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This is a question Bastard Colleagues

You've all known one. The brown-nosing fucker, the 'comedian', the drunk, the gossip and of course the weird one with no mates who goes bell ringing, looks like Mr Majika and sports a monk's haircut (and is a woman).

Tell us about yours...

Thanks to Deskbound for the idea

(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:09)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 1

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Working for Winners! You will be assimilated! Resistence is Futile!
One of my very first jobs was being the office admin spod for an offshoot of a large European haulage firm. We were sited two miles away from the English HQ in our own little outpost comprised of a hamster colony of portakabins built into an old corrugated iron barn.

My boss, Jon - also the MD's son - was a lovely chap, always a great source of stories about drunken nights out and he generally let me do my thing. He had won the position on merit, having run the operation single handed for a year before I was drafted in to cope with the increased workload as we were taking over the running of a haulage firm comprising some twenty odd trucks with depots in Liverpool and Crewe in addition to our own.

The working week was like this; Monday would be busy with delivery reports, Tuesday checking invoices, Wednesday payroll and invoicing for fuel, Thursday back to invoices and Friday was generally fuck about day when the drivers would come in, shoot the breeze/moan/show us a polaroid of a woman masturbating in her car whilst overtaking etc.

We turned a healthy profit too, had thirteen self employed drivers who's books we did - and who had an exclusive contract to haul for our parent company - who handed in their tachographs for us to read (some fairly amusing blatant pisstakes like the bloke who wrote "Tacho flew out of window" after driving an estimated 12 hour stint) and expenses.

Managing the haulage firm was generally an enjoyable doddle, thanks in no small part to our hilarious team of scouse drivers like "Little Billy" (all six foot seven of him) and "Steady Hand Harry" (caught wanking in his lorry, aged 64) and a number of salt of the earth types we quickly warmed to.

However our Dutch overlords summoned Jon's father to head office and retired him on the spot.

His replacement turned up. An alpha male Dutchman by the name of Georg, who prided himself on being a mountaineer. Yep, he couldn't even appreciate an amusing cliche when it presented itself.

Georg turned up and sneered at the English staff, before saying a cheery "Hello" to the other dutchman, the Swede and the German.

Georg decided that our company had three too many employees. Yep, Jon, myself and the other manager bloke called John (incidentally, guess what my middle name is). Georg was sent over to boost profits and slash costs, his managerial style verged between sneering and outright ranting. Everyone was made to feel guilty for sullying the office carpet in the mornings, except of course the other Dutchman, the Swede and the German.

Georg clearly had no idea of employment tribunals, when our female IT specialist was told that "women aren't to be trusted near computers, too complex for them". A newly married sales manager was told to "forget spending time with your wife, work harder and go to a whore at the weekend". Secretaries were harried and harassed until they resigned before having breakdowns. Georg even managed to convince our traffic planning staff to oblige our drivers to disregard traffic regulations and if the job needed doing, intimidate drivers into running bent, by ensuring the honest blokes got the shit local jobs the whole of the week.

Apparently this management style was called "being flexible", ie you could stuff a fag end into your tachograph and bypass the speed limiter to get the job done. If you got caught by the rozzers then you're bringing the company into disrepute.

Georg wanted trucks running 24 hours a day. We had to hire 2.6 drivers for each of our vehicles and both Jon and John were given stern bollockings when we failed to do this.

Our other dutchman, a tall balding bloke called Twan was first to crack. As a traffic planner, he was obliged to know the law. However, he ensured all his drivers broke it in the name of profit.

The Swede resigned and the German joined the ranks of the pissed of English in a rare moment of camaraderie, often seen goose-stepping behind Georg and making some very dry snide comments out of earshot.

Georg's moment of genius however came during negotiations with a well known motor manufacturer who rhymes with "bored". Georg didn't trust his inferior English staff to negotiate a deal to drive car parts from Dagenham to Purfleet docks. Oh no, he did it all himself.

We won the contract, beating our nearest competitor by a huge margin. Georg had pulled off a masterstroke! Holland would be very pleased with him.

However, upon investigation and the application of a calculator we discovered the flaw in the plan. In order to manage to meet the tight schedule using the vehicles we had and to make the job break even, the vehicles had to average 33mph for the journey from Dagenham to Purfleet. However, the ferries sailed at eight thirty am and six thirty pm... not a hope in hell. The timed average speed at that time of day was 15mph if you were lucky.

So it came to pass that our little outpost was summarily dismantled and we were assimilated into our head office two miles away. The office manager, who'd been given a promotion for no extra pay and ten more hours a week took a dislike to my screensaver. Every time I went to the bathroom, I'd come back and see some corporate bollocks on my screen like "Working for Winners!" (our official logo). All of a sudden, our contented workforce was being deluged with Corporate Megawank. It was all being wheeled out, in a desperate attempt to make us "feel part of a team". This enraged me, so I'd change my old screensaver back in an act of passive, but derisory defiance. The battle of wills continued for months until I had enough and changed it to a password protected "Winning and Wanking!" shortly before quitting.

I am delighted to report that my employment outlasted that of Georg. Thanks to his clumsy bludgeoning at costs with all the surgical skill of a drunken obese ranting Geordie waving a leaden claymore, the carnage of Georg's reign was there for all to see: Eight out of thirteen owner drivers we worked in partnership with went bankrupt, hauliers had to be bribed with higher rates to work for us as our reputation was so bad, good drivers resigned and were replaced with folk willing to break the rules but who ripped us off royally.

Georg was summoned to our Dutch HQ and the following statement was released

"With immediate effect, E**** C**** C*** BV and Georg ***** have reached a compromise whereby Georg ***** will have more time to devote to his leisure activities such as skiing and mountaineering."

Fuck me, let's hope the Matterhorn got him. eh?
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 23:58, 2 replies)
For the mental image of the goose-stepping German!
(, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 9:49, closed)
Like watching a disaster film.
The mess just unfolded and snowballed from there. Almost chilling. Masterfully told. Clickage for you.
(, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 17:40, closed)

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