Stitched Up, Good and Proper
Ah, Wakefield. Often I find myself harking back to the hazy, crazy days of studenthood, reliving the good, bad and ugly times that came with it.

For those of you that have spent time in the country's smallest city (by populopus, fact fans!), you may know of a horrid little bar off the bullring called Juice (or, at least, it was called Juice. I think it was called Tickle after that, and God knows what now...) - anyway, I digress.

For some reason known only to me, once I'd finished my studies I decided to hang around. And, while hanging, I managed this bar. It was hell. Hell with nobs on. A hell so complete even Hieronymous Bosh would have shied away from painting it.

Anyway, I digress again. Walking home from work on crisp evening, I was approached by a very nice young lady. Well spoken, well dressed, good looking - you know the type. She captivated me instantly, and asked me the question that all men pray to be asked by such divine creatures:

"Have you got two tens for a twenty?"

Well, of course I have. I'm a Bar Manager, don'tcherknow? I remove my wallet, slide out two clean, pristine £10 notes, and swap them for a £20.

"Thanks," came forth the words from her lips, "I owe you one."

And then she was gone.

So I continue my stroll home, lost in my reverie of rescuing a damsel dans distress. I'm a bon viveur, a knight in shining armour, a veritable honourable gent. In short, I am a hero. And what do heroes do? That's right, they treat themselves to a four pack of lager and a packet of fags.

So I stop in Threshers, select my produce, and go to pay.

"£9.60 please luv." says the till lady. "No problem," says I, peeling off the £20 I have so recently acquired "Here you go!"

I think you can see where this is going.

The good looking BITCH had taken ADVANTAGE of me! I was trying to help someone out, and got nothing but a dodgy £20 note for my trouble. This taught me a valuable lesson:

NEVER trust ANYONE, EVER. ESPECIALLY IN FUCKING WAKEFIELD.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 19 Oct 2007, 11:24, 5 replies)

I go to college
in Wakefield.

You have my sympathy.
(THIRTY-TWO - Sputnik -, Fri 19 Oct 2007, 11:29, closed)

Inadvertently did the same ...
Stiched the ex- Mrs Dio good and proper. When I moved out I didn't take all my stuff with me straight away. Some of what I left behind were props from theatre.

This included a couple of hundred quid in mixed notes.

When I finally moved the last of my stuff and unpacked the (thouroughly rifled through by SWMBO in my absence) boxes I realised aforementioned wonga was missing.

I had a sly smile to myself as I imagined her paying for her drinks at the bar with a nice crisp tenner and the bartender passing it under the UV light to see *SPECIMEN* glowing back at him.
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Fri 19 Oct 2007, 12:16, closed)

wait,
wait, wait, WHAT!?

since when has there ever been any fit lasses in wakey?
( Snorty McBumhole YouTube.com/MinistryOfGeeks, Mon 22 Oct 2007, 20:33, closed)

I work in Wakefield
And have so far found the only trustworthy place to be the Snooty Fox.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Tue 23 Oct 2007, 1:54, closed)

Bema Jim
Well, she was clearly from out of town... Another reason why I was so easily taken in!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Tue 23 Oct 2007, 13:57, closed)