I've been fairly lucky with jobs
At least I thought I had. But there was one. The summer before I started uni I worked in this country pub just outside the village where I lived.

It was run by this mental South African ex-military type and his chavvy partner. They weren't too bad. He had a tendency to motivate staff by bollocking you once a week for whatever reason presented itself, but you got used to it and he was fairly harmless. He also regularly challenged you to push-up competitions and had a worrying obsession with Rocky Horror. But I digress.

The main problem with the job was not the staff but the clientele. It was set up as a gastro pub so I was effectively a waiter rather than barstaff, and was paid accordingly (but without tips - cos it was a pub).

During the week it was usually fine but on Friday nights and the weekend the world and its sister would descend, with everyone wanting food. As it was set up as a pub you ordered food at the bar. Therefore if a mistake was made in the order it wouldn't be discovered until I brought the food to the table, and thus reflect badly on me.

The main barman was a Mackem. Nice bloke but thick as the proverbial. Mistakes of this nature were common particulary in busy periods. Most customers were pretty understanding but there was always the odd wanker/chav (we are talking Kent here) who'd cause a fuss and try and get something free out of you for the most innocent mistake.

Still I was happy enough, got a couple of free pints at the end of the night, and since I was only there for a couple of months didn't mind that I was earning a pittance.

That summer was the hottest one on record (2002). One day it was so bad that we had to close up as two of the chefs fainted. Patience was gradually wearing thin.

Things came to a head about 3 weeks before i was due to finish. It was Saturday night and a party of 8 came in, bit drunk, estate agent types with their partners. One bloke obviously trying to show off in front of his mates and gf was deliberately finding fault with everything, trying to get free drinks, free starters the whole shebang. It was boiling, I was stressed, sweating like a paedo in a primary school, and when hurrying to bring the mains I tripped on the step and accidentally flung his carbonara all over his lap.

He! Went! Mental!

I was apologising like crazy. My bar manager came over and tried to calm him down. He was threatening to sue me, the landlord, the chain. Even the people he was with were starting to look embarrassed.

Finally he paused for breath, looked me in the eye and said "You're a disgrace to your fahking profession".

To which I replied "Well you're a disgrace to your fucking species!" There was a stunned pause... "And your hair's shit too!" (I was on a roll).

I turned on my heel and stormed off. I then sat out back having a smoke and waited to see what would happen. Eventually the landlord and bar manager came out. I apologised and while they weren't angry they suggested it might be an idea if I didn't come in to work any more.

They then paid me for the next two weeks as in fairness I'd worked my arse off for them over the last few months.

This is longer than it was in my head. Oh well.
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 23 May 2008, 11:33, 1 reply)

Quit from a non paying job
I was giving my 18 month old son his usual nighttime bath last night and decided to get in the bath with him (Believe me its like trying to handle a live fish when you try to do it at the side of the bath and I seem to get less water on me when I'm actually in the tub). After the initial wash, rinse and piss about with various kiddie toys floating in the tub I decided to wash my hair too by submerging my head underwater while sonny boy played with his water wheel attached to the bath.

One of the things I usually do when bathing my son is come up for air showing only my head and yell "Boo!" at him (this may sound stupid but he's 18 month old so its comedy gold for him). Last night was different. I pulled my head back above water ready to yell boo and looked up, mouth agape at the sight before me. My son was stood there evil smil across his chops and aiming his cock at my face......what followed can only be described as a mad rush to escape the bath and my own piss filled mouth yelling "ARGHWHATTHEHELLYOULITTLESOD!!!!!"

I told my missuis that I had quit the job as kid washer shortly after brushing my teeth so hard that my gums bled.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 23 May 2008, 11:31, 8 replies)

Speech
About 15 years ago it was time for me to move on. It was a small company about 30 people in total. They had had a whip round, a bottle of booze a card the usual stuff and we all got together on my last day for the presentation. Of course I had to say a few words of thanks. I actually liked the place and my boss the MD was a great guy. But there was this one twat from Bolton. He had been a pain in my teams butt since day one. So I couldn’t resist having a go as I had bit my tongue for a couple of year. “ Thanks everyone, going to miss you apart from you Colin, not only are you a moaning bastard your short in the arse as well. “ Silence, them the MD started laughing, result.
(nee22 NL ExPat, Fri 23 May 2008, 11:25, Reply)

Quitting where your not employed.
I used to play this prank when i didn't get served at pubs when i forgot my ID.
When they refused me i would ask for the manager and then declare in a,load voice "I've had it here i QUIT!!!"
you'd be surprised how many dirty looks one manager can get.
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Fri 23 May 2008, 11:02, 1 reply)

Work Experience Reggae
1995 and it was Secondary school work experience. I was/am a musical person who requested a music position and so the careers advisor (everyone I've met is completely useless) said "I've tried very hard to find you a music position in a company and I think you'll be pleased!"
I sat there slightly nervous but excited.
Go to this address next Monday, be smart, polite and remember you are an amabassador for the school. "Okay sir, thanks!"

Got there the monday morning. He had sent me to a warehouse distributing music cd's......

I was slightly miffed, but I thought oh well if its for my own good, I started gritting my teeth and went in and had to pretend to like football and nervous laugh at every blokey comment. I had to endure this for a week. I had never worked before, especially in a testosterone filled atmosphere, and it was HARD. Never wanted to go in the mornings, but after a couple of days I started getting into a routine and trying to hide from the gaffer.
It was succesful until he found me leaning on the broomstick and he told me off. I cried in a corner and nearly lost it and ran home. I stayed, had lunch and cheered up a bit. I got to the end of the week thinking thank baby jesus on the cross I had finished. I had heard rumours of some of the other kids in my class getting big payouts for there work, like £100 and £50 etc...the boss took me upstairs into the office. I was thinking this is where I can buy several AMiga games at once! YES! Weekend sorted!

He opened a box and brought out two CD's.

These CD's were
100% Reggae.
The best of The Seekers.

I got home and was very upset.
I invited my mate round to listen to the discs. We decided to set fire to them over the woods, I cracked open a lighter and sprinkled fluid over them and my mate ran from the kitchen with a lit piece of paper from the oven. Why we did it in that order I don't know. But it set fire to them and we sniffed the burning plastic. He said to me "never mind its finished now, just enjoy getting high man"

So Work Experience is SHITTT!!!!

Blazed. Kiss.

Tom
[email protected]
(Master of Toss has piles, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:58, 1 reply)

a scapegoat is born
i was in a job last year that became increasingly shit. They let a lot of good people go and were burning the rest badly. We had an industry qualification that routinely everyone conferred/copied/cribbed/colluded on - this was encouraged by the company to save study time.

An eagle-eyed examiner spotted our departments submissions were a bit samey. We were all called in one by one.

I said it was down to me took the rap and resigned on the spot on the premise the others be reinstated and I get paid garden leave. I even got to take the moral highground saying it was the only honourable option left to me. So a scapegoat was born.

I opted not to tell them i had been headhunted by another company on a 10k rise and was about to resign that week anyway - where i would have been expected to work my notice.

Hehe

.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:56, 2 replies)

Shitty McJob
I was working in McDonalds when I was 19, just to pay a few bills, when things were a bit tough.

Anyway, I had dinner at the hostel one night, and felt like shit the next morning. By the time I'd got into work, I'd already puked once. I kept having to run off due to sickness.

I asked them if I could go home early on the grounds that I was sick, and they said no*. So I stayed on til about 4 when I said I HAVE to go home by law, and I felt too ill to work. After a cocky 18 year old manager finally let me go, I went to puke before I signed out. When I signed out, she kicked off, shouting at the person in the office to saying I wasn't getting paid for that three minutes.

With a smarmy look on her face, she said 'see you Wednesday'.

I walked up to her, face an inch from hers, looked her in the eye and said 'Will you fuck'.

I know for a fact that I fucked them over royally.

*Bet that double cheeseburger sounds really appetising now, ey?
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:53, Reply)

djtrialprice's story reminds me
of when i left my temping job at BT chester. I had a quick leaving drink in the pub with my shift mates who decided that each and every one of them would buy me a pint at lunch (there were a few of us)

While it wasn't at the same level of djtrialprice's drinks I did mange a fair few before traipsing back into the office an hour and a half late.

Then spent the rest of my shift running to the toilet every 15 mins cos of the amount of liquid in my body that my bladder couldn't hold. I'd liek to think I cut a dashing figure but probably looked like a pissed up drunkard and this image was helped by carrying on that night with my colleagues...
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:49, Reply)

They do things differently there...
I was reading all these stories thinking that I had never had the balls to quit a job I hated, then I suddenly remembered the one time I stood up for myself. Yay me.

I was 21, studying languages at uni, and was in my year abroad as a language assistant in Germany. A nice, rural town in the south of Germany, quite near to Stuttgart.

On top of the school job, I was working as a barmaid in a local family-run hotel. A nice place, but the couple who ran it were somewhat unusual to a staunchly reserved British girl.

After I finished my official contract with the school, I decided I would stay on for the rest of the summer until I went back to uni, and work full time in the hotel. The money wasn't great, but it was actual, spendable money, and I love being in Germany, so I was quite happy.

Until that one shift.

The hotel was hosting a dinner evening for a local football league - nothing professional, just a Sunday league type of thing. But they were all big fellas. And drunk. And loud. And old-fashioned.

I'm a terrible flirt, and these days I would eat these guys for breakfast, but in those days I was a shy, inexperienced ingenue, so when they started shouting very loudly "Schlaf mit mir!" and somewhat seedier requests, I have to admit I lost it.

I spent most of the night running off to the loos and crying, hoping against hope that the bosses would notice how upset I was and ask them to stop. But no, they were enjoying being the jovial hosts nand couldn't give a flying fuck.

After about three hours of this abuse (it was a looooong dinner) I flipped, stormed out and slammed the big heavy wooden door to the kitchen. The whole restaurant fell silent, and then the footballers did that 'ooooooh handbags' kind of noise.

The boss came out to find me, and I have to admit I was still naively expecting her to be nice to me and ask what was wrong. Instead her response was basically "What the hell was that all about? You get back out there and do your job. The customer is always king" etc etc.

The next morning I tearfully phoned home and vented to my dad. Again, in a total turnaround, I got entirely the unexpected result. My parents have always been very pro-work, pull your weight, no free rides, and I fully expected to be told to suck it up.

My dad did the best thing he has ever done for me. He said, very calmly, "Come home. Come home now." GBless him.

And I did. I went back to the hotel that very morning, told some very hungover bosses that I wouldn't be returning, took a train straight to the airport and booked my flight home for the end of that week.

There was no petty revenge, but I wrote a teenage angsty poem about the whole thing.

In the time since then I have got a life and some confidence and would not now put up with that kind of shit.

The scene of the crime...
( b3th Not shit. Not mod., Fri 23 May 2008, 10:27, Reply)

the phantom bomber
At the same place as mentioned in my 'Only 14 hours from Bristol' post, to say the employees were not a happy bunch would be like saying Peter Sutcliffe was a bit stabby. Staff turnover was high. Bitter resentment burned white hot behind the glazed eyes of the drones - we spent a lot of money of leaving cakes.

Lots of threats were made but when the time came most were just happy to be out of it.

One particularly hot summer a few brave tunnelers made it to Switzerland in rapid succession. After the drinks and farewells were old news, an increasingly ripe odour became apparent. To be able to detect a smell does not immediately mean you can pinpoint its origin. After a week or so of sticky hot summer with no air-con it became pretty intolerable but try as we might we could not find the source.

One fine day a week or so later I opened a little used cupboard - the smell just about knocked me over.

There, sitting in an open plastic carrier bag was a large purifying human turd. I think it was the wriggling maggots that made me retch.

I still saw the funny side though - and we never did find out who the phantom bomber was.


.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:18, Reply)

woo
It's coincidentally my last day today.

Go me!

I've decide to celebrate merely by being exuberantly and annoyingly happy.

That'll teach 'em.
( rofl harris, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:16, Reply)

Shove this up your arse! CUNT!
Being a dot-com slave, I joined a start up in a senior position a few years back. I quickly got disillusioned with the founder, he was a twat who could never make a decision and stick with, 5 minutes later he would change his mind and go off on another tangent – suffice to say, after a few massive bust ups, I didn’t stick around for long. Anyway, it was an online retailer and every now and then we would have to place test orders and sometimes they would get dispatched accidentally, even though I hadn't paid for it. On my last day, I wrapped up all the packages that got accidentally sent to me and upon my exit interview presented it to my boss – he was chuffed (thinking it was a present) and felt like a cunt, because he didn’t bother with anything other than a hand-shake-thank-you. I insisted he opened it at home, so as I was leaving the office, he went out and bought me a brand new mini-mac as a thank you present. Never heard from him since.
( JamboM, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:13, Reply)

The Secret Diary of Devil in Tights, aged 14.
We all remember work experience, right? Most people just go off to do filing in a back room somewhere, or maybe go and work for their Mum for a couple of weeks. Looking back on things, that’s just what I should have done.

But oh, no. Not me. I had to go and be different, didn’t I?

Aged 14, I’d grown out of wanting to be a train driver. I wanted to be a fighter pilot, just like Maverick in ‘Top Gun’. But that dream was shot down when, at an ATC ‘Careers Night’ the RAF recruiter laughed when I asked him if I could be a fast-jet pilot – because I wear glasses.

So, I wanted glitz and glamour, and a bit of danger. I had recently discovered the joys of the swimsuit edition of ‘Sports Illustrated’ (and some covertly purchased copies of The Sun/Star (or even Sport!) from my paper round); and I had thus decided what I Wanted To Do With My Life.

I wanted to be a photographer. Specifically, my raging hormones informed me by way of several steamy fantasies that I wanted to take pictures of women in bikinis (or not, as the case may be) draped over fast cars. Or on beaches. Or in showers. Whatever.

And so it came to pass that we had to apply for work experience. I applied to every photo studio in a 50 mile radius, hoping against all hope that somehow Beverley Goodway would find out about me and bring me in for 2 weeks looking at topless girlies.

However, my dreams were instead taken in the gnarled claw of fate, and dashed against the rocks of despair. All the decent photographic jobs were taken. I was left with one route open to me.

The NHS.

Using my high level contacts (Mum), I managed to get a job in Medical Photography. In my mind, I thought ‘OK, it’s not boobs – but taking photos of operations? That’s pretty cool!’, and so off I toddled.

Being 14, I was not allowed in to the operating theatres to take pictures. Being 14, I was not allowed to go in to outpatients to take pictures. I was, for the first few days, restricted to filing massive amounts of slides (with some extremely unsettling pictures on them) which just hadn’t been bothered with for a couple of years.

Then the fateful day came. My boss decided to sneak me up on to the wards, to take a couple of snaps. As we walked through, I spied a very attractive girl in a bed at the other end, and hoped against all hope that she was having an operation to cure a hopeless sexual craving for 14-year-old geeks, and they needed photos to prove it.

I was, however, lead to the bedside of a very, very old lady who had been hospitalised for some time. She was so strung out on pain killers that she couldn’t even say her own name. And she had pressure sores. Lots and lots of pressure sores. Her leg was lifted, and I took a picture of the sore on the back of her ankle while trying not to vomit at the smell the sore gave off, despite the dressing and the various creams that were on it. We then moved on to her other ankle and then her elbows. The Nurses then propped the lady on her side, and parted her gown. On the lady’s buttocks I saw what (to date, at least) was the biggest, weeping wound I could possibly imagine. I can remember thinking (while desperately trying to hold down bile) what awful, awful pain the woman must have been in.

I quickly took the snaps, and turned on my heels and ran the hell away.

Returning to the office – now pale of face and empty of stomach – I approached the head of Photography.

“Just what the hell,” I uttered “do you think you’re playing at?”

She laughed. She actually laughed. “I thought it’d be fun for you.”

Fun? Fun? No, this is not my idea of fun. Cutting my teeth out with a breadknife would be vastly preferable to this. I decided at that moment I wasn’t going to go back, I’d rather have gone worked in the school library than do this any longer.

Summoning up all my courage while the boss and her assistant went to lunch, I took a pen and a pack of Post-It notes. On each and every one I wrote “I Quit!” or a rude word, and stuck them to every available surface. There must have been well over 200 – I stuck them on computer screens, to the underside of cameras, on chairs, on desks in the developing room, on backdrops – you name it, I stuck it there.

As I was walking away, we passed each other in the corridor. I smiled a broad, shit-eating smile at her, and walked out of the hospital with my head held high.

Until I got home, that is, when my Mother tore a strip off me. But that’s another story.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:08, 6 replies)

I worked for McDonalds
many years ago before i was doing my current job (teaching, frighteningly enough)

but I had just left school and my friend was working there, i constantly took the piss about it and she said "you can't take the piss till you worked there" so i said "fine, get me an application" and i got the job and instantly set about my destruction of their McEmpire, i did fuck all at work, i "accidentally" kicked a bucket of dirty floor mopping water over the manager's £200 new shoes and destroyed em, and then after two weeks of this rubbish i went back to the store on New Years Eve and said i wasn't working that day, or any day.. ever again. I handed back the uniform but not until i let myself into the kitchen and beat the shit out of some creep that worked there for trying it on with my girlfriend, and promptly walked out, and the managers final words were "we owe you £86 wages, if you don't work two weeks notice we won't pay you" i told her where to stick it and left.

a week later i got a call from my friend who still worked there saying i had been paid and i asked her to open my pay slip...£86, followed by three more payments of the same amount every two weeks after,

which went some way to buying me a nice new ankle length leather coat :)

which i'll now go and get...
(The Reverend annoying the regulars since, Fri 23 May 2008, 10:07, Reply)

a meme and a pun? Ambassador, you are spoiling us...
For a short while I professionally altered pictures for a living. I used my computer graphics background to develop an absolutely mastery over photoshop. I found b3ta and began to wield my powers of digital imagery magic.

Trouble is, I was too much of a maverick. I wanted to do new, avant garde things, and I resisted the current memes in favour of my own interpretative style. No matter the attempts to entice me into the particular image du choix, I resisted and went back to my own poncy ways.

and so I quit because I refused to maintain teh status quo...
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 23 May 2008, 9:38, 6 replies)

Bindun?
My myopic friend Chiam worked as a circumciser. He was going to quit but he got the sack.


*Boom*, and indeed, *Tish*
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Fri 23 May 2008, 9:31, Reply)

Shame
I was going to quit my job as a human cannonball but they fired me first
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 23 May 2008, 9:21, 6 replies)

I feel so inadequate
I've been working since I was 12 in a variety of customer-service jobs. From the age of 21 I had a variety of full-time jobs. Many of these jobs were shitty, boring, or shitty and boring, and yet I never flounced out of a single one.

I was born responsible and with a massive guilt complex. No matter how awful my employment was - often fairly awful - I just couldn't bring myself to leave rudely. I would line up a new job, make sure I got a good reference, politely hand in my notice and shuffle off into the sunset.

I blame my parents: I've inherited my mother's Protestant work ethic and my father's Catholic guilt. Terrible combination.

If anyone has a cure for responsibility, please let me know and I can work towards telling my current employers to ram their job sideways up their fat HR arses.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 23 May 2008, 9:19, 28 replies)

What's the first thing Tina does when she gets home?
The dishes if she knows what's good for her.

Ike Wit
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 23 May 2008, 9:10, 3 replies)

Many years ago...
I was working in a very posh hotel, the likes of which none of you will ever see.
I worked my arse off, doing 60 hour weeks and generally pulling my weight a hell of alot more than the immigrants and retired engineers that made up the rest of the staff, but none of this bothered me, I was earning a pretty good wage out of it.
What did bother me though, was my supervisor, Harvey. He was a smarmy, smug, arse-licking git, who had only got the job because he and the manager were best bum chums, and despite only earning about 25p more than I did per hour, he would spend hours doing nothing, or watching pron on the tv in our staff room.
I hated that twat.

The rage built up in me one day, and after doing a 15 hour shift I'd been asked to help the kitchen porters out in the pot wash, which I did, but not before seeing that smugarsedcuntyfuck Harvey smarming his way around the kitchens doing fuck all.

So, I stormed up to him, full of bravado.
'RIGHT!' I shouted in his face, 'I've got two words for you...'

'I. QUIT. BYE.'

'....oh fucknuggets, that's three words...'

*storms out, slamming the door behind him*
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Fri 23 May 2008, 8:56, 27 replies)

Work Experience
I've never properly walked out of a job or stuck it to the man at any point in my career maze.

However...

While at school we did work experience, we got 2 shots at it, the first was in year 10 (4th year for the olds out there) and the second was in 6th form. First time round in year 10 I was working in a lab doing quality control, scietific measuring and other such cool stuff. It was fun, it was interesting and this QOTW isn't about that (although I did get to keep the safety boots they gave me, which doubled up as hiking boots!).

Second time round I decided that our school careers officer (Dave Gregson for anyone who went to Ellesmere Port Catholic High) was obvisously good at his job so decided to test this out by asking if I could work in a technical role with computers (I passed up the chance of helping out with PE in an all girls school).

Now this appeared to be going ok and I ended up working for a large banking company based in Chester who may have once been known as a bank of our northern neighbors but wasn't even slightly royal. The only problem was that there must have been a communication breakdown as working on something technical evidently traslated to 'data entry with the temps' in accounts. I spent the whole of my first fucking day checking whether a customers data was in line with on the screen. For 8 fucking hours. I never went back in after that first day and the school said sod all!

And that is the one and only time I've walked out of a job and I wasn't even being paid for it!
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Fri 23 May 2008, 8:42, Reply)

Telesales
I had a job doing telesales once. On my first day, 15 minutes after I had started calling people I had already started to pick up the phone and do pretend calls (if no one is on the othetr end, no one is angry). I decided this would be a pretty boring thing to do for the next 5 hours, so I told my boss (who was a total babe, and seemed really nice) that I was going to the loo and walked away.
The only problem was, I was actually counting on my mum for a lift home, and did not yet own a mobile phone or any money. I went to the local library and chilled out all day (getting very hungry), and then went back to the building where I "worked" when I was supposed to be finishing. As my luck would have it, my boss was apparently supposed to finish at the same time as me, and left the building as I was waiting for my mum. I just stared hard at the ground, but she called out my name and told me not to worry, as apparently it happens all the time (people bailing I assume).

Also, they put the area code for another state (i'm in Aus) programmed into the phone, so you can't call your mates and for numbers to call I was given a page ripped out of the Melbourne telephone directory.
(woo who?, Fri 23 May 2008, 8:09, Reply)

No, really, I do actually quit
Many years ago, an absolute gentleman of a boss warned me the place where I was working would soon go bust, leaving upwards of 70 of us out of a job and I should start looking for work now rather than when there were a shedload of us all out there at once targetting what is a fairly small industry... So look I did and land a job I did, but it wouldn't start until the new financial year in three months, which left me with a bunch of time on my hands and no cash coming in.
So I found another job to fill in the time, somewhere not too demanding and on much less money, but actually quite fun.
After about two months of frigging about (and frigging several colleagues) I persuaded everyone to send in resignation letters on April Fools Day so when the boss came in and found his inbox full and started opening envelopes we could watch his face and have a laugh.
So the day comes, he opens the first letter, looks sad and puts it to one side.
Then he opens the second letter, looks even sadder and puts it aside.
The third letter is opened, he looks confused, the fourth is opened... and the penny drops.
He laughs, we come out of hiding and there's much mirth all round.
Later that day the other job I was waiting to go to calls to say they need me there faster than expected, can I start the following Monday.
So I hand in my resignation letter...
It took the rest of the week and about 20 conversations to convince him I was seriously quitting and needed to be gone by the end of the week.
Even then he still wasn't convinced and the following Monday as I showed up for the new job he STILL called me to ask if I was coming in or was ill.
( difficultchild, Fri 23 May 2008, 7:15, 1 reply)

Bindun yet???
My mate worked at a sperm bank.

He got the sack for drinking on the job.



/should return to lurking.
/waits for ice cream van 'job'
(Mensa Reject has gone out, I'll be back on, Fri 23 May 2008, 6:33, Reply)

Mensa made me remember this one:
I was in high school and I WANTED to work in a bike shop. I was BIG into cycling (road bikes) and figured working there I would get a discount and learn more about bikes.

So I went in, and as the manager knew me because I was in there every few weeks looking at the new Panasonic bikes (they dont make them anymore) I said "You guys looking for employees?"

He said "You mean Your looking for a job?!" and I said "Yep."

He said "I will set up an interview for you with the big boss tomorrow at 4:30."

SO I show up, meet the big boss, everything went well and then he said "Can you put a bike together for me so I know you know your way around a ten-speed?"

I did it in like 20 minutes. Best time ever I was told.

I shook his hand and went home, expecting them to call and offer me the job.

Two weeks: nothing. I needed some new tubes for my tires and went in and the manager guy that set the whole thing up says "Um, where have you been? We've had you on the schedule all week!" (he even showed me the chalkboard schedule with my name on it!)

I said "Well, if thats the way you guys notify people they've been hired, I think I quit."
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 23 May 2008, 5:15, 3 replies)

Callcentre
I lasted 3 weeks when I worked in a call centre. Picture this:

16 years old, first ever part-time job. The idea was that this shitty local kitchen company that had already changed their time twice before, changed their name again and now started selling bedroom installations. Our manager? 22 at the most and didn't have a fucking clue. She sat there during every shift and talked to no one about this man she was shagging who had kids. There are about 7 of us sitting in this small room with the makeshift double desks you tend to get in classrooms all arranged into a big sqaure round the room. We got a cliboard with about 10 sheets containing 250+ names and numbers we had to call in 3 hours and try to sell kitchens. The pitch was 'your area has a 35% discount', which was bollocks because every fucking area has this '35% discount'.

The worst call I made was where I asked for this guy and his wife answered. It turns out he had died not so long ago. They didn't give you training for that (actually I got about 30 minutes training in my entire time there) and I'll never forget the sadness in her voice when she replied. There was a good one though when I asked this guy if I could speak to his wife and the person said 'this is she' in a pissed off tone :)

Ah what a shit hole. I know it's bad enough taking inbound calls but calling people up is fucking awful. Most of the time they get quite pissed off, cut you off before you finish the first sentence, call you names, etc. This one woman told me to stop phoning her and get a real job. I was like.. I'm 16 - where is your heart?

That was my last shift. I didn't receive my pay until I got in touch with the citizens advice bureau and threatened to take their swindling arses to court. Apparently the manager at the time was trying to save costs and hadn't even informed head-office I was working for them. Fucking cheek! Funilly enough, the whole £70 came a week or two later (followed by abother £70 when the original application went through and the payment was processed).
( thyrf as in turf, but not, Fri 23 May 2008, 3:55, Reply)

Penny and Giles
I worked for Penny and Giles in Christchurch, Dorset. Not hiding names as it was/is pretty crap.
When i had the interview, i told them i had a sleep disorder called 'Primary Hypersomnolence', they still gave me a job.
It was boring and monotonous work, the guy who trained me, Pete Skinner*, some thought he was odd i thought he was brilliant.
Being I had a sleep disorder i used to fall asleep regularly, management didn't like this especially floor supervisor who was affectionately known as 'Mein Fuhrer'.
Even though i kept falling asleep/chatting to much etc I was still doing my job, and better than any before me and after me, so i've since been informed.
I was on one of those '3 month probationary' starts and falling asleep 5 minutes into your first day doesn't look good.
After the 3 months, i never got told if i had a job or not even though i had been there for 5 months, so 2 hours after turning up for work on a monday morning, i decided i rather be falling asleep at home.
I returned a week later, 2 hours late and was summoned into the supervisors office where she tried to tell me off for not phoning in sick etc.
I told her that as I didn't technically work for the company because i didn't have a contract and i think on one hand they wanted to sack me for falling asleep, but on the other i was the only person who would do that job (except Pete).
I told them to give me an answer in the time it took to remove my swipe card and keys from my pocket, they didn't answer quick enough so I left.
A week later I got asked to go back, but instead pointed out i was owed wages for the week i wasn't there, otherwise i'd claim discrimination due to my 'disorder', i got it.

My sleep disorder is basically 'excessive sleepiness, i can sleep for 30 hours at a time.
But what that means is that I have been medically classed as a lazy Bugger, Woo to me.

Because i'm undergoing medical treatment for a sleep problem, I screwed them out of an extra weeks wages.
Not amazing, but at least i got something.

*name not changed, because I think this bloke was a top fella and deserves recoqnition, along with Jo, for waking me up if i was asleep too long.
(Mensa Reject has gone out, I'll be back on, Fri 23 May 2008, 3:02, 4 replies)

Marquee Signs + Vocabulary
Considering I just got sacked five hours ago, I may find this a lot more amusing than the prank truly merits: at seven this morning, the marquee sign outside my former place of employment once read "EXCELLENT DRY CLEANERS; CAR WASH DISCOUNT WITH GAS". Since about noon, it has read "HARDCORE ANAL SEX NIGHTLY". It is now eight o'clock CST and my husband just reported that the sign has not been changed. Night shift should have an interesting evening.
(LadySphinx, Fri 23 May 2008, 2:08, Reply)

Bike Shop
I used to work at a bike shop, in Dorset somewhere.....
Anyhoos I LOVED this job, boss was a bit of a twat but most are, so I tolerated it.
When it came to me buying stuff from there i only got a 20% discount, so I used to get hold of the reps and see what deals i could get for cash off them.
We used to get extra 'staff' in over the summer hols time to cope with the demand on trade, the 'staff' employed were generally little posh snots from the local community.
Because they were only doing the work for about 4 weeks, they were paid in cash at a lower rate than myself, I being there for 5 years expected nothing less.
I then realised (because I paid the twunts) that their take home a week was MORE than mine due to me getting tax and NI reductions, which was the first thing that miffed me off.
I then found out that they were getting the same discount as me, and if they paid cash (i used to use my card) they got a 25% discount.

Edit start:

I was given a severe bollocking in front of MY staff and customers for theft of a tenner, half an hour later he realised that he had fucked up cashing up the previous day, I got NO apology, NOTHING.

I was only supposed to work 9am-5pm, but because i enjoyed my job he took advantage of me, and I let him somehow. I was averaging 8am-7pm with no extra pay. I was on a 'variable' shift, which meant that on a monday I'd find out when my 2 days off were supposed to be but then they'd be changed by wednesday.
Not bloody good when you want to take kids to the beach or something.
I also spent nearly the entire easter holidays (2 weeks) one time without seeing my kids awake due to how much i was working.
Unfortunately I'd be ready to leave work most days at 5.30 ish, and he'd go and organise some stupid bloody thing, that'll take to 8, then fuck off leaving me to sort it out.
I did not have ONE day on ANY weekend off in 4 years, unless it was christmas day.

Because i also didn't have a licence i used to cycle to work, 7 miles, half of which was uphill across new forest heathland, and when a wind hits you, you stop dead, it used to take me about 30 mins to cycle there and on the days he knew i was gonna get there just before 8, he'd phone me as i was walking in the door and say he's changed my work day so i wasn't needed.
I was only supposed to be there basically to fix punctures all day, but i ended up doing everything he was supposed to do, and then receiving the bollocking if an order wasn't put in, and I wasn't even aware of such an order.
I got given the joyous job of organising the staff rota, thinking i'd be able to sort out my days off was probably a bit naive of me because 2 days after the rotas were sorted, he'd come in and change them and i wouldn't notice and then when someone wasn't in on their new work day, i'd get shafted for it.

I used to enjoy my work, and because of that i did allow myself to be talked into doing other odds and sods, but to get things organised for others and then dumped on me?? fuck that, I put up with it for just shy of 5 years.

I also booked a weeks holiday about 8 months in advance, when the date got closer he kept trying to change it, like fuck was I having that, it would've been the first time i spent more than 1 day in a row with my kids and missus. Upon my return I was greeted with a nice printed envelope 'F.A.O. M.Reject', I opened it, and it was my 3rd and final warning, I had never had ANY others before, plus a full blown disciplinary. The outcome of the disciplinary was to give me a bollocking for not moving the takings on a daily basis into the bank across the road, during my HOLIDAY!!
I was on holiday FFS, HE was supposed to be covering for ME when I was away, was i too stupid to think that my boss/the owner of the shop needed training to secure the takings?
The average 'part-time' staff only stuck it for 4 weeks at the most.
His youngest son started working for him when he left school, only to decide to carry on to higher education about 2 weeks later. His eldest done about 5 days, then just turned round and told his dad he's had enough and he's fucking off.
He actually moved out of his dad's house that day before his dad got home, and hasn't spoken to him since, I think that explains a lot, don't you?
It's one thing to be 'stern' with a small business, but completely different when nearly all his staff would've rather been interrogated by the gestapo

:edit end


That was it for me, there was actually smaller shitty things as well, but this was the end of the line for me already. but this was what made me crack.

I phoned up my boss one day when he was at some convention or some shit in Fleet, which is about 70 miles from the shop.
I asked him 'How much notice does someone need if they want to quit?'. He obviously thinking about one of our part time lads reponds with, 'If they want to quit, then that's it, they've quit.'
I then told him 'That's fine then, there's no-one here to run the shop, I quit.'
So at about 1pm, on what was turning out to be a busy day, I walked out across the road bought a pint at the pub and sat in the beer garden for over an hour watching customers walking into the shop coming then coming out looking bewildered for a bit then buggering off. I left 25-30 grands worth of bike equipment and bikes there for the taking.
He had difficulty finding anyone to do my job after that, getting paid from 9am-5pm but working 8am-7pm, would you do it??

There is a chance i 'may' have taken some stuff myself. he deserved it though.
(Mensa Reject has gone out, I'll be back on, Fri 23 May 2008, 1:51, 2 replies)