working on a Saturday
There's only one thing worse than being let down by colleagues and finding out twenty minutes before you leave on a Friday that you have to work Saturday. That's mis judging how long the normally hour and a half journey will take, arriving at work an hour early only to find you can't even get in for an hour as the shopping centre is closed until nine.

Grrrr...
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Sat 23 Aug 2008, 8:33, 3 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

I hate thinking that you will be off the
next day and then someone says, 'can you work tomorrow'.
I always say yes. I don't know why.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Sat 23 Aug 2008, 9:03, Reply)

Even worse
is working on a Saturday and having the office to myself. It means I'm free to b3ta all day, but there's hardly ever anyone here.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Sat 23 Aug 2008, 10:28, Reply)

While you have my sympathies
I can sadly beat that. About 10 years ago I was working in an off license and video shop while I was on summer break from college. I was phoned around elevenish the night before by my drunk manager to say he was getting lashed and would I mind opening up in the morning and he'd be there by midday to take over. Would have been my only day off that week, but he was a mate, so I agreed.

Got called at 3am by the alarm company to say could I take a wander round as some kids had decided to break into the back store again and set the alarm off. No one else was answering their phones, so as I'd answered, I HAD to go down there.

No-one about 3.30am and no damage done as EVERYONE knew that you could jump over the back gate and force the shed door, usually without tripping the alarm, but they had in this case. So I set the alarm again and shuffled back home to bed.

Phoned again about 5.30am as the alarm was going off and police had now been called out as it was the second time in one night. Again no-one else answering their phone, so I cursed my phone profusely and headed back to work, this time fully clothed as there didn't seem to be much point in going back to bed again.

Sure enough there was no damage, a couple of crates of cider stolen and the police giving me a stern warning to get the back gate fixed.

Settle back to sleep around 7.30 atop some beer crates which were surprisingly comfortable until opening the shop for the insistent winos at 10am.

Manager gets there as promised at midday, but has a favour to ask...will I work a split shift as it's his girlfriend's birthday and he'd forgotten to buy her anything or organise time off to take her out. Knowing what a hormonal fuckpig she was at the best of times, let alone having her beloved forget her special day, I again agreed in return for triple pay and my choice of case to take home. Head back home for a few hours to get some sleep, food etc...

Get back to work for 6pm, just in time to see all my mates who are going out to a party I would have been attending. We promise to meet up later once I've shut the shop for the day and they head off.

Manager has left me a bunch of stuff to do that he's been putting off during the day, so I start with the first item on the list...cleaning the windows and the front door. Purveyors of off licenses down south will know that things are frequently broken and or vomited on, so regular cleaning needs to take place in order to ensure that there isn't a smell that will put off already inebriated clientele and cause them to lose their lambrini'd lunches. Yeah I had a bottle of dettol and a blue rag that had seen better days.

It was a quiet evening, so I got the windows done quickly, then moved onto the door. Somehow my left hand was in the hinge of the door when the behemoth sized peroxide bitch pushed past me and swung the door open, effectively rendering me incapable of doing anything other than turning an odd shade of pale and collapsing on the floor. She still demanded her 20 rothmans when I came back to consciousness, so half crawled back to the till, threw them at her and told her to fuck off before passing out again.

When I came round the second time I had four Australians peering down at me, understandably rather concerned as there was a small trail of blood from where my fingernail had been ripped clean off and was merrily exanguinating away still. Couldn't thank them enough though as instead of robbing the store and leaving me, they took me out the back, made me a cup of tea, called my parents and stayed with me until they got there.

For some reason the manager felt a bit guilty the next day when I didn't show up for work.

Apologies for length.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Sat 23 Aug 2008, 18:05, Reply)