Last day at an ISP
When I were but a wee nipper, I had quit my first proper job in tech support for an ISP, and on the last day, arranged for an extended lunch down the local.

I was given 2 hours by my then-boss for a quick tipple before returning to my desk to talk to irate customers whose emails didn't work.

I left the office at 12, sat down the pub with a few of my workmates, expecting another couple to turn up...

all 25 of the staff trickled in an out, each buying me a shot or pint, so wish I had taken a photo of the table!

so, after wimping out of them all, and donating a few to fellow leavers and randoms, I stumbled my way to a colleagues car outside.

I then wound down the window and shouted abuse at schoolkids while laughing like them as they walked by.

My colleague later told me I shouted at at least 40 of them in the 3 minute drive back to work, I think a good job there!

I got back to work, and seeing my massive drunkard grin mixed with fits of girly giggles, my boss told me to sleep it off instead of talking to customers!

Length? If it were any bigger, it'd hurt.
(Ethelred is watching cheese grow, Wed 28 May 2008, 9:50, 1 reply)

I did quit
hmm,

I 'stopped' smoking about 2-3 months ago; I had smoked for about 8 yrs. If anyone is thinking about giving up, I have some advice...

Don’t tell anyone you’re giving up, if someone asks if you would like a smoke just say no, and don’t explain. Putting emphasis on you quitting the biffs exasperates the problem.

I also found when people ask have you quit, tell them you haven’t, but that you have just stopped and see how you go. By following these two rules, you don’t feel so much pressure to succeed, and don’t feel a prat when you get an urge - which you do.

Also, I found having a collapsed lung also helped. 3 weeks stuck in a hospital with a tube into your chest sort of prevents any smoking for happening. but once out and down the pub, it feels good not wanting to have a cig.

good luck to all who are giving them up!
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Wed 28 May 2008, 9:43, 7 replies)

An open letter to Reality
Dear Reality

I know we have had some good times in the past, however I am afraid I am going to have to quit residing in you and I am going to go live with the Pixies in the magical forest.

It has been a tough decision, and I have spent a lot of time thinking about this, but it's just not going to work out.

You see, Reality, you have forced me to become cynical and bitter about a lot of issues. The fact the government say we should let democracy rule in the middle east, yet refuses to listen to the majority and hold and election when leadership changed. The fact that I work full time, but still struggle a bit towards the end of the month and live off cheese sandwiches when murderers and rapists are enjoying free meals three times a day. The fact we seem to be evolving to be ruder, and complaining more that people are rude. The fact that people are so passionate to help foreign countries, yet write off our own as going to the dogs.

There was a time when I could have maybe forgiven you for the above, but then you sold your soul to the devil and started making TV shows.

Yours,
TGB
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Wed 28 May 2008, 9:32, 7 replies)

Bring Out Your Dead
I bought 2 bags of frozen prawns and 1 box of Birds Eye Fish Fingers but not for my tea.

As worked on night shifts I installed 1 prawn in each computer cd tray so it would drop into the casing itself and installed 1 fish finger in every managers pc. Unfortunately they were too big for the RAM slots.

As there were about 200 pc's in an open plan office, no aircon and it was the height of British summer (Remember 2006?) it took no time at all for the foul, stenching smell of a Grimsby based fishery to waft through the office.

I estimated that is would start wiffing after I had left but a couple of days into my last week the smell was that bad that I considered reversing my action but stayed strong and remembered how badly they had treated me and my colleagues. As the site managers scratched their heads whilst wearing pegs on their noses the lovely, sweet, old tea lady came around with her trolley of sweets and cakes. She was a doddery, old thing and carried on with her rounds and stoically didn't mention the stench. To our suprise about 15 minutes into her rounds she started ringing a bell wailing "Bring Out Your Dead, Bring Out Your Dead" and the whole office erupted into giggles. On my last day the managers declared the office closed for two weeks for 'cleaning' thus giving my colleagues paid leave and albeit a collective laugh at work which was a first.

BTW After 3 weeks of removing the suspended ceiling, checking plumbing, carpets, looking for dead pigeons, testing for legionnaires et al the problem only came to light when fur started growing out of a managers cd tray....And yes I got away with it.
(Cheesy Peas, Wed 28 May 2008, 9:09, 6 replies)

I was assistant manager...
In a crappy little shop in a dead retail villiage.

I was already on my notice as I was due to move to a better job and the company seemed to be sinking.

But when (for a third day runnung) I was phoned and told to get in early as I would be on my own all day, and my replacement would be in for an interview, so be nice to him....

I decided to fuck things up a bit.

I drove to a different store, walked up to the manager, handed her a pile of shirts and the keys to my store, and said;

"Someone else can open up whiteley today, I'm never going back there again"

And walked out.

I'm not sure what made it more worthwhile... The look on the staff's faces, or the fact that they managed to make my replacement wait around for 4 hours for someone from london to drive down to interview him.

I think I won that one.
( The Flaming Ibanez Awww, c'mon, Japanese girls do it!, Wed 28 May 2008, 8:43, 1 reply)

Not me
but a colleague. Strange guy, always seemed holding back a huge amount of range. Talked in short clipped sentences with the strain of it. Kept himself to himself.

Anyway, one day his wife pops into work with his time sheet and says he won't be coming back as "he's gone to work in Saudi".

What she should have said is ".....because I murdered him last night, and with the help of the children have buried him in the garden."

Actually for completeness she could have said "...buried him in the garden near the boundary with the neighbour. Lets hope the remains aren't discovered in a few years time when they're putting in new fence posts."
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Wed 28 May 2008, 7:52, 3 replies)

throwing pens at a ladyman
Working at Woolworths in Croydon wasn't exactly a highlight of my career, I joined the entertainment team, working on the music counter which constisted of four women and one very effeminate, hallitosis inflicted maryqueen.

This chap was in charge and took exception to me instantly, as I was bringing a distinctly male flavour to his coven of till harpies, who until I turned up spent the days talking about periods and knitting.

The one thing which got to me was that we were able to play any cd of our choosing to the entire store through it's pa system, basically the only thing which made the day bearable was being able to play Fila Brazillia or putting on Curtis Mayfields 'If There's Hell Below' which starts with him screaming "NIGGERS!!" into the microphone.

We all took it in turns to choose, except that when my turn came he would stop the cd mid song on the first track, then replace it with Boyzones greatest hits. When I complained he would give me a filthy look, a catty remark and then flounce off to the stockroom.

This all came to a head when he docked me a days wages for phoning in sick 5 minutes after the alloted time I had a little shout and was called up to the staffroom. I knew I was going to be unfairly sacked by this retard and I threw the biggest hissyfit known to man.

I screamed at him and told him exactly what I thought about him, then grabbed a great big handfull of pens and started throwing them one at a time as hard as I could at his face while I kept up the torrent of abuse. It culminated with him cowering on the floor wailing as I rained pens down onto his head, then before he could tell me i was sacked, I shouted "I quit!" and walked out of the door.
(drshipman iz in yr shower killing yr nan, Wed 28 May 2008, 7:45, 4 replies)

Yes!
Do something constructive in your free time that also taxes you mentally. As a cs student I spend a lot of my free time writing code. People will use it, it will make a difference and it keeps me occupied. I'm not saying you should go out and become a renegade programmer but you should think about what you're giving up first (it sounds like financial insurance for life to me). There were people who would do almost anything to be in your position. Can't you slug it out? You could even get a part-time job to fill the void.
( thyrf as in turf, but not, Wed 28 May 2008, 3:30, 4 replies)

Job duration = 0
After the car delivery job I applied to work for a huge parcel delivery company named after a type of explosive.

I attended the interview and everything went well. Three days later I recieve the letter 'Dear Mr O'Ryleh, We are pleased to inform you..blah de blah... come in Friday for orientation. Love, Parcel-delivery-company-named-after-a-type-of-explosive'.
'Sweet!' thinks I...

At orientation we are shown the usual videos about company history and safety videos showing huge and tragic potential conveyor belt injuries, we sign our 5 million contracts and waivers and then we're told about the random drug testing.

'I begs your pardon?' says I
'Every week, 5 employees selected at random will be urine tested for illegal drugs'
'That's no good, I quit'
'B-b-beg your pardon? Why?'
'I take drugs. sorry'

And so it was that my shortest ever employment lasted exactly nought units of time.
(Ktulu O'Ryleh float like a turd, sting like chlamydia, Wed 28 May 2008, 0:37, 5 replies)

I once had a job...
.. delivering cars all over the UK. Ex-hire cars going to auction companies, auctioned cars going to dealerships, new cars going wherever they go etc...

Twas much fun in many ways... We got a car to take home at the weekends which could be anything from an ancient and knackered Transit van to a brand-new top-of-the-line Merc. My favorite (and my ladyfriend at the time's too) was a 600SL which scared me when I glanced at the speedo to realise I was doing 160mph on the M45. But I digress...

The main bone of contention with this job apart from the constant urging that 'speed limits are only a guideline', was the 5am start every morning. I was living with a friend who grew 'special plants' in his basement, and - in exchange for my silence - provided as much as I could smoke, so every night was basically an epic bong-fest. This did not bode well for morningtime... I held that job for three months and was on time once.

The boss was pissed off with me pretty much every day but I was far too self-absorbed at the time to realise he was justified in this, believing something along the lines of 'This work is so beneath me, I hate everyone, when will the world become what I want it to be' etc... So I hated him with a passion. A poorly justified teenage passion but a passion nonetheless.

I was on my way home after a particularly gruelling day (hitchiking out of Plymouth took NINE hours!) in a crappy escort van, coming down a steep towards the roundabout by Wellingborough (Off the A14... massive hill with a roundabout right at the bottom, can't remeber the name of the road) and while coasting down the hill at about 60, jammed it into 1st gear.

Imagine a cartoon where there is a steel wire under enormous tension.. Now imagine the cartoon noise it would make when that wire snapped.. That's pretty much the noise that came from the gearbox. I coasted round the roundabout to all sorts of strange scraping and whining noises. There was clearly no longer any connection between the engine and the wheels... clutch in, clutch out, nothing. The gearstick could be moved in a full circle with a stirring motion. I phoned him up and said 'I quit, your van is by such-and-such roundabout with the keys in it... no, nobody can steal it, it's fucked' and hung up.

I know I was being a twat but to this day, the noise the gearbox made brings a smile to my face, not quite sure why..

Yay me for finally joining up after lurking for about 6 years. Please excuse unfunniness, lack of sound effects and enormous girth.
(Ktulu O'Ryleh float like a turd, sting like chlamydia, Wed 28 May 2008, 0:14, 3 replies)

I quit!
I used to work in a research laboratory, we were working a few ideas, such as new types of shower curtains. But it was an ordeal from the day I started. I had to struggle harder and harder to get results. My closest colleague was just a dead weight. I had no end of hassle with the mainframe. And I ended up breaking someones heart, which I'm told killed them.

In the end I quit and left, when I found out the cake was a lie.
( The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Tue 27 May 2008, 22:54, 8 replies)

last thursday...
i finally quit drinking.

prior to that i reckon i've only had about 20 alcohol free days in the last 18 years.

and that ain't no joke.

fuck me, i could murder a stiff one!

edit: this has been the longest, sweatiest and most nausiating week of my life!
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Tue 27 May 2008, 21:05, 18 replies)

I have decided to quit
worrying so much about other people's feelings.

I have had a week of the most undiluted shite ever. I've been dumped (it's a tale in itself, but for another QOTW.... she was a strange one, suffice to say I've been left..... very confused indeed :P), I've been treated like crap by both a family member and a friend, I've discovered that my best friend and former best man at my wedding is going to the wedding of my ex and the guy she ran off with (the only reason he knows her is through me), all the while I've been stressed to the eyeballs trying to finish a project I'm working on for someone (waaay early, to save them any stress), sort out my financial affairs (not done a tax return for a while :P), re-enter my old self employed job and sort out things for my forthcoming college course. All at the same time.

The way I have dealt with all the shit I've had thrown at me is, as usual, smile, say "it's OK, don't worry about it" then go over it and over it and OVER IT in my mind.

Last night, my brain decided it didn't want me doing that any more.

Woke up with crazy tinnitus in my ears, and a massive headache. I lay wondering what was happening for a few seconds until *pop* - massive panic attack.

After I had managed to calm down (again, all by myself, I sound like the fucking Bridget Jones soundtrack here) I lay in bed and had a long look at the things that I have been stressing about.

I have therefore decided to quit worrying about pointless things (at least as much). I've straightened out a fair amount of stuff, I've let a few select hints out that I need to be steered clear of for a few days by certain people, and I've decided to stop getting so down about all the mental wimmin I seem to come into contact with.

My head still feels like it's been rinsed out with drain cleaner and I feel like I've gone 10 rounds with Tyson, but I feel better than I did this time last night :)

*EDIT* - Christ! Apologies for lack of funny and incessant whining.... it wasn't til I re-read it I realised what had come out my fingers.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 27 May 2008, 20:52, 8 replies)

A story in which I stop being a nice guy.
I'm still not too certain about this one, but here goes.

I have a friend who's a bit of a mad artist type. Ever seen Mystery Men? Remember Dr. Heller, who made non-lethal weapons and lived in an abandoned amusement park and was played by Tom Waits? I swear they modeled that character on this guy. Brilliant, talented, imaginative, and utterly cracked. Lives in a basement apartment next to a synagogue, existing on a diet of frozen pizza, diet cola, various snack foods and cigarettes. He only does enough work to get by, and that on an irregular basis. Let's call him Sparky for this story.

He's been a good friend to me over the years, so I ignore the idiosyncrasies and the intense stench that always seems to cling to him. And I've hired him a few times to do things around my house, such as taking down threes in my yard and building a brick patio for me. He kinda shows whenever he gets motivated enough, but the quality of his work is always top notch.

Recently he told me that he's starving and needs some work. I hesitated, then asked him for a price to build a fire pit in my back yard in the middle of the patio he had built three years before. He named a price that was certainly not cheap, but I had enough cash to cover it, so I agreed.

He came out there and marked bricks one day and talked, a lot. I brought out his wet saw (I had to transport him and his equipment because his truck's registration and inspection are both expired, and his license was suspended until he paid off a fine), but it needed a new motor (he had burned it out yet again), a new water tray (broken, god knows how) and a new blade (worn down to a smooth steel disc, incapable of cutting through wet cardboard). So I obtained the parts- about half the price that we had agreed upon.

Eventually he came back, arriving mid-afternoon with a hangover and stumbling about, then took up the bricks and started cutting the ones that needed to be cut and mixed and poured the concrete I had bought. It then needed to dry for a couple of days. We fed him again that night and I drove him home.

It was at least a week before he returned. I had asked him where I might find the stone needed for the job, and he told me to go look in one area of downtown for some scrap he had seen. At the time it was Sunday, raining, and it was early afternoon- and he was so hung over and still drunk that he couldn't get out of bed for more than a couple of minutes at a time. I ended up snagging all of the stone myself from a couple of sources- some legitimately, some not- and driving back to see him with it. He was finally able to get up long enough to look at what I had, then asked for a ride to the store for more pizza and diet cola and cigarettes. I did so, then drove the load home and unloaded it- still in the rain- and waited for him to return.

It was a full week before he reappeared. He got there, but got a massive and apparently crippling case of the hiccups, so he wasn't able to do anything. I drove him home again.

He appeared again and got a circle of stones set. Not bad, a decent enough beginning... but he had spent hours chatting with my neighbors. Again, food and a ride home.

He returned some days later and did little to nothing before I came home at 6:00, then started cutting stone for the top layer. Not much had been done- he had laid out the stones he wanted to use and showed me roughly how it would go- but now he cut for the next two hours until it got dark. This was this past Friday.

By now my girlfriend was getting increasingly angry about all of this- for weeks our patio had been torn to bits, rocks everywhere and cigarette butts all over, sharp chips of stone in the grass that cut her feet, and me apologizing and making excuses for Sparky's behavior. He had begged for the last of the money from the job, as he owed a friend most of it, and reluctantly I agreed, but told him I would be back for him early on Sunday. No problem, he could finish it in less than four hours. I fed him and dropped him off.

Sunday about 10:00 I show up, prepared to take him to the store on the way and get us some breakfast- and find his apartment locked up, and him not there. No answer on his phone either.

I had had enough.

I went home, mixed mortar and started setting things myself. Some of the stones needed additional cutting, so I cleaned out the mess he had left in the wet saw (an inch of powdered stone formed a layer on the bottom of the tray, and the pump was getting clogged with it), set it up and started cutting. I got most of it done that day, interspersed with calls to his phone. Nothing that day, nothing that night- but I saw him on Myspace and sent him a message stating that I needed to talk to him RIGHT NOW, as I've had enough. He never replied.

I finished the work yesterday- or at least, mostly finished it as I still need to point up the mortar here and there. I kept calling, and now I left a harsh voicemail to the effect that as I had finished the job due to his complete absence and unreachable state, I was keeping the wet saw and calling it even.

He called me this morning and was livid. He had gone out of town on Saturday and gotten stranded when his friends didn't feel like driving back home while there was still weed to be smoked and beer to drink, and hadn't gotten back until late yesterday afternoon. He had forgotten his phone, which had run out of charge due to my calling it twenty or thirty times, so he had been unable to contact me. And he was really steamed that I was keeping his saw, and hung up on me. (In truth I really don't want the goddam thing, I just wanted to get his ass over there to finish the job- but as I have said I was going to do so, now I pretty much have to keep it.)

I hate feeling like a bastard, but after a month of this chaos I've had it.

He is on his way downhill in a very bad way. He's three years younger than I am, but his hair is grizzled and ragged, his skin color is bad, his already dubious hygiene has become non-existent, and his behavior is more than just erratic now. He still wants to be 20 and party all night and live hand to mouth as he's done for all these years, and it's killing him- if he keeps this up I don't think he'll last more than another five years at the outside. I can't be part of watching someone I know and have loved as a friend self-destruct like this.

I quit being a nice guy.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Tue 27 May 2008, 20:09, 22 replies)

My office management is popular
Tis a half'n'half quit, as the guy knowingly facilitated his firing rather than actually saying "I QUIT".

A guy bored with work; fixing pcs and bored to fuck. He decided to get pissed off with a customer and start swearing at them, right in front of the supervisor. So the supervisor tells the callcentre manager and he ends up in a meeting.

"I've been unhappy here for sometime sorry all" he says "but I love the people I work with so I've tried to keep it up. I would like to finish employement with you all." The management nod, and allow him to get his stuff from his desk.

He slowly walks down back to his desk, picks up his stuff....then walks upto the supervisor and lamps him out over a desk.

Everytime someone leaves our services now they are accompanied with security, no questions asked.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 27 May 2008, 20:00, Reply)

Let it hereby be known......
I hereby quit trying to get rid of my belly.

I watch what I eat.
I exercise.
I swim.

The weight just fades away from every part of my anatomy. Hell, even my fingers are getting thinner but will my belly shift. Will it feckers like.

I refuse to do 1,000 sit ups everyday a la' Brittany as I cannot be arsed. I can't afford lipo and control pants are too uncomfortable.

So I'm going to learn to love my belly and hey! I may even take up belly dancing and shimmy for you all at the next B3ta bash.

(ok! not very likely)
( girlinthehole, Tue 27 May 2008, 19:52, 35 replies)

this twas an oldie repost but it suits this QOTW lovely
2 mates I used to work with, Lee and little wee Karen. Both lovely peeps, a couple outside of work and worked on the same team together in the office.

One night however both failed to show up for work and did not contact anyone in the office, so they were marked as UUA (basically absent without leave). This was unusual behaviour for them and the team were worried. Rightly so, as it turned out that Lee's mother had collapsed and was dying with a heart defect, plus due to the stress of this Lee's father collapsed with a heart attack also. Lee was in the worst place of his life, and Karen was staying right with him.

Thankfully both of Lee's parents made a full recovery from this ordeal; Lee rung up work the next day when they were through the worst of it and let our HR know.

A few days later Lee and Karen are back in; we had heard of what happened and had bought him a get well card for his parents (hell we're good like that). A few hours into the shift a rep from HR walks over and asks for Lee to have a meeting with them. We all figure it's to check up on him, to see if he's alright. Nope; they're taking him to a meeting to give him a disciplinary as he didn't ring in on the night both his parents almost died. He apparently just sat there and said "Whatever, my parents are a bit more important than this place" and walked out of the meeting, back down to his desk. He told Karen, who went purple with rage.
Now the thing about Karen is that she's great until pissed off then after a few minutes she sees the red mist and goes fucking crazy. Unfortunately HR decided to take 2 minutes before coming down and asking the ticking timebomb upstairs. She got into the room and blew her top, screaming at HR and telling them to stick her and Lee's job right up thier arses as they could give a flying fuck about real lives, just numbers. After 5 minutes of this she leaves the room all calm after the storm and walks down to Lee, tells him to get his stuff and they both walk out of the building, never to return.

I speak to both on Facebook, both have never been happier :D
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 27 May 2008, 19:29, 3 replies)

I have flounced
I appreciate this post only qualifies for half the QOTW, but I finally gave my bitch of a boss a few home truths about how I've been treated over the last five/six months.

Allow me to detail (sorry if this is a bit boring)

I joined a very large plasterboard firm back in September, and through being the only full-time permanent memeber of the team, I got offered a position on a project (the company has a new software system that is being installed), after the last lady gave up through incompetence/laziness. I duly started in January after a promise of a bonus, full support, working toward promotion etc.

All went well, a bit slow at first, and then it picked up, but as usual the shit has hit the fan at the eleventh hour. I am working my nads off (well, if I had nads) to try and meet our 'Go Live' date of June 1st. The last week I have buried myself in my work and not really spoken to anyone.

Today I am pulled up by my boss over my 'attitude' because I have been short with her(true) and members of the team (bollocks). I lost my temper and pointed out that over the last six months she has:

- Called everything she didn't like 'a crock' or 'a load of shit', or if she couldn't have her own way 'not good enough'

- In the middle of the system testing announced 'This is boring do I have to do it?' in front of the whole team

- Gave me a bollocking over staying at home (I was working) waiting for my hire car to be picked up for a couple of hours, even though I had travelled eight hours the few days previous in my time and not claimed it

- Sodded around in the training I was giving until I almost threw her out. Then claimed she didn't know anything (try listening instead of pressing random buttons)

- Constantly phoned up people I was working with when I had to spend time at another site to ask if I was there and what I was doing

- Acted like a spoilt brat in meetings when she couldn't get things in her favour (I then had to put up with senior project members teasing me about it. I was so embarrassed)

- Asking me really stupid questions when I am trying to concentrate on important stuff that if I screw up fucks everything up that follows

- Ignoring me when I try to tell her about important things that she doesn't think are important

- And all in all being completely negative and invalidating my work after spending all this time sorting stuff out and re-writing some of it after the last person cocked it up.

She seemed genuinely shocked when I said I now hated my job and didn't want to come in any more (true) and that I was looking for another job. I also gave her the choice of
a) letting me do my job, and yes I would be a miserable/unsociable bitch
b) me being happy and jolly and interactive, but don't expect me to finish my work by the Friday afternoon deadline.

I then flounced out.

I'm looking for a new job. Oh yes.
( VandenPlas can't think of anything clever - no change there!, Tue 27 May 2008, 19:26, Reply)

A dull story from the rural past of Chickenlady
***Early warning for dullness***

I haven't posted on this QOTW mainly because I've not got a story to tell about how I quit the stripping or how I managed to kick the drink and even the tale of how I left the marines is fairly dull, even considering the test pilot and the small dog.


I do however have a short tale about how some graffiti ended up on the road near my old home.
Bear with me….

Or…don't - skip down to the **** where the story gets going, this first bit is just setting the scene.


It was the long hot summer of 2004, I think, and my life was a fairly quiet and dull one of a full time mother and farmer's wife - just think rosy cheeks and forearms like hams. My days were spent doing farmer's wifey things - just to set the bucolic scene for you…

Acres upon acres of farmland in every direction as far as the eye can see. Serried rows of wheat, oil seed rape, field beans and barley tucked in next to apple, pear and cherry orchards. Shades of green ranging from the early acid of spring right through to the rich mellow cool canopy of high summer. It was said that if you stood still for long enough you could see them all growing.

In amongst the rural idyll that is the biggest outdoor factory in the British Isles - the Farming Industry - there are many pockets of unrest and strife. Each summer hundreds of students, mainly from Poland and Eastern Europe travel over to the South of England in particular to come and pick fruit. Many of these jobs used to be done by the local rural population but these days the people who can still afford to live in the countryside have a better paid job working in the cities and towns. That's not to say that there isn't money to be had from fruit picking - there is, but it's short-lived and damned hard work - ideal for students from overseas who are willing to work and can practice their English while they're at it, much in the same way that it used to be popular for British students to go off to France to pick grapes at one time.

So…there I am, living in the sticks with a small Polish ghetto of caravans behind me - employed by my next-door neighbour - a farmer with less personality than your average garden rake. A personality honed by years of tractor driving while first stubble cultivating a field,
then subsoiling a field,
then ploughing the field,
then drilling (sowing) the field,
then rolling the field,
then fertilizing the field,
then spraying the field,
then spraying the field (again, for something different),
then spraying the field,
then harvesting the field,
the same chuffing field - driven over and over again many times each year….and then repeated again the following year.

Believe me, this takes a certain type of personality to carry out all these operations on a daily, weekly, monthly, yearly basis - it's honestly no wonder that the farming communities tend to marry amongst themselves - lovely people but by god are they dull calm.

******
Now this particular farmer, known by his workers as Little John, made up for his lack of sparkling and charismatic personality by being an utter bastard for whom no pettiness was too small if it had the desired effect of making his victim feel miserable.

As an example - the fruit pickers working on his land have no transport and the nearest train station is three miles away, the buses only run during the week. Many other local farmers run a courtesy service for their pickers and take them to a large supermarket in the nearest town on a Friday evening and back again so they can get their food for the week.

Little John told his pickers to walk - he'd even drive past them in his mini van and wave.


Another example of his unpleasantness was that he fell out with one of his neighbours - a common occurrence unfortunately with this particular chap. When he saw some of his pickers talking to the neighbour - in their own time - he ranted at them and forbade them from talking to That Bastard again.

The list goes on and on….countless pickers simply packed their bags and either went to other farms or else went home.


Apart from one particular young man who had had enough of being spoken to and treated like a slave while being paid slave wages…..

This young man had a particularly fine grasp of English and English slang and obscenities.

Everyone in the village knew when he had finally quit because he told the world.

In six foot high letters.

In bright blue.

On the main road out of village, the only road out of the village in fact.

He emblazoned the road with

"LITTLE JOHN IS A CUNT"


It was the talk of the village for weeks until it finally wore off the tarmac.

Bugger me, life is exciting in the sticks.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 27 May 2008, 18:53, 8 replies)

I quit.
My last job was working at Starbucks, but I quit because it was always the same old grind.
(uk_viper stopped lurking on, Tue 27 May 2008, 17:00, 1 reply)

Left a crap job, and they tried to screw me...
Way back in the mists of 2002 I ended up working full-time for Halfords (I'm still not quite sure how to this day); you can probably guess the kind of job, getting paid a shit wage for long hours and being expected to run a "superstore" for 10k a year.

To be honest after a while it started to damage my self esteem, so I decided to look for another job, which I eventually found and duly handed in my notice.

Now I considered myself on good terms with the management and while they were disappointed to be losing someone naive enough to be taken advantage of, no more was said....that is until 2 days later when I was marched into a disciplinary hearing and summarily fired for gross misconduct, I was a little surprised to say the least, but was so stunned by the whole experience by the time it had sunk in it had already happened.

Now luckily my new employer was quite understanding of my situation and agreed to let me start and would end my probationary period (one way or the other) once my "appeal" was heard.

Also, quite fortuitously, a friend of mine was studying law, more specifically employment law. As a result when the "top legal brains" from Halfords head office arrived, to make their trumped-up shit stick, I tore them to pieces and left them with nowhere to go but to reinstate me with full back pay.

Once I had it in writing I promptly told them I thought they were all a bunch of smarmy, smug, lying cunts and they could go fuck themselves and stick their job up their arses.

For some reason quitting was far more satisfying the second time around :)

I don't think they were surprised by my reaction, more by the fact that someone had actually argued with them and won.

That said writing this now makes my blood boil to know the person who put me through 3 months of torture and uncertainty effectively got away with it. Although on a happier note I found out some time later that he did something similar to another employee who wasn't quite as passive as I am, resulting in slashed tires followed by a rather serious beating and hospitalisation.

I'm not sure I believe in karma, but hey it works for me.
(redrewmac *Insert witty comment here*, Tue 27 May 2008, 16:56, 3 replies)

I worked for this "Charity"
That was more like a money sponge. They provded help to the disabled but the 1st few days I was there I worked in accounts and saw the silly pay packets everyone got. No wonder they liked working for charity.

Anways. My job was to try and organise this incredible mess of 20 odd random files that contained bits of details about all the nurses that worked for them and what training they have all recieved. I also had to "organise" a training broucher (read re- write and update a 100 page 5 year old document about training courses) and create a mailing list for distrabution.

I got bollocked for not getting all the nurses data together even though I had managed to put every piece of information that they had given me together into 1 worksheet as well as making alot of phone calls and emails to find out as much of the rest of the inforamtion as I possibley could and I set up it all up so that that anyone looking at the information could easily and quickly find out who had done what coruse when and who hadn't.

Then I got in alot of trouble cos, after having the broucher approved and me printing it out 150 times on the Office printer and putting it all together, I had "missed vital basic information" that I knew nothing about or had been told aboutand even though despite my BitchBoss approved the entire broucher after takign it home for the weekend to "study" I ended up having to reprint 1/3 of it and replace all the "incorrect" pages in all 150 copies.

Then I had to create a mailing list for the brouchers. I created by getting the address of every single building they were assisiated with, giving the list to my Boss again so she could tell me which places should have a broucher and which one shouldn't (full time nurses yes, part time no) and surprise, surprise I got another bollocking for sending the broucher out to too many address's.

At this point I was sick of working there. Litteraly sick. I was a mass of seething angry and injustice, I couldn;t eat anything for a couple of hours after getting up because my stomache was in so many knots. I was rude and aggressive to all my friends outside work but, when in work I was a calm little doormat.

Then they day came where they pushed me too far. My Boss sent me an email from Holiday telling me that all the work I had done in the last 5 months was useless and I should delete it all and start again.(basicly I had fixed 5 years worth of incompetent lazyness in 5 months of hard graft with no idea or explanation of how the system worked)

I did as she asked. I deleted everything I had worked on. But 1st I forwared her email, and attached copies of everything, to her Boss in a big letter explaining how my complete lack of support, ranging from everyone refusing to tell me anything about how anything was run to my BitchBoss constantly giving loads of crap for doing what she had told me to do and how this last insult was the final straw. (I also passed the email to my temp agency who promised to "look into it". bollocks!)

2 days after quitting I got a call from BitchBoss, her Litteraly yelling down the phone at me hurling abuse and telling me that I had deleted important files and that if I didn't give them back right away she was going to get me arrested. I told her about the email she had sent, that I had deleted everything she had told me to delete and that I had forwarded it all onto her Boss before doing so and maybe she should ask him. She hung up on me and I never heard from them again.

I hope she's cleaning toilets in a hospital ward speciaising in diseases of the digestory tracts.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Tue 27 May 2008, 16:50, 4 replies)

another...
ill stop soon...

I was in Amsterdam a few years back, me and a few friends stayed in a really fancy hotel next to the airport. It seemed pretty busy - so we asked at the main desk why - apparantly there was a journalist convention on, the main event had passed and the hotel was now hosting the concluding party for the convention, as there was only a few of us we were invited in.

The main hall was a buzz, with drinks being poured and much chatter. I had just got a round of drinks in and sat down on a free table when i glanced to the table opposite. It was full of people who seemd to be very serious, complaining about food, and the wine. And discussing and debating various movies and artist's

Looking at one of the journalists i noticed he was smoking a spliff.

Sweet i thought...

he must have been a High Crit

...am i taking this too far?
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 27 May 2008, 16:47, 2 replies)

Quittin and headfuckery in one fell swoop.
My first ever job, straight out of university, was awful. To be fair, my management probably didn't care much - this being a sales company whose recruitment policy pretty much was to grab fresh graduates and grind everything they possibly could out of them befoore they wised up and left.
As a fool, I stayed there 18 months. the average on my team was 3 months.
My boss was astonishing. A born-again Christian, she plainly thought she could act in any way she pleased - she lied to and cheated clients and staff and didn't see anything wrong with that as she was saved, and so she could do no wrong.
You follow that logic?
Me Neither.
It was hell., especially after she decided I was a satanist (The Sisters of Mercy apparently qualifying in her mind as 'devil worship music').

I finally decided I had to leave or kill myself, but realised that I needed 3-4 months to save enough as an escape fund. So it was that 3 months before I left, I got a 100 page A4 pad out of the stationery cupboard and therenceforth, wherever I had a spare 5 minutes over lunch, I spent my time writing "All work and no play makes david a dull boy all work and no play makes david a dull boy all work and no play..." over and over again.
It took me three months, but I filled the pad.

On my last day, at my exit interview, I told my boss that all my client notes were in the pad on my desk and she could ring me if there was anything she needed clarifying. Then I walked out.
I'd've given anything to have been a fly on the wall when she read my 'client notes'.

I never heard from her again.
(davywavy, Tue 27 May 2008, 16:44, Reply)

This has got to stop!
At college, a mate and i got job as a dish pigs in a soon to be opened uber pub/restaurant.

There was a dry run before the opening with all the staff. The bar was opened, drinks were served, the restaurant was opened meals and drinks were served. The bar was still open more drinks were served. We had a roaring time, ordering shots and malts, and wine, and pints etc etc etc

Then crivens, it was time to pay the piper...

Taking drinks with us into the kitchen to prevent the travisty of even slightly sobering up, much clattering, some smashing and a certain amount of personal injury ensued.

The manager burst in ruddy faced, shouting "This has got to stop!"

Hazy with booze, wrinkly with suds and blood, and generally high on life, we agreed and promptly staggered off down the road to another pub that we didn't have to work in.

and bless them, we still got paid for the time we were there getting smashed.

apologies if you are the ones who actually had to do the dishes. We owe you a pint.
(bellboy last hit the tit on, Tue 27 May 2008, 16:09, Reply)

...
I've been waiting on a promised pay rise for over 6 months. I've just been told that, because our hours were reduced fractionally a while ago, which was presented as a lovely kind gesture for which we should all be eternally grateful and for which we would not be financially punished, my pay rise will be pretty much cancelled out.

I'm certainly considering it. Fucking cheapskate motherfucking bastards.
(clumsyeloquence is a girl, Tue 27 May 2008, 16:08, 1 reply)

I gotta get out of this place
No malice intended...

The circumstances of my marriage break up are fairly well documented. However, for 6 months, we continued to share the same living space, which was pretty nightmarish for me. Regularly seeing my ex-but-still-wife heading off on a regular basis to see her new bloke, leaving me rattling around in a three bedroomed house and bouncing off the walls took it's toll a bit.

You may ask, "why didn't the silly sod just move out"? Well, the simple answer was that she was supposed to be the one moving out, but was having trouble finding somewhere. Plus, my salary wasn't fantastic (about £16k at the time), and finding somewhere affordable wasn't an easy task. And, if I'm being honest, I had hoped that she would change her mind about things. And there was a lot of other stuff flying about, that I've covered before and I'm not going to go back into detail about it.

However, one evening she had a viewing, and I offered to go with her. We went to see this flat, which was very nice, but it transpired that it just needed far too much work done to it. She was deflated, and I suggested that there were still a couple of estate agents open so why don't we go and have a look to see if there was anything else that might be promising? She agreed, and off we trotted down the street.

Stopping to look in one window, I caught a glimpse of the property to rent and spied a one bedroomed flat on the main street. An apparent bargain at £200 a month. So I went in to enquire about it. As it happened, the flat was only a couple of doors away from the estate agent, so I asked for a look around.

Cut a long story short, the next day I popped in with my deposit and an agreement to move in in two weeks. Come the day I got my keys, I started the task of moving my stuff, bit by bit, ordering furniture and giving the place a lick of paint. Moving the stuff was a bit arduous, done as it was in a mark 2 Nissan Micra - not the largest of cars, but I managed. On the Friday my bed was delivered, and so I could move in properly (I was still sleeping in the marital home).

Friday morning, as she was getting ready for work, I caught her looking at me with a melancholy expression. I asked her what was up. She responded by bursting into tears and sobbing "I don't want you to go".

I was slightly taken aback at this explosion of grief. A bit stunned, I asked her why.

"It's just that I'll really miss you and I can't imagine you not being here".

Pointing out to her that all she had to do to get me to stay was to dump her bloke (why she was with him I don't know, she always seemed to complain that he was completely irrational at times and really pissed her off), and try to make another stab at things. Her reaction being that she still didn't know how she felt and was totally confused.

"Exactly", I said, "and while I'm still here, you'll remain confused and meanwhile I'll continue my slow descent into the rubber room as I watch you being here, but not being with me. So at least if I move out, it'll give us both space, and give you a chance to decide how you really feel".

And so, I moved into my new bachelor pad whilst the missus dithered. The space certainly gave me a new perspective on things, even if I was never truly settled there. It also gave the missus some thinking time. Unfortunately for me, she didn't reach the conclusion that I was hoping for at the time, and 18 months later we divorced (instigated by me, and on the basis that we'd been apart two years and therefore could do it amicably and without having to resort to to nasty name calling or citing any particular reasons in court). She was a bit peeved when I asked for our marriage certificate so I could instigate proceedings, but as I pointed out, I didn't want to stay married to someone who patently didn't want me to be a husband. Plus, I'd recently met Tourette's and my life was heading in a different direction.

I've veered over the years from outright despair over the situation, to rage, to regret, and back to rage again. However, now, I'm completely at ease with myself over it. And life's too short to bear any grudges. My ex would concur with that, I think - especially as she has, at best, a couple of years to live. Hence, no malice intended.

Apologies for length. But the best thing I ever did was quit that house, if only for the sake of my own sanity and self preservation.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 27 May 2008, 16:03, 8 replies)

What the hell...
if its slow today i might as well mention -

Ive just heard that the rambling association are challenging a court order banning them from walking on protected land.

you could call it a 'Hike Writ'

**looks sheepish and slowly backs out of the room**
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 27 May 2008, 15:43, 2 replies)

Sort of related - How do Microsoft get away with it?
Because if I worked for them, I would have quit a long time ago.

Linux is free, largely unsupported, yet works on pretty much every machine I've ever tried it on.

Yet Windows Vista, which I've just installed on my development PC, doesn't even support my graphics card. The one which worked just fine under Ubuntu and WinXP.

Not to mention the other numerous bugs that it seems to have.

Any other company would have gone under by now - why not Microsoft?
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 27 May 2008, 15:32, 7 replies)