Sandettie Light Vessel Automatic reminds me.......
I too worked for a car rental company, Hertz, utter cunt of a manager, Lyn Lees I shall call her, for that is the cunts name.
Had to take cars/vans to local army/raf bases, bring different one back. No lifts.
Used to always stop for a fag and something to eat, sometimes a bit of a lie down in the sun.
Best day ever, driving a Jag X-Type with about 20 miles on the clock, around newquay, with my own CD's blasting out!
We had a depot at Newquay Airport, which is quiet as shit, and the cunt was based at Truro Train Station, so I spent a nice summer laying on the grass outside the office, flirting with the boys from Avis next door, and driving brand new cars.
If it were my job to lock up at night, and open in the morning (Only usually one person on at the airport) I'd take a car home and spend the evening cruising around with my mates, using company fuel, and having a blast in a brand new, top of the range motor.
I knew all along I was going to jack it in at the end of the summer, and couldn't care less if I got sacked, so I really took the piss.
It was awesome, but I really really do not miss the cunt. her hubby was a matlow and cheated continually on her, which I'm assuming is why her face always looked like she had a lemon shoved up her ass!

Edit: And apologies to 100% Cock for building Lyn up and failing to deliver :P
Ok, where to start? She was a bit of a slag. She redid her make-up every 10 minutes or so, and had her hair straighteners in the office which she used every half hour or so. I ran a brush through my hair in the morning and slapped a bit of mascara on before I left the house. For this reason she was always making snide remarks about my appearance. I was 21 and gorgeous, she was late 40's and haggard, I think it was jealousy. (I'm now 29 and not as gorgeous as i was when I was 21 boooo) She had this croney that worked there, Sadie. Sadie was golden bitch. She was allowed to do anything. If I was a mere 2 minutes late I would be bollocked, if Sadie was half hour late that was fine. Sadies boyfriend (or was at the time anyway) is no other than BBC Radio Cornwall's David White. A big fat letch of a pervert who kept touching my ass at the Xmas party. I digress....
Lyns husband was in the Navy, and lived up to his Matlow reputation, I think the make-up, the hair and the utter cuntiness stemmed from her low self esteem. Her face could almost have been pretty if it wasn't so fucking sour. I can't really remember any one great situation, she was just a sly little bitch to everyone. You all know what I mean, you've all met a Lyn Lees in your life somewhere.....
( user_names_suck, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 12:49, 9 replies)

Licenced to loaf
I'm disabled with ME, and my best chances of recovery are to stay away from any remotely stressful situation and spend my days doing what I find relaxing, while gradually and gently increasing my level of excercise. In other words I *have* to loaf, and get paid by the government to do so.

So, apart from the ongoing pain,total lack of energy, fucked up brain and all the other shit it's kind of cool.
(teasus likes tea, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 12:22, 2 replies)

dweeb porn resizer
This slightly odd bloke I had the pleasure of dealing with through work once said to me 'hey, guess what, I've managed to get some freelance work resizing images for porn websites, fnarr fnarr'.
A few weeks later I asked how it was going and he went a kind of green colour and said he couldn't stand it. It'd put him off porn, nay sex forever. Apparently staring at gersqillions of images of people fucking in various creative (or not) way for several hours at a time several days a week gets to you after a while.

Who'd have known?
(teasus likes tea, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 12:18, 1 reply)

As a motorcycle journalist...
I was paid to do things like this. On a Spanish race track. While staying in a five-star hotel. Wearing free kit. On somebody else's bike. While somebody else took photos of me.



So long cylinder head...
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 11:35, 6 replies)

My easiest job
would have to of been when working in the control systems industry, kitting out boardrooms with automation equipment and wotnot. Anyway one day me and a colleague were booked to go and see quite a high profile client and iron out some issues with their system. We both knew it was going to be a long day, more than likely one of those 8pm + finishes, not to mention having to get the (3 hour+) train in and out of london. Pain in the arse!

Anyway, we got there and I sat in the boardroom, connected my laptop to the control point and my colleague went into the rack room. About 5 minutes later I'm sitting there wondering what's taking him so long, so I peered round the door to find him scraping the circuit board of one of the components with a screwdriver. We made eye contact, both knew it was for the best and I left him to it while I went back to my laptop.

10 minutes later we were out of there, confirmed hardware failure, would take a few days for the replacement to arrive. What a bummer!
( Firkinfedup last shat on your wife's tits at, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 11:31, Reply)

My job used to be easy
As I am a supermodel I used to live the life of riley. All I had to do was turn up at a photoshoot, wear whatever clothing I was asked to, look in the right direction and get paid a shitload of money but recently it has become hell.

God knows exactly when it happened but a recent change to our job description on a global scale means that we also have to have sex with any Honda Accord owner that dishes out vigilante justice within a 100 yard radius. I seem to be doing this a hell of a lot (several times a week nowadays) and am walking like john friggin wayne after the last incident (I won’t shame the bloke in question but let me just say that trying to shove your limited edition light sabre up my ass while reading me your own script treatment to a possible sequel to Krull is not my idea of kinky. I don’t even know what the glaive is for god’s sake!!!!

Sorry for the rant, I have to get off now as duty calls I’ve just heard the tell tale sound of a car bearing down on some local drug dealer.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 10:33, 3 replies)

I don't think I've had an easy job
since I developed the bum-grapes a few years back.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 10:29, Reply)

four months pay for three weeks work. Muahahahaaa
I was rather skint and eventually caved in and got a job at the local Nortel opto-electronics factory I swore I'd never work at. The first week of work constisted of health and safety training - ie sitting around being told how to use chairs and to wash your hands after you go to the toilet.

Then the actual job kicked in. I can't pretend I enjoyed it at all. My work consisted of plugging a chip into a machine, pressing a button and then waiting for the machine to test the chip. It took just long enough to be boring and was just short enough to not have time to do much else.
It was also a clean-room environment so we had to wear lab coats and couldn't bring anything inat all. We were allowed to have a radio in there as long as it was tuned to the local radio station. Fun place to be, eh?

Then after a week of soul destroying boredom, rumours started going round that there were going to be layoffs. I had mixed reactions about this - money was a definite plus, but I couldn't go on much longer without my brain dribbling out of my nostrils.

After a week of rumours, a meeting was called and we were told they would be laying off 5000 people, which was almost everyone, with immediate effect. Buses were laid on to take us home and we were sent out before anyone kicked off.

I got talking to a mate who lived near me. He had, for some reason called a taxi so we were still waiting when the TV crew got there. Everyone else had gone on the buses, so they only had us to interview. I said my bit about being pissed off, having a family to feed and it was a bit shite, and off they troggled and put me on telly. An ex-boss saw the interview and phoned me to offer me some work the next day.

I then got a letter from Nortel saying they were offering everyone the same redundancy pay - they'd finish the months pay and then pay another three months wages, even the people who'd only just got the jobs. Huzzah quoth I!
(teasus likes tea, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 8:48, 6 replies)

The dream of every literature nerd... I got paid for reading books.
While doing a literature PhD and spending a few hours a week teaching tidbits of what I knew to gangly undergrads (my formal job), I moonlighted as a literary advisor to a publishing house. This basically meant reading two to three books a week and writing a one-page report on each of them, outlining the plot and narration and advising the publishing house on whether or not they should have this book translated and published here. This paid as much as my formal job.

My rough guess is that I read about 400 books during a 3-year period: mostly novels, but also history, natural science and the odd memoir. Many books were really good,, and there was also the thrill of finding out stuff no one else had any idea about: I got to know Jonathan Strange, Never Let Me Go and the original source of the Munich movie before anyone else around here. (I tried to keep some of the books - I still have giant folders full of print-outs of novels on my shelves.) I I came across a really bad book, I could simply skip through it and report it, truthfully, as too dull to be read by the public. I never would have had the opportunity to get, or even know about, any of these without the job.

I even got to attend the big book fairs - in Frankfurt and London - for the publishing house. I didn't get extra money for these, but I got to take fancy vacations, stay in hotels, eat a lot fo good Chinese food (which does not really exist here) on the company account, and order the books that I wanted to read in the next few months directly from their publishers. Unfortunately, the whole arrangement was dumped when my employers decided they had no more money to spend on foreign books. But it was a beautiful time of getting to be a know-it-all and being paid for it.
(joansie, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 7:40, 2 replies)

Gamer boy bait ...
I always have, and always will be, a gamer gal.

It all started back in the glorious days of 1985 when my jammy wee sod of a sister won a Nintendo Entertainment System off the back of a packet of Rice Bubbles. We were instantly the most popular kids in the street. That summer was nothing but all day Super Mario Bros fests at ours, until the olds kicked us off the box to watch Neighbours. The swines.

That little old grey box of endless amusement sounded the first death knell for that other great time and money soak, the gaming arcade.

During my early uni days, I managed to score the most awesome job of all ... in a high-tech, flashy games parlour. It was a chain launched in Australia in the early 90s as a last ditch attempt by one arm of an ailing gaming industry to fend off the relentless march of the home gaming console.

Whilst it lasted, it was brilliant. Occasionally handing out change to punters. Cleaning and, ahem, testing the machines. And my mighty bi-lock key of power provided me with endless free games. Time Crisis, Street Fighter, Ninja Turtles, Alien vs Predator ... I made each one my bitch. I got busted by the (unregistered sex offender) manager, who instead of firing me had a great idea. I was encouraged to challenge the regulars at their favourite games. No male teenage ego could stand the challenge to put his initials above mine in the top 10 and be relieved of his cash with frightening speed in the process.

I was so damn young and naive at the time, that I never realised that I was gamer boy bait. Neither did I question why I always landed the 8pm to 12pm shifts and had a security guard escort me to my car.
(Que?, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 6:00, 3 replies)

Remember the dot com boom?
Toward the end of it I had a job with a company that built websites for various companies. As the resident word monkey my job was to write all the content then give little mini-journalism courses to the client's staff so they could update things from then on.
After a while we had about 40 sites up and running, all the staff had been taught and I was in "overseeing" mode.
This meant I'd get into work with a novel, read until lunch time, go out for a couple of hours (usually the Hellenic club for cheap lunch and beers), come back and watch whatever movie the sysad had downloaded that morning, have a really long shit while doing a sudoku, then go home.
About once a week I'd take a 20-second call from someone wanting to know how to correctky use a compound adjective or whether they had an apostrophe in the wrong place.
After about three months of this I actually got so bored I engineered my own redundancy.
Because I was being paid by clients and a percentage of that was going to the company I was working for, the boss actually tried to talk me into staying.
( difficultchild, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 4:42, Reply)

I spent 3 weeks raspberry picking in tasmania with some friends over summer
standing on hilly fields with amazing views of rolling hills and rocky mountains with goldern sun breaking through the cool mist, and an endless supply of beautiful fruit to snack on. Apart from the odd day of almost debilitating back pain, it's the closest ive come to heaven in my life.
(augsav forgot about B3ta, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 4:15, Reply)

It's not always easy...
Being a journalist who specialises in the entertainment world, but I do recall a moment where I was relaxing in a pool at some five-star Hawaiian resort, watching the sun go down after another day of sitting on the beach to watch Lost being filmed.
The waitress had just delivered some chicken wings and another beer when my phone went *ding*.
It was an email to confirm my pay had just gone through.
( difficultchild, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 3:26, Reply)

Easiest job, you say?
I'm a journalist working for an arts magazine.

I spend my days drinking free coffee and reading reviews on whatsonstage and tripadvisor respectively.

Then I turn them into a review of hotels I've never been to and plays I've never seen. Except when they're close to home and I can be bothered to cash in my free ticket.


It's a tough life.
(jennymnemonic, Wed 15 Sep 2010, 23:04, 7 replies)

The vibrating desk
Back in 2005 just after I got married I got myself a job at an American biotech firm as one half of a two person team of European Marketing Executives. The other person had to work their 2 month notice period but they wanted me onboard straight away. Things were shaping up to be hectic and stressful. They pushed my start date forward twice. Once asking if next week was OK and then they called again and said "yeahhhhhh, how about tomorrow?"

I arrived. I had a meet and greet with my temporary line manager who navigated me through what can only be described as an air conditioned cattle shed. Big, ugly open plan office. Hundreds of people sitting within what seemed like centimetres of each other. Where was she taking me? What fate lay in store? Was the canteen subsidised? This and many other questions were running through my mind.

We made our way to a glass panelled room. It was my office!

I felt like a fucking king. I got to stare down on the minions who worked there (it was slightly elevated. I had to walk up a ramp to get to the door) whilst I sat in my own private space. None of this 8 desk cluster bullshit. I had my own desk, with my own chair and my own computer in my own office.

Life was sweet.

For about an hour.

Then my desk began to vibrate.

Now, it has to be highlighted that my manager had a bit of a cougar thing going on and my very first thoughts involved her trying to seduce me using a very elaborate and technically involved method whereby my entire workstation was rigged to act as a office themed marital aid.

About 2 seconds later I realised why my plush, private, palatial office was vacant. It was situated directly over a huge piece of humming machinery (the whole office was above part of the manufacturing facility) which turned on and off at frequent intervals.

So I sat there at my novelty vibrating desk waiting for someone to come and see me about orientation and a more detailed discussion regarding the ins and outs of my role within their organisation.

They never came.

For 10 weeks!

I did have a very interesting discussion with my "manager" regarding whether or not she should blow 2 grand on a trip to lapland to see santa with her youngest daughter. Other than that I got to sit at a desk with chronic intermittent diesel dick and all you can eat access to the gloriously unfiltered intermawebs.

Finally, after two and a half months they got their shit together and introduced me to my new line manager. His name was richard and he was a dick. He was pushing forty and our first meeting involved him sitting across from me wearing baggy jeans, skate shoes and the all time classic, t-shirt over long sleeve combo.

At the end of our meeting he finished off with a steve jobs like sign off.

"oh, OTT. Nice bag. snigger snigger".

I walked out with my briefcase and resolved never to set foot back in the place.

I took them for another month of sick pay and then handed in my notice. His response? Garden leave. I enjoyed that summer and autumn without having to work another minute and got myself a proper job in the new year.

I still miss the desk sometimes.
(OTT, Wed 15 Sep 2010, 22:03, Reply)

I'm a miner in Chile
Due to a supervisors cock-up, we had a cave in not so long back which has resulted in us being stuck here, away from management and more importantly, our nagging wives. Theres 33 of us down here, and we've got all the equipment to dig ourselves out but we thought fuck it, we'll just sit on our arses waiting for THEM to get US. Nice lot of overtime thank you very much! Hopfully well be here till december, so thats christmas sorted! One of my mates' missus has even had a baby; so he's got out of dodge on the ol' nappy changing - lucky bastard!

Some say i'm poor and unfortunate, me? I've got the easiest job ever!
(sunray18, Wed 15 Sep 2010, 20:47, 1 reply)

"Hey!" ........................."Hey!"
Listen!

I have the easiest job ever.It's just me and my boss where I work - he does a lot of what I guess you could call freelance combat work.

I'm behind him all the way - it's my job to give him the lowdown on any new developments. Everything I say is bang on form, incredibly useful and right on time. My alert system, as you can see above, is better than an iphone.

Why my job is so easy? I repeat the same crap over and over again, flash at my boss for no reason *at all* and then disappear in the final battle because this corporate badass Ganondorf wants to take over our patch and I get all overpowered. No bluesky thinking for me.

But hey! hey! I'll always be back. Except at the very end. Again. Proving that, Link, you were never the boss of me.
(treaclebriggs, Wed 15 Sep 2010, 19:27, 3 replies)