Last Boss
We’ve all been here before I am sure. You’ve got a job to do and you try as hard as you can to do your best but it is a constant battle. I’ve been in the situation too, putting in the hours at the expense of other important aspects of life like family and friends. Fortunately for me I was based on a tropical island at the time so the surroundings were nice, but it was still a hard slog.

Over a period of a few months I went through three bosses, all difficult bastards. It really annoyed me because I certainly put in the effort, but I just wasn’t getting to where I wanted to be. I’d work my way up a level thinking that was great, only to be faced with more drama and bigger challenges. By the time I was greeted by my third boss I was really starting to get pissed off and wondering why I was wasting my time, especially as he was a real hard bastard and a complete prick. You know how it is - I’d be doing the right thing, and he’d throw in a random hand grenade and wreck my day. But I’d take it on the chin and have another go because I was dedicated and tenacious. But then the prick would secretly snipe at me while my back was turned. If I tried to challenge him head-on, I'd just get a rocket up the arse.

I started getting really bitter and frustrated, and it took me ages to work out the best approach when faced with this sort of problem. But I sorted him in the end though. Not much stands up to a semi-auto shotgun to the face. Fuck you Kreiger, and fuck you Far Cry.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 23 May 2008, 1:48, 1 reply)

Bin cleaner
amongst my extensive repertoire of occupations i was once a bin cleaner for two weeks.

Worst job i've ever done maggots, nappy's and the contents of someones bowels.
Any way the bloke who drove the van and made us do all the work whilst he sat there in the warm.
He was shall we say a twat, he laughed at his own unfunny joke and wore a shirt 2 sizes too small.
(unfortunately he was my brother in law )
anyway two weeks into the job me and my brother (real one that was working with our in law) decided we had had enough and put dog shit in the bosses letter box , ok we lost our jobs as well but we where 15 and couldn't care less.
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Fri 23 May 2008, 1:02, 1 reply)

How to be punctual and always on-time
Is the book that changed my life.
( Willwillwritehiswill An arse like a slapped face., Fri 23 May 2008, 0:25, 1 reply)

There's a time and a place to piss me off.
But it's not in this universe.

Years ago, I used to work summer overflow for a small frozen food firm. Basically, you got a small lorry, and delivered ice cream and catering supplies. I had the job through an agency; it paid less than the staff rate, but that was HGV agency work in the early 90s.

Then the agency went bust. I went to the frozen food people, and offered to work direct while the summer rush was on. I asked for the staff rate, but they wouldn't give it to me. Well, jobs were hard to come by, so I carried on. Of course I started looking for other jobs, and I found one (which turned out worse, but that's another post).

Now for my revenge!

The firm's owner had 2 sons, each a twat in his own way. The older one had just acquired a 2nd hand M5 BMW, and as the firm had just announced there was to be no pay rise that year, everyone assumed that he was driving around in it. The younger son had been privately educated, and considered himself God's gift. He combined idleness with incompetence, and the special charm of the very minor public schoolboy.

Every morning, the loads would be brought out of the cold store, and we'd all help each get the stuff on by hand. We're talking upwards of 3 tons per vehicle, over 100 boxes each, with maybe 30+ deliveries. On this morning I made sure the Junior Twat would be after me. Sure enough, he and I were the last ones left. I helped him load his, then I asked him to help me with mine.

"Oh, you don't mind doing yourself, do you?"

"YES I FUCKING WELL DO YOU LITTLE CUNT! NOW TAKE THE JOB AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR DAD'S ARSE!" I flounced off, but not before I'd thrown the delivery notes, all sorted into drop order, high into the air.

I was in my new job next morning. And three weeks later my neighbour's son, who also worked there, informed me the pay rise had been reinstated.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Thu 22 May 2008, 23:44, Reply)

Writing An Assembly
Last year I wrote and performed an assembly in front of the whole sixth form and their respective form tutors. It ended up as a kind of humorous ramble involving King Kong, students, vampires and crap poetry. It went down very well. So well in fact that I was invited to write an assembly the next year as well. Unfortunately this assembly was vetoed by my form tutor and head of sixth form respectively. A shame really because I get praised for ti by anyone that reads it.

It was banned for not one but four reasons:-
1) Encouraging the bullying of year 8's ( the youngest in the school)
2) Mocking the headmaster.
3) Copious swearing (I don't think the assembly would work without it mind you)
4) Questioning the school rules.

Have a read of it below - there was no topic so I focused on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"...’Sup. Any normal assembly uses all sorts of speakers and projections and music, possibly live, to create some kind of excitement in your lives. It normally backfires and you find yourself reading ’wanker’ on the chair in front of you, which is normally written in tippex or sometimes carved out with a compass. This is not going to be one of those assemblies. This assembly should be rather entertaining, I have a lot to live up to since last year when I, to use a phrase, absolutely nailed it. Obviously only half of you watched that assembly so c’est la vie, as B*Witched once said.

So anyway yer, we don’t actually have a topic this year and I have free reign to write whatever I want really. Last year it was loosely based on the environment and this year, I don’t want to stray too far from that topic, and have decided that I want to talk to you about the teenage mutant ninja turtles. Maybe. We’ll see how we go. But first, why on earth would you bring tippex or a compass to assembly? It has to be the lowest, most rubbish form of vandalism around. Like taking that rubber edge off the tables in year 8. Or writing Hitler in a history textbook where you are meant to write your name. Returned – dead. Oh how we laughed.

Anyway yer, on with the assembly, umm…so yeah. We have an acoustic version of something ready for your perusal later. That should be interesting. Matt Macdiarmid on the guitar. Top bloke. A Christian but still, a top bloke. By the way the headmaster, Mr Carter, he’s a Methodist. Not sure if he’s ever mentioned it…and that links me really well to the teenage mutant ninja turtles who belong to the religious sect of ’kickin’ some serious ass’ as Americans would put it.

But I was thinking about this assembly, and I thought how was the teenage mutant ninja turtles or ’hero’ turtles as they are sometimes called conceived? How was it pitched to the board members of some huge TV company?

’Welcome. I believe you have a pitch for us.’
’Umm…yes.’
’Well go on then. What’s it called?’
’Well it doesn’t have a name as such yet…I have a working title.’
’Okay well, what’s it about? In 5 minutes preferably, because we are kind of busy.’
’Yeah sure…okay well basically there’s some form of umm reptiles. Like a turtle or tortoise or terrapins.’
’Excellent. Kids love reptiles.’
’Do they? Yeah but not tortoises because they are kind of slow, and umm well these guys they’re kind of teenagers. So they’re quite cool…’
’Interesting, interesting’
’Yeah and they can fight crime.’
’They can fight crime?’
’Uh-huh. Well, they’re ninjas…’
’Ninjas?’
’Umm well yeah basically. Well they’re only ninjas because they are like well, mutant reptiles. Or terrapins or turtles or whatever.’
’So just to clarify, a reptile of some sort, which fights crime because it is a mutant and a ninja?’
’Yeah. And they’re also teenagers because teenagers are more fit than old people generally. Although these guys eat pizza so-’
’Pizza?’
’Umm well yeah sort of. I guess…well they’re American aren’t they?’
’Oh right! American reptiles. Hence the pizza.’
’Yup.’
’Sorry, are we to assume these reptiles live in an apartment of some sort?’
’Umm well no, not really. But they live in Manhattan. In the umm sewers. Yeah anyway…’
’Sorry…and they’re life size?’
’Yeah but they still live in the sewers. Because well they sort of have to’
’Do they? Why?
’A mutant reptile living in an apartment? Dream on.’
’Uh…okay then, well then, how many are there of these mutant ninja reptiles?’
’Four. And they are all named after classic artists. Because of the whole artist-ninja link. Anyway yeah, the first is called Raphael, and he’s the red one.’
’Red one?’
’Yeah, oh I forgot, yeah they all have masks to stop them being identified by the police or criminals or whatever.’
’Ok’
’Yup and they all have separate weapons too. Raphael, red, with some daggers. We got Leonardo, blue, he’s like the leader with this big sword. Michelangelo who’s orange and is really funny, and ah he makes me laugh thinking about him. He’s got nunchucks. And then Donatello who is purple and kind of has a stick. I ran out of ideas.’
’So who do they fight?’
’Well this is the genius part. Their many guy is this huge dude with loads of armour who is stupidly hard to kill. And he’s called Shredder and would be in every episode. He also has this endless supply of foot soldiers who are a little useless and die every episode.’
’And what are they called?’
’Footsoldiers.’
’Well. If that’s all…’
’No wait, I forgot to say how the reptiles are trained! There’s this mutant rat. Who’s really old. And has a purple gown. And is amazing. And he’s called Splinter.’
’Wait hang on….all these creatures talk?’
’Yup. Mutants.’
’Ok well, this idea has some potential, what was your working title for it?’
’Well I’m kind of aiming at the 5-9 age group. So I was thinking….Fuck ’Em Up Terrapins’

…and that was the first meeting of what eventually became Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Anyway I got to thinking about what makes them so cool. And I decided it wasn’t just the fighting and the mindless pissing about they got up to. But it was also the freedom they had. And I looked up ’free’ in the dictionary and it was defined as ’free from confinement, not under compulsion or restraint.’ So why do we have to be in school in the morning when we have a free for the first two periods? Well the teachers will tell you it’s because they are not free at all but actually study periods. This is a lie. If they were study periods it would stay ’study’ and not ’free’ on those timetables you get handed out at the beginning of the year. Game. Set. Match. Me.

But I’m just rambling. I think we are also told to stay in the school for those periods because, well, it makes you feel superior when you are wandering around the school looking for a spare computer room when everyone else is in lessons. And it was on one of these occasions where the bell went, and I had left the common room to go and check if any of the computer rooms were now free for the next period and a year 8 walked towards me. And I didn’t walk round him. I kind of walked into him, and barged him out the way. And it made me feel good. Kind of a rites of passage. People did it to us when we were in year 8, and he’ll do it to others when he’s in our year. And I turned to look at him after this and he kind of, gave me a weak smile. And that really touched me. Because it was then that I realised, I hadn’t quite hit him hard enough. So I punched him in the face. And roundhouse kicked him to the floor. In a move that the Turtles would have been proud of. Kawabunga.

And that brings me nicely to Matt Macdiarmid on the guitar…"

They asked me to rewrite it. I declined and a yawn fest of an assembly followed. That is the story of how I quit the assembly.


Sorry for length, but it had to be 10 minutes long.
(Foz, Thu 22 May 2008, 23:38, 5 replies)

Tannoy
Ooh, I like this one, because I actually have something funny to post.

When I decided to leave my job shelf stacking in a local 'hypermarket', I went up to my boss (who hated me) and said "I've decided to quit, but I'm prepared to work my notice", he said "no, just go now, I don't need you", even though I was the most experienced member of staff there and he would have to lock up with only two trainees to help.

I didn't like his tone, so I went and got my things, went into the office and got on the tannoy. "This is a staff announcement, Mr. Smith can stick his job up his fat arse. Have a nice day, customers!"

Turns out Mr. Smith has a reputation for being a bastard, so I walked out of my job to a round of applause from all the local old biddies!

Needless to say, I've never asked him for a reference...
(Pik3y shagged your dad on, Thu 22 May 2008, 23:32, Reply)

25mins
When I first moved to London from sunny South Africa, I did the usual bumming about and wasted a good deal of money on not much of worth. Finally being a bit short of cash I dived into the TNT magazine. The advert read something like:
"Make 100 pounds a day raising money for charity, save the planet and get rich at the same time."

Easy money eh???
NO not really, spent about 2 hours getting briefed on what we are raising money for, trees or something, as I recall and then get issued with a plastic bucket thing, some pamphlets and 'my patch'- OUTSIDE KINGS CROSS STATION. Now heres how you make your money, 10 percent of whatever gets put in your bucket you keep, nice no. NO, whoever can get 1000 pounds a day in charity donations on the street should be working for NASA or something its IMPOSSIBLE.
Imagine if you will a very green 18 year old standing outside Kings Cross station asking for donations to save some f@$king trees in South America.......
Do you think ANYONE coming out of Kings Cross station cares about enviromental issues, do they f@$k.
Proud to say I lasted all of 25 minutes before phoning the home base to tell them to stick it.
I returned the next day to drop off my bucket at 'reception' feeling a bit bad for not giving it more of a shot only to find a pile of about 30 returned buckets. Don't think they were too bothered.
How these charities make any money is beyond me.
(astrosinmyeyes is hoping Manson is released before, Thu 22 May 2008, 23:20, Reply)

I was in-between jobs and signing on when I found out I didn't have a choice about handing in an application form to a certain burger chain. I took it in to the local branch and tried to scuttle out as quickly as possible but the manager decided to interview me there and then. After the 'oh goody - you're a graduate' bit I was offered the job. I lasted a week before walking in to work one morning, getting changed and crying then changing back into my own clothes and handing my uniform to the under-manager who just said 'this wasn't the job for you was it?'
I then got a job shovelling shit in a stables which was a good deal more rewarding than shovelling that shit into burger buns.
No flouncing and I'm not the sort of person to piss in the milkshake mix. sorry.
(libbyloo <insert cool quote and pretend I came up with it>, Thu 22 May 2008, 22:37, 1 reply)

1 day Job Man
Yes it's true that i have had 3 jobs now where i only worked 1 day, i think once you get over the initial hurdle it's a lot easier the second time round!

My finest had to be when i was offered the job of Assistant Manager of Footlocker in Reading. Before i go further i should point out that i was the only white member of staff and i felt like a bit of an outsider from the first minute. The rest of the staff seemed to feel that their manager had betrayed the brotherhood by employing a white man in a trainer shop, regardless of my basketball prowess (i can dunk on 9ft).

Long story short nobody said a word to me all day, even when i spoke to them, they just turned round and walked off.

I left the shop that night, still smiling politely at the manager as i walked away knowing i wouldn't be going back.

The funny thing is, they must have guessed my leaving was a bit suspect because they paid me 6 weeks wages, about 1500 quid in the end. I said nothing, they said nothing, but i think they knew...
( JebediahSpringfield, Thu 22 May 2008, 22:36, 5 replies)

Bloody factories
I worked at a factory picking and packing during the summer holidays at college. I'm sure nearly all of you have been there, 8 hours a day packing envelopes/postbags in a noisy shithole.
I went in one day, fair enough i'd slept in and I was a bit late but that happens sometimes.
Now there were probably about 5 women there who worked full-time there forever, who sat and chatted on and on and on all bloody day long. Fair enough, a bit of conversation is good when you're doing something so soul destroying.
Now that day there happened to be some northern lad(i be in the midlands) next to me who i hadn't seen before who was making an extra few quid before moving back with his old man, so i found out.
We were having a lovely chat, but the old bints who could not shut up for 5 minutes would not stop going on at us for talking when they were cackling away like witches all fusking day long. Needless to say by lunchtime i was up and out of there, and when the agency phoned me up just after lunch when i didn't turn up, I was telling her my heart wrenching story of being wrongly picked on, and she puts the phone down on me. How charming.
But fuck you fudge packers, who's working for merc now eh?
(jangaaaal shes lost control..., Thu 22 May 2008, 22:26, 2 replies)

Worst job
One of the worst jobs I've ever had was working quality control on a frame line for a double glazed window frame manufacturer. It was simply awful. There were meant to be five of us on the line - two checkers and three 'runners'. I was one of the checkers. I would pull the job details up on the computer, quickly check over the dimensions, check the frames for defects and also that they had the right amount of 'holes' for the actual windows etc. The runners' job was to place the checked frames in a storage area and make a note of the storage location, tell me where then I'd update the computer records so they could be pulled for delivery. Simple enough.

This is the only job in my life I have ever walked out on. I was about 20 and had worked there for quite some time on the lines welding the frames quite happily before I got promoted into QC due to my 'knowing a bit about computers' as my line manager put it. The job had an evil reputation and had seen the sacking and quitting of quite a few people who had been there longer than myself. I didn't want anything to do with it. I was told by our line manager, a typical beancounter that I was working this job or I wasn't working at all.

Great...

Now the line would pump out anything between 40-80 frames an hour, these things would be anything up to 12ft by 10ft and anything that size had to be steel reinforced as well, so these were bloody heavy, cumbersome things and also the storage area was about the size of a football field, full of numbered racks to slot the frames into. (We also had a sash line where all the windows came down, this was also the storage place for all of them, then the orders went out together, frames and sash - you get the idea...)

I was given two people, me checking and two runners. To say we got behind was an understatement. On the very first evening I didn't get home till about an hour and a half after the line had finished. Conscientious as I was back then and eager to please in my new post - We'd worked over our breaks and most of our lunchtime to try and get caught up. 'No problem' I thought - I'll get quicker as I get used to it and with a few words of encouragement to my work mates and on the line supervisors say-so we filed the overtime for that evening's work and went on home.

The same happened the next night, and the next. So on the Thursday I went to see the line manager and expressed my concerns about (a) not having enough hands and (b) therefore not having enough time to do my job properly. We then proceeded to get off on the wrong foot.
He said that all the other people could do it fine, why couldn't we - to which I reminded him that the longest anyone had stayed in the post previously was just over a month and that previous to that 3 of the guys working there had eventually got sacked for letting dodgy frames get through. 1 bad frame through = 1 warning. I explained that we just didn't have the time to do all of what the company wanted well with just the 3 of us on the frame line.
To cut a long story short - it got quite nasty, he didn't want to take another couple of blokes off the line to assist and I refused to back down. I eventually declared that perhaps, due to his lack of forethought and willingness to get someone to help out in QC, that was why the factory had such an evil quality control reputation?

He got rather angry and started yelling. I was an 'upstart' and 'how dare I tell him how to run his line', you know - all the classics. This screaming brought the factory boss in. Who naturally enquired what the fuss was about. I politely explained whilst said beancounter stood, fumed and sputtered in the corner. After I was finished I was politely asked to leave the office as they had things to discuss. Now - I'm not sure what was said in there - but the very next day I had another two men to help out. Things were on the way up!!

However - I'd made an enemy. This mean little bastard then started taking an unhealthy interest in our work, pulling jobs 5-6 times a day for inspections, pulling my team off the QC point as he wandered round fault finding with a tape-measure, questioning jobs that were well within limits, ordering re-welds on the frames despite there being nothing wrong with them them that the installers couldn't fix on site in two minutes with a stanley knife. He would of course naturally pick the busiest times of the day to do this, then leave the frames in the middle of aisle for us to repack and re-process. Another favourite was to pull us all into QC 'meetings' for 20-30 minutes as the line rolled on, usually biting into our lunch or break times. This went on for a bit but we just grinned and got on with it.

The week before the Christmas shut-down he wandered up with a sickeningly smug look on a Monday morning and said he needed both of the men back on the line and that 'I'd get them back ASAP' - At this point everything was in a rush to get all the frames and orders ready for delivery straight after the two week holiday. The QC and storage bins were spilling over, frames, windows and orders everywhere, the lines were going full bore - the place was in absolute chaos.

We worked like that for a week. We had to stay late every bloody night to get things squared up. I had the line manager prick from hell riding my arse like a horny goat, pulling us at least once an hour for the build up of frames on the QC point. I got my first ever warnings for missing some transoms that had been welded in the wrong place and also one for screaming back at the cock faced little twunt. Myself and what remained of my team clocked up just under 20 hours overtime in a 5 day week just trying to keep on top of the work coming down the lines. At least it was all overtime I thought.

On the Friday before the shut-down, just after break-time as the pay was processed by the main office, he called us all into the office (the line was still running of course) and he was sitting with our clock cards. He said that the company wouldn't be paying for the overtime as we were simply 'below par performance wise' and we had to 'pull our socks' up. He then proceeded to start and lecture us on how he was ultimately responsible for all the frames in QC etc...

One of my guys felled him, right there and then. The little bastard loved it,got up, bled over everything, then got the police involved and had his twenty minutes of overbearing smugness as he poured out his tale of woe to the police and then looked on with a self satisfied smirk on his face as one of my workmates was carted off in the back of the police car. He was then was allowed home early, taking great delight in telling everyone who was listen how he was going to push for GBH / assault / attempted murder charges and claim thousands in compensation.

This was the final straw - Gary and myself went back to the QC point and decided that we'd had enough. We quietly worked through till closing time and then we stayed behind yet again. Security were used to seeing us trailing frames round QC till late at night and that night - we excelled ourselves. Every single order that was packed and ready for transport after the holidays we broke up, moved, peeled the identification labels off and buried as far away as we could get from the original locations. We stayed from 5 until just after 9. I then deleted all of the updated frame and job location files from off the Q.C. Pc - just before I updated the main records on the server with the blank file (that was the last thing we had to do at the end of our shift). The last thing we did was to write the little git a Christmas card and leave it on his desk before we left for the pub.

Nothing fancy - Just "Merry Christmas - from A & G"

I really, really hope he got the message.

As a side note I was offered another job over the Christmas period - so it all worked out quite well. Never looked back since.

Length / girth etc...
(uk_viper stopped lurking on, Thu 22 May 2008, 22:11, 7 replies)

it's been a looooong time
since i even thought about the bedshitter. but this question just reminded me of the last time i saw him, a couple of months after we broke up.

i had just got home after a night out when he rang me and asked me to go over to his place in camden. i hadn't been drinking that night, so i decided to drive over. i knew his new german red cagoule wearing girlfriend had already moved in with him after a couple of weeks dating. but he didn't know that i knew that.

so he was fluttering around the flat, trying to stop me from going into the bathroom or the bedroom and seeing all her stuff, and being supernice to me. and i was just looking at him, realising how much of a relief it had been not to listen to his self-pitying shit for past couple of months and wondering how i ever managed to go there.

after a while, he began to slag off the new girlfriend and was telling me how much he missed me. then he leaned over and tried to shove his rubbery little cock in my mouth (his idea of foreplay). three years of being cheated on and lied to and even hit from time to time (and did i ever mention he shat the bed?) - and i could finally see through the emotional blackmail to the bullshit underneath.

i pulled my head away from his crotch in disgust. i stood up. i told him in a very clear voice that he was pathetic. and i walked out. leaving his mouth as wide open as if he were trying to deepthroat himself.

it would have been good enough as it was. but it was only made better when he chased me across the car park in his boxer shorts, semi flopping unnecessarily out of the slit, begging me at the top of his drunken voice "just to put it in for a minute".....



of course i should have quit long before this point. i was young, i needed the money. i'd never go there now! the morals of the story are: never go out with your boss when you share an office. never go out with anyone you feel sorry for, however funny and intelligent they might be sometimes. and never, ever, ever go out with anyone who is incontinent past the age of 12 months!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 22 May 2008, 22:07, 7 replies)

I tried to flounce. I wasn't allowed.
As I have previously said on b3ta, during my A-levels I was given the tedious, stressful and frankly pointless job as "person of responsibility" (not even a prefect, honestly) put in charge of the apparently very very important Sixth Form Newsletter. This was a slim and over-cliparted volume published at the end of every term, that usually featured articles about open days at unis and courses and and the various speakers we'd had in for "society" every so often. In other words, it was dross that didn't even interest the people writing it and something I wouldn't even line a cat's litter tray with. (Of course my insanely proud parents kept every copy I was anything to do with).

I was not alone in my hated task, either. As well as two deputy prefects from the year below who were actually useful, I was also sharing my torture with Stalker Boy's best enemy, the openly and flamboyantly gay, snarky (think the bitchiest, meanest girl you've ever met) Tris, who used his "connections" as a way to further his entourage of girls who hung on his every word and worshipped him as their very own Gay Best Friend God. Can you tell Will & Grace was popular at the time?

Somehow, however, in all his preening and telling girls they looked "divine!" and bursting into numbers from Annie for no apparent reason (he was cast as Daddy Warbucks in the school production and we never ever heard the end of it; the only way he could have got more big-headed was if he was cast as Annie), he didn't have much time to get work done for the newsletter, which meant I was the one who more often than not was asking people who I hated and who hated me (see Karma QOTW) to write me a few lines about what they'd been doing on admissions days and stuff, and more often than not I'd end up writing them myself. Meanwhile, in spite of being asked to do things, every time I asked him for a bit of assistance, Tris would agree "of course I will, sweetie!" and later snarl and spit about I had "such issues" asking him to do things when I was "so lazy, she just has to delegate!"

This all came to a head about three weeks before the deadline in my last term, when I had asked Tris to proofread the finished document while I had my Latin class in the other end of the building. "Yes of course I will darling!".

Twenty minutes later, Stalker Boy sidles into my classroom wringing his hands like a pantomime villain and, pausing only to call my Latin teacher a variety of obscenities in German and suggest she becomes a rent boy, he tells me "The minute you went out of the room, Tris alt-tabbed and went straight back to looking at Gaydar, dear."

Something snapped in me that day, and I used my next free period to write a letter politely telling the head of sixth form to stick her poxy newsletter up her arse (omitting that she looked like Snape from Harry Potter) because I was getting no support from any of the other prefects, and found the work to be totally unrewarding. I printed this at the end of lunchbreak, and handed it to the staffroom. No envelope or anything, because I didn't have one and didn't think it would be necessary.

I'm amazed I didn't hear the scream of fury when she read it, judging by the way she glared at me when she collared me in the middle of the afternoon and asked, nay DEMANDED, to see me in her office at the end of the day. I spent the next two hours in Latin freaking out that she was going to gut me and print the next newsletter in my own blood (did I mention as well as looking like Snape, this woman was fucking terrifying?), and dragged my feet to her office at the end of the day, trembling like a kicked spaniel.

I had barely got through the door when she started on me, and it all seemed to come out as one word "how DARE you resign in such a RUDE and inconsiderate manner without even putting the letter in an ENVELOPE and handing it to me PERSONALLY, and that you think that this is NOT A WORTHWHILE USE OF YOUR TIME! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY OF THE SCHOOL GOVERNORS READ THIS NEWSLETTER AND HOW IMPORTANT IT IS?"

"um... sorry...?"

She then held a prefect meeting the next day, where she told everyone what I'd tried to do and said "please be nice to Maladicta, she's only small."

I did eventually get revenge, by inciting rebellion and ensuring all the lower sixth saw how much of a chore the evil thing was to put together at the end of term when you had more important things to worry about, like, you know, exams, and deadlines that actually mattered. And none of them applied for it, meaning that she had to actually incite democracy and set up a committee for it, which lasted about a year.

Length? She probably had quite a bit of length.
( Maladicta, Thu 22 May 2008, 22:04, Reply)

And then there was the time
I'd been working for a company for 7 years (a personal best)and they were bought out by a rival. I could see the way things were going: we'd spent £5 million on new equipment yet the company was sold for £8 million.
I had secured a position with another firm and had a month notice to serve, but there was lots of shit jobs that needed doing, so I pretended I'd broken my arm.
I told them I had a sick note, but as I was signed off for four weeks it would be better all round if I came in to work and just did light duties in the office rather that claim the full rate sick pay.
Cue lots of tea and sympathy from the office totty while I watched the new owners dismantle the company around us.
I spent most of the time on t'Internet searching for new jobs for my soon-to-be-redundant colleagues.
I missed out on the redundancy pay having handed my notice in two weeks before the official announcement, but was amply rewarded at my leaving do in ways I cannot mention here.
(Razors, Thu 22 May 2008, 21:59, 1 reply)

Was going to post this as a reply (it's not a revenge story) but figured it wouldn't get read.
My experience of leaving uni and starting in the 'real world' was not much fun. Although for me, graduating felt like going to my own funeral, only nobody else was crying. I didn't want to leave and the 'picking up the pieces' in the closing weeks of term was painful. I went into my finals half thinking about failing for the sake of repeating the year, but had probably a sufficient safety margin that if I tried that I would just pass shitely.

After that I was at home unemployed, applying for jobs and hearing nothing back, trying Monster, Jobserve etc. All the same bullshit. I'm not much good at interviews. Dole for a few months- I was not going to work in a coffee shop or fast food joint with a 2:1 from Durham, even in the unlikely event they would employ me.

I found a software testing job in London advertised on the Jobcentre machines. Sent them my CV, got an interview, passed their test with flying colours (it involved looking at code, I can be naturally quite pedantic such details due to Aspergers), second interview was a formality because the HR lady was away for the first one. This job was a 2 hour commute each way. I hated the job due to the commute, often being the only one in my office, almost total lack of real training or any other attention, not having a fucking clue how the boss wanted stuff done, being deliberately allowed to make 'mistakes' and then criticised about them rather than being taught in the first place, inability of the boss to grasp that you can't plan a sick day in advance, etc. Boss was a cnut anyway, he even thought he was being supportive and doing me a favour, while most days on the coach home I would curl up and cry a bit. Two points that stick in my mind are openly being described as useless while within earshot, and being told that I don't know how to draw a graph and I should be questioning even whether my maths teacher was right in how he taught me. (I got 98% at GCSE.)

No revenge story. I suddenly left that job (just didn't go in the next day because I couldn't face it). Was on happy pills at the time, they didn't work, leaving the job did a bit. More unemployment with the odd application and the even odder reply.

Now working as an ICT technician at my old school. Manager and deputy manager are nice people, as are most of the other people I come into contact with (many of them used to teach me). Ten minutes up the hill from where I live. Things seem OK in my head, and the recent massive network disaster appears to be mostly fixed. Still missing uni friends massively and bricking it every time I think about the future/'real world' though, I somehow just don't feel ready and never have.

Apologies for length (although your mum didn't seem to mind) and emoness.
( idonthaveafunnynickname Drink-Aware? Sure. I'm aware I want another drink., Thu 22 May 2008, 21:37, 3 replies)

And another thing...
Another job (I stopped counting at 30 jobs, and that was 20 years ago), was delivering [censored] for a company in [censored]. They treated the drivers like shit; expecting them to break Driver's Hours Regs every day. We were all told it was "Job and Finish", but were given so many drops that a 12 hour day was normal. With no overtime.
I once delivered a box of [censored] to a hospital at 07:00. Due to the workload and the fact that the stores bods didn't start until 08:00, I had to leave it on the doorstep without a signature. They denied recieving it and the cost was deducted from my meagre wages.

At the time, my sister was going out with a career criminal, burglary a speciality, and I may have mentioned that we collected lots of cash from customers. I may also have mentioned the exact location of the safe, and how it could be accessed.
But I was still convincingly surprised when I arrived back at the depot to find that they had been robbed during the night. The safe had been carried out by four people (I imagine) and opened in someone's backyard with a petrol-engined disk cutter (probably).
I hope that someone got a substantial bonus for their 'help' in the subsequent investigations into this dastardly crime.
(Razors, Thu 22 May 2008, 21:26, 1 reply)

Cold calling
When I was about 15, a fair few people at my school had a job at a 'company' who labelled themselves a promotions company. Everyone said it was really easy money so I thought I'd give it a go.

At 15 I didn't realise a) what cold calling even was or b) it was illegal. So off I trotted and got myself a 'job' there. I should've realised when my first call ended with me being verbally abused (which is fair enough I guess, those calls are annoying) and being hung up on. Hey ho, I was only doing 3 hours a day during the holidays.

I got about halfway through the first week before realising that this was not a good job to be doing. Who the fuck wants a time share anyway?!? (I think it was time shares, I can't quite remember) I'd managed to sell one but I didn't get the bonus they promised on top of my basic. By this point I was thoroughly fed up and would've walked except that my mother was insistent that I stick it out. I say insistent, I mean positively Nazi-like. Then I came up with a plan.

And so for the next week I simply pretended to call people, blindly mashing the key pad and having pretend conversations. I thought they'd find me out but they didn't and at the end of that week I collected my very dodgy cash-in-hand wages and never went back.
( El Lazarus is calm now, Ish,, Thu 22 May 2008, 21:22, Reply)

Technical Beer Dispense Revenge
For those of you who don't know, there is a device on a beer dispense line, between the barrel and the bar, called a Fob Detector or Cellar Buoy. The purpose of this is to ensure the constant flow of beer to the bar, uninterrupted by barrel changes. It's a small cylinder on the beer line, about 15cm vertically, filled with beer, with a kind of ping-pong ball in it. When the barrel runs out, the beer runs out of the cylinder, the ball drops and stops the flow. When you connect a new barrel, bleed beer into the cylinder, and release the ball, flow is restored seamlessly, and everything is wonderful.
To release the ball, you push up on a plunger at the bottom off the cylinder. It is very important that you pull this plunger back, or the whole thing stops working at the ball cannot make a seal and stop the flow. Basically, the line fills with gas and when it arrives at the bar, it spurts and fizzes out of the pump, wasting some beer, and causing about 5 minutes stress having to rebleed the line to restore normal operation (incidentally, it's much, much worse with Guinness).

So, onto the story.

Many moons ago, I had a job in a bar where I had risen through the ranks quite nicely. Unfortunately, the management had changed, and what was once an amazing pub, with a 'big family' feel about working there became a bit sterile and business-like. To make things worse, the company had "re-vamped" the place and made it a shit, shadow of it's former self.
So, I decided to leave and go travelling, as one does at that age.
I was in a position of responsibility and need the references for the future, also, I hadn't really been wronged personally, so I served my notice in the appropriate manner.

However, on my last day, I finished at 5pm, just before the Friday rush started and I went to the cellar.
I pushed up the little plunger on every one of the 16 fob detectors and walked out the door.
There is about 4 pints in the line between the cellar and the bar in the average pub, so I was long gone before it all started to kick in.

So there you go, petty, unspectacular and not even funny.
But I stuck it to the man, man. Yeah.


Length? Like I said, about four pints.
(UXB you said it man. Nobody fucks with the Jesus, Thu 22 May 2008, 21:08, 2 replies)

a brief wee stint
A few years ago i found myse;f taking a job at a factory making sandwch fillings-it was not much fun,in short i spent my time there wsshing up and not pleasing the boss man with my efforts...........

Well circa 2 hours into my first day the boss came up to me and questioned if an implement i had apent ages on was clean-to whit "you call that clean ??",i walked out on the spot and never went back.
(shug, Thu 22 May 2008, 20:56, 4 replies)

money for nothing....
I've had two jobs where literally I didn't turn up one day but still got paid.

The Post office in a Southern town made famous by David Brent.
I'd gone there to go to college but a combination of total boredom and a new live-in girlfriend meant I wanted to earn money.
So i got a job with the GPO. Four weeks of training at full wages, another few weeks of mail sorting in the office, then out on the road with a trainer. He'd take me out for a couple of hours, drop me at home for an hour or so (supposedly for breakfast, but the g/f was still in bed and well....) then he'd pick me up, back to the office, sign out, and home.
I was still looking for other jobs, and found one as a lifeguard at the pool where I was going nude swimming weekly, so I left the GPO.
Friday, my bank account has a weeks wages in from the GPO.
And the next seven weeks too.
Then it stopped. No contact from them asking if I was ill, or why I wasn't in, or notice they were stopping.

A famous British Airline just outside Manchester.
I'd been working for National Express, but wasn't long a father and needed more money, so applied for a job with B.A. where I was given the impression I was going to immediatly gain about an extra £50 a week.
Bollocks.
When the job started we were told that we'd get the extra after training.
After training in the classroom we were put on the phones, as a group, for a fortnight.
Then we were split up, and put into already formed groups dealing with different things. I was put with about 15 people who were answering the calls from agents, maybe one an hour. My phone was set up to accept general calls... one after the other, on and on...
So I'm sat there doing nothing but answer calls whilst they sit and chat and drink coffee..
Now, it wasn't just this that caused me to suddenly stop. I'd got problems with my kids mum, despite the fact we lived 50 yards apart I wasn't seeing the kids, and it was taking me over an hour each way (with two buses) to work.
So I got up one morning, went and stood at the bus stop and waited...and waited... and waited.
There was a bloody bus strike and I didn't know.
After about 40 mins, and someone telling me eventually, I went home.
Although I didn't know it at the time I was actually suffering from depression, it didn't seem too strange to me to be actually looking at the stairs and thinking "If I hang the rope there and knock the chair away..."
Luckily I had a doctor who saw something more than the lump I went to see him with...
But B.A. still paid me for another two months. No contact again, until right at the very end when one of my trainers rang to find out what was going on... (She was very sympathetic but the money stopped that week...)
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Thu 22 May 2008, 20:39, Reply)

That'll teach him.
Many years ago, I worked for a company delivering bales of hay by HGV. An average load was maybe 150 bales stacked upto 10ft high on a flatbed truck.
Obviously they needed securing, so we had rope, lots of rope, to tie the load down.
It was a lot of work for very little money, so after a couple of months I decided to jack it in.
I went to the owner (we called him 'Boss Hog'; an odious little fat man who plonked himself down in a big leather chair at the start of the day and stayed there until he went home).
I told him of my intention to leave and apologised, and he said "That's OK, I was going to sack you at the end of the month".

A month or so later, a friend bought his own truck to do general haulage and needed some rope.
"Don't worry", I told him, "I know where I can get some".
I sneaked into Boss Hog's yard late one night and took all the ropes from all six trucks, uproping any loaded trucks where necessary.
It took three trips to get it all back to my car.
My friend only needed 100ft of rope, but ended up with more than he ever dreamed of.
Unfortunately, I have no idea what chaos ensued at Boss Hog's Hay and Straw the next day, but I like to think it moved him from his chair, if only for a short while.

Length? Probably about a mile.
(Razors, Thu 22 May 2008, 20:33, Reply)

Repost from the Captain
But I think it warrants one.......



Brian fucking Quin, Angus, and the cowering Swede
No apologies for the title. Brian Quin is a cunt of the first water and, if I was a religious man, I would pray for him to get a seriously agonising disfiguring and lingering disease with no hope of cure or any effective pain relief. It cheers me to picture him writhing in unrelenting agony whilst begging to die.
He was the manager of the Birmingham office of a Swedish office furniture company (not Ikea)who interviewed me and offered me what I thought was a great job. How wrong I was.
Brian had no social life. Really, none at all. He would ring my home at 3 a:m to discuss projects. If I didn't reply he would send a sarky email to me and the boss. He would fuck about with my diary and book me to see customers at night, weekends, whilst I was on a booked holiday and would take personal affront if I told him I couldn't see the client. He even tracked me down when I was on holiday in Singapore asking when that week I could see a client to amend a floor layout. When I told him that I was on the other side of the world he then tried to take me through disciplinary when I got back. It all collapsed in farce when I pointed out that:
1/ HE had signed my holiday form.
2/ HE had recommended the hotel I was staying in and had arranged accommodation for me via his contacts.
3/ He had been wrist slapped for precisely this same disregard for other peoples' time on several occasions before.
He hated me after that but I didn't care because he was a cunt.
Angus.
WHAT A CUNT.
Angus was one of the senior salesmen in the organisation and he decided to "take me under his wing" as Brian the cunt didn't want to talk to me anymore.
"Fair enoughski" I thought.
Wrong again. Angus was the scruffiest, smelliest, least organised backstabbing waste of blood and organs that God ever put breath into. He tried to get me fired for pointing out that he'd not only got the wrong DAY for a meeting, he'd got the wrong WEEK. He was always late for meetings with clients and had the worst bad breath I have ever smelt. Only once did I share a car with him and I could smell it on my clothes the rest of the day. Worse than that, he was short-sighted and slightly deaf so he stood TOO FUCKING CLOSE.
It came to pass that we were in Newport in Wales one day and, whilst driving out I'd had my car forced off a roundabout by a truck full of rebar. I remonstrated with the driver in my gruff Coventrian way advising him that, if I ever saw him again I would "tear off his head and shit down the hole". Angus was so traumatised by this exchange (in which he was not involved)that he had three weeks off with stress! Twat. He then tried to take me through disciplinary always quoting "you have to realise I've sold over £2 million in furniture so I know what I'm talking about".
It didn't go far.
The cowering Swede was the last straw. I had won a large furnishing contract for a midlands firm and was expecting a seriously large bonus.
When it didn't materialise I asked why?
It appeared that one of the Swedish members of staff once had heard of someone who might have walked past a van which had delivered to the site once, so it was HIS contract!
I was less than pleased with this so I took matters into my own hands. I followed him into the head office toilets for a full and frank exchange of views. My reputation preceded me and he started cowering and whimpering before I'd even said a word or got within six feet of him. I'd had enough of the snidey ways of the company by now and had another job lined up so, with nothing to lose I hauled up the now snivelling turdbag, marched him into the MD's office and proceeded to vent my spleen about the piss-awful state of the company and the utter utter cunts who worked there, then offerd the same treatment as the lorry driver to the MD, the cowering Swede and anyone else who came close. They wanted the sales manager to eject me from the building but he was having none of it.
I swanned round the office, picking up whatever I fancied and taking it with me. No-one challenged me.
I didn't even give them the car back for 8 weeks and they didn't ask for it.
Rant over



Apologies for length but I have an enormous cock.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 22 May 2008, 20:28, 3 replies)

conveyor belt fun
I did this potentially lethal stunt on my last day:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jstL8AxOpg
(xwoody01, Thu 22 May 2008, 20:24, 2 replies)

florist
one of my friends used to work in a florists as a summer job.
the boss was a bit of a cunt. used to shout at her for coming in at
times like 8:32 when she was in for half past and generally treated all his staff like shit.
he'd come into the shop were i worked and talk to us about how useless
and lazy his staff were.

apparently when one male member of staff quit he pissed in the buckets
holding the flowers.
my friend unfortunately couldn't top this when she quit. she just poured
bleach into the buckets of flowers instead.
(i eat crayons, Thu 22 May 2008, 20:12, 3 replies)

i quit
I quit my job yesterday funny enough. I feel that when you decide to work in a call centre, it’s like a test of your nerve. Not only are they full of little managers, deputy managers,, deputy deputy managers, senior single ops managers, but what exactly is it that they do? It’s us on the frontline who actually know how to do our jobs and do it effectively, all these dick heads know what to do is walk around, no actually, slither around shouting sell sell sell in your ear while you are trying to speak with a customer.
Anyways, yesterday it all came to a halt! I stayed in my boyfriend’s house on Wednesday after a lovely meal with my friends, so I decided to spend some quality time with my squeeze. It was ok but I was conscious I had a job interview in the morning so I wanted a quick shag then sleep. We did the deed and I turned over and tried to sleep. He got up came back in and sat eating a packet of onion rings, the smell of them was making my stomach turn, but at the end of the day, his bed his apartment, give him the by ball. Then he started eating a cornetto and may I add this was 2.30 in the morning.
My nerves were starting to wear thin. He finally went to sleep and surprise surprise, the cum sleep effect wore off and I was lying there trying to sleep. I must have got to sleep at about 4.30am got woke up at 7 with my boyfriend wrapping himself round me poking me with his penis. That was it officially the start of a bad day.
I ended up cancelling my interview and went into work guns blazing. I erupted at the first person I seen because he was shouting at me for not explaining what a wireless modem is to a customer, so I freaked out, who the fuck doesn’t know what a wireless modem is?? Then I went through the day trying to sell the product to the customers (ignorant bastards) who were ringing me as its all inbound. I handled my objections, used the nicest tone possible and didn’t sell a fucking thing. It was awful. Plus the customer service line was down so I had about 45 calls with customers complaining that they cant get through, despite the recorded message telling them that the line was down and they should try again later or try tomorrow. Oh no they decide to torture the sales team who know nothing about customer service.
Then I had all these little fucking manager people asking me why I wasn’t selling on my calls, well I would if it was a sales call!!! oh god it was terrible.
Anyway 7 o’clock came and the calls were flying in. One customer just hit a nerve and I flipped, took my headset off, threw it at the monitor and grabbed the phone and flung it off my table. My exact words to the senior single server ops manger were, "there’s my fucking pass, there’s my fucking head set, get the fuck off bebo and you try to sell something, shove you’re job up your arse you no good fuckwit" and I stormed out of the building. Ill be surprised if I get a bonus. So there you go. I QUIT (in style). length 3 long months.
(conzo21, Thu 22 May 2008, 19:30, 9 replies)

Don't know why I kept this
I would go through a huge saga about what led to my resignation but I'll let my resignation letter say it instead

Dear *Soggy waste of space team manager*,

I hereby wish to give formal notice of my intent to resign from my post as a technical support advisor on Friday 8th April 2005. I regret to say that I can no longer tolerate the current regime of mismanagement within the department.

Over the past year the policies relating to staffing, resource management, staff structure and promotions have served only to alienate and drive out the long serving experienced staff that are the very life blood of any technical support department.

The level of technician knowledge has dropped from over three years to just over one in the same period, the net effect of which has left a department where considerably more mistakes are being made and the number of experienced staff members there to catch and correct the errors has dropped drastically. I find myself spending more of my time fixing and apologising for the mistakes caused by the poor planning, lack of adequate resourcing or inexperience of others. This is a situation which I have no desire see myself continuing in but as there appears to be no sign of a solution or even positive direction from management I cannot see the situation improving, hence the only way to resolve the issue is to leave the department.

I would like to say that I have no issues with working for XXXX as a company, it is purely the Technical Support Department I have no desire to work for any longer. Current policies have seen it change from the enjoyable place to work with career prospects and a reward system based on actual ability to do the job to a low-morale, high staff turnover “Dickensian workhouse” atmosphere.

I currently feel isolated in my role as a technician, the resources to help me are inadequate, the support I receive from the established support structure is virtually non existent. As the customers first point of contact we are expected to deal with program bugs and poor design features which we accumulate more with every version, it would appear we are expected to handle irate customers who are encountering these problems but are not sufficiently trusted to know what is being done about them.

I have no desire to resign from my job but after leaving me isolated, undervalued, extremely frustrated and stressed I feel I have no choice as I have no faith in the ability of the current management structure to rescue us from the hole it has dug itself.

Yours sincerely

Cliche Guevara

I'm not sure if I was subtle enough?

apols.... length... yadda yadda....
(Cliche Guevara Predicatably revolutionary since, Thu 22 May 2008, 19:13, 8 replies)

Cleaning job
Ok, not exactly funny as such this one, but very, very satisfying!

Basically I was in a shit position financially, I was still living with my parents and really had no money at all, so I got a job with a cleaning firm contracted out to clean a department store. The work was mind numbingly boring, if you haven't worked an 8 hour shift as a cleaner then I can't possibly express how shit it was, and if you have then you know roughly what I'm talking about. To make matters worse I was underpaid, the staff at the department store for the most part refused to talk to the cleaners and saw us as dirt, and we regularly had our bags searched in case we stole stuff.

Couple this with the fact that our boss was the biggest tosser imaginable - and I'm not talking about my immediate boss, who was alright, but the guy in charge of the local area. Seriously he was a polished turd. Back in the days when a wap phone was a new thing he bought one, and would use it to look at porn in his office while we worked. It was common knowledge that he used to fudge the overtime and pocket the difference.

Anyway, I get a job working at a local school with Special educational needs children, a rewarding and challenging prospect, but there is a catch - I have to be available to start in 5 days, which meant that I would have to start on the Monday. This was Wednesday, and the length of time I had been working meant that a weeks notice was all I needed, so I called Tony (not his real name, by the way) and asked if I could have a day off on Monday instead of Saturday - I had of course already cleared this with the person I was switching shifts with. He asked why and I told him. He started complaining and moaning so I just took a deep breath and said "Tony? Shut up. You're an absolute C---, everybody here thinks you're a C--- and you're fooling no-one if you think for an instant we don't know about you scamming us on our overtime"

Then I hung up and walked out. Fucking glorious. Strangely enough I did actually get paid for the full week, so either it was a clerical error he was too lazy to correct or he really was scamming us out of overtime money. Either way it didn't stop me lodging a complaint against him to his managers
(Fredz A graveyard of hopes, a dump of ambition, Thu 22 May 2008, 19:05, 1 reply)