I used to work booking hotels over the 'phone
It was menial work, paid the minimum wage, no commission, but the boss was rich - a local celebrity buisnesswoman. I did my bit and got more bookings for more money than most, but understandably wasn't passionate about my job. I did my 8-hour shifts with two cigarette breaks and a ten-minute lunch break then went home and endeavoured to forget about my crap "career".

Every month there was a weekend trip to a hotel on the company's books, perhaps the Ramada Jarvis Sutton Coldfield or the Quality Hotel Catterick. We were expected to wear uniform on these trips (itchy, bright turquoise polo shirts with the company logo and grey fleeces) and attend a number of talks. We got food and drinks on the company, but weren't paid for the weekend. This is why I never went. I was the only person in the company to refuse to go. Man was I given hell for never going. The middle manager uber-bitch tried every trick in the book to try and make me think I had to go. I'd respond with different iterations of "but I won't be paid, it's my leisure time, I can do what I want" and more steam came out of her ears. My co-workers tried to convince me to go too and generally intimated that I was letting down the team.

Eventually I walked up to her with a ripped scrap of paper in my hand, said "I'm handing in my notice" and gave it to her before just walking out mid-shift. My scrap of paper simply said "I hate this place".
(Fancy a weekend on my Raymondo Luxury Yacht?, Sat 23 Jan 2010, 11:16, 1 reply, 16 years ago)

nice one

*makes mental note*
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Sat 23 Jan 2010, 15:03, Reply)