I was told to hide expiration dates
I received product that had expired and repacked it for disposal. The large quantity of potato chips (crisps) that could not be sold concerned my manager enough for him to make a call, whereupon he was told the date had a printing error. The manager instructed me to place huge, circular stickers directly over the expiration dates and market them.

I refused. He didn't argue and took on the task himself.

On the other hand, I've been asked to ride on the bare forks of the lift truck 30 feet high and did so gladly. (Jumping up and down on the forks at full height tends to piss managers off. Ha! When I die, I won't have to do this job anymore.)
( tromboner cherophobia is my kind of fun, Fri 8 Jul 2011, 2:37, 1 reply)

I can go on and on.
My company pirates it's own software, which is illegal as you all know.
It's a major pharmacy and gives away Schedule 2 drugs, which is illegal under any circumstance.
Even if we know someone is getting a prescription illegally, or if they are doctor shopping, we are prohibited from reporting them because "we make money off of them."
My company sells private patient information to third parties. That is a HIPAA violation.
And as for treating the employees like crap, they cut our benefits to increase executive bonuses, they cut our hours to make profit increase instead of maintain. If I couldn't live without the pay, I would've quit.

And I reported our state board of pharmacy for giving away the drugs on one instance, and was subsequently disciplined and transferred to another store.
This stuff is what I typed off the top of my head. I'm currently amassing paperwork of all of this and when I find another job, I'm gonna get a lawyer and report all of it.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Fri 8 Jul 2011, 1:25, 4 replies)

For a few years, I was the graphic design department for a small printing company.
One of the more challenging jobs had a print run of exactly one.
I was required to make a copy of someone's 'phone bill with every instance of a particular number expunged.
I felt the moral implications of such a commission were the boss's problem since he accepted the job; he professed to be a religious man, I never have.
I enjoyed the challenge, the client's wife was none the wiser, the client's liaison remained undiscovered and the company got paid.
Everybody's happy.
( 4Q just lurking, Fri 8 Jul 2011, 1:03, Reply)

My boss calls me up at inconvenient times and gives me impossible jobs blah blah blah it's Charlie's Angels.

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 8 Jul 2011, 0:32, 3 replies)

I can't say no.
Only yesterday the bastard made me sit in front of my mac at work and wank while he showed me porn and snorted coke.
Self-employment sucks.
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Fri 8 Jul 2011, 0:29, Reply)

My big boss
Is currently asking me to take a 33% pay cut and start charging for parking even though I start work before public transport and my car is the only option to get there.

Dodgy, getting shafted more like - Thanks a lot Mr Cameron
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Fri 8 Jul 2011, 0:05, Reply)

How I fucked up my career in finance.
I once worked for a large organisation which provided publicly funded cheap loans exclusively to students. I had the pleasure of working in the collections department. Whilst still a student myself. The ironing was delicious.

Anyhoo, in exchange for beer/rent tokens I set about those debt stricken (ex) students like a particularly hungry leech would feed on a defenceless baby abandoned in a swamp.

Turned out I had a flair for debt recovery. I had a particular knack for convincing piss poor debtors to sign up to payment plans that would make bill gates wince.

I became numb to it. It was second nature. The point came that I would sometimes even enjoy it.

I excelled and caught the attention of my superiors. I was given additional legal responsibilities. Alongside putting the shits up the poor I would also get IVA and bankruptcy documents through so that I could help carve up the meagre assets of those who were pushed that shade too far.

This went on for 3.5 years. One day I just fucking snapped. I took a call from a woman who lived in chelsea. As soon as I heard the C word I thought I would go in for the kill. She must be rolling in it I thought. Then I read the notes. This woman, in her mid twenties, lost her parents a few years back and found herself looking after her two younger siblings along with a butt load of financial difficulties.

She was all for hanging up on me, explaining that I was pretty low down in the pecking order of creditors.

That's when it hit me. I had to leave. So, before I took steps to end my debt recovery career I explained to this woman that if I could finalize a payment plan for the next 20 years at 10 pence a month I could take the entire amount of £24 by card over the phone then and there. Knowing that the system would kick it straight back out I sent confirmation of the payment plan to her by email and post, then told her to take a note of my full name, department, managers name, date and time of the call and the reference number for the extensive note I put on her account. Then I took the payment, thanked her for her time, ended the call, put my stupid headset on my desk and walked out. It was a gorgeous day and, as I walked down the street, I looked back and saw the building I used to work in bathed in sunshine. I dug my camera out and took a picture. Then I turned on my heels and left the bastards to it, hoping that I had managed to polish a microscopic patch of my dark heart and blackened soul.

I ignored all their calls. They kept paying me for another 6 weeks. Karma?
(OTT, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 22:38, 10 replies)

Back in the 80's I did TV repairs.... and worked for a guy who sold ex-rental sets
most of the sets were sold with a 3 month guarantee, but some of them would be barely able to make it that far. My job was to keep the sets going right up until the moment the warranty ran out.
If the colour started to go, we could boost the tube - putting a high current through the cathodes - but boosting the tube seriously shortened the life of the tube. Boosting the tube twice could shorten the tube life to a matter of weeks...... I cant count how many times we boosted tubes when the warranty was almost out.

I didn't learn electronics to rip people off, and I finally left the business when I went around to an OAP's house to do a repair (it turned out to be a really simple fault) and I was told to make up some old shite and pretend that the TV needed new parts, so I could double the bill.
(essexfriend, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 22:00, 2 replies)

i was very briefly a boss
several years ago, i hired a cleaner. now, i know you're all thinking "lazy bitch", but in my defence, my back was so bad i could hardly walk more than a few steps.
i paid her £10 for an hours' work, twice a week. thanks to her, i've developed a love for the smell of bleach.
things were going well. i had a clean home, she had an extra £20 a week. this didn't stop her from simply not turning up one day. i phoned her house, hoping to find out what had happened to her, only to be told by her daughter that she had no intentions of coming back to work for me, as she'd just received a hefty severance payout from her previous employers. nice of her to let me know, eh?
saw her a few weeks ago. she's skint again now and can't find another job in this credit-crunch climate. shame i don't need a cleaner any more.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 20:26, 15 replies)

The NHS has no ethics
I say this on the basis that my other half's Dad had a triple heart by-pass cancelled today, after 24 hours with no food and the pre-op had taken place.

Now, I get that cancellations happen, it's frustrating but unavoidable.

But it must be ethically questionable to have even employed a surgeon who has to cancel because he can't use a scalpel without cutting his thumb open.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 19:59, 7 replies)

Web filters
I set up a filtering web proxy at work to stop the oiks from watching porn and gambling and what not. I asked my assistant to test it and see if he could through. 3 hours of hacking away and he reported it was working extremely well, no dodgy sites were seen.

When he went for lunch I printed the list of dog porn sites he'd been trying to get at and left it on my bosses desk as a 'report' of what he'd been looking at on the internet. Happy days.
( DrPoppers Touched by his noodly appendage, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 19:57, 2 replies)

Some time ago, I worked with a small company
We were a low-profile outfit – offices in remote locations, that sort of thing. In our particular line of business, we were suffering at the hands of a massive multinational that seemed to have limitless resources at its disposal. Our competitors were not averse to hostile takeovers, acquisitions by force and other aggressive business tactics.

Anyway, the bosses of the company I was working with came up with a rather drastic plan to destabilise our competitors: sabotage their HQ. Despite this being a very dangerous proposition with a real risk of criminal prosecution or worse, I signed up; call it misguided idealism if you will, but I believed in the ethos behind our company and felt that our business model was the one that should be adopted as the industry standard.

Although security was very tight (our competitors’ previous HQ premises had fallen victim to large-scale vandalism), we managed to make our way inside and cause considerable damage. Getting out again was a bit hairy, but we managed it thanks to some neatly co-ordinated teamwork. Our actions eventually lead to the downfall of our competitors, enabling a free and fair business environment for everybody. I like to think we were a force to be reckoned with.

Yours,
L. Calrissian
(square go, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 19:56, 2 replies)

who was in the wrong?
In an equestrian line of work:

Boss: "Slowly, one of our (foreign) staff has lost her confidence. We've already got too many staff who can't ride anything that's not bombproof. I want you to tell her she's sacked".
Me: "Boss, her work record is unblemished. I'll do whatever you want but I'm warning you if we sack her she could claim unfair dismissal."
Boss: "She won't, she's foreign."

I told the book-keeper fella who worked in the office, who was a stroppy bugger at the best of times. He went ballistic, shouted at me that it was my duty to refuse to sack her. "That's what I've been told to do" I shrugged. He spent the next two hours on the phone to other stables in the area finding this woman another job, before I'd even got round to sacking her. (Lovely woman and I wouldn't have one bad thing to say about her. She cried buckets.)

The stroppy bugger had done such a good job that our ex-employee had a choice of two new jobs. She duly took one offer up, and on her first day ... fell off a horse and broke her wrist.
(slowly play it cool, Trig, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 19:49, 2 replies)

One place I used to work at
the boss marked down stock as 'stolen' then had the same items come back as 'refunds' which were given false names and addresses in the refund book and the money refunded went into his get-rich-quick scheme selling health food supplements called 'Cinergi'. The dodgy thing was he enlisted the help of the stock controller who only wanted extra money so he could afford laser eye surgery so he would be able to join the Police.... One day after I left I heard he was escorted out of the shop by the area manager pretty abruptly.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Thu 7 Jul 2011, 19:09, Reply)

Down the hopper and into the mix
This bloke was sort of my boss and he did ask me to keep schtum, so I reckon it qualifies.

For a few months I worked in a food production factory.

My job was emptying big bags of ingredients down a hopper into the mixer downstairs.

There were 2 of us doing that job and being up near the roof, closed off from the rest of the factory my colleague/boss, who'd been there a number of years, used to have the odd cig on the job. Blowing the smoke into the top of the hopper which sucked it up and away.

Occasionally the plastic curtain would flap a few yards and stairs away meaning someone was coming, giving him just enough time to drop his fag down the hopper, and into the mix.

Nobody in the packing side of the factory ever mentioned a stray fag-end found in any mixes while I was there, and there were quite a few. So I assume they must've gone out to the customers.

I felt terrible not telling the bosses about it but I was young and new, then I left.

This was several years ago so hopefully it doesn't happen these days. But you never know.
( underpont making all kinds-a-gains, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 18:58, 4 replies)

this one time working in asda
you know those hot chickens?
they come in a big plastic bag with all the flavor and juices sloshing around all packed in plastic cases,well moving a pallet of these cases i caught the corner of the deli unit i was taking them to.
the sight of dozens of raw chickens skidding across the floor was very impressive indeed.
the mess however was soon cleaned and bagged and still put in to the cooker, this was seen by several workers and a manager but nothing was said as the drop in takings for that day would have had to looked in to
so dont eat the hot chicken
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 18:29, 5 replies)

Ongoing
This has just recently happened. I'll try to reconstruct it based on Facebook posts. Lately I've been very low on money, looking for work wherever I can get it. I got hired freelance by a business English academy to proofread their textbooks. They were pretty heinous, and I edited the hell out of them. Since then, everyone there calls me when they have any kind of writing/editing problem.

The boss of the company got wind and called me up, to propose I write a whole textbook for him. I jumped at the opportunity, because that's exactly the sort of work I'd like to do. He's been thinking about getting more into publishing, and there might be a full-time position in my future, once it becomes profitable. I went to his office to meet with him. He's a very cruel looking Korean man, always frowning, sometimes glaring. He's got a Christian cross hanging from his phone, and it means a lot of things to different people, but here it means one thing: materialistic greedy bastard. Still, I'm going to make a lot of money doing this.

So we meet, and here's what he's looking for: an entire book on using English in meetings, the next book on presentations, the next on negotiations, etc. I point out it sounds pretty dry, and people would probably respond better to something somewhat more English. "I know what people want," he tells me, "I've been in this industry nine years. Do what I tell you." I've been in it seven, but whatever, he's the guy with the money.

I knew something was wrong when he shared with me one of his sudden flashes of brilliance. Do you remember those secret code things when you were young, probably in puzzle books, commonly on cereal boxes: they looked like just a bunch of coloured blobs, but if you hold up a red filter, suddenly you can see clear words? I forget what they're called. The filter is sort of like the red half of a pair of 3D glasses. He had the brilliant idea of using this for the book. You'd open the book up, and all you'd see are blobs. Then you put on your special business English specs, and suddenly you can see the words clear as day. There'd be a set of red and a set of blue, so two partners can read a dialogue together without seeing each other's lines. Keep in mind, this is a book for businessmen in their 40s. Can you imagine them showing up to class in their suits, and then putting on these glasses? Add in that they might not fit people with actual glasses, and it would be hard doing a dialogue because you wouldn't know when the other person's line ended. Anyway, I told my boss that it was a good idea...for a children's book. He didn't seem to understand why. He told me "I'll tell this idea to some other businessmen I know, and if I decide to, we'll do it."

Anyway, I trusted hopefully his friends weren't idiots, and fortunately he never brought it up again. I write up an outline and a sample chapter, and come back to review it. He looks through it, glaring at me, and sometimes baring his teeth. "It'll be too boring if it's all about meetings," he points out. I mention that last time he said it should be all about meetings. He points out that it only has to be on the cover, and what's inside doesn't really matter. I point out that in order for the book to sell and teach people anything, it has to be good quality. He disagrees. "I know what sells, so you have to listen to me."

We spent a great deal of time on the dialogue. He told me he thought some of the lines were too long, composed of four or five medium-length sentences. I agreed. He said they need to be shorter, because Korean businessmen who read these books like to memorise the lines. I pointed out that I teach business English classes to the target market every day, and I'm constantly checking for how much they remember. Nobody ever bothers to memorise lines. He disagrees, and says that he does. I tell him that he's only one person, and I can say empirically that most others don't. I also tell him that it's not very helpful to memorise sentences. However, I agree to make the sentences shorter, for other, better reasons.

Next, he took issue with the vocabulary words I selected. I admit, there were too many phrasal verbs, which are something Koreans tend not to learn. Specifically, "stop by," "show up," "walk out," "round up," among a list of about 15. "These are too easy," he says. I point out that Koreans tend not to know phrasal verbs, so it's useful to teach them. "No, they're just too easy," he retorts. "Well, maybe for you and me," I admit, "but for the average Korean adult, they're impossible." He doesn't seem happy about this. A few seconds later, it turns out he doesn't know what any of them mean.

One of the other sections I created was called "Natural Speaking," which highlighted Korean pronunciation and intonation problems. He didn't get the expression, and wanted something stronger. I suggested "Perfect Speaking," which he loved. "That's the sort of word that sells books," he explains. Despite the fact it's an impossible promise. He's got a thing for the word perfect, okay.

I wish I could remember the rest. He mentioned that he has to compete with foreign-published books that are imported to Korea, which are all PERFECT. I explained to him that they aren't perfect, nobody's perfect, language is an imperfect construct. This somehow makes him furious. He tells me to keep my opinion to myself. I point out that I'm from the same country as these books, and I'm not perfect. He reminds me he knows what he's talking about. I remind him that he's making bizarre assumptions about my culture. He snarls at me, "I don't want to talk to you anymore," and walks out.

A few days later, one of the girls who originally hired me for the company calls me up. This brings us to the original question, what's the naughtiest thing a boss ever asked you to do. She said, "He says if you want to keep working on the book, you have to not have any opinions."

I explain to her that that's impossible; if I'm going to work on a book, I need to be able to give my opinions. But what he wants is no opinion at all, just someone to do his bidding. I'm low on money, but I'm not that desperate. I told her it's disrespectful for him to ask that of me, and if that's what he needs, I'm not going to do it.

Anyway, I haven't severed all ties with them; they still owe me around 530 pounds for work I've already finished. Hopefully I won't have to work with him anymore, but I can keep things going with the other employees.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 18:28, 3 replies)

I once, in desperation,
applied for a telesales job that, it turned out, firstly involved me getting out to the very, very boundaries of what could reasonably be called the city limits;
secondly, was in an office clearly rented from one of the builders yards that were the only other activity within two miles in any direction, always a sign of permanence and prosperity;
and thirdly - and this was the bit that really made me boggle - wanted to charge me £700 quid for 'equipment and training' before I even began, (sitting at a computer and being told how to read a script costs £700 now?) and another £400 for...I don't know, invent your own excuse, it can't be any more fucking spurious than theirs was...that would be taken out of my commissions (the only pay) until I'd paid it back.

I signed nothing, said I'd let them know, and got the bus home in the rain.




Ninja: Actually, they weren't round numbers at all. They were weirdly specific, like "£697.20", presumably to give the impression that they'd been scrupulously tallied and added up from a list of discrete and genuine costs, rather than scrupulously extracted from somebody's discrete and genuine backside.
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 17:57, 9 replies)

Working Practices?
Whilst a student I tended to work in pubs, I found you can easily walk in and out of the jobs if you have a bit of experience or not.

For some reason I decided to change tack a few years back when I was setting up my own business. I went into double glazing sales.

Now, I was aware of the type of businesses these could be - hard sell, fake prices 'Oh let me speak to my boss, I can do you a deal, we can go from 8k to 500 quid' sort of thing.

But this company although having some of these traits, seemed on the front of it legit. We were sat in an OK office, about 10 of us per shift. simple headset phone, and A4 print outs of numbers to call, and a script.

I am happy on the phone, so after 15 minutes of training - I was on my way convincing people all over the midlands that they really would like sparkly new windows at a price they couldn't miss. The way this worked was for me to get the person I called AND THEIR PARTNER to agree to a salesman to visit with his hard sell. I got commission from any visits, and extra commission from sales. (We had no way of finding out what sales had gone through, they frequently lied about appointments being missed etc...)

All dodgy, although I was earning my pocket money each week, I could have been getting more. Then we find out what's really been going on. The salesmen sent on appointments - would do the typical hard sell... staying in the house too long... etc etc that you see everyday on Watchdog.

But the kicker is. There were never windows. The people were told to put a deposit down there and then - cheaper rate, not in the area again for years, my boss will beat me if I dont get the deposit. Etc.

So basically I was setting up people, often in low income areas to lose their cash... luckily some took out credit and were able to get refunds, but I don't know how many vulnerable people didn't realise they could do this.

I was with the company 8 weeks when I found out... basically none of us got paid - including the slimey manager so he told us all the goss - and the office was promptly shut. I was left being owed only a few hundred quid if that... but I don't know how these things can go on in this day and age... but it does.

One extra, I received a phone call from a new company, based in the same office, asking if I wanted windows. I was tempted to say yes. We rent, a new build!
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 17:34, Reply)

It sucked.
Sort of mildly on topic. Many years ago I found myself with about twenty others in a room being harangued by a lad who wished fervently that we would help him sell vacuum cleaners. I won't say the brand but it shares its name with a Nintendo character who looks like a pink ball.

The lad spent over half an hour telling us how much money we'd make selling these infernal bastards door-to-door. He then told us at length about the car he'd bought with his earnings. A Mercedes 190 automatic. As if I could ever forget. Finally, he whipped us into a frenzy of Mammon-based greed and suggested that those who didn't want untold wealth and/or a car which looked like it belonged to our Dad should leave now, and let the ambitious, fast-track-to-success winners stay.

En masse we all left, apart from one girl. As we shuffled away down the corridor, we heard him telling her that once you've sat on a heated German leather seat, you never go back.
(judgetheobscure used to sweep in butchers' shops., Thu 7 Jul 2011, 17:29, 6 replies)

More tabloid journalists
This all seems a bit tame what with, y'know, everything, but still...

I was freelancing for a weekly men's mag (the one that's not Nuts, and I was only writing about sport, not tits), and one of the section eds there was an old tabloid hand.

One night in the pub, he regaled us with stories of life at the hard edge. Things like how they'd doorstep grieving families in pairs, so while one talked to them sympathetically in the kitchen, the other could steal family photos from off the mantelpiece. Lots of nice stuff like that.

What really pissed me off was how he thought we'd be somehow in awe of him, and that every journo somehow aspired to that level of tabloid fuckwittery. He actually finished the one-sided conversation with words to the effect, 'one day son, keep yer head down, work 'ard and you too could do something unspeakable to a recently bereaved family!'

At which point me and the other happy magazine let's-write-a-pointless-but-amusing-feature-type person made our excuses. Twunt.
( FridgeBadger, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 17:13, Reply)

Malcolm.
I an not sure whose ethics are most in question in this pearoast, bordeline Paedo Malcolm or cock tease Scarpe:



Malcolm was a lovely man. As gay as a jamboree though. And he took a rather deep and focussed liking to 17 year old me. One which I did very little to discourage when I realised I was getting bonuses and free meals and perks that the other staff weren’t getting. (£15 an hour for working Christmas day when everyone else was on £8 was no little thing to a skint teenager)

He gave me a £300 trench coat (which took some explaining to my parents who I think to this day still assume I ‘serviced’ him in return)

He took me shoe shopping when he decided that the shoes I had weren’t smart enough for his restaurant. He gave me the keys to his Landrover the day after I passed my driving test so I could ‘fill her up’ when she needed it.

He tried very hard to get me drunk enough to do things that I am not naturally inclined to do. (and, given my age at the time would have been illegal anyway) But he failed. I just got drunk on leftover wine from weddings and staggered the few hundred yards home on my own.

I eventually left when he took me shopping for a new suit and tried to hold my hand while we were walking around the store.

Even then, I may not have left if it hadn’t been for the fact that a girl I had a crush on had a Saturday job at the store and told everyone at college on the Monday that she had seen me out with my boyfriend. Yet another person that I never got to have sex with. (her, not him. Wait…that sounds wrong…I never had sex with him either)

God bless you Malcolm, I hope you found the boy of your dreams eventually. (I’m 35 and still available if you’re still rich…but I still won’t let you fuck me)
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 16:37, 5 replies)

Wiping shit on battery eggs to 'disguise' them as free range wasn't nice.
Either for myself or the punters.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Thu 7 Jul 2011, 16:36, 9 replies)

I find that invariably, the best way to stop me doing something is to oblige me to do it.
I was a keen writer, so started a career in the media.

The glamour of journalism and producing copy loses its shine when you've got an editor telling you to have 500 words from four different angles on their desk by lunchtime.

We split the band up when we got to the point where we'd far rather stay in the pub than go and rehearse.

My photography is increasingly being sought by various people as prints and for calendars and things.

Putting together a portfolio has now become a chore.

I just hope word of my bedroom prowess doesn't get out, as then I'll probably go off sex.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 16:25, 10 replies)

I was once asked to not ask too many KYC questions
about one of our Nigerian clients. I was only relatively junior and still hadn't turned into the apathetic cynic that I am now so I reported him to Financial Services as suspicious. Turns out he was. I didn't get the sack though, which was nice.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 7 Jul 2011, 16:23, 3 replies)

Technically speaking I work for my wife so
if I relayed the naughtiest thing she had ever asked me to do it would only produce accusations from you lot of Honda Accordianism and internet virgin lies!
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 7 Jul 2011, 16:17, 15 replies)

Emvee's story reminds me
A while ago I did freelance English copywriting here in China. One account I had was for an Indian restaurant which wanted more foreign customers. They wanted me to astroturf (some people evidently call it sockpuppeting but I've seen it called astroturfing, in the sense of fake grassroots so I'm going to call it that) the various foreigner websites, giving it positive reviews, voting for it in end-of-year polls etc. Since it seemed like half the reviews in the websites were obvious fakes, and they were paying me real money, I was agreeable.

The thing about reviews is that the person giving them has to appear credible. If you're creating an online persona, a photo helps, as does reviewing numerous other places, even taking part in the forums, etc. So in some of them I used photos of "girl next door" types snaffled from Google, as women on the internet are obviously a rarity and highly prized. And it seemed to work well, as "their" reviews were often the most read.

What amazed me, though, was the amount of private messages "the girls" got. As a man I'd never relly been aware of the amount of lame attempts guys throw at women - well, here was direct proof, with lots of "Damn, baby, you FINE" and "Hey, I liked the reviews, we go to same places, wanna meet?" and "I am Chinese, 170cm, 28 years old, 65kg, how about you?" I was tempted to reply to some of them saying "How dumb are you?!" but felt caution was better and just ignored them. It did give me a brief insight into what it must be like for a woman, and how men behave towards them - not an edifying sight.

As for the Indian restaurant, they got thrown out of the end-of-year poll for obviously cheating, and I got a proper job. Still, they do a great bhuna. Honest.
(McChinaman banned, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 16:10, 6 replies)

I was born in 1978 and am still not dead yet.
I started work as a journalist one day in 1995 and hacked my first phone three hours later, work experience meaning something in those days
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 16:06, 7 replies)