Management Speak
Truly the last resort for any wanker with very little to say, and an enormous fat gob with which to say it.

I have actually heard the following phrases in meetings:

"My_cat, you have failed to escalate this issue"

This after I tried to sort a problem out without running to the manager.

"My_cat, I am unhappy that you have PARKED this issue with me"

This after I had run to the manager after the previous warning (see above). By the way, am I working in an office or an NCP?

"I'm just Blue Sky thinking here - but I'd like to put forward a suggestion that pushes the envelope"

HANG THE FUCK ON - Isn't Blue Skying a polite way of saying Bull Shitting? Isn’t it all just BS? Oh, and by the way we LICK the envelope round here - pushing it is just basically moving it from one part of the desk to another. (Issue parking wankers)

"Can I get an idea on when we're expecting sign off?"

Right, this last one looks ok. It's grammatically wank, it means FUCK ALL.
"Can I get.." = Can I have
"an idea on" = the date of
"when we're expecting" Totally superfluous
"sign off" = Authorisation.

But hey, why use 7 words when 11 will make you look like a:
"client focused, task driven individual with a real eye on the forward game" = cunt

Apologies for length = We as a company take our responsibilities very seriously, and if we've failed to deliver an expected outcome, we would like to offer you our sincerest regret, however, we feel we should point out that length can often be a subjective term and as such, we apologise without prejudice.
( my_cat_has_no_shoes meh meh meh MEH MEH, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 22:40, 7 replies)

Evil mutants eating people alive
Ok, ok, maybe not, but heed this:
As a student (which I still am) I had the pleasure to work in one of the university commissions responsible for conducting the final exams for some of the teachers-to-be (which I am not).
When I arrived, the office personnel consisted of a holeric boss, a quiet secretary, and two clerks: an evil and touchy hot-tempered 150-kg 60yo lady and a nervous 50kg 35yo S&M fan.
The latter became evident while he was sick - the admin had to unlock his PC for some reason and goody goody all those nasty pictures he stored!
After he was fired, the remaining 150kg monstrosity was the sole force governing the graduation processes of the poor students.
She had a few peculiarities, for which she was very, very feared by students and colleagues alike.
The main reason was her little dotty plush dog, which she carried every day to work with her in a small basket.
She placed it on the table, turned on her PC with a desktop picture of that dog and talked to the dog, through and instead of it while alone AND while having examinees in the room.
If anyone dared ask her about the dog or, god forbid, made some stupid remark, he was shouted at, kicked out of the room, ignored, hated forever, or all of the above, depending on who it was.
Of course, I was debriefed about that Thing, so I only innocently smiled when she had her crises and never had any problems with her.
Anyway, it was really bewildering! After a whole year, I quit the job with a passion.
( Zhmei HEY B3TA I WAS ON YOUR DINGY ISLAND AT LAST!1!, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 22:12, Reply)

Here be a story.. so be comfy and pull up a kitten.
Once upon a time, there used to be a Evil Witch (TM). And this Evil Witch was the very spawn of Satan. It was told, in tales of old, that the Evil Witch was in fact SO EVIL, that even Satan will bow down to her.

This woman, and I use the word in the most polite way, was just simply MAD.
Not crazy as a shit house rat MAD, just EVIL MAD.

We shall indeed use names that are changed to protect forth from EVIL, as that is the TERROR that she dripped from every pore.

Sod it, I'll just use abbreieviate.

K, in all her crazyness was simply disliked. She had been with the firm for many a year, working in various departments. She has also slept with various persons from the aforementioned departments in some strange ritual, that can only be described as "slaggery".

She was thought of than less than the poor lad who would sit crossed legged in assembly with freshly trod in dog shit on his shoes - in fact, I would rather work with freshly laid dog egg in my office that have to even talk to her.

There are many words that have been used to describe "K", and oh dear, poor readers, I cannot tell you some, as they would simply render you immediately to an immediate and medically justified dose of Mind Bleach.

"K" is a Evil Witch of such self importance, such stuck up her own arse, but having the illusion of having from behind, an average to reasonable figure, but from infront, Good Lord and Jesus Himself Protect Us, the face of Medusa herself, thought she was a stunner.

Nope, sorry "K", you are just a common whore.

In my previous incarnation as an IT Manager however, it came to light that after she had managed to somehoo start boning the MD, she thought she was INDESTRUCTABLE. Think drinking from the Holy Grail style of INDESTRUCTABLE.

She was moved from position to position within the company, and somehow managed to attain one of the biggest offices from which two of the wonderful ladies had been ousted from. She now has an office bigger than the MD's. OH MY WORD.

Her style of evilness was of sometimes simple "I'll have you sacked" to actual verbal and physical attacks. I don't think I'd have much face left if I hadn't jumped out the way when said door was slammed on me.

Even when I was dealing with disaster of worldwide proportion, eg, exchange server self imploding, she would decide that she would gain access code from MD and let herself into my server room, and berate me for not changing her printer toner, which she had emailed me about 10 minutes earlier.

Now, see above. Exchange has hung and its mid afternoon , no emails, but she claims that she SENT ME A FUCKING EMAIL EARLIER NOW COME AND CHANGE MY FUCKING TONER IVE GOT PAPERWORK TO PRINT OUT THATS FUCKING GOING TO EARN MILLIONS FOR THIS COMPANY YOU LITTLE SHIT.

Oh dear. I was also on the phone to one of the sales reps who did ACTUALLY need to send an email of urgency to a sales lass. He advised to tell the potty mouthed little so and so (NOT ACTUAL WORDS) to go away.

I indeed did tell "K" that I was unavailable, and in keeping with her language, told her in no uncertain terms to "Fuck off out of my server room you obnoxious little bitch".

Hence forth, the MD.

Did you read earlier, my lovely B3tans? He was nobbing her. I was then pulled from fixing a CRITICAL problem to fitting a toner.

Did I laugh when she printed a ONE (1) single page sales order QUOTE of about half a dozen plastic chairs?

No. She then went into a tirade of abuse because she couldn't send any emails and her holiday booking form was going to be late.

Her rescue came in the form of the MD.

He then also made forth with "do I like making females cry" when she starting blubbering about her holiday (booked during work time etc etc etc).

Oh dear. Tesco Quality is in the poo, and its over his miserable neck.

What saving grace does the one and only Tesco Quality have?
One simple fact of life.

MD - If I don't get this email system up and running, like, now, then we could have problems.
"Why"

"Erm, because we have just changed to an semi automated wage system of which the financial director gets sent and email of which contains a code, and he has to phone the bank back to confirm code, and funds are released to wages."

"Oh right, you better get on with it then."

"K" : "I can't believe this - hes treated me like shit and just because emails can't be sent you're letting him off".

Me... "Oh, K, knock it off will you. I've got a million more important jobs to do that changing your toner. Oh, hang on. Bollocks. I know! - How about I get on the tannoy and tell ***ALL*** employees that they aren't going to be paid because you wanted your toner changing?"

***Deathly Silence Ensues***

"K" - "Silence"
"MD" - "Erm, theres no need for that now, so, lets just get emails working again shall we?"

She has a large number of complaints against her, of which none were ever followed up. Some staff actually threatened legal action, and I still have the emails sent from her with language that would give even lorry drivers a heart attack.

I'm saving them for a rainy day.

And, on a final note - if you are shagging the MD, for god's sake, don't do it when there are contractors working in the car park fixing the fucking drains getting a eyeful - they AREN'T the most quietist of folk.......

Apologies for length? None at all, as mine is Ad Finitum.
( Tesco Quality 60.825659, -0.788337, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 21:59, 1 reply)

Not so much a colleague as a superior.
But in name only.

The first job I had was working at Morrisons, as a 'Grocery Maintenance Officer', which involved the exciting task of turning cans and jars 'round so they faced out.

Anyway, the dopey bitch that hired me needed to know my shirt size, for the uniforms. I had already listed it on the application form, but apparantly she had 'lost it'. After telling her, I was presented with 2 shirts. 18 1/2" neck and 47" chest.

Now, I'm not skinny bloke, but these things were like a tent on me! I could have done the buttons up and stepped into it through the neck. My protestations about looking scruffy fell on deaf ears.

Anyway, I duly put one on, and got on with the job. Only to be fired 2 days later for - yep, you guessed it - 'looking unkempt'.

I was never more happy to be fired, and to this day I thank any and all celestial powers - real of imagined - that I didn't end up making a career out of shelf-tidying.

I ended up walking home, in the rain, with my shirt tied about my head. Although it had only been 2 days - 16 hours - I felt the depression I had started to feel slip from my shoulders as if washed away by the downpour.
( OneSullenBrit *air sandwiches*, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 21:14, 4 replies)

Lego Hair
That is Her nick name (the lego man hair!)

Ginger by choice (hair dyed a lurid shade of orange!)

Has been observed having a feast on her own nasal and aural detritis, like she needs any more to eat (urgh!)

Useless at her job, been the same grade at work for far too many years. Not trusted to do anything remotely critical.

Avoided redundancy by going on maternity leave early (which also means she's about to spawn AGAIN!)
(DangerFlange Chamone Mother Hubbard, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 21:09, Reply)

shitty boss
I once worked for this guy who bears an uncanny resemblence to the creepy baby boss in the toilet adverts. He used to lecture me on public image while scratching his arse right in front of the window. He would leave pubes and skiddies in the toilet. He sent me 250 miles for a course and only booked me in a shitty b&b and expected me to pay for the last night then sacked me when i got back. he accused me of being snappy with him and i was always polite.

arsehole.
(badfox1 wonders who he's played by this episode on, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 20:56, Reply)

You know those office chairs...
...with a single central leg that splays into 5 feet,with a caster at the end of each...? Last place I worked at, the office fattie (sorry, that's what he was) leant back on one, lifting two or three of the feet off the floor and the two remaining load-bearers snapped clean in half.
(Mousy Tongue ...Generally bemused by life..., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 20:44, 2 replies)

having someone crash into my car on the way to work
and to call to tell the boss, to have the response "but I'm about to take the kids to Thorpe Park..." in some odd thought that was going to magically uncrash the car and get me to work on time.

Similar... train being delayed (I leave two trains, one normal one and one emergency one, just in case, in those rare instances both are fucked) and being told to "shout at the train people, they should understand it's *really* important you should get the train on time"

Being told off for using excel to work out the sales and all the commission (including efficiency ratings for each member of staff and per hour) for the end of the day - this was "bad", "you don't need to use a computer"... so instead of spending 5mins at a computer, I had to spend 45mins a day labouriously rewriting every order and highlighting them (although this was seen as new fangled too).

Being told off for not insisting on using first names with elderly customers who would ask to be called "Mrs Name".

Not paying me any extra for the 30mins I needed to stay behind every day to finish anything saying "you can mop the floor with the customers on it towards the end" and then putting in 45min customer bookings 10min before closing. Not paying me the extra 15mins I had to turn up to turn the hot water on... telling me "well, you just have to sit down for 15mins, don't you?" but then telling me off if I had my headphones on and didn't take customer calls during this "unpaid break time".

If I wasn't frantically eating fast during a break, then I "didn't need it".

Being told to shout at people and deduct random money from their wages because she just happened to be stressed that morning.

Urm... I'll add more as I remember, heh.

ooo more!

After handing my notice in, being told not to work it and not being paid any time in lieu. Within 48 hours of handing my notice in, calling my boyfriend and calling me a "compulsive liar", "mentally unstable", and that I "should be sectioned for my own safety". Then threatening to call the police if I didn't return the keys (again, within 48 hours, over a weekend, and I'm 100 miles away having moved house).

Asking for my p45, and them refusing to give me a response in writing, text message or voicemail, they *had* to speak to me in person about my p45 (I offered an address etc). They eventually called my mother and insisted that I requested cash in hand. I said I was going to ask the tax office about all this, and they then put a lot of pressure on my mother to the extent where she was pleading for me not to go to the inland revenue.

and the infamous voicemail when I called in sick 2 hours before my shift
"What the fuck do you think you're fucking playing at arthmelow, if you dont want to fucking work for us just fucking tell us yeah, don't fucking run rings round us, all right, I fucking told you yesterday yeah. if you don't want to fucking come to work give me a bit more notice you dumb bitch."

And what do all agencies do when they recruit you? call your last 2 employers... they don't seem to take references separately. I'm fucked.
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 20:44, 2 replies)

Possibly a slight pea
my 1st job, saturday lad in a shit shop (now in administration).

After a while there, getting along fine with everyone and having got my then girlfreind a job there as she had dropped out of college...

The missus leaves me, for the fat, sweaty, late thirtys, divorced with a kid, manager...

but its ok, because she left him for his lodger, and is now married at 19* to some cunt almost a decade older than her... And from what i hear... it's all falling apart.

Length? Embarassing when soft, Slightly over average when hard.

*EDIT - WITH A KID
( The Flaming Ibanez Awww, c'mon, Japanese girls do it!, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 20:16, Reply)

"Vietnam? Didn't we have a war with them or summat?"
*facepalm*

Edit: Being called "old" for knowing who John Wayne was.

Oh, and being called "Jeeves" for actually knowing how to work out a percentage.
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 19:54, 4 replies)

Judas
In the beginning, there was the laboratory. And the Supervisor did look down upon the researchers and he saw that it was good. Not disliked, this supervisor was no problem to any researcher beneath him. "Go forth and research", he spake. And it was done.

And there were minor squabbles over bench space. And minor disputes over equipment booking. And gripes over budgetting. But these squabbles were quickly resolved or forgotten. While not perfect, the lab was harmonious.

But a viper was to enter the Garden of Chemistry. To this day, none know of the precise identity of the viper. But his existence is known of. For he did actively sabotage the experiments of his co-workers. And he did contaminate the chemicals of his co-workers with sand. And he did shut off supplies to various experiments, ranging from the annoying to the dangerous.

Much paranoia ensued, but though fingers were pointed firmly at one snake, naught could be proved. And the suspicion was not quite strong enough for everyone to know that he had done it, but 'twas strong enough to give an indication.

Lo, the viper became more subtle. Malice still occured but in a hidden form. Adjustments to experiments were done while in progress, but of a form that the experimenter couldn't be entirely sure that they'd not done it. Or that the experiment had not been knocked. Clever was the viper, but evil.

And when this snake left the Garden, there was much rejoicing. And no further acts of sabotage occured.

And it was good. To this day, the snake is not missed.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 19:41, Reply)

not good
I got sacked today.

Given that i was still within the three month probationary period, they had every right to do so without a warning.

at 5:20 on a friday night.

they still expect me to go back in next week.

click 'i like this if i should take it as a valuable lesson that you should never trust people ever'

fuck it, i'm going to pursue my dreams.
( Gerbilinafishtank Gerbil in a fish tank...TURTLE POWER!, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 19:38, 5 replies)

Thank fuck
I'm self employed now, that's all I can say.
This is one of the funniest QOTWs for a while.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 19:17, 1 reply)

Dan
My team leader at the call centre I worked at (well still work at, if I go back after this maternity leave). He got the job because he was 'good in the interview' despite having no experience whatsoever in the role (and where did this reliance on interview skills come from anyway? If you're good at your job but crap at interviews - like me - you don't progress). Now I worked in a busy call centre and everyone who has done the same will know, when it's busy it's all hands on deck, managers on phones etc. Dan was happy to go on the phones - and then would go into not ready and surf the internet - a sackable offence for a lowly advisor. Once he had a crush on a member of his team and had her off next to him all the time. Then some of his friends joined the team and ditto. Eventually he left after repeated warnings and a threat to demote him. Made me laugh one day when a senior manager (who was game for a laugh) walked by his desk and asked if the internet connection was down as there was work on Dan's screen.
(housetits is channelling Natalie Cassidy - then, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 19:13, Reply)

Mungo the Monkey Man
Let's call him Matthew, for that was his real name. Young Matthew was a trainee manager at the branch of Sainsbury's where I did a Saturday job, and his first assignment was as "reception manager", dealing with the delivery lorries downstairs. Now Matthew was a fairly uncouth, almost literally knuckle-dragging (hence the nickname) product of the 1980s educational system, and a few weeks of talking exclusively to truckers turned him into Roy F**king Chubby C**ting Brown. Then they re-assigned him to the shop floor, and his casual expletives soon reduced the shopgirls to tears. Something had to be done, and a delegation was formed to complain to the branch manager.

Happily, Matthew ran his own foot over with an electric pallet truck and had to leave just before there was a walkout.
(rogerzilla, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 18:25, Reply)

The sales office
It was a horrible dodgy sales company,and it seemed to be filled,as I later realised with misfits, losers, and people whose lives had led them to this dodgy company,i was a naive sales monkey at the time,who had no idea what I'd let myself in for trying to sell advertising in a magazine, that it later transpired never got published, merely the company made enough magazines to distribute to the featured companies, and creamed off the profits.
There was the dodgy MD who called himself Tony Wilson which wasn't his real name, his real name was supposidly top secret, and he had to change his name because he'd been in Ireland with the Army and he was on an IRA hitlist, really it was because he was a bankrupt and had previously been banned from running a company. Then there was Simon, he told everyone he was part Italian, he came into work with fake tan on his face and told everyone he'd been out running and caught the sun, if so we asked, why did it not catch your neck, and how did you get it on your shirt? then there was dippy Louise the work experience girl, who said that her family used to practice ski-ing on the hill in their back garden, and who pissed herself laughing once.
There was Rocket Ronnie the mad scotsman,he was in anger management classes due to the fact that he once smashed his wifes favourite picture over her head saying 'you like it so much you can wear it' and for trying to strangle her with the telephone cord when she ran up an expensive phone bill. He was a nice guy for about 3 months and then he'd disapear for about two weeks on an almighty bender, then return. He nearly battered several people at work, although to be fair the guy he nearly ended up hitting in a sales meeting, Barry Denham, would have deserved it.
Barry was the worst of the lot, he had the red cheeked glow of the alcoholic, as were most of the people in the company,but he was awful, he would make pervy comments about all the girls, and if ou weren't careful he'd be sugesstive to some of the boys as well, he was two faced, it got to the stage where I took all my work home with me, well left it in my car overnight because he was always one of the first in the office and would go through peoples drawers, so I would leave post it notes in my drawers with messages like 'Get the fuck out ofmy desk you nosy cunt' or 'Get back to where you belong Twat' or even just 'Fuck off Barry'. He drove several people out with his bullying and used to try and turn people against each other.Instead of making sales cales he'd be on the phone to his bank, or after he left, they got the log for his phone and he'd been calling the speaking clock for up to three hours a day. There was no redeeming feature to this guy,and once he said to me, 'You don't want me to get inside your head, because when I do, I'll destroy you' which with me being a bit of a twat at the time took it as a challenge, and so we decided to wind him up, we stole his umbrella, photocopied it and then his the umbrella leaving photocopies everywhere. Then there was the night where he walked through Leeds with a post it note on his back saying 'Kick Me', we used to ring his extension and hang it up, which really drove him mad, and then one day he just left and never returned. Sometimes you can beat the office bullies. If I could ever get my arse into gear I'd write a book about the business, but I doubt anyone would ever beleive me.

I've never had to apologise about length before and I'm not about to start now! :)
(Lord Monkey of Yorkshire,OBE killed a gipsy on...., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 18:05, Reply)

A tale of two new-starts
In a previous job, I worked with big expensive bits of radio equipment, generally bolted to the roofs of big expensive buildings. We took on two new starts, who I shall call "Confection" and "Cereal" (because otherwise they'd be too recognisable if I posted their nicknames). Confection was great, smart enough and sensible enough to say "I don't know what that is, how do I do it?". You cannot imagine how much of a help it is when someone will stop, ask, and learn how to do something rather than plunging in with both feet and stuffing it up. Like Cereal.

Cereal was a lardy bloke. Apparently he weighed 15 stone - well, I weigh 15 stone and am half the size (and I'm not a skinny wee guy). Cereal couldn't work up ladders, because he said he was too heavy. Cereal couldn't climb on roofs, because he was too heavy. Cereal couldn't get his fat backside out through roof hatches. Cereal couldn't walk on flat roofs, or go near the edges, because, well, I don't know why. He just didn't.

Things came to a head when (having constructively managed to not take Cereal along with me to a few jobs) I was told that he was the only person available to take to a site where I knew I'd be working on a roof made of very thin metal above a very big drop, on crawler boards. Which Cereal would be too heavy for. I ended up taking a skinny shortarse (and at half my weight, perfect for the job) mate along as a cassie, having wangled some sort of day rate for him.

So Cereal is moping around the workshop. The tech manager decides to get him to test some powerful wireless networking equipment, which we used to connect networks over several miles through trees and buildings. You could feel your hand get warm when you put your hand in front of the aerial. Apparently, said tech manager came back through to find Cereal had configured the units, got them talking pointing at each other about six feet apart on the bench, and then gone to sleep. With his head on the bench. Right between the aerials.

I don't know about length, but the brain tumour ought to be about the size of a grapefruit by now...
(gordonjcp, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 17:21, 1 reply)

National Health Shennanigans!
When I were but a lad, my Mother worked in Personnel for the NHS. And, as such, when I wanted a holiday or weekend job, she'd put out some feelers to find out if there was anyone in the hospital who needed help.

And thus it came to pass that I held several positions within the trust. Everything from filing monkey in Medical Records to Helpdesk Support (which I actually stayed at for a year).

During the course of my few years there, I came across the following people:

1) The Catering Manager who looked as if he drank the grease out of the fryers. He smoked in the kitchen too, and never flushed the loo after he had done a poo.

2) A few times I did a night shift cooking simple food for the on call doctors. The other guy I worked with had little or no idea how to cook. 'Rare' chicken was his specialty. Thankfully, I think I always caught him before he killed someone.

3) The hospital porter who, after I had just walked in to their cabin, asked the dazzlingly insightful interview question "Do you wank or what?"

4) The poison dwarf who managed the helpdesk who had never seen a computer, let alone fixed one. She bollocked me for resetting a senior consultants password (when he had asked me to), and made me go and apologise to him. He called her a 'stupid bitch', which I thought was an understatement.

5) Dr. De'Ath (seriously) told me off in a corridor for having my mobile on. I know that was wrong, in fact I was turning it off, but the killer was that he was having a conversation on his at the time.

6) The porter who was caught having relations with a sheep. I don't know if that's true or not, but you could believe it of him.

7) Finally, there was Graham the Sweep. Graham was a porter too, but all he ever did was sweep floors. He actually had been an eminent professor whose wife had left him, and he had a complete and catastrophic breakdown. He used to ballroom dance with his broom. He had a brilliant mind - he would talk with me about Shakespeare and Theatre and Science and Education and Politics and Philosophy and Physics and all kinds of things. Some morning's he'd be on top of the world, whereas some mornings he would actually growl at you like a wild dog. He wasn't a bastard, he was fascinating. He lived with cats in a caravan, but due to his state of mind couldn't look after them properly, and the RSPCA had to take them away. I've never seen a man look so broken as he did after that.

He once told my mother she had all the grace and subtlety of a prima ballerina. My mother has all the grace and subtlety of a brick through a window.

Ah, the NHS. Best in the world for weirdos and bastards.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 17:12, Reply)

The legend of all...
I was going to post one of my tales, and I might later - the girl who broke down at the water cooler company I worked for when she found out it was filtered tap water, the "gent" I worked with who used to log his alcohol consumption on his timesheet... but the best tale belongs to my missus, and my many friends who have had the misfortune to work for this man.

So, Frank, as I shall call him (for that is not his name) owns a pub in Liverpool. He is a close relative of a very famous sportsman, and lives off of this family member's reputation, and I suspect his money. Frank is quite possibly the most odious man you would ever have the misfortune to work for - he is a hardcore cokehead, disappearing to the toilets for 10 minutes and turning back up chomping at the bit with white powder under his nose. The years of drug abuse have been unkind to him and he is mentally unstable, shouting and screaming one minute and being fairly stable the next. He hires only attractive women, with the occassional chap, asking staff to put a smiley/sad face on their CVs to denote their level of attractiveness before being called back to interview. One girl was reprimanded for putting smiley faces on people he found unattractive.

He screams at the girls at the bar, in front of customers, saying things like - "Sugar, if I was working on this bar, I would have cleaned that tap already" even though the bar is 12 deep with customers. He sexually harrasses them on a regular basis - one time, he asked a good friend of mine how much she cost for the night. She said he couldn't afford it so he got a roll of notes out of his pocket, waved them in her face, shouting, "is that enough sugar, is that enough??" Another, he pushed his semi erect shrivelled member into the back of one of the girls on the bar, whispering in her ear, "just enjoy it, sugar". Just last week, the staff were ordered to dress "like sluts" and flirt with his "millionaire friends" who were coming in for drinks. One of them went up to a girl on the bar and told her Frank had said that he could have his pick of the bar girls and she was coming home with him.

He refuses to pay tax, national insurance or holiday pay to the staff. When one of the lads who worked there was murdered, he wouldn't let the staff go to his funeral. He has been through more staff than bottles of cheap champagne due to his odious manner and sleazy antics.

The tales of Frank are numerous, outlandish, and 99% true. He talks about his fame around the land, although the only mention of him in the papers is the time he appeared in court having been the victim of a magic money scheme, where he gave some Italian men £10,000 to turn paper into £20 notes using green goo and a voodoo spell. What a tit. The defence insisted that there was no spell and that the money was paying of a blackmail attempt as the defendants had photographic evidence of him in a homosexual tryst. Who knows?

My favourite story of Frank is the most recent spate of mass staff walkouts. The security lad sat down at the end of his shift for a pint. Frank went mental because he had 10 minutes of his shift left to work, even though the place was empty, On CCTV you can clearly make out the sight of Frank, feet off the ground, swaying side to side, neck firmly gripped in the security guard's hand. The lad was screaming at him about his lack of respect for his staff, how he treated the girls like shit and how no one liked him and only spoke to him for free champagne. Frank followed this up by telling the guard's fiancee how he'd "never work in this city again, he's finished sugar, how do you feel about that?" - she told him to fuck himself and walked out.

The next day, a member of staff, Tim, who was in the night before had been drinking all day (for free) waiting for Frank to arrive. When he did, Tim launched at him, giving him what for, throwing a trainer at Frank's head. Frank looked at Tim, looked at the trainer, and picked it up and handed it back. Tim threw the trainer at his head again.

Apologies for the length, it's longer than Frank's.
(lofichic, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 17:08, 4 replies)

This one's a God-Botherer too.
Being the middle-aged sad ole git I am, I've worked for a fair while with a wide variety of organisations from small private companies, through public and private utilities to central government. While public and private sectors gob on about how they are so different from each other, there are one or two similarities, such as;

1. "Nobs of a feather suck together" - if you find one colleague or manager who's a complete cnut and still alive, it's frequently because they aren't alone. Whole departments and entire companies can exist using nothing but twatty arrogance until they have to do something unnatural like actually think. This crisis is usually due to the outside world breaking in on their dreams.

2. "Teams of nothing but centre forwards" - "teams" are everywhere, but *teamwork* doesn't really exist any more as a working
environment in most jobs. Many of the people who are in "teams" still have their own targets to meet and their own ideas on how they're going to get promotion, more dosh etc. I've had to teach the alien concept of co-operation too many times in the last few years, but it paid off big when it sunk in - which wasn't often.

3. "Managers - Hell on earth in a suit" - in umpteen years of having to report to managers, the trend seems to be that half of them don't seem to want to be there doing the job themselves (they were happier in the previous non-managerial job they had), so take it out on others. Most of the rest are basically bullshitting it and trying to give out a confident aura or are hooked on the buzz of making other peoples lives shit. I've only met one or two managers who actually could do the job *and* keep the staff on side - ironically, one had been on an extensive program of proper management training (not buzzword-filled seminars), and the other had no formal qualifications in management at all. Perhaps it's down to picking the right people to start with.

Which leads me on to;
3a."Of course I can manage! I've got a degree!" - er, it doesn't always follow. In fact, it very rarely ambles anywhere near.

But you don't want the generalisation do you! OK, here's a specific example.

My most recent ex-manager, head of technical stuff somewhere in the 20th. century. 100 percent number 3, with a delightfully arrogant side order of 3a. He'd taken over from someone who enjoyed running his department like a medaeval lord, so he had a lot of diplomacy to do with all the various user groups, other managers, directors etc.

A few months later I turned up and got on with the diplomacy myself. It was that or get used to the stony silences, death threats and nooses through the internal mail (last bits may be docu-drama).

What made it a real laugh was that I had to do it behind his back, or I would get hauled in to his office for a reprimand. The offence? "Being too autonomous". Huh? You mean, not being a mini-you? I knew I was going in the right direction when the IT support guys actually started to work with me instead of just snarl at me, and the director of marketing whispered to me "what's it like to be the only one that people want to talk to?".

Oh, the fun we had! For example, I spent ages convincing him that even if you sniffed an email off the internal network, you couldn't tell who it had been BCC'ed to (politicking twat, in an admittedly politics-ridden place). Or that a hands-free desk phone didn't mean that you *had* to make all your calls by shouting at it Dom Joly-stylee (in an open-plan office, natch). Whaddock Hunt.

He used to make journeys up country from time to time, and never check how much fuel the car had before getting on the motorway. At least it kept him away from the rest of us for longer. His company car was forever getting smacked in the rear or side. I think he had the "Jesus is my airbag" insurance. Or perhaps the other parties knew him.

In the end I fucked off - and he told me had no idea why I was going. There aren't enough swearwords or breath in my body to do justice to what he deserves.

Hey B3ta - thanks for the self-help QOTW!
(Naughtius Maximus Stuck on the blog, desperate to log out., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 16:56, Reply)

His name was/is Todd
And 'bastard' doesnt even begin to describe him! He was my 'friend' and suggested I leave a brokerage firm where I was positively raking it in and join his new 'start-up firm' where he was a Partner.

Many promises later (and a hand-written contract that I STILL have) and I am now a Junior Partner! Yay!

Cue 8 months of not being able to work because Todd Spenla and the rest of the mongy partners failed to sign a deal to operate within the context of another firm because "that deal just doesnt 'feel' right." Multiply this by the eight deals that were refused and you get a feel for how frustrating it all was.

Not being able to work, as a stockbroker equals: not earning any money. Not good. Particularly in NYC where I had quite a sizeable monthly nut to meet.

But it gets better: He asks if he can borrow my Range Rover for a weekend and I say "Sure." He borrows it and removes ALL my stuff from the back of the vehicle: baseball gear (about $350 worth), one Calvin Klein overcoat ($450), one Canon Rebel camera and lenses (about $1200) and numerous other items.

I get my truck back and it is all gone. I ask him where it is and he says "I couldnt pick up my Dutch cousins with all that stuff in the back could I? It was a mess!" So he apparently put it all in plastic bags and stored it in his home.

I never saw ANY of it again because the firm ceased operations shortly thereafter. I got him back though...sleeping with a colleague's wife and then telling him about it, in decent detail, omitting the fact that it was his wife until the very end of the story is DEFINITELY one way to rid yourself of that 'bastard colleague!" Trust me. And his wife was crap.

Click "I Like This" if you think Todd Spenla should be hung, drawn and quartered!
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 16:54, Reply)

football and alcohol seem to bring out the worst in the english
Well, I could mention the football club where one steward I worked with would constantly be complaining about 'filthy jews and gypsies'. Cones fallen over in the car parks? Jews and gyppos. Fire in the kitchens? Jews on the catering staff. Team not playing well? Jews were paying them to lose.

Yes, this was at the height of the FA's 'Kick Racism Out of Football'. The badge of which he proudly wore, with seemingly no irony at all.

Or the small crappy pub in a small crappy town run by the landlord and his girlfriend who lived upstairs. He would regularly get so wasted on his own Guinness that he'd have to ask me to pour his umpteenth pint of the night, as he wasn't steady enough on his feet to do it himself. She would get similarly wasted on vodka, and on one memorable night got so hammered she collapsed in the middle of the bar and pissed herself.

None of this stopped me working there, though. It was only when the alcoholic trainwrecks decided that the pub needed to move upmarket and start 'doing food' i.e. chips, that I actually left. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Except that they had popped out to the cash and carry (a good 25 miles away) leaving an old-fashioned chip pan merrily boiling its oil over in the kitchen. Apparently I didn't need to know about this as I was supposed to be in the bar serving customers.

Length? 5 long years of lurking.

*pop*
(spidrak, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 16:34, Reply)

my new colleague can be an absolute nightmare at times
She doesn't speak a word of English; seems to be manic depressive: one minute crying her eyes out, the next minute all smiles. Worst of all, she's incontinent and more often than not it's me that has to clean up.

I'm at home with a new baby. I just wanted to join in.
(housetits is channelling Natalie Cassidy - then, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 16:19, 6 replies)

nail clippings
this guy G. was not particularly a bastard, but somehow managed to piss everyone off: the office I work in is open space without cubicles and there was this guy in the engineering department that was clearly falling asleep while pretending he was reading and anlaysing some technical drawings. When he was awake he was clipping his nails there and then making everyone wanting to puke!
(sapientisafuckingrubbishname, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 16:16, Reply)

Evil Horrible Bastard Man
A company I used to work for employed a number of home-based consultants. They were all lovely and amiable apart from one who I will call A. There's always one isn't there?

A was never the easiest chap to get on with - brusque on the phone, talked down to us girls in the office cos we were girls, etc etc. But that was ok, we could cope with that.

Then one day our boss noticed a discrepancy in A's monthly report i.e. he'd said he'd done something on a certain date when in fact he hadn't.

So our boss being a good boss asked him to explain, in a friendly "Oops! did you make a mistake here?" kind of way.

And A responded as a can of petrol to a match. He accused of our boss, who I will call Steve, of micro-managing him, of racial harrassment (he was Welsh!), and bullying.

This was just for starters. Over the next six months or so the relationship deteriorated so much that
a. Steve couldn't actually speak to A.
b. He had about five official complaints against Steve.

When the official complaints were investigated and proved to be bollocks, A then filed several more complaints about the staff who had investigated the original complaints. He then refused to
a. Work anywhere near the M25
b. Start work before 9am, which in his mind meant he would start his journey to whichever client he was visiting at 9am, which meant he was doing one two-hour visit a day instead of three.

By then, such was A's tirade of complaints of racial harrassment, salary discrepancies and all the other crap had reached such heights that not only did our manager have seven official complaints against him, but so did the finance director, the managing director, the head of the department managing the original complaints, his assistant, and me.

Yes, me!

I had had the unfortunate duty of being responsible for keeping the key to his new company car. He came into the office, grunted, snatched it off me, and went.

Two minutes later there was a call and it was A complaining that his new car was overdue a service by some 7,000 miles. I politely tried to point out that it wasn't. But A is never wrong, so he yelled at me. A lot.

So I complained about him, in a nice "I don't come to work to be yelled at, it wasn't nice, please do something" kind of way, so they did. They wrote him a letter along the lines of "Dear A, happylittletulip says you yelled at her. Is she right? If so, we would very much like to hear your views and response."

A day later a two-page fax listing all my shortcomings as an employee, colleague, and person spilled out of the fax in front of everyone. It wasn't nice. It wasn't pretty. I might have cried a bit. My boss took it off me and said Don't Worry, We'll Deal With It.

I might have done so, had I not received, a mere three days later, a letter from A saying that he was claiming a five-figure sum from me personally for defamation of character and libel and god knows what else, running over his puppies probably. I handed this to my boss and went home all white and shaking and had to eat maltesers for about two hours to calm myself down.

The company responded to his letter on my behalf in no uncertain terms. "Dear A, you're talking bollocks and harrassing happylittletulip, stop it or we'll get you." This, I thought, would be the end.

But no. The next week I received another letter from A saying that, due to the malicious and unfounded reports I had made about him in response to his previous letter, he was now demanding another sum of money, twice as much as the first one, again for libel and murder and fraud and other heinous deeds I had probably committed against him due to my criminal and malicious nature. Again I handed this to my boss and ate maltesers to try to stop shaking.

By now mr happylittetulip had noticed all was not well, possibly due to the lack of maltesers but probably because I spent most mornings quivering under the duvet and sobbing "Don't make me go to work, I won't do it, you can't make me" and rocking backwards and forwards. Once I told him the whole story I had to confiscate his car keys to stop him driving to A's house and killing him to death.

By now you are probably wondering why A hadn't been sacked. "This is crazy!" you are thinking, and you're right. But the reason he hadn't been sacked is that the company we worked for specialised in employment law, and they were terrified of being sued for constructive dismissal.

So they let it go to tribunal, or rather, three tribunal cases by the time it came round. We waited a whole year, by which time I was working elsewhere. The morning of the tribunal arrived. I was champing at the bit to say my bit against this twunt who had decided he wanted to ruin my life because I protested when he yelled at me. (I mean, who has a spare hundred grand or so knocking around when they're in their twenties?).

We got to court.

The atmosphere was serious and tense, like a pair of black pants with too-tight elastic.

We all met beforehand in the waiting room.

A caught my eye and I returned his gaze with daggers of steel. Unfortunately the daggers were imaginary ones and did no harm.

The chairman of the tribunal arrived.

A approached the bench and... WITHDREW all his claims. And so we all went home for tea and buns.

What a knob.

*Apologises for length and hopes the girth made up for it.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:52, 8 replies)

The Demise of Disney Part II
As a couple of you lovely people wanted a little more on the car crash that was the colleague known as Disney I shall oblige by writing about her eventual demise.

Following the events described in “Way back when” (see below) we thought we might have convinced Disney to be less irritating/condescending/bullying/mental. Unfortunately it became apparent that we’d merely waved a red rag at a bull as, after denying her the chance to bump pelvises with an unwilling victim, the pinch faced loon really went off the deep end. For those of you that can’t be bothered to read the other post Disney was Head of Customer Service for a holiday firm that I worked for a few years back in the ski resort of Courchevel.

Muggins here was a ski guide for said company, and this translated to minion/lackey/slave/bitch in Disney’s personal lexicon. We were forever doing her bidding for the first few months, she being a head of department and all. Our boss however was less than understanding when her general uselessness resulted in a group of skiers hanging about in resort all morning waiting for one of the lads to finish collecting a prescription for kid with the shits in the hotel when she could have done it herself. He being a proper mountain man from Scotland told her not to be such “an incompetent hag” and get off her expanding behind and do her job. Grins all round when we got back in that day and heard about it.

The smiles were short-lived however as the next morning all four of the guides were hauled into the resort managers office along with our boss and the spiteful bint to address “workplace bullying”. The vile sack of bones had accused us of making sexist derogatory comments and “lewd innuendo” as well as belittling her in front of staff and guests. Cue tongue lashing from the big boss and orders to sort it out “or you’re on the next flight back to blighty.”

Next day being transfer day I was glad to be out of resort and down to Geneva for a few hours talking shite with all the other reps. The trip back up saw us sharing a coach with another resort so once we hit the last town before the climb we were dropped off to be met by three lush people carriers and the company minibus for the extra luggage. Arrive at the car park and it’s just the minibus. Sigh... So I call the hotel to get them to chase the cab company and it’s Satan’s bastard offspring on the other end of the phone:

Me: Hi Disney, it’s me. Do you know if the cab firm has called? I’m at Moutier with the guests and O is here with the minibus but no cabs.

Disney: No, they haven’t phoned, why would they?

Me: Er, because I’ve got 16 guests here waiting in the freezing cold and no cabs for them.

Disney: Why?

Me: What do you mean why?! I’m here with guests and the cabs aren’t here to meet us!!

Disney: You can’t be cos we’re only expecting 4 guests in a cab this week. You're such a prick Harlequin, I won't fall for that one.

Click...

After I retrieve my jaw off the floor I phone my boss and explain what just happened, in between grinding my teeth and trying not to go purple in front of all the punters.

Eventually get the cabs booked and two hours later than it should have been 16 extremely annoyed holiday makers and one mightily fucked off guide make it to resort. I grin my way through the welcome drinks and then am quietly taken aside by the hotel manager. He informs me that Disney has again complained of the guides and kitchen staff (top boys, all of them) of making inappropriate remarks and deliberately trying to trip her up and make her look stupid. I open my mouth to put him right but he holds up a hand.

"I was in the office earlier and I heard her on the phone to you this afternoon. I checked things over and she was reading from last week's manifest. She then blamed one of the girls for putting the wrong folder out. It’s her folder.” (I confess I got a semi in anticipation at this point.) He dropped his voice, “Don’t worry about the head case, I’ll have her out of here in a week.” He was a man of his word too and when she got driven to the airport he even coughed up for a cab so our poor handyman/driver wouldn’t have to endure her company for two mind shattering hours. Her leaving present? Everyone from the hotel, and I mean every single member of staff from housekeeping, management, ski guiding, bar and kitchen, turned out to send her off in style. She started to feign emotion and was blathering about how much she’d miss everyone (she hadn’t taken a single number or email) when the Sous Chef (my roommate and a true legend) rumbles from his considerable height, “Oh just fuck off already, you really are an utter cunt you know”.

Absolute silence…Apart from the suppressed sniggers going round the entire group, chief culprit being the hotel manager.

She then very quickly gets into the cab and as it’s moving off turns to deliver a less friendly variation of Winston Churchill’s famous sign. Only to find that every staff member has pre-empted her pithy comeback by giving her the finger. Pure, unadulterated genius and nothing less than she deserved, the rabid bile filled bint.
(DarkHarlequin putting babies on spikes since, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:35, 3 replies)

Eric
He was my department manager when I had a weekend job at B&Q, Born and bred in Sheffield, he was rough as fuck and as common as shit. In short, he was a leering, prehistoric pervert. The evidence:

- His pride and joy was a caravan.
- He was covered in home-done tattoos and one giant ('professional') one of of a full-sailed tall ship on his chest, which showed through his white shirt. He'd had this done on entering the Navy aged 17 - only to be kicked out six months later when they found he was epileptic.
- His idea of a witty comment to the check-out girls was "show us yer cunt" - and it was the kind of place where many of them actually did.
- He complained of sexual discrimination when the female staff were told they didn't have to hoist 50kg bags of cement up to their own head height.
- He was finally sacked for voicing the previous opinion in terms made up almost entirely of the words 'fuck' and 'cunt'.

I was the only one who liked him.

I also recall the manager of the store - a 'woman' called Janet whose face was a porcine mask of grease and pimples. She had legs like a kitchen table and spoke in a kind of Sheffield patois that most customers couldn't understand (viz: "Wiz oil?" translated as "Where is the hole?" when faced with a complaint about a carpet.) She was so tough, she had a hysterectomy in the morning as was back at work the same day hefting bags of cement and telling everyone they were "as thick as pig shit!".
(frankspencer, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:29, 2 replies)

Anger management.
OK, J wasn't a bastard, but he was amusingly angry at times, and had a very short fuse. Let me give you an example:

All is going well, when, from the other end of the building, we hear
"Bastard! Fucking shitting bastard! Cunt! Jeezus Christ! FUCKING BASTARD CUNTING ARESEHOLE FUCKING BOLLOCKS SHIT!"

J works with heavy and expensive stuff, so there's naturally a few people who are concerned - and more who want to see the carnage that must have prompted such an outburst.
"J! Are you OK?"
"FUCK!"
"What's wrong?"
"I've dropped my FUCKING PENCIL! AGAIN!"
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:17, 2 replies)

Nasty Little Man
I got a job a few years ago working as a PA to the most horrible little man I have ever met. This is just a small example to show what a shit he is.
1. I was told (not asked) on my first day that I had to change my name - it is the same as his wife's and he didn't want to confuse anybody. I chose to call myself Flossietots. This was not allowed apparently, and I had to choose "something more memorable".
2. I also had to work for his thick wife 2 days a week, in their horrible over-designed house. She used to write letters to herself complaining about him and their incredibly over pampered lives, which she then hid under her mattress. When the housekeeper made the bed, she would find them and show them to me. They were hilarious. She was not.
3. He gave me a formal warning for saying in an email to the travel agent that "as usual, plans were likely to change at the last minute". He believed that it undermined his family's credibility, never mind that it was absolutely true.
4. I had to go on a business trip to his estate in Scotland. I was on the same early morning flight. But because when I checked in I hadn't changed my seat number to be near the front of the plane, (and so couldn't get off the plane quickly enough for his liking) he left me at the airport. I missed the ferry to his island, but instead of getting on the next flight back to London, I spent three horrible days taking minutes. I was a fool. He never apologised, and tried to charge me for the taxi fare I put on my expenses.
5. Due to the incompetence of all the women in his family/life, and his extreme chauvinism, he once spent ten minutes showing me how to change a lightbulb.

But the final straw came when I was instructed to make a series of weekly therapy appointments for their sweet, confused, spoilt and rather neglected daughter the week she turned 5. Bad parenting apparently can be fixed this way. God knows what has happened to the poor thing. Or the other 6 fucked up children (also all in therapy) from their previous marriages.
He may be a Marquess but he is missing any manners/sense of humour/decency/generosity/kindness.
Little shit.
(Superene, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:17, Reply)