I spend all my time around this twat
My own fault for living with someone I work with, I suppose. This guy is a total klutz and so disorganised he makes rush hour central London look a German traffic warden's paperclip collection. Did he drop paint in the food cupboard and splatter it all over the place because he was too lazy to put the lid on the can properly? Yes. Did he run the dishwasher with Fairy Liquid and turn the kitchen into a 90's era Ibiza foam party? Yes. Did he shut the front door before leaving at 1am the other night, meaning my female flatmate didn't have to come home to a frankly terrifying dark and abandoned house with door flapping in the breeze? Of course not.

This tool is the kind of guy who loads 50% of the stock for a trade show into his car, takes it home, unloads it into the living room for everyone to trip over, then loads it back into the car, RETURNS TO THE SAME WAREHOUSE and loads up the other 50%. He's the guy who stresses out that he's going to be late for said show, leaves late, then completely forgets this fact and decides there's time to stop for a burger en route.

The coup de grace was yesterday when he put my phone down on a table in a public place, said out loud, "hey I should move that before somebody lifts it" and then ... well, put it this way: I'm posting from my laptop.

The worst part is, this dipshit has the audacity to be myself, so I can't even yell at him without looking like a total mental.
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 15:50, 1 reply)

Ah - I'm glad
I thought you were talking about me, and I live with my girlfriend, so I though you were a 39-year-old Norfolk-born history teacher called Liz. I was all set to send you an irritated text message.
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 16:19, closed)