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



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

How to leave a job in style.
Nice.
*click*
(Big D, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 13:56, closed)

Having met CP in person I can vouch for the fact he's fairly chilled out.
*click*

I've worked with Brians before, I feel your pain.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:03, closed)

And Breathe...
.
You sound like the sort of man I'd like to go for a few beers with.....


Cheers

And I'm not being sarcastic.....
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:03, closed)

It's all true...
He's well ard and does have an enourmous cock. I could tell as he wears very tight trousers.
( girlinthehole, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:04, closed)

Brian had no social life
Christ but I had a manager like that - Conal.

We did our 9-5 slog and fucked off home but not Conal, oh no.

He'd be in at 8 am and stay until 10 pm. Then he'd log on remotely from home and participate in the US end of the operation's working day. He'd then precis their work and forward it on to us in lenghty emails with colour-coded commentary from him. You'd arrive in the following morning and find half a dozen loooooooooong emails in all the colours of the rainbow and time-stamped 2.30 am.

He once cancelled a holiday so that he could stay in work to monitor a live rollout of a website. Seeing as it was a last minute cancellation he got no refund either. Another time and he had to be almost dragged from the building by his brother and sister in order to get him to show up for his parent's wedding anniversary.

I was told by another colleague that I was seeing the more 'normal' Conal as he used to stay in work for several days at a stretch without sleeping, washing, eating or changing his clothes.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:20, closed)

I'll click this...
...because I am scared of you
(JasperSinister is offering two tickets to the gun show, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 14:28, closed)

Workaholics
Once had a manager who never, ever left the office. Even when the fire brigade were kicking down doors and putting out a fire in the kitchens, he was refusing to let people leave HIS meeting.

*click*
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:21, closed)

...
Thankfully, you are as placid as your name. But I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of you. Have a click.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 15:41, closed)

A couple of things...

You are on fire (and apparently you have the hose to put it out!)

I never saw BGB checking out your package...she's a sly one!

secondly,

IT'S A FUCKING B MINOR YOU COCKROT! - Brilliant!

(apologies for not making sense to most people)

Oh, and 'All the sixes, clickety clicks'
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 24 Jan 2008, 19:09, closed)

Hey! I'm a nice guy really!
@ Enzyme, I'm a pacifist! (admittedly trapped in a psycho's body) but I wouldn't hurt a fly. People on the other hand are a different story.
@ BigGirlsBlouse
The tousers weren't tight



Just full.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 11:17, closed)