Taxi!
A couple of jobs ago I worked for a company repairing computer monitors and other such electronic goodies. I was but a lowly workshop administrator and at first I was quite shy as I was fresh from failing 6th form college and had never worked in a male-dominated environment before. A couple of years roll by and I have built up a rapport with various colleagues throughout the different departments in the building – the engineers, couriers, customer services and warehouse lads. It’s these last rabble of men who play an important role in my tale of woe.

One summer, the company had quite the backlog of work to be dealt with so some agency staff were recruited to help in the warehouse. The agency guys pulled their weight on the whole and there wasn’t much of a problem with them. A couple of them even had excellent sense of humours, got on well with the warehouse staffs’ filthy conversations (alas, I was sometimes privy to all manner of ‘untoward’ topics during my frequent visits to the territory of the forklift truck) and were game for a laugh.

One poor soul is the hero (?) of this story, for it was he and not I who was the recipient of the prank.

I must stop here and ensure all you dear readers that the deed was not malicious, racist or xenophobic in anyway whatsoever. Our hero was from Asia, somewhere around the sub-continent. His nationality escapes me along with his name. I must assure you all that he had the best sense of humour of all the agency workers employed at the time of the incident, played a lot of jokes on everyone else and rubbed along nicely with everyone he worked alongside.

Let me now introduce you to the players of the piece. There is myself, of course, Sarah. Our victim shall be known as ‘X’. Two of the regular warehouse workers are ‘P’ and ‘T’. A roving courier shall be named as ‘S’. Finally one of the parts stores employees is ‘J’.

Part of my role as an administrator in the workshop was to handle requisition forms for spare parts for the engineers use. An engineer would sidle up to my desk and swipe the requisition pad for whatever nefarious means he had in mind. (Probably ordering parts, given the nature of the pad…) He would complete the necessary sections, tear off the section and return the pad to my desk and unceremoniously dump his completed form in my in-tray for me to process. At this point, I would sigh dramatically, retrieve the form from the depths of my in-tray and, clutching the form, make a great play of dragging my overworked carcass to the parts store hatch.

The buzzer for immediate and prompt (hah!) attention would be depressed, the length of time dependant on the mood I was in and if I wanted to rile the parts administrator or not. The parts monkey would sign the form off, steal the yellow copy for his library of records and return the remaining to forms to me. I would then skip gaily back into the depths of the workshop, present the white copy to the engineer in question and obsessively file my very own blue copy into the relevant folder.

Now, from time to time, other departments needed to requisition items as well and this would dealt with in the same way. When I write ‘other departments’, this includes the warehouse. So one fine sunny morning, I was strolling through the goods in section of the warehouse on a covert mission to find out why my rambunctious herd of engineers were leaving some jobs longer than others on the in-racks. Suddenly I heard a noise. It sounded like two grown men conniving a naughty deed and sniggering childishly about the same. Nosy as I am, I strode around the other side of the rack and confronted the gents.

“I dread to think what you two are up to now,” I say.
“Nothing!” cries T, trying to compose himself.
“Piffle and tosh,” I intone, “you and P are always up to something.”
“Whatever can you mean, Sarah?” implores P.
“You know fully well what I am getting at. I demand you let me in on the japery this instance or I shall…”
“’Or you shall’ what?” asks P.
“I’ll sulk! Yes, that’s what I’ll do! I’ll sulk as only a twenty-one year old girl can do! What will you do then?”

Knowing full well what a first-rate sulk I can produce and having experienced the full-blown stroppy cow I can be, T and P relent. Plus, they know I share some of the meaner aspects of their taste in humour.

“Well,” starts T. “We were telling X about how requisition forms work.”
“Snigger,” murmurs P.
“Yes, well what’s so funny about that?” demand I.
“Shut up, you impatient harridan, and we shall tell” T continues.
“Yes,” concurs P.
“Well, you know how X gets to and from work thanks to his better half, Mrs. X?” asks T.
“Yes, I do. I saw her not yesterday evening, as a couple of her children were trying to dive under the wheels of my car as I tried to make good my escape from the shackles of gainful employment.” I describe.
“That’s it!” Exclaims P.
“Well we managed to convince X that he can fill out a requisition form for a taxi to and from work each day!” T rounds off triumphantly.
“Guffaw!” bellows P.
“What a completely diabolical, evil and wicked wheeze!” I agree.
“Golly, isn’t it?” T and P utter.
“Yes, and you know what? I can make it work.” I crow, as the seeds of the dastardly scheme are planted and start to sprout in my mind.
“How?!” Clamour T and P are desperate for more on my devious plan.
“Simple,” I begin smugly, “get him to fill out a form, completing five lines, label each line with a weekday starting this coming Monday and in the description field put ‘taxi to / taxi from work’!”
“Then you’ll process it like a proper requisition!” P has got the gist already.
“Absolutely. J in parts will sign the form too, just in case X wants to actually witness his request going through. One of you two needs to brief J. Now!” I know J, not being the parts supervisor, will be game for a laugh too.
“Hurray!” T and P emit happily.

I left T and P to carry out their part in the deed and prance back through the doors to the workshop and to my desk.

Soon, X appears at my desk and asks for the requisition forms. I can see T and P over the far side of the workshop at the warehouse doors, giggling like a pair of chimpanzees on ecstasy. I tear off a form for X and he heads back to the warehouse. I smile to myself, and get on with some proper work, like haranguing an errant engineer or two.

Shortly, X reappears at my desk, accompanied by P who I hear telling X to put the form in my in-tray. X does so, and hovers for a moment. I enquire.

“Everything alright, X?”
“Yes, great…”
“But?” I prompt.
“Well,” starts X, “I think T and P are pulling my leg so is it okay if I come with you to get my form signed off?”
“Absolutely. Let’s go over to parts now and get it sorted.”

I take a firm grip of the form and set off towards the parts store hatch. By now, P has scarpered back into the warehouse. I know full well that A will have spoken to J in parts and prepped him on the gag so I don’t hesitate for a moment. I saunter to the hatch and give the buzzer and extra forceful ‘bzzzzzzt!’.

The hatch doors swing open, not spectacularly, but with a certain kind of unexciting lacklustre normality. “Good, J’s playing along” I think to myself. I slide the form over to J for inspection. He does just that. He doesn’t embellish, doesn’t raise an eyebrow – not a single flinch or something that could make X suspicious. J actually grunts at me and scrawls his John Hancock on the form almost sloppily. He removes his yellow copy as per procedure and gives me back the other two pages. I give the white one to X and tell him to sling his hook, which he does.

Upon returning to my desk, I make sure X has definitely gone back to the warehouse, and tuck my blue copy of the form in one of my desk drawers. I even allow myself a little smile.

Lunchtime passes by uneventfully, and before I know it, it’s about 3.00pm. Taking my daily cue, I proceed back to the warehouse to make sure the guys are getting their deliveries stacked up on their pallets and to give dispatch a hand with their paperwork. S the regular courier pulls up and slopes into the warehouse and hovers near the dispatch office door and the warehouse terminal point and starts on the routine abuse dishing out and receiving.

I beckon S into the office and tell him to shut the door behind him. I then proceed to inform him of the morning’s hi-jinks which he approves of heartily. As he’s the regular driver, I tell him to play along, before ejecting him back out into the warehouse. I follow him a few moments later with handfuls of dispatch paperwork for T, P and X to be cracking on with. I am happy to witness S revelling in really confirming morning’s events with glee and absolute believability.

Success! X is completely taken in. A decent piece of mischief expertly carried out. And that’s how I was party to taking advantage of someone’s gullibility.

Now, before you get up in arms, I will assure you that we all came clean to X before S left with the days’ deliveries. X had a mini-tantrum, but only for a short while before he found it just as funny as the rest of us. Oh, how we laughed! T and P got a small earful off Mrs. X the next morning, who had also seen the funny side. And for the rest of that summer, X was a very good sport and even taped his white copy of the form up on the wall in the warehouse for everyone to see and subsequently take the piss out of him over.

Length? Sod that, girth’s where it’s at: a requisition form is about 15cm wide!
(Sahara Desert http://www.twitter.com/thesaharadesert for swears, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 21:04, 3 replies)

Sorry... gave up half way thru.
Your first one was ace, though =o]
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 22:41, closed)

Indeed.
It was a glorious piece of tom foolery.
(The If has remembered this site., Sat 23 Aug 2008, 6:38, closed)

Talk about long winded
There's making a story interesting and then there's this. Don't over embellish it so much- made for a boring read.
(British Steel was participating in awesomeness on, Sat 23 Aug 2008, 9:14, closed)