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 what the buggery bollocks is this?, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:01, 2 replies)

The two hardest words to say in the workplace
"you smell"
( edz314 smelled the glove on, Fri 25 Jan 2008, 15:25, closed)

The three hardest words to say in the workplace
You smelly bastard.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 19:08, closed)