Ignoring Instructions
When I was small, a friend of mine waved a big plastic bottle at me and asked me if I "wanted some drinking yoghurt?" I pointed out the "do not drink" label, but no, he was convinced this was a big jug of a particularly strange, liquid yoghurt that was briefly popular in the 70s.
He was sick for hours, after consuming a suprisingly large quantity of washing liquid.
What instructions have you ignored?
( , Thu 4 May 2006, 11:24)
When I was small, a friend of mine waved a big plastic bottle at me and asked me if I "wanted some drinking yoghurt?" I pointed out the "do not drink" label, but no, he was convinced this was a big jug of a particularly strange, liquid yoghurt that was briefly popular in the 70s.
He was sick for hours, after consuming a suprisingly large quantity of washing liquid.
What instructions have you ignored?
( , Thu 4 May 2006, 11:24)
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Never burn Marmite
All these microwave stories remind me of an ex-work colleague of mine, known (non-affectionately) as Wanky Mark. We were working in a newly-opened Virgin Megastore at the time.
One midweek morning, the fire alarms went off. Dutifully obeying instructions, I left my office and proceeded to the evacuation point outside. Through a thick fog of choking, acrid, ORANGE smoke. I have never smelt anything so foul before or since.
Luckily, the tiny blaze was contained in the shiny brand new microwave in the staffroom and had gone out before the fire brigade even arrived. Wanky Mark had decided, as Mr Branson's budget hadn't stretched to a Breville sandwich toaster, he would try MICROWAVING his Marmite sandwiches. Wanky Mark had never used a microwave before. Did he consult the instruction manual still sitting on the top? Did he fuck. He set the microwave on full power for fifteen minutes and lumbered off down the corridor for a leisurely shit.
The result? A couple of grand in lost revenue, one fucked microwave and a whole corner of the staffroom permanently stained Fagnolia beige.
On our return, he still retrieved his sandwiches from the microwave, tentatively nibbled on a non-charred piece... and promptly broke a tooth.
Thick twat.
( , Sat 6 May 2006, 16:39, Reply)
All these microwave stories remind me of an ex-work colleague of mine, known (non-affectionately) as Wanky Mark. We were working in a newly-opened Virgin Megastore at the time.
One midweek morning, the fire alarms went off. Dutifully obeying instructions, I left my office and proceeded to the evacuation point outside. Through a thick fog of choking, acrid, ORANGE smoke. I have never smelt anything so foul before or since.
Luckily, the tiny blaze was contained in the shiny brand new microwave in the staffroom and had gone out before the fire brigade even arrived. Wanky Mark had decided, as Mr Branson's budget hadn't stretched to a Breville sandwich toaster, he would try MICROWAVING his Marmite sandwiches. Wanky Mark had never used a microwave before. Did he consult the instruction manual still sitting on the top? Did he fuck. He set the microwave on full power for fifteen minutes and lumbered off down the corridor for a leisurely shit.
The result? A couple of grand in lost revenue, one fucked microwave and a whole corner of the staffroom permanently stained Fagnolia beige.
On our return, he still retrieved his sandwiches from the microwave, tentatively nibbled on a non-charred piece... and promptly broke a tooth.
Thick twat.
( , Sat 6 May 2006, 16:39, Reply)
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