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This is a question Little Victories

I recently received a £2 voucher from a supermarket after complaining vociferously about the poor quality of their own-brand Rich Tea biscuits, which I spent on more tasty, tasty biscuits. Tell us about your trivial victories that have made life a tiny bit better.

(, Thu 10 Feb 2011, 12:07)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

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last post
surely i have more claim to it than them 2?
(, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 9:34, 1 reply)
My little victory.
Pipping maccy to the post.
(, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 9:19, Reply)
My little Victory
Was getting last post...
(, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 9:13, Reply)
Twas in Primary School, aged 9. We were on the pitch (the one next to the Mere) playing footie as part of our P.E. 'lesson'. Mr Bevan was the commander in chief; the strict, focussed, rigid-browed type who was reknowned as the kind of teacher who hated his job, hated kids and who'd generally had a bad run of things in his later years. That day, things had particularly hit the fan for him for reasons he evidently kept to himself.

I was in goal.

Mr Bevan was 'playing' for the other team, who were losing. I wasn't a particularly good goal-keeper; was more of a defender really. The ball pounced from one side to the other. You could tell Mr Bevan was getting more than a little peeved at playing for a losing team. Then the moment came.. the ball bounced graciously towards him, rising perfectly before he decided to slam it with utmost certainty at the goal. It HAD to go in.

Only, it didn't. Because it slammed with full, adult force against my little chest, pushing me all of TWO FULL FEET accross the ground, but stil not enough to make a goal. I clasped the ball with all my might. And watched as he looked in disbelief, turning around and brushing it off as some fluke of mine.

I clutched that ball for about 20 seconds, revelling in my small victory. At that young age, they rarely come sweeter than that.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 23:01, 1 reply)
On the bike
One time I was cycling down a hill when a carload of chavs drove past and blasted an air horn at me to try and scare me. Afterwards they sped off, and were flashed by the speed camera just round the corner.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 22:33, 4 replies)
Cunts, basically.

I always enjoy hearing of colleagues taking an angle grinder or similar to them, and handing them back.

Bit more of a "fuck you" than a victory I guess.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 20:59, Reply)
Aviva sent me the money they owed me for services rendered.
Only took three months this time...and if you ever have to do work for these muppets you will appreciate that this really is a victory.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 17:53, 8 replies)
How not to get out of PE
To say I wasn't popular at school is to indulge in the most extreme form of understatement. I was spotty and greasy. I was clever. I was quiet. School is hell for those of us who don't want to arse about and just want to get through it with the minimum of fuss.

PE was the worst. I couldn't kick. I couldn't throw. I couldn't catch. I was hopeless. During rugby (which we played in all weathers) I used to always try to stay just ahead of the ball so that it would never be passed to me. I remember one time I failed in my ploy to stay away from the ball and someone unaccountably lobbed it at me. I caught it and with a look of stunned horror realised that Kelvin Bach, the 6-foot-three brick shithouse, was bearing down upon my skinny frame. That was the last time I ever held a rugby ball, let me tell you.

Of course I was always picked last. And I mean last. The weirdos who spent all match standing on the sidelines picking their noses and playing with themselves were picked before me. You know, every day I wake up and give thanks that as long as I live no-one is ever going to tell me to put shorts on and run around after a ball on a cold winter's day. Thankyou, Lord, thankyou, thankyou.

Anyway, that rather long preamble brings us to the point of my tale. It was a normal PE lesson and we were in the changing rooms getting ready. I was aware that there was a guy going around waving a piece of paper in front of people and being met with furrowed brows and shaking heads. It was Gareth, by no means one of the worst, but certainly someone who'd given me his fair share of grief.

Eventually Gareth stopped asking the mono-browed mouth-breathers and came over to me.

"Oy, Mr C, you twat," he said, kindly. "You're a clever bastard, tell me what this says. My mum has written that I can't do PE because I have hemmoroids. What the fuck does that mean?"

Well. Well, well. It's not everyday that life hands you such a nice gift, is it? Making sure that everyone was watching, I smiled at him and, in my loudest voice, said: "PILES!"

His face crumbled at the laughter of his peers. That was possibly my finest moment at school.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 17:22, 16 replies)
Copper Revenge!
I lived in a terrace street 4 miles outside Newcastle, we bought it 1997 as repossession for next to nowt. Victorian flats on narrow streets, you could only park on 1 side of the road with a permit (which they issued 4 times as many permits as there was spaces) House up both sides, all flats - as you can guess, lots of cars fighting for spaces. Anyway, Once all the spaces were filled we'd all bounce up the kerb on the opposite side, single yellow line yes - but we lived there, we had a permit and everyone did it. Occasionally, on a morning, we'd come out to see EVERY car with a parking ticket usually time stamped 5:30am or something daft. The not-so-busy boys in blue had been out early making some extra funds for the mayor of North Tyneside.

Fast forward 3 or 4 years, we're selling the flat. Some nice chap agrees to buy it. "Perfect buy-to-let" he tells me. He continues.. "I see parking is still rough, i'll tell you a funny story. I'm based at the local Police station, one morning we came up this street and ticketed every car - for a laugh as we were bored on night shift" he chuckled to himself, blissfully unaware that I might have been one of those residents with permits for our street - and infact I WAS!

Fast forward 6 months, he buys the flat, can't get any tenants and the housing market falls on it's arse. I'd sold it at the almost perfect time when it was at it's peak over-inflated value.

Small Victory? hell yes.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 16:53, 13 replies)
Double yellow lines.
A while back I lived in a flat by the sea, at the time we (as were all residents) allowed to park in the (council run) carpark opposite. Suddenly and without much notice, the council decided that we must pay, at a rate of about 2 quid an hour, to park there overnight.
Unsurprisingly, every single one of us refused, and simply parked on the double yellow lines (that lead to a private, locked-gated road - so hardly keeping the flow of traffic going).
Of course, we'd invariably get nicked for parking there.
On one such occassion, I decided to fight the ticket.
I took pics of the lines, that were by anyones standards in dire need of repainting. In places you couldn't even see the line at all, and there were no visible t-bars at either end etc....
I sent the pics and my appeal to the council. As they are the very people that decided the outcome of the appeal and the very same that get the money in the event that the appeal is unsuccessful, I had a letter back telling me that my appeal was, indeed, unsuccessful.
So...I waitied for my Notice To Owner. Apparenly this is a legal document that affords the Owner of the car 28 days to either pay up or make representations. The 28 days bit is set in law and is not open to interpretation. The date they typed the letter and the date they set me to pay by was 23 days.
I wrote back informing them that it was my legal right to be given 28 days to pay or appeal and again pointed out that the lines were barely visible etc... and that if - rather when - they threw this appeal out they should expect to go to an adjudicator.
I also put in a FOI request to the highways agency with regards to the lines being painted and when they were last checked.
I received a letter along the lines of..."On this occassion the matter will be dropped".
They then repainted all the lines.
Then the FOI request came back.
It turns out that the road in question is actually a private road that belongs to the British Legion club on the same road.
The cheeky twunts had been treating it as their own and fining people for parking there!
I nearly shat with laughter watching the poor bastards having to come back and paint over the yellow lines!
That'll teach the greedy fuckers (well, probably not, but it still feels good to know that they won't be ripping anyone else off).
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 16:17, 5 replies)
My dad had a nice 'bus journey last summer
Being a positive, upbeat fellow, he wrote to the 'bus company, saying "I was on the XXXXX at XX:XX hours on XXXXXX date, and would like to heartily commend the driver, blah blah blah"

He really was impressed - he's no naiive idealist or a hippy, he was just genuinely pleased with his journey.

He got a letter back saying thank you and a bunch of free tickets.

Win for being nice.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 15:57, 13 replies)
Yay - I beat some kids!
Both my sisters kids are ADHD (they actually are!) and she's raised them on her own 'cos their father is a grade A pillock. As they're family I help out when I can. One particular evening the kids had been playing up all day (Bless 'em, they really can be a f*cking nightmare) and my sister was frazzled. I popped round to make sure that they would go to bed. As usual they were being a pain in the bum and wanted to take their Gameboy Advances to bed with them. 'We won't play with them, we just want them upstairs' they said, 'Yeah, right' thinks I, knowing that they'll just play until the early hours. It was then I hatched my cunning plan...
'Now, you promise you won't play with them, you'll just go to bed?'
'Oh, yes uncle Jam, certainly'
'You won't even touch them?'
'Oh, yes uncle Jam, certainly'
So unknown to them I pulled the batteries before placing them by their bedsides. I walked downstairs with a broad smile knowing that I had them bang to rights - Check and mate you little shits!... ;-)
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 13:29, 27 replies)
Manners cost nothing
I used to work in the aptly named off licence chain "Bargain Booze" in Liverpool.

AS with any shop job you get used to your regulars, some of whom are a nice and others who are just the opposite. Anyway there was one lady who used to come into the shop most nights with her hyperactive progeny at around nine ish. Each night she would order her booze and get some sweeties for the kids. It should be explained at this point that Bargain Booze shops are like huge human manned vending machines in which the staff are "protected" by an aquarium like structure of bullet proof glass and the customers can peruse the stock through the glass before asking at the counter for their order which the assitant gets off the shelf for them etc etc.

Back to the story, each night this woman would come in and ask for her order thus: "giz 8 carling" to which I would answer "Please?" she would studiously ignore the request to be treated like a human with a scowl before inviting her kids to ask for thier chosen sweets of the night i.e.: "giz a kinder egg", "please?" the kids would usually say please (to more scwls from the mum) and I would get the stuff, take payment, thank the lady profusely for her business and that would be it.

Usually the kids would take their sugary quarry with them to munch at home however one night they were allowed to eat their sweets straight away, in the shop. Now I hate litter, on the street is bad enough but to drop your crap on the floor of a shop with the poor sod who will have to clean it up watching is, in my opinion, the height of rudeness. So the kids have been awarded thier kinder eggs and are eagerly unwrapping them dropping the litter on the floor as they go. I politely bang on the glass and ask them if they could please pass the wrappers through the hatch as I have a bin in the back. The mum who was on the phone sees me asking her litle ones to do this and comes over to me and shouts through the hatch "PLEASE!" with a smug grin on her face, to which her youngest cub replies "she did say please mummy!"

On another occasion one of the pissed up drunks came in to demand a 1 litre Zepplin cider, through a shower of abuse aimed at me, I duly gave him the drink and started to add that it had fallen on the floor in the back of the shop and may need to be left a while before opening, I was told to go, and fuck myself. and he left the shop, I meandered over to the window to see the bloke open the cider followed by a display that would not have looked out of place a the end of the Grand Prix. I shouldn't laugh, he wasn't.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 13:22, 12 replies)
Toilet trade
Oh I have a late lavatory-related entry.
I have worked out that where you have those station toilets that charge you money to use them, if you pull the turnstile towards yourself it leaves enough space to get through, even for a chunky-legged fellah like myself.
Knowing I have saved 30p enhances an already very enjoyable five minutes.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 13:13, 14 replies)
Dear Caterpillar, my shoes are dirty. Help!
There's a family tradition where my dad buys me, my brother and himself a pair of black Cat boots once every other Christmas.

Only in 2008, I got given brown ones. Crazy times! And they've lasted well but they're dirty as hell. They've become my Festival Boots, Moving House Boots and Muddy Adventure Boots. I've taken them into the Arctic Circle and into the Sahara. And even, once, to Swindon.

While they're relatively intact, they're no longer brown. They're a kind of terran crud avec hint du oil. Try as I may, I can't get them clean.

I sent Caterpillar an email and some photos of me in random destinations, asking for their advice on cleaning.

They replied saying that while they didn't have any tips on how to get them looking new again, they did like my tale, so here's a code for a lifetime discount of 10% on Caterpillar products.

Not 'alf bad for 15 minutes work!
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 12:46, 9 replies)
I was working in a shop
This poor man came in trying to purchase an item, but I think he'd misunderstood how joint accounts work because he had the card in his wife's name.

I felt really bad, but there wasn't anything I could do, we can't take cards that are in others people's names.

I suggested that he might try getting a cheque or postal order from his bank to the value of the item purchased, but I think he was a bit flustered or confused by the pricing displays as he came back with it made out for the wrong amount, so sadly i still couldn't help him.

At the end of my shift, he came back with cash this time and wanted to speak to me personally because I'd been so nice to him before.

It was really frustrating, but even though he had the right payment, it turned out the item was out of stock.

I knew my shift was over, but I stayed a few extra minutes to see if I could find it in another of our stores for him and the one in the next town said they has some, so I told him that and he was chuffed and went off there to get it instead.

He was so thankful that I felt good about myself for the rest of the day.

And Those are my little victories, feeling good if I have made someones tough day a tiny bit better.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 12:09, 7 replies)
Accidentally tripping up an ugly stranger
Taking the 1p coin left on the counter of the corner shop.
Managing to queue-jump past tourists
Steppping out onto the zebra crossing forcing cars to brake sharply
The query not concerning my department
Putting people on hold
Ignoring an email in favour of doing something fun
Using a friend's computer to search for pr0n
Stopping suddenly in the street to look at something
Reading the paper over other people's shoulders
Walking self-importantly past grannies with heavy bags
Tutting at young mothers manouvering prams down stairs

All of these things, it seems to me, make London an interesting, fun place to be.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 11:36, 7 replies)


(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 8:13, 13 replies)
A very small victory
I noticed that my local supermarket had 125 gram punnets of blueberrys (usually very expensive here)marked at $4.50 a Kg, so I grabbed 4 or 5 and headed to the checkout. It turned out that they were supposed to be $4.50 each, but because of their own policy, they had to sell me what I had at the marked price, I ended up with over half a kilo of blueberries (yum) for a couple of dollars. They changed their sign very quickly.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 7:24, 6 replies)
Micturation compensation
I was bladdered in the quiet town of Ludlow, Shropshire, one frosty night, and whilst staggering back from The Church (The pub next door to God's gaff), I decided that I needed to release some of the 8 or so pints I'd put away. I looked around, no sign of anyone around me, hook the old fella out and let rip against a wall. Mid flow, I hear a voice say, "excuse me sir", and turn around. A bloody panda has sneaked up on me like a ninja (I swear they must have killed the engine up the road and coasted up to me in silence), and two coppers have got out and are staring at me like I've just taken a shit on Princess Diana's grave. £80 fine, and a hilarious half an hour in an interview room where I was supposed to be sobering up, but kept wandering into the control room to find some water.

Fast forward 6 months, it's summertime, and I'm back down in Brighton, out with a couple of my Czech friends on a sunny day. We stroll past the Police station HQ in Kemptown, an office block about 8 stories high with tinted windows all over. In the middle of the rather empty car park was a skip, full of stuff and a desk on top. My friends wanted the desk, and only lived on the next street, so we went to pull it off and lug it home. As we got closer, we smelt the familiar scent of weed, and our interest was piqued. We lifted off the desk, and underneath there were a load of bin bags with old evidence, hoodies, shoes and the like. Under the bags were a bunch of busted up hydroponics lights and other gear. Obviously the cast off evidence from a big bust. I dug my hand into a giant brown envelope, and still sitting in a flattened netting drying rack thing were a few good handfuls of weed, a little soggy from the rain. Mindful of the fact that we were standing in the middle of a car park, with 8 stories of obsidian authority staring down at us, we pocketed the goods and made a speedy exit stage left. Given a few days to dry out, the weight came to 2 1/2 ounces. I took one Oz. for myself, which I smoke until I became retarded, then sold the remainder and bought a new soundcard with the proceeds.

Thank you, British justice system.
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 6:07, 4 replies)
2 quick ones.
Yesterday the missus' car was serviced. @ payup time we got the receipt & tentatively asked for the "What else needs to be fixed?" list.
Absolutely fucking nothing. Noice.
Today SWMBO (figure it out) went to dentist for a 'scrape and clean'. Upon her returning home I asked how much said procedure cost and then the "What extra did they want to do next time so's they could make a payment on their boat?" question.
SFA. Yay!
(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 5:06, 13 replies)
You Can't Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

Well, actually you can. A couple of hours ago, at the ripe old age of 50, I sat and passed my driving test.

(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 2:45, 26 replies)
Another day at the office.
I happen to work in a shop that, shock-horror, isn't self-service. You have to walk up to the counter, wail your miseries at me for five minutes and then I go grab whatever you need.

So one summer, in strolls a customer. Clearly thinking that he is the supreme being of all that is correct within the universe, he proceeds to rattle off his list of twenty items like a machine gun. This helps no-one, so we ask him to repeat his list in three item increments so I can gather them and my colleague can create his receipt on our computer.

Clearly incensed at having to do things our way (so we don't get quantities, codes and measurements mixed up and he gets the correct order) he becomes snotty and makes several rude remarks about us. We grin and bear his barbs, overcharge him for his troubles and tell him to get out.

A few minutes later a traffic warden strolls past our doorway followed by hurried cries of 'excuse me!' in a familiar voice. Lo and behold, the dimwitted moron hadn't read the parking restrictions properly and had forgot to obtain his hour's free parking permit, leading to a satisfying £60 parking fine.

(, Wed 16 Feb 2011, 0:39, 3 replies)
It wasn't me, it was the cat
I was at the boyfriends at the weekend and his family have a rather large grey furry ball of the feline kind. She's extremely lazy and her laziness is only exceeded by her greed (if you have cake, she WILL try to climb on to your lap to steal it). Anyway, she gets fed at 5pm and not before, although she will start pestering for food in the early afternoon. On Saturday she'd been pestering and was being ignored for a while when it started raining and the bf had to run out to bring the washing in, and as it was 5pm, he asked me to feed the cat.

She gets half a pouch and as I'd fed her the night before and used the half pouch already in the fridge I opened a new one and went to put the half that was left in the fridge. Only to find that there was already one in there. Turns out the bf's stepdad had fed the cat half an early before going out and the cheeky minx had pestered us into feeding her again. Two dinners? Definitely a victory for the cat.
(, Tue 15 Feb 2011, 21:45, 5 replies)
Team Meeting in the office...
..in one of the meeting rooms our line manager at the time "R" was barking out orders for what we all should be doing in the job she's never done ie just like any other typical middle-management-know-fuck-all-busybody. We're all sitting there bored listening to new targets etc when one of the guys (I shall call him "B" to protect the innocent) lets off an almighty fart.
R is disgusted, while all of us get the giggles.
"Don't do that again B, that's hideous! If you need to excuse yourself please feel free but please do not do that again."
So B apologises, and after the smell has disipated the meeting continues as normal. R gets back into barking orders and happens to glance past B...just as he forces out a tremendous bum-trumpet concerto.
R freaks. "I SAW THAT!!!!"
And B quietly mutters one of the greatest lines he's ever said;
"But if I don't do it it'll go back up me and I'll die."
R pretty much explodes while the rest of us litteraly laugh ourselves wet, and B is thrown out of the meeting and given a stern rollocking a few minutes later.

She may have given us more work for the rest of the day, but B's little guff orchestra won us a small victory that she could never take away from us.
(, Tue 15 Feb 2011, 21:40, 3 replies)
I started at my office 5 years ago. A useless bitch (who became known as 'the Lizard') started around the same time. She had in in for me right at the start - blaming me for stuff, banding about various accusations and bossing me around even though she wasn't my line manager. She has a non-job, and I can't think of anyone in her department (or even the building) who actually likes her. Her 'close' relationship with the managing director has saved her from many rounds of redundancies. I recently found out that she was the one who delayed me getting my assigned computer - she was using it as a spare and that was why one of the keys had been pulled off when it eventually got to me.

Anyway, the MD has since left and the Lizard has been made redundant. I'm trying not to be too smug because for all I know I could be next...
(, Tue 15 Feb 2011, 20:44, Reply)
A tasty bit of pea.
Few years ago..

I was working one morning on a till out on my shop floor when a man walked up to me. He presented me with a catalogue number (guess where I work, hmmmpfff) and a cheque as well as a cheque guarantee card. I managed to deduce within the first three seconds of him talking to me that he was a bit of a tosser and when I pointed out that the card he was trying to use with his payment was his wife's card. "So what" he asked, "It is a joint account".

I mentioned something about a sex change and him copying her signature and he stormed off.

Half an hour later he reappeared clutching a pre-printed cheque from the bank. Sadly he had made a slight error and it had the incorrect price on it and as he didn't want to pay an extra £30 for his item he grabbed the cheque and zoomed off out the door muttering under his breathe.

As the end of my shift came and I went to leave my little till point, he reappeared once more, veins popping from his head. I was already edgy with the time as I had two exams for my electronics and discrete maths courses (part of my degree) and I wanted to make a quick exit. He said something along the lines of "Don't you dare move from there" and brandished the cash and the cat number one more time.

I thought I was trapped... I thought there was nothing I could do to this wanker until I typed the cat number into the till and God took a hand in the matter.

"Sorry Sir" I said.

"That's now out of stock".
(, Tue 15 Feb 2011, 20:24, 5 replies)
A very small victory
I was once shopping in Sainsbury's procuring some items for a nice salad. One item on my shopping list was a nice ripe avocado so it should come as no surprise that I was found in the fruit and vegetable area squeezing avocados to find a good 'un. After trying a few I settled on a nice big one that had a bit of squish to it and felt nice and ripe.

I continued around the shop picking up my ingredients before proceeding to the till. At the till the assistant was scanning my salad items before arriving at the avocado and discovering it had no label on it. She buzzed for assistance and the two or three people behind me in the queue started sighing and shuffling. Around 30 seconds passed and I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable about holding up the impatient other patrons... I scratched my earlobe... The assistant buzzed for assistance again before a breathless buxom older lady appeared to assist. The label-less avocado was shown and the assisting assistant began stabbing the buttons on the till trying to locate the price for the avocado. The impatient tuts grew louder and I was beginning to regret my choice of avocado until, finally, the assistant said "I'll just charge you 30p for it"... I looked at her in surprise before she said "I know it's worth more but I can't find it on the till".

So I left Sainsbury's with a lovely ripe avocado for the bargain basement price of 30p. However I did lose 5 minutes of life I'll never get back.
(, Tue 15 Feb 2011, 19:50, 8 replies)
Expired discount voucher
A few months ago I was sent a £15 voucher by a clothing firm to thank me for my continued custom, according to the accompanying letter. I could use the voucher with an order by post, or use the voucher's code on the company's website.

I forgot about it until recently, and tried to use the voucher while placing an order on the website. The voucher code was not recognised, so I wrote an e-mail to the company, asking what I needed to do to use it.

I received a reply the next day, pointing out the blindingly obvious expiry date printed on the voucher (yeah, I'd missed it because I'm a moron), but offering to apply a £15 credit to my next order anyway. So I used it to score a £45 sweater for £30 instead.

It's a comfy sweater.
(, Tue 15 Feb 2011, 19:23, 4 replies)
power to your pedals
i'm one of those annoying cyclists you see about the place sometimes.
well, not that annoying, really. i follow the highway code and don't jump the lights. i cycle because i can't drive.
a few months ago, i was on my bike and heading off to the bank, when i had to stop at the lights. within a few seconds, a gleaming black mercedes pulled up next to me. it was being driven by what appeared to be a large cock in sunglasses. said cock leaned out of his window and sneered "you wanna get yourself a car, much more reliable. or can you only afford that shitty pushbike?" grunting and chuckling, he pulled his head back through the window, just as the lights changed.
my little victory was being able to ride off on my merry way, as his car stalled at the lights.
nothing against cars, just arsehole drivers.
(, Tue 15 Feb 2011, 18:41, 3 replies)

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