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This is a question Lurid Work Stories

"I know a railwayman of 40-odd years' service," says Juan Quar, "and he tells me a new gruesome yarn each time we meet. Last week's was of checking the time on the wristwatch of a severed arm he'd just collected after a track fatality."

Tell us the horrible stories you tease the new hires with, or that you've been told.
NB By definition, these are probably all made up. Roll with it

(, Thu 5 Sep 2013, 17:33)
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People so constipated they throw up shit???
(, Wed 11 Sep 2013, 10:48, 14 replies)
Ice, Ice Baby
Our story takes place at an ice rink, a popular hang-out for kids who were not yet old enough to go to pubs, but who had enough brain cells to find that congregating in bus shelters and outside chip shops held little appeal. It would have been a perfect place to socialise, were it not for one particular staff member: one of those lads with ingrowing acne, a polyester uniform, and a chip on their shoulder which meant that they gleefully wielded the miniscule amount of power they actually had at every possible opportunity. He saw it as his solemn duty to prevent any kind of fun being had by any of the customers, and would enforce rules far beyond the bounds of reasonableness or proportion.

His reign of terror, however, came to a crashing end one day, when shouts and screams from one corner of the rink caused him to bustle over with his usual puffing self-importance, demanding to be let through to see what misdemeanor he could inflate out of all proportion. As the crowd parted, he was confronted by the sight of a punter lying sprawled on the ice, arm outstretched, with several fingers bloodily severed by a passing skate blade. At which point the self-promoted rink-fuhrer turned a deathly shade of greenish-grey, and fainted away like a little girl.

At which point my mate stood up, wiped the ketchup off his "special" hand - the one missing the three fingers that he'd been born without - picked up the hot-dog sausages he'd arranged on the ice and covered in more ketchup, and joined the others in pointing and laughing at the now groggily recovering victim.
(, Wed 11 Sep 2013, 10:09, 1 reply)
One of my old bosses used to sell drive belts for agricultural machinery
He told us a story once of going to a farm in Iran where some sort of machine was jammed, and a guy was trying to sort it.

"I've got my arm in it, don't switch it on!" he shouted to the operator - who heard "...switch it on!" and cheerfully obliged.

It chewed his arm to bits up to the shoulder apparently*. My boss arrived there literally seconds later, and said that he'd never heard screams like it - nor did he ever want to again.

*there's that word again
(, Wed 11 Sep 2013, 10:03, Reply)
Just remembered another one...
A mate of mine from school got himself a part-time job as a cleaner at the local Wimpy.

He used to go in at about 9 o'clock when they'd closed, mop the floors, clean the toilets, wipe the tables down and then leave. Sometimes there'd be another chap there, he was like an odd-job man. And in fact, he was a very odd odd-job man. He'd wander round the place, muttering to himself and looking shifty. If you spoke to him he'd answer, but it sounded very much like Charlie from the "Charlie says" adverts.

Anyway, one evening my mate is cleaning the place, he goes in the gents toilets and there is the odd-job guy, having a wank at one of the urinals, making a noise like he's recording the soundtrack for the world's most over-the-top porn film.

My mate backed quietly out of the door, eyes like saucers, and tries desperately to this day to forget what he saw.
(, Wed 11 Sep 2013, 9:48, Reply)
... and the corpse gave birth to like thousands of tiny lobsters.

(, Wed 11 Sep 2013, 9:03, 6 replies)
I was once listening listening to a chef tell a pretty boring story
and, due in no small part to the sheer boringness of the story, I was idly playing with a knife, rocking it side to side on its blunt back edge.
He was watching the to-and-fro motion of the blade as it went, and eventually his story petered out mid-sentence. "You've gotta stop doing that. It freaks me out".
"Why?" asked I, the impetuousness of youth demanding an answer before I obliged.
"Cos when I was a kid I was a second chef in New Zealand, and I was stood doing exactly what you're doing while a chef was telling me a story, and when he got to the end he leaned forward for emphasis. Because the blade was edge-on to him he didn't see it, and he put all of his weight down, then slid along the length of it. Slit him open from palm to inner-forearm."
"Ah. Right. OK then" said I, laying the knife on it's side.
Which is a shame really cos the story was pretty fucking boring. A bit like this one, I guess.
(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 22:28, 3 replies)
A few more ski resort stories
3.5m/s is a relatively sudden acceleration, so there is a system of springs and pistons in the pole to take the "sting" out of the takeoff. These springs being fucked is why some draglifts almost force your bollocks up and out through your throat when they start up.

Anyway, this bloke arrives at a particularly savage draglift I was working on. ignores the sign saying "remove straps, hold poles in right hand". Grabs lift and rams the button between his legs, triggering takeoff. Also manages to get his left ski pole jammed in the machinery. So the lift is pulling him up at 3.5m/s, the springs are being compressed, and h is being held in place by his left ski pole. Which he can't let go of now, because the strap is tight around his wrist. By the time I'd hit the "stop" button and the machine's inertia had died down, he was horizontal between machine and lift pole, suspended about 4 feet in midair. With a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist.

On the same lift, I arrived on my snowboard, waved at my colleague, grabbed the pole, to find my bastard colleague was *holding me back* until the springs were fully compressed, before letting me go. I *flew* the first 50 yards or so, before wiping out spectacularly.

Now, I said I'd come back to mechanisms. So, at the business end of a draglift there are two electromechanical bits - the selector and the release. The selector lets one pole through at a time, and teh release is what lets it go when you grab the pole. If the selector is fucked, you might get 2 or 3, or more, poles let go at once, but usually you notice beforehand. You can't let them go up the slope next to each other, or they will lever the cable off the pulleys, so you need to stop the lift, then manually pull the poles *up* the cable until they are separated by a couple of metres each. What happens when your selector is *totally* fucked, it's your first day on the job, and the first "test" pole you fire off results in *two hundred and twenty* lift poles firing off at the same time, I'll leave you to imagine.

Slaloming on draglifts is not recommended, either. c.f. signs. If you manage to pull the cable off the pulleys (not too hard to do) it will either slam into the ground (if you've managed to decable a support pylon), possibly cutting you in two in the process, or shoot up into the air (for compression pylons) and catapult you up with it. I've seen the latter, where a snowboarder had fallen, was being dragged by the pole and hadn't let go, decabled a compression at which point he was forced to let go and the 7-8 year old behind him got a trip up and over the other side of the lift...
(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 21:21, 15 replies)
So anyway, back when I was a student..
..coming into my final year I spent a few weeks working in theatres.

On the day of this tale I was detailed to work in a partiular theatre on the urology list. The list for the day comprised exclusively circumcisions, mainly in young lads who'd got a phimosis.
Finally the last customer of the morning comes in.
Gentleman in his 60's, rather shy, had needed YEARS of nagging by his wife to get it seen to apparently.

The first stage of the op, once the patient is safely aneasthetised is for the surgeon, or his assistant to 'prepare' the area for surgery. In the case of a circumcision this involves yanking down the tight collar of the world's smallest polo neck and cleaning underneath.

Operating theatres are often warm places, which can, if conditions are right(lots of procedures needing diathermy, fat sweaty cunts working there, etc) make it rather whiffy.
The punter's foreskin came back to reveal that the chap had quite possibly never washed under it his entire adult life, On a first glance it appeared to have been inches deep in knob cheese, but, mercifully at this point there was no smell.
So the surgeon whips out his forceps and gauze and begins cleaning.

Did I mention that it was last case of the morning?
Keen to get out for his urgent appointment with the golf course the surgeon set about prepaing the area with a considerable amount of vim.
The cheese went EVERYWHERE, including into the goggles of his assistant and the scrub nurse, the overhead lights, the patient's ear and as a coup de grace, the aneasthetist's cup of water, which the aformentioned gasman then, not realising, drank.

Worst thing about the whole affair?

Agitating the layers caused the previously docile penile fromage to release its fragrance.

Like cheap mozzarella.

Gone off.

And then eaten and sicked up by a French dog.

Vile stuff.
Since then, I've seen gangrenous wounds filled with maggots, 80%+ burns, people who've been so constipated they throw up shit and YM but this is still, 15 years on, the nastiest thing I've encountered.
(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 20:54, 62 replies)
My sister-in-law is a nurse in ITU...
...and my wife is also a nurse, so family dinner parties are often enriched with them trying to outdo one another in the lurid story department.

One particularly memorable story was about a van driver who ended up on ITU after he foolishly stood in the way of his van as it was being stolen. The thief decided it was easier to go through and over the guy, rather than around him. This, sadly, resulted in the van driver being dragged along the road, caught up on the gubbins under the van for a quarter of a mile before a bump in the road dislodged him.

He lost most of the tissue on his back as a result and was described as being "like a gingerbread man, curved on the front and flat on the back" when he arrived, barely alive, in hospital.

I seem to recall being told that he was put on a special bed that allowed for the blood he was losing to be collected and pumped back into him somehow - but I might have dreamed that bit.

Either way, it didn't do much good as the poor bastard died.
(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 19:19, 3 replies)
I used to drink with an undertaker
When he was new to the job he was called to pick up a suicide after the police had done their bit. The victim had hanged himself. "Grab him by the legs and we'll cut him down". The body flopped over his shoulder and his back ended up soaked in dead man sick.
(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 18:19, Reply)
We're using some new tungsten carbide drills for the preliminary coal-face scouring operations.
It's something they use in coal-mining.
(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 16:35, 9 replies)
the following pic is a blade that is used in a paper guillotine similar to the type I use at work...
it's stupidly sharp and heavy. it's used to cut big piles of paper in to smaller piles. I was informed many years back when I started using the machine to be very careful as 'some bloke once was changing a blade and was just aligning the back blocks, he did this by entering both arms into the machine to check the balance. he hadn't tightened the blade very well and down it came right through both his arms.' They have since become very safe to use. This is believable in that the blades really are THAT sharp, but I never got told if his arms were reattached or not...
(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 15:20, 7 replies)
I went to work on a Monday.

(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 13:21, 21 replies)
Bit tenuous
A while back I was talking to a mate of a mate who works in strip mining - I was wondering whether it was possible to make a short film set on a Bagger 288 - and we got talking about the other machinery they employ. He got on to a story about the enormous trucks they use to cart away all the stuff they've mined, which have suitably enormous tyres. Apparently* if you're standing next to one of these tyres when they burst, the force of it is enough to practically vaporise you - he said he'd seen it happen and there "wasn't much left of the guy to bury".

*obligatory use of "apparently"
(, Tue 10 Sep 2013, 13:14, 8 replies)
If the pubs one male allocated toilet has been broken
and this leads to some dirty fucker shitting into the urinal, do not attempt to clear the resulting blockage using a jet wash. The pressure and close proximity to the shit will cause this to fountain back, covering you from head to toe in watered down effluent.

I'm glad I had delegated that particular job.
(, Mon 9 Sep 2013, 16:34, 9 replies)
Someone I work with claims that in a store he was working in, somewhere in London, he was showing some customers around the displays of bathroom suites.

In one of the baths, some kid had stripped himself naked, got in and lay down. He had an erection and when challeneged, claimed he was in need of the toilet.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, he accidentally pissed in his own mouth.
(, Mon 9 Sep 2013, 14:37, 13 replies)

(, Mon 9 Sep 2013, 14:18, 12 replies)
Welding flash
My welding instructor told us about a job he did in the Northern Territory back when safety standards on building sites were less rigorous.

Anyway it was really hot so he was wearing a mask and gloves, but below that, just a pair of shorts and some thongs. Hot as it was, he was also free balling and it all hung out as he squatted to weld steel laid out on the ground.

Weld flash is basically really bad sunburn. Just where he realised when he finally stood up.
(, Mon 9 Sep 2013, 13:00, 9 replies)
Well ...
There was this time when I accidentally filed some of the A-run checksheets with the D-run checksheets!
(, Mon 9 Sep 2013, 12:32, 5 replies)
I ticked an item off my bucket list a while back, when I had sex with my boss, in my office.
I'm in no hurry to repeat it though; my arse was really sore for days afterwards
(, Mon 9 Sep 2013, 11:52, 4 replies)
Waiter! This Pea! She is roasted!
(, Mon 9 Sep 2013, 11:49, 4 replies)
I've done a couple of stints working at a boy's camp over the pond.
One fellow counselor told of the time he brought a black light to the camp. It's why I never sit on mattresses at camp, especially if I've been sweating in the sun.

On one of the trips I was leading, we were all (2 counselors and and 8 thirteen year old campers) sleeping when in a shelter I was woken a couple of times by the kid lying next to me (sleeping bags were in use) pinching me or elbowing me. In the morning, one of the other kids asked him what he was doing in his sleeping bag at 5am, to which the response was "Oh... crap."
(, Mon 9 Sep 2013, 0:21, 5 replies)
I'm pretty sure MizMcugs
won't mind if I pop this here.
(, Sun 8 Sep 2013, 22:21, Reply)
Here's a nice one!
There's a large major cereal factory near here. It has contracts with several major supermarkets. However, when supermarket buyers come to visit the factory, every trace of their rivals' interest is moved out of sight.
All labels, packaging, boxes etc are safely hidden away until the visitors leave, giving the impression that the factory only makes cereals for the one customer. This way, identical products can be labelled up and sold to various outlets as that seller's exclusive line. Crafty, eh!

Anyway, a relative worked nights there for a while and his workmates showed him a wizard wheeze. In the canning area, they would fill a can with whatever combination of cashew nuts, dried fruit, desiccated coconut and choc chips or whatever they fancied and then send it through the canning machine. It would come out with a nice ring-pull top and made a lovely snack to take home or a thoughtful gift for a friend. I was over the MOON with mine!
(, Sun 8 Sep 2013, 20:56, 2 replies)
Wearing rings on your fingers is a risky business. A particular risk with sailing is that a line can get snagged on a ring and pull it off. Along with the skin, and flesh, of the finger it sits on. The only surgery you can have to fix it is to have the finger amputated.

Look it up on google if you like gory pictures.

It's also a good excuse to give the misses for not wearing a wedding ring.
(, Sun 8 Sep 2013, 20:06, 25 replies)
I no longer work for investment banks
I now live in the French Alps, driving ski lifts. Whilst most work accidents are of the "I fell over skiing and fucked my knees" kind, there are a few more "interesting" ones.

For instance, when I started, we had to do a basic safety course, and the instructor, who was also the resort's head mechanic, was insisting on the importance of not starting a lift until you're absolutely, 100% sure it's safe to do so. Especially if there are people working on it, and even more so if your only contact with them is by walkie-talkie. At this point, he raised his hand, which was minus 3 half fingers - he'd been working on the top pulley of a draglift, told the driver to *not* start the lift as he had his hands between cable and pulley. The driver had misheard this as "start the lift" and that's 3 fingers chopped in half. Stories like this are not uncommon, and usually involve the victim being between the spokes of, or sat on, the pulley when the lift starts, and thus either chopped in half or less 2 legs.

Where I currently work, one colleague accidentally dropped a large spanner on a colleague's head, landing him in hospital for 3 weeks.

Another good one is the piste grooming machines. When they are on really steep pitches, they anchor themselves to the top of the slope, and winch themselves up and down. Of course, as they move across the slope, the winch cable, which has 10 tons of grooming machine on the end of it, has a tendency to move laterally as well. This movement is usually jerky, resulting in a 12mm steel cable whipping across the top of the slope. The grooming machines work at night, and more than a few unaware nighttime skiiers have been bisected by cables they hadn't even seen.

Grooming machines work, largely, via hydraulics, and this is why one of our mechanics has the tip missing from his index finger. There was, it seems, a slow leak in one of the hydraulic lines on one of the machines, so he ran his finger down the line to see if he could feel where it was leaking. The nearly-invisible jet of hydraulic fluid in the still-pressurised system cut the end of his finger off.

Meanwhile, client-side, there's a good number of our clients who ski with the shoulder straps of their salopettes hanging around their arses. Sure, it looks "hip", and "young" and "groovy", but they also have a tendency to catch on the chairlift chairs. What generally happens is that the skiier comes off the chair at 15kph or so, and continues going forwards, whilst the chair goes round the pulley and heads off in the other direction at 15kph or so. Inbetween the two is an elastic shoulder strap, and when it comes to a battle between 450 kilos of steel driven by a 600 horsepower motor and a bit of elastic, the loser is fairly easy to guess. The first thing that happens is the skiier falls over, as they are now attached to a very solid something moving at 15kph in the opposite direction. What happens next is down to luck. If they are lucky, the strap(s) are ripped off entirely, and added to the lift's "trophy pile". If they are less lucky, they stretch to about 5m long before letting go and flying back with a resounding "snap" into the witless fucker's arse. This always gets a grin. If they are *really* unlucky, the arse comes out of the trousers with the straps, and the whole lot comes back to slap them handily in the bollocks. Seen that happen twice. It was hard not to laugh, so I didn't try.

It's hard to laugh about skiiers actually hurting themselves on the slopes. It gets really nasty, especially with collisions. Consider that a ski or snowboard is basically a 1.5m or longer double edged razor blade travelling at speed, with upwards of 80 kilos of fuckwit on it. Broken bones are OK (unless they are open fractures), but it's really nasty to find a kiddie on the slopes desperately trying to hold the flapping remains of their cheek in place.

We have "phantom shitters" too. Big logs coiled on the toilet seats, used tampax on the floor, shit smeared on the walls, I see it all. *And* I get to clean it up.

Snowmobiles are fun, too. Get to drive one occasionally, but it's never in good weather. They are pretty easy to endo or roll, which is embarassing enough, but the worst is parking one and have it run away downhill and bury itself in the nearest pylon/tree/snowdrift.

And I haven't even started on when I worked as a motorcycle courier.
(, Sun 8 Sep 2013, 18:55, 5 replies)
I aM sat heRe at woRk as we sPeak, and for the %tH tiMe todaY the PhanTom ShiFTer has struck!
(, Sun 8 Sep 2013, 18:51, 3 replies)
I worked with a bloke who used to drive lorries in New Zealand delivering timber to mills.
He told a story of a good friend of his who, at the end of a day thought 'I won't walk all the way around the trailer full of massive logs to unhitch it, I'll just squeeze myself through, stretch out my arm and see if I can do it from here'

He cut himself in half.

I say half, but it was more like 'head shoulders and an arm/pulverised midsection/pelvis and legs'

So thirds?
(, Sun 8 Sep 2013, 17:14, Reply)

(, Sun 8 Sep 2013, 14:01, Reply)

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