Smoothing things over
As I returned to my work station, Jim pushes back his chair and declares: “I need to take a shit,” before promptly stalking off to bogs. I wasn’t particularly surprised. Jim’s ringpeice saw more action during working hours than Freddy Mercury's at the gay mardigras after an afternoon spent snorting coke and quaffing poppers.

Jim was a lad who worked for me in the sales team at a large call centre and he basically had the most amazing digestive system I have ever come across in my life. I’m pretty certain that if he ever ate an entire cow during his morning break he would’ve successfully shat the whole thing out by dinnertime, hoofs and all.

We were working the late shift, as you tend to do in international sales. It was just Jim and I in the office – all the normal people who had social lives and families had long since fucked off to catch up on Coronation Street, drink a few beers, and attempt to ejaculate in the mouths of young virgins in the toilets of clubs. But Jim and I were stuck here. Him because he was down on the rota, me because some utter fucking retard had decided at some indistinct point in the past to make me the team leader.

So, Jim goes off to have a shit. Being bored and with absolutely fuck all work to do, I wait a few minutes and follow him. As a responsible team leader I see it as my duty to clog the sinks up with bog roll, put the taps on full twat, switch the lights off and make my escape cackling like a witch on acid.

I hang round outside the bogs. Jim finally appears. He does not seem too impressed. To make up for it I offer Jim a smoke and we stroll outside and have a couple each. It’s a nice evening. Quiet. Nobody about. Just us two talking about football and sex and the usual old bollocks. We start kicking a can round. Jim goes in goal. I score. We swap places.

Then after half an hour or so I decide we’d probably better go back to work. We stroll back inside, say “hello” to the old fella on the security desk who I swear was embalmed a few years ago, and we return to the office. And when I get there I glance at my monitor and have a bit of a panic. I’ve got a system on my PC that gives me call stats for everyone in the team. And there’s something on my screen that makes me want to shit myself.

I lift my headset, trembling, reach for the hold button: “Errr.... hello???”

“I’VE BEEN ON HOLD FOR NEARLY FORTY FUCKING MINUTES!!! IF I HAVE TO LISTEN TO TUBULAR FUCKING BELLS ONE MORE FUCKING TIME I SWEAR I’M GOING TO FIND OUT WHERE YOU ARE AND FUCKING HAVE YOU!!!”

Took quite a while to smooth that one over and when I pressed the END CALL key, I turned to Jim and in my best team leader voice said: “Err, Jim – next time you go for a shit finish the call - don’t just put someone on hold.”
( SpankyHanky, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 10:49, 2 replies)

Ha! I am almost certain this has happened to me
although in my case it was "Greensleeves" played on a loop until the phone monkey had finished dropping the kids off at the pool.

Also, virgins in a nightclub? You and your over active imagination...
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 10:56, closed)

I met a virgin in a club once
His name was Gary.

Although it was very nice to be offered that was a cherry I really didn't fancy picking.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 4 Sep 2009, 11:04, closed)