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This is a question Petty Officials

Bob de Bilde says: A traffic warden threatened to call the police and have me arrested because "It's illegal to take photos in the street. You might be a paedophile". I was taking a picture of a funny street sign, over which I had no plans to masturbate. Tell us about petty officials talking bollocks.

(, Thu 27 Mar 2014, 15:05)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

As an out and proud dog fingereeeeeeeerrrr
I love to make arbitrary decisions. Love you lots.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 22:23, Reply)
I went to see the Pixies on their reunion tour and the venue was the Manchester Apollo.
Now the tickets were bought and of the five of us who went four had seen the Pixies on their first tour (a few gigs) where they supported the Throwing Muses but we could not get into the stalls at the Manchester Apollo and could only be seated at different points in the auditorium. Not to worry, its a concert and we expect to stand. In fact, we expected to do going to a gig type things and that is ignore the seating and generally get up and stand up and party.

Apparently, the majority of the dress circle were there to say they had been there and it may as well, for atmosphere, been a student quartet recital of some lesser known Bach pieces. So, I went to join my friends and we tried to party. Unfortunately, I had to stand on the aisle. The AISLE.

A fluorescently clad Neanderthal with badges came and asked me to move. I declined. He said that I was blocking a fire exit. I said,

I am not blocking a fire exit, if there is a fucking fire then I will be first to make a bolt for the door.

Petty official took things no further.

I guess in hindsight, my answer ensured his confidence that I was not the usual glue huffing twat that he has to deal with. (if only he had known I had taken a good two bottles of Calpol and 5 DODO tablets - MASSIVE DRUGS)
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 22:17, 6 replies)
There was this guy and he like totally told me to stop doing that and I did not and that guy could not do anything about it.

(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 22:00, Reply)
Albert Marshmallow is a dangerous paedophilic rapist.

(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 21:38, 5 replies)
Sometimes they like to face off against each other in H+S
One area at work ('Lab Cars')involved a lot of standing around doing dull unintersting but essential tasks in a locked workshop with no chairs. Slowly chairs were appropriated from elsewhere and turned up in the Lab Car area, and the ability to sit down instead of standing about for a few hours at a time greatly improved the task of those required to work there. Except the H+S official clocked this and issued an edict that all chairs must be removed as his risk assessment said chair legs were a trip hazard. The chairs were dutifully (and grudgingly) removed. Except then one of the other H+S people was doing a risk assessment of the original facility and declared that people standing around for long periods of time completely stationary put them at risk of Deep Vein Thrombosis. Chairs returned.

On the other hand one H+S risk assessment said that the hot water coming out of the hot taps was of a temperature that could cause scalding so the thermostat on the boiler was moderated down. That was, until another risk assessment said that the reduced temperature increased the probability of Legionella virus thriving in the system. It was turned back up to OW FUCK temperature. And no plugs to mix the hot and cold in the basin.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 20:14, Reply)

(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 19:46, 6 replies)
US Immigration
I was woken by a 5:00 am call from our London Office. "We have a dangerously ill crew member on a ship 150 miles offshore from you. Arrange a helicopter to get him ashore and into a hospital!" This was not a normal part of my job, but after a few phone calls we were able to make it happen and the crew member was flown directly to the roof of a hospital.

On arrival he was declared dead. Since he was dying, the man had neglected to bring his passport - a reckless oversight it would later emerge. The next step was getting his body back to his home country and family. Unfortunately, US Immigration determined that since he was declared dead immediately after landing at the hospital he must have been alive at the time he entered the US and would have to have his passport stamped before the body could be released. The ship and his passport were now out of helicopter range on their way to North Africa. Even though we got the diplomats involved, Immigration would not budge. So, three weeks later when the ship reached its next port, his passport was sent back to Immigration who then released his body.

And this was before 9/11 so I probably avoided arrest for something like "felony conspiracy to violate immigration law."
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 17:13, 6 replies)
Its strictly not officialdom, but my god is this petty
Mother scrapes the barrel in delusional needy umbrage upon discovering her 21 year old son has had a tattoo:


Seriously, not speaking to him for 3 days? Having a meltdown because you've realised you don't physically 'own' him anymore?

Those aren't apron strings, those are evil strangling womb-tentacles from the planet over-bearing. And the staggering thing is she doesn't even really realise it, judging by her whiny me me me fanny-fart of an article. How her son managed to be sane is miraculous.

What an agonizing gusset-louse of a female!
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 15:27, 30 replies)
From my driving instructor
This one comes from the archives; it was told to me by my driving instructor about one of her other students. It may not be more than an urban myth.

He'd been driving without a licence for years and years; he'd never been stopped, but had decided that he wanted to got legit, so he booked a couple of lessons and a test.

Naturally he passed the test, and the examiner pointed out that he seemed to be a very confident driver. It was almost as if he had decades' of experience.

The newly-legal driver came clean.

The examiner marched to the office, picked up the phone, and rang the police.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 15:22, 14 replies)
Port of Entry
My son was born in Indonesia. It took us a month to get him a passport and then we had to get him an Indonesian visa. Not only did we have to pay a fine for that month, but we had to specify his port of entry on the visa form. Thank god it was a C-section or I don't know what we'd have put.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 15:08, 1 reply)
I used to work with a keen golfer.
Him, and his best friend are currently in prison. They were high as a pair of wide-boy sales arseholes usually are, playing a late afternoon game at one of Scotlands coastal golf courses. They came towards one of the beach areas mid game and noticed some of the local wildlife had come ashore. Being idiots of the highest order, they drunkenly used a fish that was rotting on the beach to lure the beast onto the course, they then proceeded to club the poor thing to death with their three woods. They then stuck a golf tee into it's corpse and played their first shot for the next hole from the pile or animal remains and fish guts.

Unfortunately for them, they were spotted and the authorities were called, they received a fairly large sentence, because the judge particularly liked that course.

You may remember the headlines when it first happened. "Pair tee off fish seals!"
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 14:17, 6 replies)
Sometimes I read stuff on here while I'm at work that makes me burst out laughing.
I have to stop this happening so I don't look like a mental, so I clench my jaw tight and end up going bright red, shaking and perspiring while the laughter threatens to escape through my nose.

Sweaty officelol.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 13:39, 13 replies)
International football transfer
My neighbour moved from Belgium to Australia. He had played football for his town in Belgium: when he got to Australia he also wanted to play for his local club there. Before they allowed him to play he had to get a document from Belgium to prove that he had not played at an international level, and had received no pay for playing, and therefore was not a threat to the Aussie football world. This document had to be translated by an official translator and delivered to the Aussie Football Association. All of this took several months. My neighbour was 8 years old.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 13:30, 2 replies)
Carousel Craziness
For a couple of years when my girls were small we bought season tickets to a farm park near to where we live. This has pigs and cows and the types of general farmyness that you would expect, plus some small rides and bouncy things to keep those of short stature and matching attention span amused.

Now at August bank holiday or on the first fine weekend in April the place is absolutely rammed but on a cold February afternoon only those who are truly desperate to distract their kids, or who have already foolishly paid for the whole year, ever attend. Falling into both categories we huddle our way around for a while feeding goats and chickens and, somewhat bizarrely, alpacas before the girls want a ride on the carousel. The farm is such a desert that nobody is manning the rides that day and we have to ring a bell and wait for a staff member.

Eventually some kid slouches up and we are assaulted by flashing lights and the sound of a knackered barrel organ as the 30-or-so seater carousel bursts into life. The girls mount their favourite badly-painted chimeric nightmares and after casting around forlornly for any other riders our joyful helper starts the ride.

Now one ride on this pedestrian, shuddering musical abomination would be ample for most right-thinking humans but children have a different sense of amusement to most of us and the girls want to ride this thing again and again. The rules require, however, that each time the ride ends they are ordered off their chosen genetic atrocity and forced to run around and "join the end of the queue". Obviously, during the dozen or so rides that they indulge in, not a single other soul is seen, far less risks losing their place on their favourite monster, but each time the girls dash around the ride to the entrance again only to re-occupy the still-warm seat that they have just vacated.

Why? Really. Just why?
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 12:55, 6 replies)
I developed an online booze service. It was quite a project, and I was very fond of it. I ran it from a hut in the middle of nowhere.
That was my pet e-offy sheil.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 12:16, 1 reply)
Not an official, as such, just another member of the moronic public...
... Bought a ticket to see second Hobbit movie in HFR 3D. This required a trip to one of the biggest cinemas I've ever been in, screen 1 at the Vue near the Reebok in Bolton. Huge. Seems like it seats a couple of thousand people. Seriously, ENORMOUS. Cannot emphasise enough just how ridiculously many seats there are in this place.

And when you buy a ticket, you get a seat number assigned to you. You can probably tell where this is going. It's reasonably late in the run for this film, so when I enter the cinema alone, I find I am the third person in there. Just two others, way up near the back. So I don't pay any attention to seat numbers or row numbers, just sit down somewhere convenient and settle in to surfing the 'net on my phone waiting for the adverts to stop. The trailers begin... and a couple enter the cinema.

They are patrons number four and five, remember, in a cinema bigger than a football pitch.

They walk around a bit. They closely examine their tickets. They walk around some more. Eventually, after an interminable two minutes or so of wandering around, he comes over and say "I think you're sitting in our seats". Interesting choice of phrase given that there is, as I said, one of me. Even if I am, in fact, in one of the seats he's booked, since my wave function is localised, I'm by definition not simultaneously in the other one too.

As it is, I don't get into a conversation about the Uncertainty Principle with him. I just look around slowly, taking in the THOUSAND EMPTY SEATS surrounding us, and say "Are you serious?".

He similarly looks round, and it slowly dawns on him that he can sit wherever he likes. He mumbles a bit and wanders off.

The film was SHIT.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 11:40, 14 replies)
After the split in the IRA in 1969, the dissident provisionals departed the movement, and the original IRA was left with the diminutive Cathal Goulding as Chief of Staff.
So I suppose he was the original petit Official.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 11:30, Reply)
No one deals drugs in my town.

(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 11:00, 5 replies)
"Hey! You!"
I was a fair distance away from Tesco when I heard the call from somewhere behind me. I looked over my shoulder, and could see that it was addressed to me. A PCSO was lumbering along the pavement.
"Of course you. Turn out your pockets."
"I was just in Tesco, and the security guard and I both saw you leave without paying."

It's true. I had left without paying, and was bang to rights on that front. I offered a defence. "They didn't have what I wanted. I didn't pay because I didn't take anything."

The PCSO took a moment to compute this. "But we both saw you leave."
"Yes. That's because I don't live there."
"But why did you have your hands in your pockets?"

Good lord. There was no way I was going to be able to answer that question clearly. I gave the only response I could. "Eh?"
"You had your hands in your pockets, and you left without paying. That's suspicious. So I want you to turn out your pockets."
"You do know I can arrest you for shoplifting, don't you?"
"You're a PCSO. No you can't. And even if you could, not buying something isn't an arrestable offence. To the best of my knowledge, it isn't an offence at all - even if you have your hands in your pockets."
"Then prove you didn't steal anything."
"I don't have to. It's up to you to show that something was stolen, and that there's a reasonable chance I stole it."
"Right. Stop playing games. I want your name and address."
"Resisting arrest is a serious matter..."
"Indeed it is," I had to agree.
"Well then."

This was getting nowhere; and though it was May, there was a chilly wind blowing. I was beginning to wish I'd worn a jacket. I could have been home by now had it not been for this pillock. There was a few seconds of silence.

"Listen: just do what I said. Or do you want me to radio for a car and have you arrested?"
"So you're suggesting that you're going to ask to have me arrested for having left a small supermarket with my hands in my pockets? I'm sure that that'll go down well..."

The PCSO began to look a little flustered. "Well, OK, then; but you have to give me your name and address."
"Really, I don't. But I'd like to take your name and number so that I can make a complaint." I had no such intention, of course. I didn't even have a pen on me.
"If you won't give me yours, I don't have to give you mine."
"We both know that that's not how it works. Now, name and number."

Another few seconds passed as the cogs turned in the PCSO's mind. The wind gusted again, and I suppressed a shiver.
"Oh, all right then," I offered, "let's call it quits." I started to walk away.
"Well... er... Don't do it again!" stammered the PCSO.

It really was unusually cold for the time of year.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 9:54, 28 replies)
Well, if that's your rule, I hope you are ready for the consequences...

A woman I know is one of them forrins who come over here etc. One time, returning through Heathrow, she got the usual grilling at the passport desk about why Her Royal Highness should let another job-theiving NHS freeloader in to this green and pleasant land. Despite the fact that she had a permanent resident's stamp, the questioning was taking some time. She asked if it was possible to go the the toilet, but was told that she couldn't go until she had passed through immigration.

The questions continued, and she started to get desperate. Despite her increasingly frantic requests, he refused to let her seek relief from her straining bladder.

"OK, well if that's the way you want it, I'll just have to piss right here" she said, and began to squat down and wriggle out of her underwear, right in front of his desk. (She was in a skirt, luckily)

In amazingly short order, he found a female immigration officer to escort her to the toilet, which turned out to be just behind his desk.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 9:06, 9 replies)
We parked up in a multistory car park once
and the handbrake failed. When we came back the car was gone. We were obviously quite concerned that our car had been nicked. Then from afar we heard a shout, we looked round to see our car on the lower level. It looked like it had been abandoned in the middle of the car park and there were two traffic warden standing by it. We checked the car over and explained what had happened. We apologised profusely for taking up so much of their time as they has been waiting next to the car for an hour, had called the police to get our details and phoned our house to let us know.. The two jobsworth cunts told us not to worry as it had got them out of the rain. Then the fuckers told us that they were very sorry they wrote us a ticket as it had looked abandoned, but not to worry because if we just explain the situation they were sure we would be let off. When we wrote to the council explaining the situation the cheeky shits wrote back saying that these things happen, not to worry and that the ticket was cancelled.

Mother fucking traffic warden pricks.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 8:15, 6 replies)
Prolly get stepped for this because the mods are petty

Aww :(
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 8:14, 4 replies)
waz4444's post reminded me of a similar thing that happened to me in about 1986
Wavy lines, etc.

FWD88T was my first car - a slightly knackered Renault 18GTL 1.4 - and I drove it every opportunity I got. As I was the only one of my mates with a car, I ended up as de facto chauffeur for the group.

So it was that one night, at about 1am, while taking my mate Nick and his girlfriend Jayne home, we attracted the attention of a bored rozzer in his Ford Escort ice-cream sandwich.

Of course I made the mistake of mentioning to my loved-up passengers in the rear of the car that we were being tailed by HM Plod, to which remark they swivelled round and stared at him.

I'm sure this affected his decision to follow us all around the housing estate where Jayne lived. So, having stuck religiously to the speed limit for possibly the first time in my life, we pulled up outside Jayne's house.

Plod drove past slowly, eyeballing us, then went to the bottom of the road and did a u-turn before pulling up alongside me. He twirled his hand spastically to indicate I should wind down my window - so I pressed the button and the electric motor whirred smoothly, lowering the window. From the look on his face I think it annoyed him further that my car had such luxuries (though no radio), but my conscience was clear and I had done nothing deserving of a rebuke.

But, of course, no Bluebottle can allow an opportunity to be a supercilious bastard to pass, so he uttered the immortal words, "Turn your headlights to sidelights when you're parked."

Yep, it was really worth following me for ten minutes in order to prevent repetition of such a heinous act.

tl;dr - bored policeman was a bit of a twat
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 8:13, 2 replies)
Eyeballing me?

I was driving through Seaford, East Sussex once and accidentally caught the eye of a fat policeman in his car at the lights.

He tailed me for about six miles.

And when I pulled up to another set of lights, he pulled down his window and said 'Were you eyeballing me son?'

(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 3:39, 2 replies)
Sydney Traffic Rangers or 'Even bigger cunts' as they're known. Part two.

When my wife was eight and a half months pregnant with our first, I parked slightly illegally near my house - cos' you know, I might have needed to drive her to fucking hospital.

I got busted with another $250 fine.

We got letters from both our DR and Obstetrician contesting the fine, as she would have had to walk a minimum of half a mile to get to the car.

Did they withdraw the fine? Did they FUCK.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 3:37, 7 replies)
Melbourne 'Traffic Rangers' or 'cunts' as they're known: PART ONE.

I pulled up outside a DVD rental slot and the missus leapt out to shove a couple of rentals back.

I was still fucking MOVING when she got back into the car.

And in my rear-view mirror there's a warden hitting me with a $250 parking fine.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 3:33, 6 replies)
I got arrested because my older brother bullied on someone in high school
My mission was to drive out and get the Chinese food for the hungry pot heads of the house. My journey did not end well.

I made it about two miles up race street when I get pulled over by a town cop. I knew I didn't do anything wrong, so obviously he is profiling my red Honda? I was prepared to deal with the routine, license, registration, insurance, etc. Nope... "Get out the car", was his first word upon encounter. I did, and he proceeded to accusing me of drinking and driving. (I did not drink, nor had I done any weed or anything -- sober as it gets)

My efforts to convince this idiot that I'm sober made absolutely no difference. After about a half hour of him harassing me and not getting what he wanted, he decided that I'm drunk. He put me in cuffs, had my car towed to the impound, and took me to the station.

At the station, they made me blow into the INTOXIZER 6000! I blew a 0.00. Of course, the officers (cunts) say, "Our mistake, do you need a ride home"? I said I wanted my car back. They said not possible because it's already at impound and they are closed now.

At this point I was so pissed off I declined a ride back and walked back. By the time I got back the house my mates had assumed I was dead or something. After explaining the hell I had just went through with Officer Fippin, my brother pipes up and says, "Tomas Fippin?, Oh... that's why he was fucking with you".

Turns out, Officer Fippin had a grudge and couldn't get to my brother, so he ran rough shot over me in hopes it would screw with my with him.

I had to pay $80 to get my car out of impound the next morning, my brother accepted no responsibility and I'm no wiser of a man because of any of this. I guess don't be a younger brother is the lesson.
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 2:27, 7 replies)
Paris trains...
Having been advised it's wise to learn some key phrases in French just so you at least look like you're trying while in Paris, I walked up to the information desk at Gare Du Nord and stood quietly waiting for the attendant to look up from his news paper.
That didn't happen, so I cleared my throat politely. He looked up, shook his paper and went back to reading.
"Excuse moi," I began and went in to explain in broken French I was lost and which platform had the train to the station I needed.
He waved his hand vaguely without looking up.
I repeated the question, he shouted something in rapid French and waved again.
I explained I do not speak French, but know numbers, which platform please.
At this point he stood up, looked at me and spat "English!" folded his arms and turned his back.
I asked again, he just stood there with his back to me.
At this point I managed to live up to Australian stereotypes and asked him if he'd mind coming out of his little booth so I could stick his head even further up his arse than it already was, and got a tap on the shoulder.
A woman behind me who had heard the whole thing, said "please, let me", gently moved me aside and proceeded to rip the guy a new one in a blistering tirade I didn't need to any French to understand completely.
At this point he walked off into some little anteroom while she stood there banging on the glass going ballistic.
Another tap on the shoulder and a teenager who had also seen everything said in broken English "this man... I am so sorry, follow me and I will show you your train."
And he did.
Why would you work at an information desk in a place utterly guaranteed to be visited by people who will speak English, if you don't want to give information and have a hatred of anyone who speaks English?
(, Fri 28 Mar 2014, 0:53, 3 replies)
France again
not me, a mate who worked there for a bit.

1) His (large, well known) employer promised him that the HR staff in their company HQ in Paris, where he was going to be based, would give all possible help in finding accommodation. They put him up in a hotel for a bit. He approached the HR department and asked for the promised assistance. They arranged for him to see two apartments. One was OK but expensive, the other he didn't like. "Can you arrange for me to view any more?" "No, there are no more to see". He rented the first one.

2) He moved in. The flat had been let before and the electricity company continued to address the bill to the former tenant. It was for the correct amount so my mate paid it, then phoned them a bit later to change the name at the top of the invoice. Bad move. "When did you move in?". He told them. They took umbrage at him paying a bill under an assumed name and cut him off without warning. He was then informed that an engineer had to attend to turn the power back on, that the earliest appointment was in five days, and charged for an 'emergency' reconnection. The waste water from shower and toilet was removed using an electric pump, so he couldn't wash or shit at home.

3) The flip side. After a year, the landlady increased the rent. He mentioned this to a colleague who immediately tutted and phoned the relevant local government office. My mate was given very clear instructions: attend at this office at this time, bring these documents. Because he managed to do so, the official gave him a pro-forma letter to write to the landlady stating that her rent rise was higher than legally permitted, that he intended to pay no more than X amount, and that if this was a problem to her then she should reply by letter. She didn't.

tl:dr French bureaucracy, eh?
(, Thu 27 Mar 2014, 23:44, 2 replies)
Protracted argument with an internet ISP
I switched mobile network providers to Three Ireland. It turns out Three censor the internet and one of the sites they filter is called b3ta.com. I wrote a bunch of emails to tech support to get them to lift the filter.

Their first response explained how they filtered "sites of an adult nature" because of kids. And that I could simply present myself at a store to request the filter be lifted and to be laughed at for the filthy pervert I clearly am.

After several more emails themed along a "I'm not a pervert for wanting to visit a comedy site" they consented to lift it if I supplied my passport to them by email and eventually it was.

Total fucking overkill and nannyish for a several reasons.

Reason 1: They don't censor sites which contain far more adult content than B3TA. Such as Facebook, YouTube, LiveLeak, Vimeo. Amongst these sites, I would have no trouble finding:

* Execution videos
* Homophobia, racism, sexism and other bigotry / hate speech
* Religious extremism
* Drug paraphenalia
* Home made weapons, nunchucks, guns etc.
* Animal cruelty / slaughter
* Sex advice and nudity
* Fatal accident footage
* Dead bodies and other gross content

e.g. type "how to put on a condom" into YouTube. 3rd result is a very happy man demonstrating on himself.

Reason 2: They don't censor sites that are in some way similar to B3TA.

Reason 3: It's trivial to work around the filter, e.g. by using Opera Mini, but that isn't the point.

Reason 4: I shouldn't even have to have this bloody conversation to be treated like an adult. They asked my date of birth when I signed up. They could have asked a follow-up question "Do you want to use the parental control filter on your data?". And if I want to change my mind later include a checkbox on the self service screen to change the option.

Gah, such big deal over one bloody web site.
(, Thu 27 Mar 2014, 22:52, 9 replies)

This question is now closed.

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