Bastard chef
My missus worked in pubs as a barmaid for most of her teens (she looked a lot older than she was). When she was about 17, one of the pubs she worked in also did food. It was strictly "chicken ding" type stuff, but it was always fairly busy and she always got to serve on tables, being the youngest.

Unfortunately, the chef (I say "chef" he was the bloke who worked the microwave) at this pub took a shine to my beloved and his harmless flitations rapidly moved through dirty comments straight to outright sexual harrasment. My missus got pissed off with this and told him keep his filthy (and they were filthy) hands off her arse or she'd knock the fucker out - only in slightly more colourful language.

The day after this, I wander into said pub for a crafty free pint and saw my missus had a bandage on one of her hands. Turns out the fucking prick had left a plate on a gas ring for a while, then got my missus to pick it up. She actually still has a scar from this.

Red flag.

He got as far as "you can't come into my ki.." when I nutted him. He didn't actually go down, but he did stagger around the kitchen for a bit, pissing blood all over everything that he was preparing. I wandered back out into the bar and seethed quietly for a while.

Not long after, customers grumbled about their food taking a while to emerge. But emerge it did. I kept an eye on everything that came out the kitchen, not least because I expected a knife-weilding chef to be one of that day's specials, and it all showed signs of having had something spilled on it, then hastily wiped off.

He never hassled her after that, for some reason.
(ScousersPet, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:26, 1 reply)

I was
just about to post a story about how I once had a nosebleed into some bolognese sauce once. I hasten to add I'm not the prevert who hassled your missus, honest.
(GONEism, Fri 19 Sep 2008, 15:29, closed)