Indignation.
I used to have a great career in Hollywood. I mean, it was hard work, but the pay was great and it didn't exhaust me mentally, so I had plenty of time to come home and work on my screenplays. Which are available, you know, if anyone out there is interested. I'm also working on an memoir of my early days as a transexual in Compton called From Ghetto to Stiletto. But I digress.

This job was pre-op and simple - growing up where I did, and how I did, you had to be tough, so I had quite a physique, the kind I now look for in a man, and I'd gotten myself a wellpaid gig as an R. Kelly lookalike. I did charity events, some work as an extra in a couple of films - these old people even paid me for some weird fetish videos once, I wasn't fussy, I was enjoying the attention, glamour and money. On occaison I got to hang with some real stars which, as you can imagine, was quite cool. The majority of them were very forced and polite but some were really laid out - I got to be friends with them and we met and had drinks regularly. As I said, it was a great career. But I was wrong in assuming it was a career.

R. Kelly, the real me I called him, well all the troubles started in the news. I didn't listen to any of it, but my job offers starting drying up. Eventually, all I was getting offered was celebrity spots on Mexican reality tv-shows, and one day my agent calls me up and says she got an offer for another of those weird fetish videos. I had a part coming in to change the toner on a photocopier and just had to stink my finger up a guy's butt until he came. It sounded good to me, money was money in these times, and it was good money. So there we were on set and my fluffer kept handing me pills. She said it was her last day. That the pink ones were erection tablets, like viagra, and she wanted to get rid of them, I mean it didn't click to me that they weren't, or that I didn't need an erection for my part, but in I come during the middle of filming, and as I'm slipping my pinkie into the brown eye of some tan California white guy I get this unresistable urge to spray. I'm grabbing my junk and this starlet's nodding at me, saying, "Yeah, you too." and I've never been a fan of lady holes, but this woman insists on unzipping me and holding me in her hand and the tan guy moves around to spew on her face and she nestles herself into me and I just scream and my bladder's emptying and she calls me a "Faggot Nigger".

Well the whole studio went silent. The director came over to us, me still spurting all over the place, and said to me, "I think you better go home." So I shook my final drops on his shoes, told him he was taking the piss, and that I quit. I mean christ, this little cum-slut just grabbed me and I'm taking the blame? Fuck that shit. I'm angry even reliving it.

Anyway, that's the only time I quit a job. Length? Nine months in all, $30,000, and I look like Paris Hilton down there. Like, really, I got her face tattooed. I think it's cute. Oh, do you guys think I should add this to my book?

- Vanessa.
(sorry., Thu 22 May 2008, 18:47, 4 replies)

I was going to quit my job in the bag factory
but I got the sack.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 22 May 2008, 18:31, 1 reply)

Don't mess with the payroll expert ....
my cousin had worked for a small family run business since leaving college. Not our family, another family.

She'd started out as junior and worked her way up through the ranks, studying in her own time and ending up as the grandly titled "Finance Manager". She was basically a glorified accounts clerk, who kept the books balanced and, among other things, did the payroll.

All was well for some time, then gradually she realised that the atmosphere had cooled somewhat. Her immediate boss, a female, was less and less friendly and was nit-picking everything to death. Minor mistakes suddenly prompted bollockings of epic, nay gargantuan, proportions.

All became clear when the boss' son arrived to work for the family firm. He'd just been kicked out of university after spectacularly failing his exams. He was placed in my cousin's office and she was told to train him on everything she did. He constantly contradicted her, made bitchy remarks and blamed her when he mucked up. It didn't take Mystic Meg to figure out she was being pushed door-ward, so she started looking for another job.

By the time she handed in her notice, things were so bad that she could be at work all day and no-one would speak to her. The failed-student son, meanwhile, was operating a kind of backwards Midas touch - everything he touched turned to shit. His mother spent half her time correcting his mistakes and covering up for him. The one thing they didn't worry much about was the payroll, thanks to the all-singing, all-dancing software my cousin had suggested they buy.

So, on her last day, she input one tiny, minor change. To one person's record. The idiot son's. She changed the first number of his tax code from a 5 to a 3. Not the sharpest tool in the box, she reckoned he wouldn't even notice. He certainly would notice that he was suddenly paying more tax (£440 per year at the time). She was willing to bet, however, that he'd be too dumb to phone up the Revenue to check he had the right tax code.

She didn't touch anyone else's record, she didn't steal anything, she didn't muck anything up that couldn't be sorted in a couple of minutes. She merely ensured that a badly-educated, over-priviledged know-it-all would be a little short on beer tokens.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 22 May 2008, 18:22, 6 replies)

We've all worked for one
A previous boss was one of those self obsessed salesmen turned MD types in a dotcom office. I hated him and he looked down his nose at me.

After months of doing not a lot I interviewed and got a better job offer. So I wrote out a nice letter explaining politely that I wished to quit.

Instead of reading it he just folded it in half and tucked it in his back pocket... then said "So why do you want to leave?"

I don't how it happened, my mouth just opened and without thinking I said:

"Well... I have no faith in the company or in you as it's manager. I'm certain it's going to go bust as you've not given me any client work for months and it doesn't take a genious to know you can't pay us for much longer so I'm off!".

He called a general allstaff meeting the next day from which I was excluded and I had to leave that afternoon. He didn't pay me my notice period either until I got citizens advice involved and forced it from his slimy little hand.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 22 May 2008, 18:05, 2 replies)

Cold storage
Whilst doing my A Levels many years ago, I got a summer job as a kitchen porter (dogsbody) in a small restaurant attached to a pub. This meant relentless pot washing in a hot cramped kitchen from 7pm-midnight, without a break (only smokers got a break) for a pittance wage and I'd go home stinking of fish batter and with hands like a leper but enough about the perks.

The place was run by a complete bitch and her arsehole son. The old trout was generally rude, patronising and once loudly and publicly bollocked me for being 30 seconds which anooyed me somewhat.

I had my revenge one night during a busy shift. I was busy washing up when I started to make out pitiful cries and wailing. I realised that the rancid old hag had managed to accidentally lock herself in the walk in freezer out the back.

When I finally let her out 15 minutes later she was mildly traumatised and shaking like a shitting dog.

I wasn't sacked but did I quit after three shifts.
( abefroman skating on the thin life of modern life on, Thu 22 May 2008, 17:48, 3 replies)

File this!
One summer my Dad lined me up with an office job at another office of his company.

The task was described as "an IT digitisation project". Sounded interesting.

It was a 40 minute driver, the cost of which I would never recoup. One day one I was led into a very very dull office that was in fact an old prefab junior school. Long since the council had decided not even kids would put up with the place and so it was put to other use.

I was sat at a pokey little desc actually IN the corridor entrance to the office. I faced a plain white wall/alchove. There were no decorations/distractions or anything of mental appeal. The work was systematically getting a file from the filing cabinet and 1 page at a time feeding it into a sheet fed scanner then "filing" it electronically by labelling the file and logging it into their "new" system.

It had a monochrome screen, a DOS interface and I'm sure the school I had attended binned junk like this 10 years previously! (This was 1998 for christs sake!).

Lunch was spent being ignored by the suicidally introverted and withdrawn other staff and essentially aside from a 10 minute introduction to the work and "goodbye" at 5pm I didn't talk to anyone for the whole 2 days I was there.... until in the afternoon I could take it no longer. I walked up to the lady somehow appointed with the job of "managing" me and said:

"I'm sorry. I won't be coming back tomorrow. I've been offered a temporary job shelf filling at Tesco and I think it would be a step up for me, certainly a more interesting challenge."

She looked shocked. How could he not be interested in this work? You like computers don't you? To this day I honestly believe if I'd done that job for say a year I'd have become a statistic or a news story depending on whether I found the trainline or a rifle first. Needless to say it was better for everyone that I left.

I did make sure that I amused myself by filing the "mong"/special needs kids with an array of funny names or medical conditions.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 22 May 2008, 17:45, Reply)

I did one like a race horse last Saturday morning.
That's what drinking cider does for you.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Thu 22 May 2008, 17:43, Reply)

Older than you look
I've never actually quit a job. Those ones I've had have either been temporary, or they just ran out of work and told the agency that the temps weren't required anymore.

My late grandmother on the other hand... had an interesting short term job. Now, my aunt works at an old folk's home as a nurse. Rather good at her job, and she's been doing it since she was 30 or so. She doesn't drive, so my gran frequently picked her up from work and drove her home.

Now, one day it had been hard work. My aunt hadn't gotten everything done for that day (this being the kind of job where you can't really leave things for tomorrow), and so my gran helped her finish off. She was 81 at this point. Clearing tables, cleaning the kitchen etc. The home manager came in, and they got to chatting while she was working. For some reason, she and the manager got on like a house on fire. She told him that she was just helping my aunt out to finish up, and the conversation spiralled from there.

And he offered her a job there and then. Paid her £5 out of his own pocket for the half hour work she'd done, and told her she could start Monday if she wanted.

She had to quit though... there and then with the classic line

"Dear, I should probably tell you that I'm older than half your patients."

Pure class.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Thu 22 May 2008, 17:38, Reply)

Sorry for the length in advance
So alot of you know I used to work in the Wall Street Salt Mines. My first big firm was headquartered in Hackensack, NJ (should have been a tip-off).

They originally had me working the 5th Avenue Office and it was great, then they moved me to the Long Island office which was in Huntington, NY. The commute out was fine, but the commute BACk to the city was a nightmare. Anyway, I was toiling away, making ALOT of money. So I was relatively happy/complacent/whatever.

UNTIL one day I realized that the branch I was working in (and had been promoted to managing a team in) was financed, overseen and secured by the Bonanno Crime Family. (no bull$hit)

For those of you unfamiliar, think: "Boiler Room" meets "Wall Street" meets "Goodfellas". They even had a 'security guy' who looked JUSt like Ray Liotta after about 5 years of steroids! HUGE guy...name was Defalco.

I had been a Marine, where honor and duty were the catch words...and ended up squarley in with the nastiest, vilest creatures on the planet.

So I decided to leave. I was on my way into the office to get my paycheck (we got paid once a month) and then resign and obsessing over what the hell I was going to do. I mean, one broker who left ended up in a mysterious car accident and another ended up getting beaten up at his new firm...literally RIGHT in front of the whole office.

So a commercial came over the radio for $199 flights to London. I booked it before I even parked my car at the office...to leave the next day...from Baltimore, Maryland.

SO I go in, get my check, go to the bank and CASH it, then head back to resign. I waited until all but one of the big bosses were gone and went up to him and resigned.

I rush back to the city, collect my dog and other necessary items to head to Maryland to leave for the UK to let it all blow over a bit before coming back to start with the new firm I had accepted a position with...

I get home to Maryland, drop the dog at the folks and have my Dad drop me off at the airport for my flight. I am waiting in line and my cell phone rings...I pick up the call and I hear Defalco SCREAMING: "I am going to find you, rip your fucking head off and shit down your mother fucking neck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I dont think in my entire life that I had ever 'blanched'...turned white with fear...my knees were as weak as a sapling in a hurricane...I could literally feel the blood rushing away from my face. I just KNEW he already knew where I was and where I was going...

Then, I heard the strangest sound: laughter. He was taking the piss! He was calling me because he wanted to make sure wherever I ended up, that we could still be FRIENDS! I have NEVER been so terrified in all my life...and the bastard was just messing with me.

To THIS day, I am STILL friends with that guy...partly because I am afraid if I ever tell him I dont want to be his friend...well, that he might revisit his threat that day on the phone.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 22 May 2008, 17:36, 6 replies)

oooooo it's my debut post
Long time reader, first time poster. Be gentle with me.

It was 1992 and I was a student in Brighton -a hard-up student, needing gainful employment. As all normal avenues were closed to me, I had no choice but to work at Sainsbury's. Whoopee and indeed doo.

While I never envisaged it being a long-term career, I had hoped it would last more than 2 weeks - but the bosses hadn't worked out that with a new Asda opening nearby the very week that I started, they might not get as much trade as in the past. So, on the Thursday of my second week, I was told I was "surplus to requirements". Holding back my tears, I resolved to get my revenge***

The perfect opportunity came the next day, which was my last. They'd made the fatal mistake of putting me in the alcoholic drinks section. My task was to restock the shelves with lager, bitter and other joyous fizzy beverages.

Only they weren't fizzy by the time I'd finished with them. I made sure that with every single can of every single four or six pack of beer/lager/whatever, I pulled the ring-pull *just enough* for it to go "phttttttttttttttt" and release the pressure, but not enough for it to be noticed.

Methodically, carefully, deliberately, I spent the entire day pulling ring-pulls, ensuring the good people of Brighton had flat, tasteless lager and bitter for many weeks to come.

Now you know why Sainsbury's profits plummeted in the early 90s.



As it's my debut, the more of you that click "I like this", the greater my length will be. That's how this place works, isn't it?


***Ok, I realise that I didn't QUIT per se, but it's pretty much the same scenario...
(iworkfortheBBCnoreallyido!, Thu 22 May 2008, 16:57, 5 replies)

Showed her
I gave in my letter of resignation at burger king so i could live a more fruitful life of unemployment.
My boss for some reason threw it away in the bin in front of everyone to see.
She then proceeded to shout that she had done so because "i didn't sign it"

So in front of everyone i took it out signed it folded it up,
put it an envelope and put it on her desk.

Then on my last day i made everyones burgers upsides down ... nobody noticed.
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Thu 22 May 2008, 16:56, 3 replies)

Aha!
Something I can relate to. I have had several jobs in my time, and have quit, so far, all of them.

My first ever decent, full time, actual hard work job was, as I think I might have mentioned before, a sugar boilerer (they told me that's how it's spelt) in a sweet factory near where I live. Although for the first little while it was interesting, after a bit it became incredibly dull, monotonous and really quite lonely. I was young, only 19, and had a lot of responsibility placed on my head.... something I didn't cope well with. The main problem was, however, that it was a family run business..... my immediate boss was the owners son.

For an overview, it is important that you get an idea of our physical comparisons, me and my old boss. I was 19, 5'7" and weighed at the time about seven and a half stones (I was very thin, but had been stressed out so much by work that I didn't eat much at the time). He was about 6', 30, and was into bodybuilding.... he was quite heavily muscled and I'd say about 15-16 stone. He was also, I'd imagine, damned handsome from a lady's perspective, but this was counterbalanced by hos foul breath.

The long and short of it was that my workload had increased massively over the year-and-a-half I had been there and so had my hours. I was expected to start early, stay late and had once been threatened with the sack for being 50 minutes early rather than the full hour. Basically, I was young, I was a worrier, and I just basically hated the job. I gave them a months notice and prepared to leave.

After that, I began to be treated like absolute shit by my boss. He ridiculed me every chance he got and tried to belittle me in front of everyone in the factory (I was pretty popular there, everyone seemed to want to mother me :P) I managed about a week and a half before I snapped.

You see, I might have been small, but I was not thick. I have a 145 IQ, and while I know this is hardly mensa, it was waaaay more than my boss. And the one thing, the ONLY thing guaranteed to snap my otherwise infallible patience is to make me feel stupid.

The first time was on a tuesday. I had about a week and a half left of my notice to work. I was left with a million things to do as usual, and one of them involved *his* forklift. Which of course, he now needed *IMMEDIATELY* "HURRY UP! HURRY UP! RUN! MOVE IT" he was following me around shouting *RIGHT* *IN* *MY* *FUCKING* *EAR*. "I need that forklift NOW" he wailed.

"WELL FUCKING TAKE IT! IT'S YOUR FUCKING FORKLIFT YOU FUCKING TAKE IT!"

He looked like I had just shot him. I had turned round and was facing him full on. He could not believe it. I felt like a GOD!

He started mumbling something about how dare I speak to him like that, but I was emboldened. "You won't be my boss for much longer, mate. Don't fucking speak to me like that. If you want the forklift, fucking take it and bring it back when you're finished." He turned and stormed off, as did I. It was then I noticed the ENTIRE FACTORY had fallen silent. I got a round of applause in the tea room that day for standing up to him, turned out they had all noticed how badly I was being treated. He caught me in the warehouse, where no-one could see, and tried to give me a decidedly calmer dressing down for being insolent, at which point I calmly pointed out that if he treated me with respect, he would get respect. He disagreed, saying (and I couldn't believe this) he was my boss and would treat me how he wanted. I just walked off.

The following week, everything was going wrong again. He was again on my back and was now blaming me for everyting that went wrong in the whole factory. I again snapped and shouted "Tell you what, Tom, it mus all be fucking MY fault then eh?" He must have been waiting for this, as he immediately shouted "OFFICE! NOW!" As he strode through the office door, he almost took it off it's hinges. At that point, I realised I may have been about to receive a stern beating. This only quickened my step.... I was at the end of my tether.

He launched into the "who do you think you are?" speech as soon as he got behind his desk..... had he remained my side of the desk, I might have been a little less bold. I cut him off by asking who he thought he was. "You think cos you pay me a pittance you can speak to me like shite? I've broke my fucking back for you, I've worked every overtime you've asked of me, I've never fucking compliained before now. I'm fucking sick of being treated like this you stupid, STUPID man. And I'll tell you what else for fucking nothing!"

I paused. He bit.

"Wh.... what?"

"I'm going fucking home."

He managed a "good!" and strode out of the office behind me. I went back into the factory, told my trainee replacement to take over, I was going home, bid a few people goodbye and walked out the fire exit.

The idiot was so thick he waited by the main exit for me, not realising that his "don't go out the fire exit" shite no longer applied to me. Apparently, according to the guy I was training to replace me, he ran all through the factory looking for me, and when he realised I was gone, his bottom lip was trembling.

It was this incident that confirmed my belief that brains are better than brawn.

I've only seen him once since. He was in a video rental shop when I walked in. He slammed the video he was looking at down and walked out.

Again. I felt like a GOD! :P

Oh heavens. Apologies for length, and it's not often I get to say that.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 22 May 2008, 16:51, 10 replies)

Only 14 hours from Bristol
I used to work for a right git - egomaniac micromanaging bullying tit. 'Team building pep talks' involved frothing rants and throwing chairs around the room. With the subtle aid of complete lies and false accounting he sold the company to a major corporation. A week before we were due to hand over to the new owners he tried to sack me (out of sheer spite) for the apparently heinous act of switching off the horrible soul leeching fluorescent strip lights and switching on the desk lamps so we could all see our screens - which is why we had them. After he had finished ranting at me I shouted straight back that "there were two other directors and if he wanted to sack me he would have to go through proper disciplinary procedures with them first". Then went back to my desk (shaking) as he followed me bellowing, "Get out of my building". It wasn't his building.

Because he was a nutter, he was breezily chatting away a few days later as though nothing had happened - banging on about his 'golden handshake' arrangement which in reality was more of a 'copper fuckoff' – the new owners wanted his staff not him. He knew he was set to lose 'The Jag' and was sitting on the edge of my desk David Brent style asking me what kind of 4x4 to buy "because he fancied a jet ski and needed something to tow ‘the fucker’ with" because i "knew about motors".

Immediately I suggested a Vauxhall Frontera Sport - mainly because I knew they were utterly shit. They were just out and had some terrible reviews - ugly, unpleasant to drive and with similar levels of reliability as a nuclear reactor staffed by squirrels.

So he bought one and decided to drive it from Glasgow to Bristol with some dizzy bint from the office he was hoping to bang on some entirely unnecessary ‘business trip’. Naturally, as soon as he tried to drive back, it promptly broke down. He took it to a garage who spotted it was a water pump problem and would have to be ‘done on warranty’ at a main dealers as it was both costly and involved specialist parts - main dealers, who were all shut. He could drive it, but was warned it would conk out every time he went over 40 mph.

It took the fat prick about 14 hours to drive through the night, all the way back from Bristol, complete with now sullen dizzy bint who had spurned his advances and was by now also aware he was a fat prick.

I got offered a much better job shortly afterwards. On the day I left I made sure everyone got to hear about his Bristol odyssey and how I had duped him into lashing out 15 grand or more an a pile of bolts, and made damn sure that he knew i had told them.

Fat prick.


.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 22 May 2008, 16:28, 2 replies)

I did a shift canvassing.
It was for a company that flogged kitchens (guess if you want). I had to phone up pretending to be from a fictional magazine doing a survey to find out if they met the criteria. If they did then someone else would phone them from the "magazine" and spin them a load of shite about if they bought a kitchen and it was featured then it would be free.

Basically i just dialled numbers, read a script and then got told to fuck off. Some moody woman was also there to shout at us for not getting "bites" (finding people who met the criteria). It's the phone monkey's fault you gave me a load of numbers to dial that are all in a council area.

It was the longest 3 hours in my life. They rang me the next day to try and organise a shift, but i just ignored it.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Thu 22 May 2008, 16:21, Reply)

I handed in my notice this Tuesday just gone,
my reason being one of my colleagues.

I've been working here 8 months and about 19 days now (I keep track based on my b3ta-birthday), when I started I realised almost instantly how much of a bunch of right wing, racist, homophobic, sexist, bigotted cunts they all are. After hearing one racist, sexist and homophobic "joke" too many I defended those who weren't there to do so themselves.

All of a sudden I was gay. Interesting how that works, 'ey? Anyway, for the following months I put up with the gay jokes, the piss taking and other shit. Then about 3 months ago I was having a chat with one of my colleagues on a Thursday afternoon, Peter, and he asks me if I was gay. I told him my views on sexuality* and he stated that he disagreed, he believes that, and I quote "gayness is a mental illness, and all puffs should be locked up with the other loonies". Obviously I thought this was bullshit but I'm just the office minion so I made no big deal of it.

Friday comes, he's fine with me. Monday comes and I'm off work on leave, Tuesday comes and he's off with me. I assumed it was just him being in a bad mood and taking it out on me. Come Thursday he's still being rude and blunt with me so I asked him if I'd managed to offend him, he tells me that "I've been thinking about what you said last week and I don't like it, I disagree with it and it makes me feel sick. I think it'd be best if we don't talk anymore unless it's strictly work related and even then, only if necessary.".

Since then he's been rude to me when he does speak to me. He's, quite a few times, altered paperwork after realising he's written something down wrong (tipp-ex is a bit obvious) and then shouted at me for fucking up. He's fucked up on documents sent to clients, which I've typed up and he's signed off (which here means that he takes responsibility for it) and then told the manager/boss type person that it's my fault. I've been threatened with being given a written and final warning, despite not having a contract, numerous times. I've been threatened with being sacked, all due to him.

I've finally, after 3 months of being a spineless fuckwhit, quit. And I'm feeling better for it already.

*That I don't believe in them, I feel any human has the capacity within them to love another human regardless of their sex or any other attribute, and that sexualities are people's way of rating their homo or hetero phobia. That does not mean to say I don't have a preference, just that I'm not going to let someone's sex get in the way of potential love. But that's another story all together.
(Belgaer is, Thu 22 May 2008, 16:01, 41 replies)

not so much quit.....
...but a nice ending to an otherwise not-very-nice situation.

I'd been working for the company for six years. Started off as 1st line IT support and progressed up to senior-network-guy. Me and a few others were basically in charge of the whole IT infrasturcture for a medium sized company with branches up and down the country.

Business hadn't been good for a while, everbody knew the business couldn't sustain itself but upper management kept the spiel going and made everyone believe that there was possibly a future. New owners were bought in but within a couple of weeks everything came to a head when the administrators turned up - all the management had knew this was going to happen, most of them had already jumped ship leaving everyone else to face losing their job.

Except that is me and a few others, we were employed by the administrators to keep the systems running wilst they attempted to find a new owner(s) for the rest of the company.

Cue me finding out that the administrators didn't give a damn about the company's assets beyond some shiny new computers that had been delivered and office furniture. It started small, the odd box of toners here, the odd 10meg print server there but soon escalated into full blown ebay overload. I thought that I'd get my redundacy pay out of the sales of the now unwated items!

Turned out I was also entitled to 2 weeks pay for every year I'd been there as a payment from some government insolvency agency! w00t!

The cherry on the icing on the cake was finding out my tosspot of a boss still didn't have a proper job whereas I (he never thought I'd find another job) did a quick 3 interviews 3 job offers hat trick and landed a job infinitely better than the one I left!

Length? - about five Kadan's in height apparently.
(Vauxhall Burgundy, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:59, Reply)

I could have stayed
Whilst down under I had to get a job as a car hire monkey to help save the pennies. The job in itself was pretty inoffensive or at least I thought it was. There was an English boss and a kiwi manager who would be extemely irritated if there was anything resembling dust in the most remote places. Anyway it became clear that they wanted a lot more from me than my pay reflected. I was also to answer the phone and quote without training! Anyway after one heavy night I was really struggling, and a little laspe with the handbrake and bang $600 worth of damage. The next day they asked me what paycut I would be willing to take to pay it off. I actually thought to myself maybe they had a incredibly dry sense of humour about it. In a couple of days they called me into the office, basically I would work the rest of my time there for about 4 quid an hour. I pretended to be grateful and then finished early never to return. Sorry if you were expecting me to put laxative in their milkshake or suchlike. But at least I left them with a bill to pay (even though they probably used their insurance.)
(muzzvsworld, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:58, Reply)

I Quit
I sit here in an air conditioned office on a five hundred pound ergonomic chair that makes my arse feel like it’s in a massage parlour. I have a company computer that will make the biggest nerd grow a semi. I have a mouse that uses some smart laser with more buttons and switches than the enterprise. My monitor is larger than most peoples TV. I have a coffee machine less than 10 yards away, just above the fridge filled with fresh fruits and juices. The espresso is lush.
I may have to face a daily commute every day, but, I get to read three newspapers a day (which I miss when I cant) and listen to great music. Alone. I would miss the commute if it wasn’t there. Its time to myself, which is time well spent.
I have colleagues that respect me and I have a laugh with. Every Thursday we all go out on the city and have a great time. My boss values me and has given me great opportunities. I get well compensated. I may have to work long hours, but, I earn enough money that I only have to work a 5 day week (something I feel that people seem to forget is a western luxury). I can go and blow my mind out on weekends on expensive drinks and drugs in trendy bars with brown sofa’s and illuminated bars (which are generally shit – but – I get outvoted and I am a sheep). I can buy what I need, when I need. I never go hungry or thirsty or cold. I never go without anything… all due to this job I have.

At times I do hate it. At times I wish I could win the lottery and spend my years traveling the world with a backpack and tie-dye sandals.

But, the huge sense of achievement I get completely outweighs any negatives I feel. I could not imagine not doing this job – I actually find it great fun. I think I love it.

The problem is that I am an accountant.

I find spending months working on excel spreadsheets fun.

I cheer when I find the missing 10p from a spreadsheet

I scream when I can’t

I think it’s now clear to me that I have quit real living and become another suit in a saturated city. It’s a shame really. I honestly believe I had so much potential to do something more worth while.
( KISS.ME.WHERE.I.POO Signed the sex offenders register on, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:57, 11 replies)

So the subject is “I Quit”.
When I was in my second year of university, I worked in a KFC to make some bucks. I only worked twice a week, and I also got to have as much food as I could eat on my break.

All the food I could eat turned out to be usually 3 to 4 family buckets of chicken that found its way to the industrial fridge so that I could take it home and share it with my housemates. It was a pretty sweet deal and I was relatively happy.

Then a new manager was appointed, and was not all that cool. He leched on the 16 year old girls, stole money, didn’t authorise overtime when it was done (“oh must be a payroll error!”), chronically understaffed the entire place to lower costs (“I am just sweating my resources here pal.” He cut my hours without asking me so he could give them to the under 18s, and introduced the rule where you had to pay for your food on your break.

I complained and he said that if I didn’t like it, then I had to lump it. The weasel. This is a man that brought his own bottle of coke to drink on his shifts as he couldn’t stand to drink the pepsi from the KFC taps. What type of monster does that?

Anyway, I am a pretty happy-go-lucky bloke so I gritted my teeth, took the money, and accepted these changes.

Then he gave me 2 weeks notice because I hadn’t fucking scrubbed the floor properly. I was glad at the time because then I couldn’t be bothered to work in his fowl regime.

So I planned my final night. I won’t document the sleepless revenge filled nights that led up to it, only what happened.

Picture the scene.

10pm on a Saturday night in Exeter, two hours after my last shift starts.

£9.95 spent on an ad in the local paper that promised a free meal to the first 200 people that came through the door after 10pm.

Me switching off all the deep fat fryers (that take an hour and a half to get to temperature).

‘Killing in the name’ by Rage against the machine (last 2 minutes of the song) repeated and burnt onto a custom CD playing on the branch stereo (glued shut) at 95% volume.

Me, and 4 other Colonel Sanders refugees, vaulting the counter, past the baying drunken chicken hounds brandishing copies of the local rag, with our middle fingers up.

Finally, dickless clown losing it as the place gets mobbed.

Then I went for a maccy ds.

EPILOGUE.

Its probably cooler in my own mind than what actually happened but what the hell.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:48, 7 replies)

Thought of this over lunch.
I made a list once of all the jobs I'd had over the years it took me a couple of days to remember them all (well, that includes all the places I was sent as a general dogsbody temp) but thinking back, I can only remember a couple that ended prematurely - one of those was truly on mutual agreement between me and the gaffer, the other...

[wavey lines]

Let me take you back to 1991, the year when Mrs G and I, plus a 3-yr old sprog emigrated from Hounslow to York, well it felt like a foreign country for the first few years. We'd fled the over-priced capital city in search of a better and cheaper life in which to bring up a child and find happiness. I'd failed to make it as a self-employed cabinetmaker and we were broke, so a day or two after moving in, I got a job through an agency. Being still a youngster (well looking back now, mid to late 20s seems very young to me) I failed to grasp the full significance of the job description: food preparation operative (or somesuch). I also had little grasp of the local geography, still the woman in the agency seemed to think it was OK and asked if I'd mind giving a couple of other of their temps a lift to the place. 'Fine' I said, 'no problem.'

The factory was near Northallerton, which I now know to be about as far as I'd drive for a job I enjoyed, if the pay was good. Being a food factory, shift started fairly early and it was a good 45 minute drive up the A19. The other guys I picked up seemed alright and we arrived in good time. Early enough to have to stand about outside while a delivery truck came and unloaded a load of turkeys. Live turkeys. One made a mad dash for freedom somehow and flapped around the side of the lorry, it was soon followed by the delivery man. If you've seen 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' you'll have an idea of what the guy looked like - I swear he had a chainsaw in one hand as he sauntered over, grabbed the turkey by the feet with one massive gloved hand and threw it back into the back of the truck.

When the supervisor came out he showed us where to get changed: white overalls, white plastic apron, hairnet, white wellies; yep, we looked great. Then into the factory; I was put in the packing room: a cold room with long stainless steel tables where people were doing things to turkeys which arrived in huge, square white plastic bins, about a metre cubed. I was shown what to do: take a turkey out of the bin, check to see if it's got nasty discoloured bruising anywhere, if it has, put it in another big plastic bin (these would be chopped up for bits, i.e. turkey drumsticks, breasts etc and the nasty bits probably went for pet food...or turkey twizzlers). If it was OK, then grab a tray and a nappie, put turkey on nappie on tray and place on the table. People stood at the other side of the table would then do the skilled bit, i.e. put the elastic band thing on to keep it together. Doesn't sound too bad does it? It wasn't, except the turkeys were chilled so after roughly two minutes, so were my hands.

An hour an a half in, coffee break, or for 90% of us, fag break. Then back in until lunch...fag break...home. A long, tough day, 8 hours on your feet except for 30 minutes at lunch and two 20 minute fag breaks. Then 45 minutes to drive home. 'See you tomorrow lads'.

Day two. Similar, but when I was taken in to the factory, it was to the plucking area. A conveyer belt about six foot off the floor, from which dead turkeys dangled by their feet, fresh from the dunking vat of boiling water which removed most of their feathers. My job? To remove the rest, by hand, and most of the awkward ones that hadn't come off were located between the birds' legs. These birds hadn't been gutted yet and they still had their heads. They were hot from the dunking and residual body heat as they were only just dead. As I reached up to give the dead birds their Brazilians, shit squirted from their anuses and other liquids squirted from other orafices. These liquids squirted onto my nice plastic apron and my lovely white overalls and some onto my face, hands and arms. Water from the dunking ran down my sleeves as I plucked, as the birds were up at face height. The belt was moving quite fast, so I had to pluck fast; the room was noisy and hot, my arm ached my feet hurt as the wellies were too big and heavy and they hadn't recovered from yesterday.

An hour and a half in, fag break. I headed straight to the changing room, took off my shitty clothing, put my own shoes on, grabbed my jacket, headed for the carpark, got in my car and drove home. I had a cup of tea and a fag in the back yard as I described my morning to Mrs G, then I rang the agency - they'd already heard that I'd disappeared. I told them that I'd felt ill and couldn't go back. I also said I was sorry for marooning the two other lads out there. My first job in Yorkshire had lasted one day and one and a half hours.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:48, 3 replies)

Stuart
After finishing university, I didn't receive the 2:1 I'd hoped for, and the idea of having to explain why I got a 2:2 to employers conjured up an image in my mind of perpetual bounding from interview to interview, never taken seriously as the interviewer cuts his own ears off with a blunt spork the moment I answer his question "You've not mentioned what you got for your degree...?". After spending months pretending to do a dissertation, and memorising rather than learning for exams whilst getting incredibly adept at GTA and plumping up like a goose for Christmas, my world view had internalised to a claustrophobic level where I tended towards a state of depression. University, my degree, they were everything, yet I'd get myself into such a state just thinking about it, whenever I'd actually try, I'd just become overwhelmed with the fear of how little I actually knew.

Following university I moved back home to South Wales in order to save some money whilst looking for work. I had no idea what I wanted to do, just that I had a degree in Computer Science and to date had thought of the life as a programmer to be the only possible career path that could come from this. I spent some time applying to generic IT graduate schemes naively poisoning my applications with the sort of non-committal crap that I now realise would ring major alarm bells in anyone who chose to read it. That's the ones I was allowed to apply to, anyway. The number of times these graduate forms started off with precursor pages like "Before we begin, could you answer the following questions: 1) Are you eligible to work in the UK? 2) Can you tie your own shoelaces? 3) What classification did you get in your degree?". I lacked the self confidence to even answer question two with any certainty.

It was during this time that I realised I wasn't getting anywhere in a hurry, and seeing that I was turning into a complete slob, my parents encouraged me to try and find a job locally to bring some money in and give me some much needed inspiration. At the time this seemed like the worst possible thing I could do. It was admitting defeat. In my mind, the idea of working in the home town I swore to leave at the first opportunity would be a black mark on my CV that I'd never be able to shake off. After another couple of months of rejection after rejection, even claiming dole money as things got tight, I dejectedly surrendered to the idea. I applied to anything vaguely IT related, and after a couple of failed interviews, finally got a positive response and landed a role as an IT support assistant for the local council. The role involved travelling around schools in the borough sorting any problems they had without actually spending any money as most of the schools were so strapped for cash.

I awaited my first day with an apprehension that I've not felt before or since for a job. I was totally wet behind the ears, unprepared for the full-time working world and living with a morbid fear that I'd reached the point of my life where I had to find a 'career' and free choice was a thing of the past. I was shown around the office where my bosses were based and was introduced to the three who'd I'd be reporting to. One, whose name I forget, was one of the friendliest people I've met. Like a jovial uncle who just wanted everyone to be happy, he would go out of his way to be courteous to everyone he met with an unmistakable genuine sincerity. The second, most senior boss was a guy called Pete. He was a big guy with a big voice. Not a man of many words, but those he spoke were loud and direct. I realised early on, that if I stayed out of his way then he'd stay out of mine. I respected this arrangement and so did he.

Then there was Stuart. A man aged roughly 50 years old with small hollow eyes, a slicked back head of silver hair, "strong Christian values" that he felt obliged to work into a conversation no matter how tenuous. Looking back now, I wish I could say that I'd reached a more mature plateau where I look back at him with a level of sympathy or at least understand why he was who he was and why he chose to act the way he did. My first introduction to Stuart was a lengthy speech from him about how he didn't have a degree, thought they were a waste of time and in his experience those with degrees tended to be lazier, softer and less intelligent than those who'd had to learn in the working world from day one. In my fragile, depressed, pansy boy state, these words were devastating. This speech would prove to be indicative of Stuart's attitude towards me from day one.

The majority of the job was easy going and although boring, the staff at the schools were quite pleasant and friendly. Teacher's tended to be incredibly appreciative for any help you could give at all, particularly in schools with tighter purse strings where they hadn't planned to replace that dot matrix until 2012. Couldn't we just take the ribbon out and tap it onto paper with pins? The feedback I was getting from them was good and I was slowly developing a rapport that saw me begin to lighten up a little.

Unfortunately though, despite seeing him so relatively rarely, Stuart still seemed to take a sick satisfaction in making me his nemesis. When he found out that I only had access to a car on certain days (the application form said "Do you have access to a car?", I said "Yes"), he threw a tantrum and motioned to get me fired on the spot. Discussing this with friendly manager in front of me, much to friendly manager's embarrassment. Eventually, after friendly manager managed to calm him down, and I had a chance to plead that I'd walk or take buses between boroughs to get to the schools doing the commute in my lunch hour, he reluctantly complied.

To show his true discontent at the arrangement, he made no concessions to the locations of the schools I was working in, some up to 7 miles from each other with me relying on an infrequent bus service which I had to pay for. Despite this, it was still money and the amount of walking I was having to do helped me lose some weight.

The next few months saw him take any opportunity to publicly berate me in front of other workmates, or make sarcastic remarks that harked back to school days though from someone who's supposedly your superior, not your peer. He'd visit the schools I was working in unannounced, introducing himself to the heads whilst buttering them up as much as he could whilst subtly denouncing me to them in an apologetic way for them having to put up with being assigned a runt like me. Any time I'd turn up to a meeting late, sure enough he'd below at me for holding things up a few minutes despite the fact that I'd been across town an hour ago just trying to fix a problem for a hysterical teacher before hotfooting it back to the office. My depressed state didn't allow me the strength to challenge his jibes and his consistency left me believing the words he said, convinced I was doing an awful job and that I was nothing but a burden on the department.

Eventually something inside me snapped. I didn't know what to do, but I knew I couldn't do this any more and despite still having no luck in finding work in London decided that I'd rather sleep on my brothers floor and work in a Cafe Nero than spend another minute surviving my existence in this entirely self-destructive lifestyle. The liberating day I handed in my notice, I kept it as understated as possible, choosing to deal with the friendly manager, but my newly awakened mind bubbled with ideas for revenge against Stuart that my sadistic side savoured for my last day.

My family, noticing the change in me and knowing of the 'creative' ways I'd left jobs in the past (see: www.b3ta.com/questions/sacked/post49349/ or www.b3ta.com/questions/sacked/post49365/) implored me not to let him win by slighting my reputation with a revenge action that would see me no benefit other than a few moments of satisfaction whilst he would get the last laugh with me not being able to reference a job I'd had for 9 months.

As my final day approached, my mind was torn. I was desperately trying to think of ways I could hurt this person anonymously, just something to redress the way he'd made me feel about myself. Eventually, I managed to restrain myself to just changing my laptop's homepage to his wife's website (thank you Google) knowing he was taking my laptop from me when I left. On the scale of things, it was merely ambiguously creepy rather than a directly detrimental revenge. I appreciate that's a pretty crappy ending considering this question of the week is supposed to be about hilarious anecdotes, and the length of this entry but I remain proud that I didn't channel my self-loathing against this convenient hate figure, and walked away.

Venting your pent up anger or sense of injustice when leaving a job does nothing. Those who I've seen explode when finally handing their notice in, or those who see the exit interview as an excuse to rant for a few hours miss the point that you're leaving and all this. Why let the bastards win?

My next job was fantastic, as was the one that followed it. I found a job I enjoyed, worked with people I got on with, lost the weight and started to enjoy life in London. My mental attitude became more positive and that positivity was reflected in the people I met.

I know my story's a pretty small scale tragedy compared to what so many others have to deal with, but in my internalised world, I'd lost all sense of priority, and the change was liberating. All that crap that university days are supposed to be the happiest of your life? Bollocks. Uni was a blast, sure, but with not enough to do and too much time to do it in, all that leaves is my mind over thinking, and creative ways to cope with boredom (mostly involving alcohol). Give me a stimulating job to get on with in the daytime and I get a true appreciation of the spare time I do have on evenings, weekends and holidays any day. A younger me would never have thought that I'd ever say those words, but thankfully I'm not the same person I was back then.
( ma0sm, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:41, 2 replies)

I have had more crap jobs than you can wave a shitty stick at
and one of the things I have learnt is that your oh so funny leaving stunt didn't stick it to the company or that manager you hated, it stuck it to your ex-work mates who hate the same job/manager that you do but don't have the luxury of fucking off to university, a better job, or the chance to mince around the world for 12 months.

The one thing all of my shitty jobs have had in common is that I have always got on with the people I worked with who did the same job. I have had managers and team leaders who I would have broken my feet on before I tired of kicking them in the genitals, but I have always managed to find some esprit de corps with my fellow wage slaves.

Which is why I am still amazed when people who I considered to be good friends have on their leaving day, fucked me good'n'proper with their "smash the establishment" actions. I'm sure they still boast about it down the pub, lets have a selection of some of my favourite ass-rapings by past colleagues:

Boast: "Ha ha, when I left the shop I worked in during the summer before uni, I stole loads of money and fags"

Reality: The police questioned me, the nice old owner didn’t make a profit that year and his insurance premiums went up. He went bankrupt 2 years later. Ha fucking ha.

Boast: "When I left my shitty lab job, I flushed away a load of samples"

Reality: I had to work 3 weekends on the trot to help some PhD students who were almost suicidal at the thought of 4 years of work literally flushed down the drain. Well done joker, we had a good laugh at that one (once Karen stopped crying).

Boast: "When I left my crap office job in the financial services, I deleted a hundred pending pension/mortgage/life assurance applications, I wish I could have seen my managers face..."

Reality: You cunting cunt. Who do you think had to log them back on the system? Who do you think had to explain and grovel to all the financial advisers and customers who wanted to know where their information and work had gone? "Yes" I would like to add you as a Facebook friend as I can now hunt you down and gut you like the backstabbing cunt you are.

Boast: "I spent a year as a trainee accountant, didn’t like it much as they kept sending me to college and I failed all my exams because I couldn’t be bothered. Before I walked out I sent a group email to all the clients saying that they were all being investigated by the Inland Revenue for massive tax evasion"

Reality: Actually not a problem. You are such an unemployable retard you cocked it up and it was bounced back to sender, we reported you to the ACCA and you will never work in anything but the hottest and noisiest of jobs. Of course, had you succeeded you would most probably have crippled a small practice that had bent over backwards to help you.

Moral of the story: So before you format the company server, please think of the people you like and are leaving behind.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:40, 13 replies)

Boobies or boredom
My manager in my last job had really nice boobies. Everything else about that job sucked. I was overworked, underpaid, unappreciated, over-chastised, controlled, manipulated, exploited and abused. Two and a half years I spent staring longingly at those boobies wilfully oblivious to my descent into alcoholic hell until one day after much taunting by former colleagues who left and told me I was mad to stay, I updated my CV, interviewed and got a less stressful job for more money and less hours. There isn’t one decent rack in this building. Would I go back? Would you?
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:39, Reply)

Ye Olde Tea Shoppe
okay, not the exact name, but that kind of place. My friend got a job in such an establishment one summer during the long uni holidays.

Nothing she did was ever right - her tea was too strong, or too weak. Her scones had too much clotted cream (yuck) or not enough. Once, she was berated in front of customers for "putting a doily on the plate upside down". I mean wtf? If it wasn't the boss yelling at her, it was all of the boss's friends who popped in every day for tea and scones.

So, one day, they've got a coach party in as well and they're of the same mind-set as the manager. Complain, complain, complain. She stood the moaning for a while, then decided that flipping burgers for the summer would at least mean workmates of her own age.

The next whinging old biddy who's tea was too weak/strong/whatever was the last straw.

Her parting words?

"If I'd known I was going to be serving the militant wing of the Women's Institute I'd never have taken the bloody job"

She threw her frilly apron at the boss, and stormed out. Then had to storm back in to collect her coat and bag. Oops
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 22 May 2008, 15:38, Reply)

I used to be..
a committed, dedicated, trustworthy, company orientated upright young man. I used to share information, go out of my way to help. I used to openly teach people how to be as good as me, and nothing would stop me from trying to make things better for people.

I used to care about the job so much, I used to go to bed and wake up in the middle of the night to write down solutions to problems that I had been thinking about.

Then 10 years ago I started as a consultant. Now, I quit my job everyday.

At 5pm, Mon-Fri, the job stops. I couldn't give a rat's arse about co-workers, the company, the job, the people, the products, the quality, the shareholders, the customers, the out-sourcing, the politics, the lunch menu, the bonus scheme, the company cars, the team building, and everything else that goes with it.

And somehow, I'm much more calm and relaxed.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:36, Reply)

I was going to say....
The self help book, never miss a thing: how to become a punctual person by Matthew Wilson changed my life but this has just proved that the book dosent work.

(sighs)
(mon bison powered by magnets, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:34, 1 reply)

The one time I should have quit.
Many moons ago I worked for a kitchen company in the customer services department. At first the job was ok. Open plan office, friendly staff and the money wasn't too bad. I had an area of the uk to cover to handle the kitchen fitters requests, customers enquiries and complaints etc. It was hard work and eventually it got even harder.

At 9am each day the phones would start ringing and would not stop until 5pm. You had to answer your calls, and do the paperwork in-between, but there was no in-between available so the paperwork piled up. Eventually I was moved to a new area with a female manager who handled our group. On the whole she was ok but if she became stressed then she took out her stress on her team. I became overwhelmed with the work and took to taking amphetamines which also enabled me to work through lunch as it stopped me being hungry. I would take speed all day to get through the work and get pissed in the evenings to help me sleep ready for the next day. The bullying got worse, the workload got heavier. Every 6 months the bosses would come in and tell us all that changes were in place to make things easier but it never happened. I would dread each morning of waking up, (if I was lucky enough to get any sleep), and start out for work. Two bus journeys through Manchester and the fear and dread would grow as I travelled.

Well, eventually it came to a head and one morning I got off the first bus and had a total panic attack. I thought I was going to die. I went into Macdonalds by the bus stop and asked the assistant to ring for a ambulance, this was after 10 minutes of standing in the toilets waiting to die. Once I realised I wasn't going to die I became embarrased and apologised to the ambulance staff who took me home.

I never went back to work. I just couldn't make myself do it. I couldn't speak to the company and had to ask my mother to contact them. Many months on sick pay and then many more on sickness benefits.

Today I still wonder why I never quit that job. I could have got another job fairly easily and all the hassle and problems with depression and panic attacks would never have happened.

I guess I'm just not a quitter.
( girlinthehole, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:18, 5 replies)

I also once flounced out of an orgy....
Because the other 2 guys in the group kept getting in the way and stopping me from getting any pussy.

I would've taken her up the date, but it was logistically impossible.

It gets really boring watching 2 blokes respectively sliding their glistening wet, hard ramrods in and out of a lady's mouth and vertical bacon sandwich whilst she writhes and moans in ecstasy, and all you can do is read the classifieds and ask in an annoyed voice "Is it my turn at the wicket end yet?".

Greedy bastards didnt move over until they'd covered her face and filled her snatch full of hot gloop.
I didnt bother even trying to sink the pink as it would've been like skating on an oil slick, trying to get my one-eyed-fanny-ferret in there after their copious ejaculations.

I stormed off and left her leaking onto the duvet.
(Vic Flange, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:17, 11 replies)

The Vegan Van
When I was 14, I got my first ever job. I got paid £40 a day and for this princely sum, I got to travel up to a market in East London, set up the food van, make and cook all the food, serve, clean the fucker down at the end of the day, get abuse hurled at me, and then, weary and smelling of falafel, get funny looks on the train home. And all of this, I did on my own, at 14 years of age.

It was a piss take. Which I soon realised. And I was lonely.
So I employed my younger sister (who was 10)for £8 a day, out of my 40 to help.

The the horrible rat-faced bitch boss decided that I had been stealing and that I'd have to get an official warning. I hadn't been stealing. But I'd been accused and punished, so I thought I may as well benefit...

So my sister and I would randomly shut the van (usually at lunchtime, so we didn't have to deal with the rush) and take tupperware pot which constituted the till and go clothes shopping in the market....

The netball-playing militant bitch called me over and said that she knew I was stealing. I replied;

"Yes, I am. But the last time you asked I wasn't and I still got punished. And you have no proof because you don't have a proper till you cheap bitch."

I started walking away, and my little sister turns round and snipes;

"Yeah, and we quit, Fatty!"

Bless...

We were such lovely children...
(Ryfelwr can't stop here... this is bat country, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:08, Reply)

I was berated and heckled in a presentation at work.
I started brilliantly, all my slides were excellent, and my presentation was slick.

But for the 10 minutes I was talking for, I was repeatedly heckled by various members of the audience. In the end, I stormed off with a shout of "if you bastards cant be bothered to listen then I cant be bothered to speak".

Imagine my horror as I left the room and caught sight of my reflection in the mirrored glass opposite the door, noticing that not only was I not wearing any trousers, but my fishie was hanging out of the front of my underpants like a dead slug.
(Vic Flange, Thu 22 May 2008, 15:06, 4 replies)