on night one as she spent most of it holding her would be suitor over a bog. Result.

Day two, repeat with interest. Have the slightly peaky looking boy join my ski group for the day. He’s perked up by lunch and we proceed to navigate the slopes via the many and varied mountain restaurants all afternoon. I was guiding a group of good old boys who were past it in skiing terms but bugger me could they drink. We set up in a bar by the slopes at 5pm or so and set to work on giving our livers an absolute shoeing. 8pm comes by, when Disney gets off work and rushes to find us as a little bird told her that her gentleman lover might be out on the beers again. By that time we are way past beers and have sampled pretty much everything in the bar with the exception of one last mysterious bottle with a green tinge. Chartreuse, for the uninitiated, is basically ethanol with some herbs in it. Now a shot can floor a rhino, or in my case make the room spin in an extremely disconcerting manner so that I had to sit down, on the floor, and hold on. Disney arrives to see her man taking an extremely long pull on the bottle itself at the prompting of the old guard (bless you boys). He turns to see his would be lover approaching spitting and snarling with a blood vessel about to pop and he does the only thing a man could. Vomit spectacularly all over her. I have never laughed so hard in all my life. I promise you I almost shat.
(DarkHarlequin putting babies on spikes since, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 12:35, 12 replies)

Colleague = boss
Utter cunt. I used to work in a newsagents. That's an industry you don't take lightly, I can tell you. Another local shop was closing down and my boss bought all his paper round clients from him. The bloke then decided he wasn't closing down after all, and got his customers to cancel their accounts with my boss.

So my boss invited this guy round to his shop for a man-to-man chat. Beat the living shit out of him in the back room, next to the Cadbury's Caramels and Walkers Crisps.

I worked extra hours one Christmas and he told me I was getting a bonus. The bonus was that he never told the taxman how many hours I did. Cheers.

One of the old ladies who worked in the shop came in late for work because she'd been in a car accident and was highly shaken. He pissed himself laughing.
(Fuiru Sting, where is thy death?, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 12:34, Reply)

I had forgotten...
...until horribly reminded by a post on this thread.

At a former employer, I had a colleague we'll call L. L, for want of a better word, stank. He owned one shirt, which he religiously washed every weekend whether it need it or not and then wore it all week come rain or shine. As far as I know, he never bathed his person, nor did he brush his teeth. It was often possible to tell if he was in the building when you walked in, even if he wasn't in the same room.
His lunchtime involved a crisp butty every day - he'd wander round the town centre bakeries asking if they had anything from yesterday they were giving away free. When HR recieved complaints about his stench they talked to him about the complaints and he refused to beleive he had a problem, instead he complained in return that he was being persecuted.
I once asked why he had a job - apparently he did the work for half what anyone else would have cost. I'm not surprised.

You think I'm making him up. I'm not. It gets worse.

One day, my Aussie colleague Dave wandered into the toilets to find L standing at the sink naked from the waist down, washing his underpants in the sink.
I'll repeat that: He was washing his underpants in the sink.
"Strewth!", cried Dave. "What the **** are you doing?!"
L pointed at his underpants. "There's a stain", he replied, as if that explained everything.

When L was finally given the hoof, he sued and got a fat payoff for constructive dismissal. It still beggars belief.
(davywavy, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 12:25, Reply)

Slightly off topic, but must get off chest
Not colleagues as such. One of my duties as a phd student is to be a demonstrator in undergraduate lab sessions. It's not normally too bad and gives me a bit of extra cash to keep me in the pub.

The lab sessions I've been teaching are computer programming. Basically the undergrads work their way through a long exercise sheet to learn C++, and we're on hand to answer their questions.

Just so they've all got a computer and our undivided attention, we reserve a small room next to the main computing room. Of course, when the main room gets busy, undergrads will occasionally try and sneak in, log on to a computer and fanny around on facebook/youtube/amazon/etc. Normally, when we catch them, they leave without a fuss. No problem.

The ones that get my back up are the ones who assume this "I-know-better-than-you" voice and say: "So I've got to leave, even though there's blatantly lots of computers free?"

I know there are computers free. I can see that. That's not the fucking point. If we let all you smart-arse fuckers in here, it would be a free-for-all and we'd never be able to spot the lab students who needed our help*. Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking idiot and get your cuntish, know-it-all, arse for a face out of my fucking lab.

I swear, if I get one more retort like that from one of the little bastards, I will not be held repsonsible for my actions. Nor will I provide any assistance in removing the keyboard from the rectum of the student in question.

Apologies for length and extreme rantiness, but I do feel better for that. Thank you for your patience.

*_{I provide help in theory, at any rate...}
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 12:08, 3 replies)

McDonald's
Couple of years ago in a McDonald's in the glamorous city of Bradford, Mr Sam and I were 'enjoying' a 'meal'. Mr Sam's coke is flat, so he goes up to the counter and tells the pramface no-stars 'restaurant assistant', who looks at him a bit blankly and says:

"Oh. Would you like some more ice in it?"

What was going through her mind? Was it McMagical Carbonated Ice (TM)? Does extra cold cancel out a lack of bubbles?

I know this has nothing to do with the QOTW but it JUST DOESN'T MAKE SENSE *confused sob*
(Northern Lovely, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 12:07, 1 reply)

recruitment agencies
They MUST be full of wankers. Every agent I've had dealings with was an illiterate moron. You know the drill: you fill in the endless forms detailing every last element of your life, your qualifications, experience and expectations - and they send you your job match. For example:

Education: PhD in Computer science
Experience: ten years working for Microsoft
Salary expectations: £50,000
Location: central London

Job match:shelf stacker in Glasgow for £5.50 an hour

What's going through their tiny, shrivelled minds? That perhaps you'll say to yourself: "Well, I was getting a bit bored with the computers. I think I'll have a crack at minimum-wage slavery for a while."
(frankspencer, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 11:38, 7 replies)

Nepotism
The year was 2001 and I had just graduated with a nice 1st in Computing. Sadly, there were no jobs as the computing industry was still recovering from the dot.com crash. So I decided to broaden my horizons and apply to join the graduate scheme of a well known railway company that hadn't yet gone in government forced administration.

One of the people I started with, I'll call him Mr T, was a complete and utter twunt. What he lacked in skill, he more than made up for with a unshakable belief that he was an expert at anything and has an ego bigger than Everest.

Despite the fact that he had a geography degree, he was of the opinion (he actually said this) that he knew more about programming than I did, he even kept this up when I pointed out that I had worked for Fujitsu as a developer for 5 years before going to Uni.

He had a tendency to copy other peoples work or to take sole credit for group projects. Yet, he never made any effort to learn about railway practices. When he was (frequently) presented with proof that he had ballsed up on something, he dealt with it by ignoring the criticism and acting like it never happened. At a push he might have laughed off the criticism accusing you of just being jealous.

He also like to get people in to trouble, such as shouting out across offices "did you drink much last night?", knowing fine well that having alcohol in your system in any railway job could get you sacked or even prosecuted. However, he took a part time job in a pub, which is a super big railway no-no.

Imagine my relief when I discovered that everyone else hated him as much as I did. However, the biggest surprise was yet to come, one day he casually admitted that his dad helped him get the job - his dad was on the board of directors. Such was his dad's power, he got a high-lever management job without an interview which kind of pissed off all the others who had applied for that job. I really hate nepotism!
(Grundie, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 11:37, Reply)