For all of 30 seconds
Didnt really think I'd have anything to contribute to this until about half an hour ago.
Was in a realtionship with a lovely guy some years ago.
It ended amicably when he got a chance to run some businesses overseas and i didnt feel ready to marry or leave my life here.
We've kept in touch and always used to hook up whenever he was over here.
He eventually met someone and our contact just became the occasional freindly email every few months.
His lady sounds very nice and i am genuinely happy for him, but i admit there was always a little bit of me that thought 'what if?'
Anyway he called me tonight, hadnt spoken to him in about 4 months and he totally floored me.
He told me he has been thinking of proposing but theres one thing he wants to clear up first,
would I reconsider going over there now?
Bloody hell!
I made light of it and said no, i was happy where i was.
He then said if there was any chance of us getting back together he would sell up everything and move back over here.
For half a minute I knew that if i said yes, he would do it.
I had absolute power to alter 3 peoples lives with one word, and one of them not for the better.
I said no :(

I feel like crap, but it was the right thing

i think
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 23:33, 14 replies)

I have the power
to ruin your journey by public transport. If I did the equivalent job for another company I would not have the same amount of power but I would have responsibility. If I think too much about what I do I make myself ill. The extra money in another company would be nice but I think I'll carry on where I am still allowed to fart (just about) without asking permission and don't have to explain every single decision I made 3 weeks ago when the service was in meltdownto someone who has had that period of time to think about it in isolation.
(jvz, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 21:55, 7 replies)

I have a five year old son.
I tell him where we are going and why, how long we are going to be there and what we will do. He laughs, says 'Silly Daddy!' and just does whatever he wants.
The power is with his mother. She could try to discipline him, teach him how to get along with people, teach him respect, but no, it's left to me to try to educate him in the four hours I get to see him a week.
(Thor McLegend FUCK SHITPANTS PAC MAN, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 21:30, 28 replies)

Power?
Who fucking runs the US of Fucking A?

Now that's power........

Wake up Sheeple of the b3ta!

www.politico.com/news/stories/0710/39613.html
( The Scrunt Wants a Dozen Pints, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 17:56, 16 replies)

The power of words
A while ago, I worked for the swine flu call center. Calls where pretty boring, usualy some one who's sick, or worried about a kid or elderly relative, so not always the most cheery bunch.

Then I get a call from a guy about his son who has susspected swine flu, he's very polite, funny, upbeat and dosent panic when I say his son may have swine flu. Really nice to talk to him, makes a pretty depressing job for a university graduate a bit easier to manage.

Then, he has one last question, he's just been diagnosed with stomach cancer, will he be at risk. The words hit me like a hammer blow. He'd been so upbeat, so cheerful, yet he was dealing with cancer.

Relavence? No matter how absolute your power seems, no matter how Much influence you wield, your life could come crashing down around you after a quick check up at the doctors. Taking that diagnosis and refusing to give in, refusing to let it destroy you, that's the only power worth having.
(Mong goose, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 16:20, 4 replies)

Teaching
Well, seeing as some people have described teaching as a position of absolute power, I guess I can give my own examples. (And just to clear up any misconceptions, I do not copy and paste reports, but actually spend possibly far too much time considering each individual pupil. And yes, I did do a PGCE, but this wasn’t as a last resort, but because I wanted to get my German degree first. Some people do do PGCEs and actually want to teach. OK, mini rant over.)

But as to the absolute power, it’s more an excuse to get small children to like the things you do and inflict your own tastes in music and literature on small impressionable minds. This has resulted in my class this year currently being obsessed with Artemis Fowl (breakfast time read aloud) and Damon Albarn’s Monkey: Journey to the West (possible tenuous cross-curricular link between music and work on Chinese New Year). Also, they were able to compare and contrast Girls and Boys by Blur with the above after a class party. Music has also involved The Beatles and MGMT amongst other things, although I have had to limit myself a little – too much of my music library has inappropriate lyrics for littlies. They’ve also started doing lots of black and white line drawings using fineliners and lots of patterns (not that I ever do this, oh no). Roald Dahl has featured pretty heavily too. As have many other of my favourite books - Where the Wild Things Are, The Tower to the Sun and so on.

I also pride myself that somewhere in the depths of Bavaria there exists an entire year group who can explain the term “nutmeg” when related to football.

So I guess absolute power in teaching can either mean making small people feel crappy, or actually trying to involve children and broaden their horizons a litte by teaching using things you love yourself.
(Picotee, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 13:04, 6 replies)

You can only do it once
There's not many times at work when you can gain a position of power over the 'management' but I managed to achieve it once.

I worked for a medium size company when I was fairly young and naive. Through hard work and dedication I'd managed to claw my way into a junior management position, and although I was glad for the extra responsibility and experience I was being paid like a pauper because I was basically younger than my peers.

Every six months I was promised a raise in line with my colleagues but it never materialised even though the working hours got longer and my responsibilities larger.

The straw that broke the camel's back was the day that I hired a new member of the team and he managed to negotiate a salary higher than my own. This I was told to accept because 'the experience you're gaining is worth more than money'.

With those words of wisdom ringing in my ears, I promptly went out and secured a job offer from their biggest rivals worth 35% more. Plopping said offer in front of my boss on a rainy Friday afternoon and watching him squirm was one of the highlights of my life.

Backed into a corner, they reluctantly put their hands in their pockets, to which I thanked them kindly for the counter-offer and then told them to stick their rotten job.

Now that's a feeling of real power!

Length? Three months gardening leave thank-you-very-much
(BinDipper, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 12:52, 5 replies)

Smoking, hmmm
I've never smoked, though some of my family did, because of the power aspect. As a young teenager, seeing how desperate people were for cigarettes, I decided never to let anything have that much power over me.

Anyway, smoking isn't rebelling, I'd say to my mates, it's just doing exactly what Big Business tells you to! They laughed at me.

Some of them are dead now.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 11:47, 36 replies)

I've started a fascist party.
I've decided to make the membership fees about five times what they should be. I'm going to spend the money on getting fashionable designers to do all our posters.

I expect to achieve absolut power.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 10:30, 1 reply)

Sittin on my 7yr old son
and tickling him til he cries?

Extra points if I have a little bit of beard growth and use my chin to tickle with...

Its what dads are for...
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 9:24, 7 replies)

Most of my nephews are still young enough for me to have absolute power over, and I enjoy lying to them for my own amusement.
I am the cool uncle, and they know that if I tell them to do something, it will be fun and cool.

So - last year, at our annual camping expedition in the heart of Wales, my sister is sitting with the 6yo, and she's boasting about how good he is with food.

"You like your salad, don't you, H?" she said, and he nodded. "And you like your tomatoes, don't you? And celery?" he nodded conformatively.

"It's your birthday soon, isn't it H?" I asked, and he nodded again excitedly. "Well - you do know that on your birthday, you're allowed to do anything you want, and you can't get in trouble for it?" I said, and he shook his head. "It's the law" I said, "You can play anything you like, do anything you like, and eat anything you like, and mum and dad HAVE to let you do it."

He was quite pleased to learn this.

"So" I continued, "On your birthday this year, why don't you ask for pancakes for breakfast, lunch and tea?" I suggested.

There was a collective intake of breath from all the adults around, as the lightbulb popped into life in his head.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 9:13, 2 replies)

A friend of mine
gave up smoking and Drinking for a whole year to show he had power over the habit, rather than the other way round.

New years eve to New Years eve.

He went all the way, then at 00:01 new years day, downed a pint and lit a biff.

He was hammered in 45 mins.

He still smokes and drinks to this day.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 9:10, 3 replies)

I have absolute power
over everything I say, and everything I do.
Sometimes I wish I didn't.
A lot of the time I dislike the fact that a bunch of other people, who have different ideals to myself, have made a bunch of rules that they feel I should live by. It bothers me a lot, that if I break their rules, I have to suffer their punishment.
Sometimes I feel absolutely powerless, that I have to use my absolute power to not say and do as I see for the best, lest I suffer the wrath of those who enforce our "one size fits all" rules.

My head hurts now.
(M61A1 CUPID- STUNTS, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 3:23, Reply)

It hasnt bindun yet?
Edit: And my entire little box is somehow empty, I'm not typing it again.
Re-edit: you wanna know about power? Women have all the power. They can call men cute and nothing happens, but if I call a woman cute? Sexual harassment and I'm out a job and quite a bit of money. Some woman comes in my store and is being all flirty? She's just polite. If I flirt back I'm being pushy and scary and HR is talking to me. Women have all the power.

That's why I rape them.

Twice.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Tue 13 Jul 2010, 0:15, 2 replies)

The thing about table top role play
is that whole worlds are created just by what the GM says.

I was not the GM, nor was I even playing - I was just a passing housemate who saw an opening while the GM went to get a brew.

He came back to find his fearsome dragon was paisley and wore a daisy chain necklace.
( Citizen Cavy Admires your passion for conformity, Mon 12 Jul 2010, 23:33, 1 reply)

I work as a teacher by trade.
The school where I work is quite old, and as such has one of those coal cellar things. It's basically a tiny room no larger than 10x10 feet, accessible through a trap door and with a small air vent just big enough for someone to crawl through leading out into what is now the cemetery of a local church. We try and keep the students in the dark about this thing, but it's a school and rumours spread, and we often have to warn the little shits away from playing in there and getting trapped or something.

Anyway, one day I began plotting about some of the fun I could have with this pit (apart from getting off with the well fit history and french teachers in there), and I told a few friends about it, and they were more than up for it. So we chose a day, and decided "let's go for it".

It was a Friday, and chances were that at least one kid would be near the cellar after school, and lo and behold there was one, a monstrous little turd called Wayne. Picking him up by the scruff of his neck I screamed "RIGHT! YOU WANT TO SEE THE CELLAR? SEE IT ALL YOU LIKE!". I carried him over to the trap door and threw him in. He started screaming for me to let him out but I put the bar across and smoked a jazz cigarette and started listening to an audiobook about clouds. After an hour or so of this (and by the time most of the kids had gone home) I took out the hose I had brought with me, attached it to the school septic tank and sprayed him down with shit. His fault for not climbing out of the vent and legging it home. I repeated this cycle a couple of times (phatty, audiobook, shit hose) before his lump of a brain caught on and decided to make an exit through the hole.

Cue phase 2 of my plan! Using a leaf blower I had filled the vent with rusty nails, razorblades, used syringes and glass powder! The little toad faced an agonising crawl through this tunnel of hell, covered in shit and bits of sick. Halfway through I had set up some strobe lights that went off at random intervals, and war sound effects cranked up to deafening levels. He was in the tunnel for a good couple of hours, scared out of his wits and physically and mentally exhausted, and then to top it all off, he came out in a graveyard! It was about midnight at this time, and I was crying and shaking with laughter!

This is where my friends came in. They came up to him and pretended to help him, asking what had happened and who his parents were. They pretended to call his mum, and claimed that they were going to take him to the hospital and meet her there! And like a wazzock he went with them! He got into their Honda Accord and they drove off into the middle of nowhere and raped him in the back! OH YEAH DID I MENTION MY FRIENDS WERE PEDOS! WHAT A LAUGH RIOT!! THEY LEFT HIM BLEEDING IN THE WOODS!!

Anyway, after all that all the students think I'm well wicked now and do whatever I want, the Monday after I ran around the town giving everyone high fives. My lessons often involve me beating all of the kids at street fighter, people applaud me in the halls, I have threesomes with the history and french teachers, I can do 300mph wheelies on my motorbike, my grip is strong enough to crush an apple and that 6 year old hasn't been the same since.
Cheers,
( Lightguy hail satan, Mon 12 Jul 2010, 20:10, 9 replies)

I'm not a person of power
but I know a person who is...

Call centres.... you know who you are....

youve spent 10 minutes pressing selection after selection on the phone trying to get through to speak to a person, when you hear the phone connect - then instantly hangup.

That, my friends, is abuse of power....
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 12 Jul 2010, 17:40, 15 replies)

Interpretation
I work as an interpreter. The position naturally comes with the absolute power of control over communication. If, like me, you are of a slightly... mischevious disposition, it gets really hard to not tell the Madagascan fisheries minister that his Taiwanese counterpart wishes to express his desire for a duel to the death to settle quota dicussions once and for all. Or something to do with sodomy, etc. I'm sure I could slip it in without anyone noticing. Said the head of the trade delegation to the minister without portfolio. Hoho.
(sinbad, Mon 12 Jul 2010, 17:10, 2 replies)

Kids
There's no power as absolute as a parent over their children. Unfortunately, my lot all live with their mum, so it's all too common to hear her influence on their lives above my own ideals. Not that this causes many problems. The ex and I are very similar with ideals that tend to match. I often wonder what goes on behind closed doors though.

Over the weekend my youngest daughter handed me her school report. Being in Year 1, this is her first end-of-year report, and though not exceptional she was none-the-less proud of it and asked me to read it out so that her brother and sisters could hear.

Being a good dad, as I reeled off the various things she had done throughout the school year, surprised by the three sides of A4 on the report which differed immensely from the coupled of scribbled sentences I received at the same age, I decided to ask questions based on what I was reading.

"So you learnt about different religions this year, can you remember which ones?"

Youngest daughter tilted her head to one side which she does to aid her thought process and replied simply: "Christianity?" in that answer-posed-as-a-question way that kids tend to adopt.

"Yeah, that's one. Can you think of any more?"

She shook her head and before I could prompt her for more answers, her sisters joined in.

"Judaism!" chimed in the eldest, who is 9 years old.

"Good! Any more?"

"Hinduism?" offered the middle daughter, aged 7.

"Excellent! There's a few more that you learnt about, can anyone remember any more?"

There was a silence as they all racked their brains. I decided to help out, and recounted their answers so far, and added an additional one.

"Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism..." my sentence petered out and I sat back, waiting proudly for my daughters to come up with even more religions than I knew when I had left school.

"I know!" shouted the eldest one excitedly, "sexism!"

And that was the end of learning over the weekend in the SeasonTicketless household. It's good to see the absolute power that my ex is exuding in my absence.
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Mon 12 Jul 2010, 15:52, 17 replies)

So, fresh out of university, I was temping for the Department of Industry, doing general office admin.
Our unit was coordinating a several hundred thousand pound, if not million pound government grant to develop a green, sustainable form of transport for London and the UK.

One of my jobs was to print out, envelope and send the rejection letters - standard letter personally addressed using a mail-merge.

One chap, however, took great umbrage to the rejection, and looking over his file I'm not surprised.

The entries ranged from someone drawing a kite tied to a cart and saying "Green" on it, to designed models, and then this chap's entry, which was a hundred-page study that cost him personally tens of thousands of pounds in the commission of research and materials.

The contact number on the rejection letter was the 'phone at my desk, and a few days later I was called, and the chap on the other end swore and ranted and cajoled, pleaded, begged and then threatened to get me fired over this.

I reported back to my manager, who told me to ignore it, but sure enough round two came, so I said simply "Listen, the matter's out of my hands, I'm sorry I can't help, but that's the way it is."

He went quiet, then apologised sincerely, and rang off.

Three days later, a handwritten letter arrives addressed to me personally, in which the author apologised for his handwriting (his blasted printer is broken at the moment, but rest assured he is investing in a new one!), and also for ranting and raving at me so rudely - he's passionate about the project as it's close to his heart, but that's no excuse for his behaviour.

By way of apology, he enquired, he wondered if I would be so kind as to allow him to buy me lunch at his club, say - next Friday?

I read it.

I re-read it.

I put it in my pocket and kept my gob shut.

I composed a return letter saying that I'd be delighted to join him for lunch next Friday - how kind.

Next Friday came, and I turned up in my cheap whistle to a quiet street in Pimlico.

I find the address - it's lidderally just two massive oak doors and nothing else.

I knock.

I am greeted by a butler.

I am shewn through to the oak-pannelled, gleaming tap'd, classic and detailed, Art Deco bar. This place is straight out of James Bond, Yes Minister, Dickens - all of that. It actually IS the archetypal London Gentleman's club, and not in the rude way.

"Sir, Mr. X sends his sincere apologies, but he is currently running over on a meeting, and will be approximately five minutes late. Can I get Sir anything from the bar at all, and perhaps a paper?"

I order a water - I've got £10 in my wallet and it looks like if I order a beer they'll want a kidney and the rights to my first-born.

Mr X turns up - for one so strong of voice he's an old guy, bordering on the doddery.

"Ah, Mr Vagabond - how good to meet you!" he beams. "I take it you are being attended to in a decent enough manner?"

He's absolutely charming and I feel like the fraud I am. I want to tell him I'm just a temp, there's nothing I can do, and that he'd be far better off taking the head of the department out, as she's got serious leverage. He's a lovely old man, who's done well for himself, and he's just trying to do the good thing - I understand that - he's done his time, he just wants to make the world perhaps a little bit better. He's no saint, he's just a sinner, but trying to do the right thing and help in whatever way he can.

But fuck that.

I'm poor, young and hungry, he's rich, fat and old.

We're led through to the dining room, which is as you'd expect - full of suits discussing Important Matters, and as we are led to his table by the window, he nods to a few of them, muttering to me that he's the ambassador for Hong Kong, he's the owner of Saatchi's account handlers, that's the Minister Without Portfolio, etc etc.

The menu - of course - has no prices on, and he heartily recommends the fish - it's the best this side of Russia.

We drink - of course - a bottle of the correct wine with each course.

Over lunch he continues to try and butter me up, detailing his plans for the project, and how he's going to seek finance elsewhere, but that the government really could do well out of this on the PR front. I listen attentively, nod encouragingly, and, using my scant knowledge of industry from my GCSE Geography, drop in a choice phrase or two, such as "Renewable energy resources as part of the GDP", as I deem appropriate. It works.

We retire to the smoking room for coffee and liqueurs at around 2-30, and I stagger back into the office at about 4-30, pissed out of my skull, and am fired on the spot.

Totally worth it.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 12 Jul 2010, 10:33, 7 replies)

My bowels, and stomach and head
over me this morning, after a brilliant night. They are running my life today. pooh, puke, pill, pooh, puke, pill. Viva L'espagna!!!
( SteveFrench Cardio is for homo's. do you even lift bro?, Mon 12 Jul 2010, 10:07, 1 reply)

He has absolute power over me
every morning, it's the same - he yells at me, hits me in the face, sometimes bites me, to wake me up. He normally paws at my breasts for a few minutes too. I get up, get him some breakfast - anything he doesn't like, he drops on the floor, and yells at me some more. I prepare our lunches, and then get a few hours peace when I come to work.

When I get home, it's more of the same - the yelling, the punching, the expecting to be waited on hand, foot and finger. I prepare him a nice nutricious meal - last night, for example, was salmon with new potatoes and mini corn on the cob - and he refuses most of it, just flinging anything he doesn't want on the floor. I wash up, clean up after him, clean his clothes, and all the time he's screaming and yelling at me. I have bruises from him, toothmarks, he's yanked my hair so hard I've had a couple of small bald patches from his efforts.

In bed, he's even more violent - he can't lie still for more than 2 minutes at a time, he's constantly kicking me. He spends some more time pawing at my breasts - it's as if they're his toys or something. I can't sleep well, as he takes up so much space in the bed, I'm always in danger of falling out. If I ask him to move, he gets very angry, so I've learnt that it's better to just leave him. I'm absolutely exhausted.

Despite all of this, I couldn't live without him. I spend all my time thinking about him, and I've reduced my hours at work so I can spend more time with him. I worry all the time we're apart that something might have happened to him. People joke that I've only got 18 years until he leaves home, but I'm secretly dreading the day my baby boy wants to move away from his mummy.
( ascorbate, Mon 12 Jul 2010, 10:01, 24 replies)

Timely question this
I work for a smallish company, but I am one of two highly specialised people who only work in one narrow area.

Just had a call from one of our clients, who quietly told me that he was talking to my partner over the weekend, and he is planning to retire today, due to personal circumstances, effective immediately.

This is no great shock to me, as I am up to date on the dramas in his life, but the owner of the company tends to be oblivious to what's going on around him.

So, at about 2pm today I will be summoned to the bosses office to work out how to deal with the problem. There are not that many people around who do what us two do.

Yeehaaa.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Mon 12 Jul 2010, 9:02, 7 replies)

When I worked in a gym I had a special skill, which occasionally gave me absolute power over the boss.
Having worked previously in hospital/care situations, I have a very strong stomach and so was always the only employee able to clean up vomit.

Whenever a gym member threw up, the boss would go round all the staff trying to bully them into wiping it up, knowing that it was futile. Only I, Juan, had that ability!

She knew that I'd negotiate the situation to my advantage. Get off a bit early, perhaps, or slouch back late from lunch.

Lord knows what they do for sick-cleaning now I've gone. Close off the contaminated bogs forever, perhaps, or get a contractor in. Or MTFU and do it themselves!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sun 11 Jul 2010, 18:04, 2 replies)

I worked for the Terminator
Seriously, this is what she prided herself on being known as, due to her prediliction for firing people she didn't like.

I worked for the evil bitch for six months and was getting to the point that I wanted to stop working in accounts - she decimated my self confidence. Despite working late every night (til at least 7, often 10)picking up the systems we used (written in German, nice)because no one knew how to do what I was meant to be doing (only her, and she had no patience to show me)she constantly had a stream of my colleagues in her office to bitch about me (she made it pretty obvious) Not that I was the only one, but I'd only been there a few months, what could I do?

The main part of my job was organising purchase of high value machinery from our European siblings and ensuring the finance was in place for us to sell it on - not an easy thing when a lot of the guys we dealt with were in Southern Ireland. The whole thing came to a head when I put a halt to a 2M euro deal as the finance hadn't been finalised - potentially we were delivering this stuff to a company that didn't have the means to pay for it.

However, largely due to the fact that she was shagging the sales guy who was organising it, she let it go ahead. Big mistake - for 2 months I was constantly on the phone, trying to get the guy to see the customer and sort it out (he'd already had his commission btw, what did he care?) Eventually my boss (FD) got into trouble with her boss (rabid angry German) and blamed it all on me. Her actual reason for firing me (with a smug smile, saying she knew I didn't like working there anyway) was because I'd not filed an invoice I'd done that morning...

Took me ages to get over that one, I still don't tell the guys where I currently work about it (luckily for me I got a new job within a week, as a temp and went permanent after two weeks, still there, loving it)

I think the most frustrating thing was, even though I had a good case for unfair dismissal (she'd also refused to give me any formal terms of employment - this was her favourite trick, she had some people working there for several years in the same position) it wouldn't have done me any good, nothing I could have done about it.

Still, I stayed friends with a couple of the girls and recently went to one of their hen nights - knowing the munter would be there, but determined not to let her spoil a good night out.

She was very obviously uncomfortable that I treated her just like someone you got on with, just hadn't seen for a couple of years, she thrives on tense situations and I genuinely think she believed I'd be awkward or upset or maybe even scared of her!

A big part of why people are like that is because they enjoy abusing their power by making others desperately unhappy - no way was I going to let her do that to me. She obviously has a lot lacking in her life, I don't! :)

Edit - sorry for the long post! I always post too much!!
( curvylittlegoth heard the voices in your head on, Sun 11 Jul 2010, 16:46, 2 replies)

Back in the heady days of my first teaching job.
If one of the students was being particularly naughty, I would make him hold the monkey flashcard, then have all the students chant 'You are a monkey, you are a monkey' while pointing at him until he cried like...well...like a seven year old holding a picture of a monkey while being pointed and chanted at by his peers.

Good times.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Sun 11 Jul 2010, 16:35, 9 replies)

This morning, a boy I know from school was put in his grave far too early.
He felt so completely overwhelmed by the shit in his life.

He crashed his car earlier this year, and almost killed his best friend in the process. Yes, he was drunk, and it was his fault. He was being prosecuted by the parents of his best friend.
Last week, his girlfriend dumped him.

On Monday, he killed himself.

It all sounds so melodramatic, I know. But the thing is, the boy I knew at school, was not a loser. He was funny, cheeky, never had a bad thing to say about anybody. He was extraordinarily popular. He loved a good joke and a piss up. Out of all the people I know - he was one of the last I would have picked to commit suicide.

Today was his funeral. Over two hundred and fifty people turned up. His friends, classmates. The boys he coached at football. The parents of his best friend. His family. His teachers.

All of these people loved him. Yet, when he needed us, he felt he couldn't reach out to us. And that is a fucking tragedy. There is an absolute power in just knowing someone. There is the ability to let the people we know, how we feel about them, and that they're always able to come talk to us. That they can trust us. That we can help them when they need help. That sometimes, all they need to do is turn up, and they can have all the love and support they need to get through the shit in their life and make it through to the otherside.

Bill, we failed you, and we can't bring you back. I'm so sorry that you felt so alone, and wish I'd known you better. I hope you're in a better place, and that you aren't suffering anymore.
You are loved still, and we do miss you.
Rest in Peace.
(Poppet some assembly required., Sun 11 Jul 2010, 14:15, 60 replies)

I used to edit an international travel magazine for the business community.
Joe Scramanga used to send me through challenges to get into the text, and my favourites were describing a Spanish restaurant as "popular with sunglasses salesman David Beckham", and that in one district in Singapore, "the numberals of 3 and 6 are widely celebrated as being the most erotic; 36 being the pinnacle of fertility, sexuality, and aluringly gender non-specific".
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Sun 11 Jul 2010, 12:38, 2 replies)

Chance would be a fine thing
Power? What power do I have? I work in a call center and regularly get in trouble for going over my alloted 8 mins a day of toilet time.

Essentaly, I get told off for not shitting myself at work. Give a big American corperation power and what do they do? Try and dictate my biological needs.
(Mong goose, Sun 11 Jul 2010, 12:13, 5 replies)

I work with livestock...
I work importing and exporting marine aquarium corals and fishes for a major company. This basically means I work in a big brightly lit warehouse full of tiny little tanks, full of tiny little fishes (and larger and larger fishes). Pretty shite job to be honest, but it does come with the degree of sick power some people crave. My job is to go around the thousands of fishes once or twice a day and pull out all the sick looking ones, the ones with "missing bits and extra bits, and funny looking bits too" so mr fishey with one eye, or cotton wool balls growing out of his gills, or no tail - they all come with me into the 'sick' room. Unbeknown to me for the first few weeks of doing this, another member of staff was euthanising the poor buggers. Anything 'unsaleable' or 'unsaveable' was put into a bucket of anaesthetic and killed (humanely, but still..) some of these fishes being perfectly healthy, just being born deformed, á la Finding Nemo.

So I get the job of deciding who is too deformed, or too sick to live each day. I feel like a mini fish Hitler. Although, many a fish has been known to go home with staff members to take refuge in their home aquarium to avoid the dreaded bucket of doom - I myself have had many 'one-of-a-kind' fishes when I kept my aquarium. Seeing as most of us there have a heart, we do attempt to squirrel away the healthy, but unsaleable fish - just out of sight of the management. I dread to think how many wonky fishes they'll find that we've hidden away out in our tens of thousands of litre resevoir when they drain it some day... it's like a little sanctuary of Quazimodo fish out there!
( Bathory, Sun 11 Jul 2010, 10:05, 12 replies)