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This is a question Jobsworths

All over the world there are little people following the rules and being arsey because, let's face it, it's fun.

Tell us about your experiences with petty jobsworths, or, if you are a petty jobsworth, tell us how much you get off on it.

(, Thu 12 May 2005, 9:53)
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This question is now closed.

Railway and Rubbish Jobsworthiness
Seeing this post has reminded me...

When our local council introduced a two-bin recycling scheme it meant that the normal rubbish was only collected once a fortnight and anything that didn't fit in the wheelie-bin was not collected. What to do with the extra rubbish?

Easy! Take it to work and throw it in the skip. All the rubbish removed from trains and platforms goes there, as well as my bin bags. Trouble is everyone else had the same idea so management promised Big Trouble for anyone that was caught throwing their own rubbish in the skip.

The solution? Leave bags of rubbish in the luggage racks of the local train for the cleaners to throw in the skip for me.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 13:28, Reply)
Anyone else think that Ian Maiden (see below) sounds a bit like one of those Jobsworths...

(, Tue 17 May 2005, 13:27, Reply)
More Pizza Hut fun
Whizzer - you reminded me of that delightful chap Simon, of the Exeter Hut.

On my (unplanned) last day of work there, the nob bollocked me for refusing to wear my standard issue chavvy baseball hat in the store, as the temp was about 40 degrees in there and I was close to passing out. So he gave me the tough choice of going home or wearing my hat.

Hmmm.... unfashionable heatstroke or a glorious summer evening having a few bevvies in the park with my mates? Tough call Simon, you cock.

I left the next day and never looked back. Well, actually , I went to work for Dominoes but thankfully that part of my life is now over :o)
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 13:16, Reply)
Wondering whether or not I had any material for this one when this cracker just happened.

Scratty bin bloke comes into the office and begins rooting around in my bosses bin. My boss asks him 'what are you doing?' Scratty guy replies in a strong Preston accent 'you can't put glass or metal in these bins- health and safety', before proudly removing an empty jar of Kenco, placing it on bosses desk and then pissing off.

I'm bringing in some battery acid and an old sofa tomorrow so I can have the 'its not glass or metal' conversation with him.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 13:06, Reply)
Charity Shop
Just remembered one time when I cleraed out all the clothes out of my wardrobe that I didnt wear, being as generous as I am I decide to take them to my local shopping precint and give them to a charity shop.
When me and my boyfriend get there, there had been a powercut and the shopping centre was closed, so we headed to the charity shop around the corner. I knock on the door and a woman answers it, I hold up my 3 huge bags of clothes and she says:
'Sorry I cant take them, theres been a power cut'
WTF? since when did a power cut stop you taking in donations? Me being annoyed and not prepared to carry the stuff back left the bags outside the door. Not my fault if some Chav Scum take it.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 12:48, Reply)
For fuck's sake.
Read the question. Read it again. Ask a grown-up for help if you don't understand it.

That might help you to avoid posting replies which have absolutely fuck all to do with the topic.

And another thing - don't lie. You know who you are. Making up stories to impress messageboard people you'll never meet is not cool.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 12:27, Reply)
MedionShop.co.uk - avoid!

After selling me a faulty, refurbished laptop computer as new (Sale of Goods Act, anyone?), just trying to get my money back out of these people took me bloody weeks, and that's with Trading Standards on my side.

Multiple phone calls of the "It's with accounting" and "Your cheque will be in the post this week" variety - hmm, nice customer service, guys'n'gals.

Best exchange: "Where did you get that then? We haven't sold those since 2003" "I bought it from you." "Ah."

The most jobsworthy bit was when I asked if there was any way they would consider my time, credit card interest, and general hassle for all this. After all, if they loaned me £500 for 4 months they'd bloody well expect some money off me for the privilege, wouldn't they?

Not a chance, I am told, in no uncertain terms.

Bloody jobsworths.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 12:22, Reply)
I am a twit
One sunny morning I didn't feel like going into college so I decided that it might be a fun idea to scribble this little fact into my blog with an explanation that the teacher was a prolific sucker of slimy horse cock.

As I walk in in the afternoon my mate Colin tells me I'm in the shit. The lesson I missed was web design and as everyone knew the address they went along for a peek at what I'd been up to. Dave (cunt teacher cunt) printed off the entry and sent it to his supervisor.

I got a nasty letter a few days later...
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 12:18, Reply)
Before direct debits, I'd write the cheques for each bill as it came in. I'd take them to the bank once a month on once I'd been paid.

Snotty and loud cashier...

"You could just write one cheque"

Yes but a cheque for each bill means it's easier to check if I make a mistake or forget to pay one.

"Why do you use this credit card"

Me.. no reply

"Ours has a much better interest rate"

Lots of people around me and not wishing to discuss my finaces in front of them... no reply

"Don't you want to save money"


They also had a girl who used to cold call me at home trying to get me to arrange a meeting with the manager to review my account.

After 5 minutes trying to find out why he wanted to see me. She admits it's to try to persuade me to take out a loan. This happened a number of times despite me asking them not to ring me.

As I knew who the girl was, I went to the bar where she had an evening job. Saying to my wife, "this is the girl who keeps trying to get us to see the bank manager so he can get us to take out a loan"... In front of lots of customers. Suprisingly the phone calls stopped.

I'm now with an internet only bank and don't have do deal with rude people to pay bills and no one tries to sell me anything I don't want.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 12:00, Reply)
248 bus from Romford
Many years ago, a friend and I had just returned from a school trip abroad and were on our way home. We were unfortunate enough to bump into a twat of a bus driver on the final leg. This berk wouldn't allow us to buy child tickets without proof-of-age cards, despite being able to produce full British Passports indicating our juvenile status. What an absolute cunt.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:59, Reply)
Hairy Scruttocks
"some girl straight off the boat" - are you really that much of a penis ?
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:55, Reply)
BT employees are indeed CUNTS
...but Royal Mail plebs are even worse. Anyone expecting a delivery by RM will be aware that they love to put 'sorry you were out' cards through your door without ever trying the doorbell (or indeed the letterbox). On one of my numerous trips to the local RM depot I encountered a prize jobsworth.

(Hands over 'sorry you were out' card, you're not sorry - don't lie to me)

You got I.D?

Yep (hands over driving license)

But thats the wrong address...

I know, I've just started renting a new flat so I don't have any bills with my name on

I can't give you the parcel if you don't have I.D.

I do have I.D. it's in your hand, with the correct name and face on it. I also have the delivery card, (only obtainable by inhabiting the correct address one assumes)

Sorry mate, it's the wrong address.

But it's not a recorded delivery and it doesn't need a signature. Last time I was in I wasn't even asked for I.D.

Look mate, I need proper I.D. or you can't have the package. Have you got a bank card?

A fucking bank card! I.D. with no picture and no address on it at all, but somehow more acceptable than a full UK driving license with photo, permanent address and signature. Twunt.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:51, Reply)
British Gas
I had a budget account, pay £30 a month, averages out over the year to cover higher winter bills. After the winter quarter had a balance of +£100 and still paying £30 quid a month. So I phone...

"Can I reduce my payments to £25 and have the £100 balance refunded, thanks". Thinking £100 will see me right for beer and curry for a couple of weeks.

Some girl who had just arrived from another country, who couldn't speak english too well at all...

"No sir you don't understand how this account works, that £100 is towards next years bill"

Yes but I'm overpaying as well...

\\For x=1 to 10

"No sir you dont understand how the account works"


\\Next x

"You are paying by direct debit we can't give refunds we can only alter your payment"

So if I cancel my direct debit can I have my money refunded

"So you want to cancel your direct debit"

No I want my money refunded


"Well I can give you £40"

No, I want my £100 refunded

"Well how about £50 ?"

I'm not haggling with you, I want MY money refunded and my payments reduced.

"I'll put the supervisor on", he must have been listening in.

Hello sir would you like a cheque or the money paid straight into your bank account.

Bank account please.

I'm no longer with British Gas.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:46, Reply)
Again in the hotel
(Didn't want to add to the bottom of the last answer - length problems - such is life!)

I answered the phone at 8.30am on a Sunday morning. The woman on the other end of the line asked to be put through to Room 365. I tried to connect her but there was no answer. So I asked her did she want to leave a message. She said that she would call back later.

This happened another 4 times with the same woman, never leaving a message, saying she would try later.

By the fifth time, she had obviously had enough, and this time she wanted to leave a message. Pen in hand, I was ready to scribble down the message. This is the message, verbatim:

"Tell that f*cking lying cnut that he can sleep with as many dirty f*cking prostitutes as he likes, but he's never coming back to this f*cking house again. And he'll never seen his children"

I paused on the telephone, expecting her to slam the phone down. Unstead, quite calmly she enquired, "Did you get all that?" I muttered, "A huh".

True to my word, and only doing my job (hey, it was in the rules that all messages should be given promptly to guests), I proceeded to pass on the message to the guest in Room 365. Via the messaging system in the hotel rooms!

The guest in Room 365 came to check out later, and when he did, I asked him (with a grin) whether he had got his message. He had. I had carried out my job correctly, and as far as I was concerned, another happy customer!!
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:36, Reply)
When working in a hotel
I was working "Inn" this "Holiday" hotel. (Use your brain!)

Sunday mornings used to be a nightmare on reception. Normally you had 150+ out of 165 rooms leaving, the clientele was of the ilk of the chav, gyppo and cheapskate.

It was always the quick way to, instead of printing out the bill for the customer to check (we had dot matrix printers running of a DOS program – it was painfully slow) run through the items that were on the bill, and then state the final total.

Sunday mornings were always the occasion when the bill, according to the customer, was incorrect. Person after person would turn up at the reception desk and deny that they had had any food the night before, they hadn’t touched the mini-bar, they hadn’t had drinks from the bar at 2.00am! It was getting to the stage where we were letting people of with thousands of pounds worth of stuff by the end of the morning.

However, as with all good stories, one morning I snapped. Guy turns up at the reception desk, and as normal I ran through the bill of what he had had. “£65 super-douper cheapo weekend break for 2 adults and 5 children in one room (children stay free), drinks from the bar - £10.90, and dinner £109.80” (Figures have been made up for the purpose of the story).

This is the point where he tells me he hasn’t had dinner. This, I know to untrue. He had had dinner. This I know because I was working in the restaurant last night, and I served him. And the cheap bastard didn’t leave a tip! Even so, he still tries to deny to my face that he had dinner in the restaurant last night.

I was angry at this point. I told him to wait, and went off to get a printout of all of the restaurant bills from the previous night. I then proceeded to go through every bill that was printed out from the night before until I found his receipt, complete with his signature at the bottom of it. I brought the receipt back to him, thrust it under his nose and explained that this was the receipt that he had signed the night before, and that I had remembered serving him, as he had left no tip. Needless to say he didn’t argue about the rest of the bill!

Cue the next person to reception:

“Did you have dinner last night?”


Nobody was arguing with me that morning!!

Girth, width etc.. etc..
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:27, Reply)
rodeo bull
i used to drive a hydraulic rodeo bull simulator, taking it all round the country to fetes and such like-and we were pretty fucking good at it. There was a rule that if we thought a kid was too small we didnt let them on, we always used to get a stroppy dad or mum at each event that insisted there little angel was ok, and would short of threaten us to let the shit on. If this happened, we could arrange the ride so that the little bastard would whack his head on the fibreglass bull head-really hard.
Similar rides could be arranged for ladies in low cut ballgowns at poncy student balls and the like..
Oh the shame..
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:23, Reply)
A mate of mine works at a Vaxhaul dealer...
He was telling me he took great pleasure in telling one particular little chav scumbag that his Nova's suspension was buggered because of the stupid "phat" tyres that he'd fitted to it. Unfortunately the warranty doesn't cover any damage caused by modifications. So the little chav had to pay to have it fixed himself (apparantly he was nearly in tears... All the sweeter!)
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 11:04, Reply)
Summer holiday abroad, a couple of years ago
At the baggage check-in, my dad is told by a smarmy uptight bitch that his carry-on bag is too big.

My dad knew for a fact his bag was an appropriate size, having flown with whatever airline it was before. He told this to the woman, but clearly it was not enough.

Fine, fine, he'd prove it to her. He went over to the little "If your bag fits in here it's small enough" thing, and put the bag in. Tada!

But still, this was not enough for the ice queen, who clearly viewed my father (Respectable businessman) as some sort of trouble-making chav. Why was his demonstration not enough to convince her? "Because you had to push it in"

...And somehow managed to alter the dimensions of the metal bars which the bag had to fit between, perhaps?

We took out a few items, put them into a suitcase, and kept the bag as carry-on luggage.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 10:57, Reply)
This one is for Diamo.
I am a teacher. In a primary school. Along with other teachers who presumably had to be intelligent enough to be able to pass tertiary degrees. We are trusted with the corruption of small minds, but apparantly not with the corruption of photocopiers.

We are YELLED at if we try to touch them. . .

Need snap copying done for a VIP lesson? And a teacher aide is ACTUALLY IN THE FUCKING ROOM DOING OTHER COPYING. Forget it.

"There's no more emergency copying. Get your planning in order have things in for the 24 hour turn around" Or words to that effect.

How about YOU get yourself a real job instead of being a jobsworthy fart who delights in making my life difficult. Fuckwits. All of you. I hate you.

*insert usual snide comment about lenght here*
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 10:51, Reply)
Summer work experience
I was on a construction site learning what engineering is about.

Well, that was the theory anyway. For two weeks I was in charge of pressing the button that changed the traffic lights to red when some construction vehicles were about to cross the road. Yes folks, it was actually cheaper to pay me than hire some automated lights!

Anyway, it wasn't so bad as it was nice weather but just a teeny bit tedious. I made my own entertainment by administering my own brand of social justice. Approaching cars could be seen for some distance, and if I felt that the owner had far too much money, the lights went red.

One chappy in a Merc decided this was clearly not on, and after waiting for a minute took off through the red light in a cloud of burnt rubber. Five seconds later he screeched to a halt in another cloud of burnt rubber a few feet from a 25 tonne dumper. The dumper driver was less than impressed and spent some time explaining to the Merc driver exactly what he thought of him. This was probably the highlight of the two weeks, and I not only learnt lots of new words (construction workers are GOOD at swearing), but the fantastic knowledge that you can combine expetives to form whole new ones. Ah, joy.

Now I'm a grownup I am actually quite helpful and not a jobsworth, although I am frighteningly pedantic. By way of example, does anyone else get annoyed at 'five items or less' signs at checkouts. 'Five items or fewer' people, learn to use the language properly.

*needs a lie down in a quiet room*
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 10:41, Reply)
Hammer Time - King of Shit Jobs
A few years ago I used to work in a toll booth. I used to sit in a fucking freezing little box, taking 12p (what an awkward fucking amount) off motorists and pressing a button that raised a mechanical lever.

Now this wasn't like the relatively hi-tech M6 toll near Birmingham or anything, it was literally a tiny fucking box with a mechanical barrier. I used to do a night shift on Wednesdays, and had to count up all the 10p's and the 2p's, write the amount down, and push the money and the total amount written down all through some guy's tiny fucking letter box at the end of the night. This guy, if you're interested, owned the toll bridge barrier thing, and it was his job to send all the money off to the Manchester council.

This guy hated me. Why? Because he knew that I knew I was far too good for the job, that I was only doing it for a bit of money, and that I was the type of person to drop the job if someone fucked me off, and not just take it like most of the other retards that worked there.

My next shift - the guy comes in tiny fucking box whilst I'm hurredly taking money off people (huge queue)
Guy : "Errrrrr..... Hammer Time, I'm a BIT annoyed...." (he always started convo's like this)
Me : "Oh really? Why?"
Guy : "I don't like the scruffy way you shove the money through my letter box at the end of the Wednesday shift."
I look at my hands which have scabs on the knuckles because his letter box is that small.
Me : "How else can I do it?"
Guy : "Well, no-one else has any problems"

I rang him up later and told him I wasn't going to go in anymore. No apologies for length, that really was a fucking horrible job, and I've not even described half of the probs I had. And it STILL wasn't as bad as when I worked in a lawyer's office in Manchester last summer ... but that's a story for another time.

EDIT : oh yeah, just remembered - there was a particularly bad car crash near the toll booth, so I raised the barrier to let any firemen/ambulances get through and went to talk to this guy who ran the toll bridge.
Me : "Sorry to bother you (it was quite late) but there's been a car crash, is there any chance you could ring for a fire engine or something?"
Guy : (totally ignoring what I just said) "Who's looking after my toll bridge?"
Me : "Erm... no-one... but..."
Guy : "H.T., you can't just abandon your post."
Abandon your fucking post?!?
What a selfish wanker he really was. I defy anyone to come up with a worse job than that fucking heap of shit.
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 10:25, Reply)
RBS People...
What i use my money for is my buisness, as is who it came from:

"so whoes this cheque from"

me - "its from some guy called NONEOFYOURBUISNESS - just put it in please"

less than 20 secs later - "do you have any plans for this money"

me - "im thinking about starting a new cult"

silly woman - "theres no need to be rude sir"

me - "im participating in your teaching program - stop annoying me and do your job"

she was teaching some new girl how to cash a cheque in - and she clearly was taking my side (should have asked for her number to rub it in a little/get her fired :P)
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 8:54, Reply)
Jobsworth without a cause!!
I have the softest job in the world - I mean I can get away with anything (litteraly as I take stuff home!)

I get paid to entertain clients (which usually translates as taking my mates out boozing and claiming the money back) - good hotels, food, I get expenses for cashback on my visa (WTF?!!) Also, I do my own hours, as much porn as I like, take days off etc... So you would think I would be happy BUT I still manage to give junior staff a bollocking should they even DARE to turn up 1 minute late ( even if their grandparents have both died in a fire and they were the only person in the world left to ID the bodies)... I often make life difficult for people, especially admin and account staff... BECAUSE I AM WORTH IT ! MWHAHAHAHA ....
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 8:36, Reply)
fuck off and die
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 4:22, Reply)
can't u feel the flames of hell licking your soul??
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 2:54, Reply)
Micky D's
I worked in a 'resturant' chain with the big gold M, one day in walks this right cnut demanding no pickles in his burger for his brat, but once the burgers are wrapped its against company policey to pick them apart and I couldnt be arsed making up a new one, so I try skive off by telling said gentleman that its more than my job to serve it without pickles (hoping to get away with it) but the bastard (said gentleman) complains to my bloody boss calling me a lair and shit and his brat got some kind of illness and that I was larfing at him cos of it, bloody twunt I get a bollocking, so when I made him a fresh one I rubbed the bun on my arse. huzzah!

Its troo honest!

(, Tue 17 May 2005, 1:20, Reply)
it was me.

[this is the voice of god, you are a bad person]
(, Tue 17 May 2005, 0:32, Reply)
Reading station staff
Trying to travel back to Southampton from Bristol this last sunday morning and missing a train due to the Bristol mayor feeling the need to travel through the centre of town at 1mph on a horse and carriage (arrrrggggghhhhhhh - don't even get me started on how much I now hate him), I was advised to travel via Reading and change there (was a lie, would have been quicker to wait an hour for the next direct train - quiet fuming ensues). So I was sitting at Reading waiting 40mins for a train, with a hangover and soaking up a bit of vitamin D from the sun, when suddenly an announcement comes over "Special announcement to the person sitting on platform 3, please move to sit inside the yellow line for your own health and safety." Yes, I was risking life and limb by sitting on the track side of the yellow line, as rather inconveniently the patch of sun stopped short of the "safe" side. I now understand why the all-seeing, but unseen voice didn't take the effort to come and talk to me directly if they were so concerned about my wellbeing - in that state I would surely have tried to hit him very hard. As it was I was forced to shamefully shuffle my arse 30 CENTIMETRES to the correct side to be SAFE. And out of the sun. And sit and fume some more while several people continued to STAND on the track side of the line without being shouted at from above. Surely they were more likely to fall to their death than I, already safely on the ground??!! Plus there was the fact that the only train due to arrive at that platform was the one I was waiting for and still 30mins away. What, other than skin cancer from the sun, could possibly have endangered me I ask you?! I admit, I even cried. Or was that just the hangover?

Numerous apologies for length, but he really rather upset me. And if it was you - OWN UP i demand of you. Grr.
(, Mon 16 May 2005, 23:39, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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