I Quit!
Scaryduck writes, "I celebrated my last day on my paper round by giving everybody next door's paper, and the house at the end 16 copies of the Maidenhead Advertiser. And I kept the delivery bag. That certainly showed 'em."
What have you flounced out of? Did it have the impact you intended? What made you quit in the first place?
( , Thu 22 May 2008, 12:15)
Scaryduck writes, "I celebrated my last day on my paper round by giving everybody next door's paper, and the house at the end 16 copies of the Maidenhead Advertiser. And I kept the delivery bag. That certainly showed 'em."
What have you flounced out of? Did it have the impact you intended? What made you quit in the first place?
( , Thu 22 May 2008, 12:15)
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Stalled
I got a job running a market stall selling shite diamante jewellery, studded belts, music tee shirts, with a small record & CD section and what have you.
The owner had neglected to inform me that I was the third bloke to be running the stall in two months. The first bloke had been scared off by a horde of minichavs who'd robbed the place blind repeatedly. The next bloke was still receiving medical treatment after the minichavs bigger brothers had beaten the shit out of him for having the cheek to put a stop to the chavlets robbing expeditions - thereby putting their fledgling criminal careers in jeopardy.
I spent my days being surrounded by scumbags who'd lean on my shoulders so that I was pinned to my seat while their siblings robbed the place blind - all the while the other stallholders looked on with a "Thank fuck that's not me" attitude. After they'd gone, I'd have to trudge up to a nearby alleyway and recover most of the stolen merchandise which had been dumped behind the bins. I'd shove it all back on display only to have to repeat the whole charade the next day.
Eventually, the joys of freezing my arse off in an unheated stall, being mocked by truanting chavs and ignored by punters of any description made me realise that a life on the dole was a far more attractive proposition. So, come the usual stripping of the store, I trudged up to the alleyway, picked up the dumped merchandise and.... dumped it in a large commercial bin, went back to the shop, picked up the remaining stuff and dumped that too. I then half-inched the CD collection, emptied the contents of the till into my pocket and fucked off.
I rang the owner the following day to say that I'd been threatened with a knife and was in fear of my life if I ever went back. In a rather nonchalant manner he enquired if I knew anyone interested in running the stall in my place and that was it. I spent the next couple of months flogging off the CDs for beer money.
( , Sat 24 May 2008, 14:46, Reply)
I got a job running a market stall selling shite diamante jewellery, studded belts, music tee shirts, with a small record & CD section and what have you.
The owner had neglected to inform me that I was the third bloke to be running the stall in two months. The first bloke had been scared off by a horde of minichavs who'd robbed the place blind repeatedly. The next bloke was still receiving medical treatment after the minichavs bigger brothers had beaten the shit out of him for having the cheek to put a stop to the chavlets robbing expeditions - thereby putting their fledgling criminal careers in jeopardy.
I spent my days being surrounded by scumbags who'd lean on my shoulders so that I was pinned to my seat while their siblings robbed the place blind - all the while the other stallholders looked on with a "Thank fuck that's not me" attitude. After they'd gone, I'd have to trudge up to a nearby alleyway and recover most of the stolen merchandise which had been dumped behind the bins. I'd shove it all back on display only to have to repeat the whole charade the next day.
Eventually, the joys of freezing my arse off in an unheated stall, being mocked by truanting chavs and ignored by punters of any description made me realise that a life on the dole was a far more attractive proposition. So, come the usual stripping of the store, I trudged up to the alleyway, picked up the dumped merchandise and.... dumped it in a large commercial bin, went back to the shop, picked up the remaining stuff and dumped that too. I then half-inched the CD collection, emptied the contents of the till into my pocket and fucked off.
I rang the owner the following day to say that I'd been threatened with a knife and was in fear of my life if I ever went back. In a rather nonchalant manner he enquired if I knew anyone interested in running the stall in my place and that was it. I spent the next couple of months flogging off the CDs for beer money.
( , Sat 24 May 2008, 14:46, Reply)
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