My poor brother
Was fired by our mum. She employed him as a teaching assistant at the ESL programme she runs. Crimes include:

Making lego in total silence (Rather than facilitating "learn through play", as is the point)

Coming in to teach five year olds while hungover/still drunk

Talking to the kids in Chinese, or else shouting "Oi, English" at them in a fairly threatening manner

My mum's a soft touch as well, he must have been dreadful.

He lasted three lessons. I, three years his junior, lasted 4 years! Result!

Ps. If you, big brother are reading this, I'm sorry. It's all true though.
(schnuff, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:41, Reply)

Not so much sacked... it was kind of mutual.
/begin{unlurk}

Vacation from Uni, many moons ago, went back home to Sheffield. Needed money. Only job available involved pissing people off by ringing them up and reading a banal, not to mention retarded, script. Yes, I'm talking about selling double glazing.

Well, 3 day "training" period. Last day of same. The spiel went as follows:

Me: I'm not trying to sell you anything... Staybrite windows... super-dooper offer...

Her: My husband died a week ago, I don't want this right now.

Me: I'm very sorry to hear that, I'm really sorry to have bothered you, etc. etc.

*Hang Up*

The pimple of a supervisor overheard this and informed me the correct response was "I'm sorry to hear that, can I ring you back in a couple of weeks?".

Fast forward an hour, to the manager asking me when I would like to work the following week. The resulting verbal exchange unsurprisingly led to my departure.

I then skipped happily out of the sub-basement they had us consigned to, into the bright summer sun. I'm hardly moralistic, but I felt pretty righteous!

*POP* goes my first post cherry. You always remember your first time... perhaps my next post may be better!

/end{unlurk}
(beefeater, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:36, Reply)

I was sacked from PC World.

This is because I hated the job, so I wiped all the files off of the PCs and promptly got a pink slip after I got found out saying I could fuck off home and get another job.
(getdown is not spanish, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:31, Reply)

Paul Smith is a twat
I was working as a stock-picker in the warehouse of Paul Smith clothing. We were all doing so well that they discovered they were getting orders out more quickly than expected so they made a nice speech about how impressed they were and gave us a Friday off paid. Then they started sacking people for really tenuous reasons on the Monday.

One of the managers came to me at lunchtime tell me I'd been making too many mistakes in orders and that they would have to let me go at the end of the day. This gave me four hours good sabotage time to make sure that Harrod's got a box with "Mohammed Fayed is theiving bastard in it" and that an upmarket childrensware shop recieved the message "Any one who needs a designer bady is an emotional retard"
(Geek Tragedy hey look they don't allow html in the sig., Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:30, Reply)

They call me the Period-Bringer
I used to work at a well known Theme Park in Southern England. One day I pushed a group's restraint down a little too hard. A few weeks later the park got a complaint that my actions caused a girl in the group to go back on the pill and that one of her friends had a bruised penis and testicles. The letter came from one of their parents.

Who honestly tells their mate's mum that they have a bruised cock?

Fair enough I accept that I deserved to be fired for it. Though they fired me on my last day anyway, so I can't really say I see the point in it...
(daylightroddery, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:29, Reply)

well...
Its funnier when you consider the title...

I was a person who packed fudge at a factory that made sweets. ie, I was the "fudge packer"
When I told my firends this in the pub (I was 17 and didn't know the term, living in a back waters town) they pointed out to me what it also meant.

I quit the next day...
(thatdudewithbreasts, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:24, Reply)

Balloons
School years and I wanted a Saturday job so I had enough money to buy cheap cider for camping trips on the Saturday nights (I was 14-ish). Applied to loads of jobs, but since I had no past experience, no-one was willing to take me on. Catch 22 really.

Eventually I get an interview for a new shop that's going to be opening that sells balloons, and various balloon related things (as I discovered in the interview). The shop was to be called Absolutely Fabulous Balloons, because they sell balloons. I'd been trying really hard to get a job at the music shop a few doors down from the place, but this balloon place was all I had to go on so I went for the interview and gave it my best pop.

One week later, I'm starting my new job, dressed in relatively smart clothing (as I was instructed) and quite nervous about what it's like to have a job. My first Saturday was spent carting things from their house to the new shop in a van with the manager and pretty much doing physical work all day. Boxes and boxes of balloons were transported to their new balloon home. By the end of the day I was shattered, my clothes were a mess (my shirt had even gotten a little rip, which had upset me) but I felt exhilarated and cool at my new found mature, employed outlook on the world.

The next week, I decided to turn up in more casual clothing as I didn't want to mess up my nice clothes like I had last week. As I arrived, I was asked why I was dressed so untidily after I'd been told to dress smartly. I tried to apologise and explain my logic but I was told to go home and change into something nicer for the customers. I was a bit upset at this reprimand considering the sound wardrobe logic I thought I was applying based on the work I was doing the week before, but apparently all the boxes had been transported now and it was time to sell balloons to customers. I didn't have the experience to question things in a workplace yet, so I apologised, nipped home quickly and put on my smart clothes again.

In the morning I was taught how to prepare balloons, make ribbons curly and all the tips on how to deal with balloon customers I could need/want. I wasn't a natural at the preparation of the balloons, but it wasn't the most complicated thing in the world and although I was slightly slower than my counterparts they eventually looked like they were supposed to.

The morning was slow as the shop had only recently opened, and only a handful of customers came in mostly to just look around, point at balloons and not actually buy anything. However, everything I was doing was being scrutinised by the manageress who was also watching the floor, as every mistake I made or thing left in the wrong place was instantly picked up on and more and more curtly each time as the lady was losing her patience each time she had to tell me something. "You say thank you and wish them a nice day as they leave, you shouldn't be rude to the customers". "Why are those balloons on the floor in the corner? It's your job to pick them up Steven, I shouldn't have to tell you that!".

Working at the shop that day was me, the manageress and this other girl slightly older than me who seemed to have an unnatural ability for tying balloons. Her thick South Wales valleys accent endlessly spewed incessant nattering that was all that I had to entertain me as the day dragged on. I was riveted by stories of her bastard boyfriend and his townie friends and how she "was not impressed" by most things that exist. By the end of a long day, I felt pretty shit about myself and was sure I was the worst employee anyone had ever had in any job ever.

The following Saturday was equally as slow (balloons were going through an uncharacteristic unfashionable phase, obviously) and not long into the day the nagging manageress had to leave for the afternoon, leaving her mother (who didn't like youngsters like me) to supervise the shop whilst she was away. The afternoon was broken up when some school friends of mine popped in who I'd told about my job in the hope that they would come and visit to stop me from dying of boredom. The customers were almost non-existent, so I chatted for about 10 minutes with one eye on the door to ensure I wasn't missing any customers that may need my expert assistance. After the friend left, I noticed a change in attitude from the manageress’s mother. It had changed from passive disdain to hostile anger as she took over where her daughter left off telling me how rubbish I was at everything. The slightly-older-than-me-girl (whose name I forget) was not impressed.

At the end of the day the manageress returned and her mother went off to the backroom to have a private chat with her. About ten minutes later, it was my turn for a chat with the manageress where I was given a speech as to how there isn't as much demand as they expected, and since I don't seem to be enjoying my position that they were going to have to let me go. After my third day of work. I remember feeling so humiliated, I might as well have shat my pants as a less embarrassing divert to the burning feeling that I was an absolute failure who couldn't even hold down a Saturday job. I went home feeling pretty low and upon arrival relayed the whole thing to my mother and auntie (who happened to be visiting at the time).

Up until this point, I hadn't really mentioned anything to anyone else about my job as I was a teen and it's what I did but on this occasion I let all my emotion out explaining what it had been like, still convinced that this was all my own fault and that I would never get a job because I was so awkward.

It was only after the relaying of events, that I gained reflection on events and realised how much I'd been shafted by a family who really didn't know what the hell they were doing.

For the next few years as I looked old enough to get into pubs in my local town, I would happily relieve myself over their shop on my way back from any night out. Whether through the letterbox or just in the doorway for good measure. As I was leaving a pub, I'd ensure I had a good payload stored for my oversized balloon urinal. My auntie took an alternative approach and stormed in there one day shouting about the way they treated her nephew and how they should be ashamed of themselves. It wasn't something I asked her to do, and is pretty embarrassing really, but her heart was in the right place.

All I have left to remember my time working at that place are the five pairs of comedy geek glasses (like these images.picturequest.com/common/detail/16/86/22418616.jpg) that I nicked on my way out the door since I thought it'd be cool if my band wore them at gigs.

We did and it didn't. I was not impressed.
( ma0sm, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:23, Reply)

happy worker
I was once dismissed from a bakery i used to work for because, in my boss's words "i don't think youre really enjoying it"

of course at the time i was very surprised that the job description of a guy who's job it was to scrub the back bakery of a shop included 'being happy'

later i came to the conclusion that he had worked out i was nicking all the cakes instead of preparing orders for dsipatch and just didnt have the balls to tell me
(skagg, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:17, Reply)

Sacked
This involves an old friend. We'll call him "John".
John worked for a night-time telesales company and was pretty successful owing to his very smooth voice and way with words. He was less successful at anything to do with IT.
John liked his porn, as did his cousin in Amsterdam, Pete. One evening, Pete rang him asking if he'd like to see some of Amsterdam's finest publications. "Sure", said John, "But how do you get it here?"
"No problem; do you have a fax machine?"
John thought for a moment and checked the sinister beige box on his colleagues desk...
"Yep there's a colour one here,it's right next to me so just send it over!"
Now what John failed to realise was the FAX machine was networked; all faxes were automatically relayed to the sales office (his), the order room... and the sales directors desk. Sad to say, all 23 pages of colour, gleeful, spurting fun arrived in pristine condition to Johns desk...and not just Johns desk...
The next evening there was a memo on Johns desk, an invitation to meet the sales director early the next day.
It was a brief conversation.
"John"
"Yes?"
"The FAX..."
"Errrrrr.... yes.....?"
"You fired"
"Err... ok...."

John is now in Australia and he's very successful. He does not own a computer. Or a FAX.
(DustyD, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:08, Reply)

so many sackings, so little time
where do I begin? the latest one was working for a bunch of internet cunts in the West End. Seriously overworked, under-staffed etc.
I have what is known in the business as "a bad attitude" which comes from my reluctance to bend down and take it up the shitechute for the sake of a wagepacket.
So, after a month of putting in the long hours and plastering the fake smile on my face, I'd had enough, and the sickies began.
The first one was a Tuesday and Wednesday (the unwritten rules are that you can't do a Monday or Friday- too fucking obvious, and that you must do 2 days min. to prove you're genuinely ill). That was put down to the flu bug that had decimated the office- got away with that.
From there on it was a slippery slope- once you've broken the seal you can never go back.
As any dedicated office anarchist knows, the hardest part of tossing a sickie is thinking up a good excuse: "24 hour bug" you're obviously a sickie rookie.
"bad tummy" - what are you, twelve??
Sadly, after a couple of months I'd used up all my best eexcuses (too brilliant to share with the likes of you), and the final straw came after a midweek drink and coke binge that left me still awake and brain-cunted at 9am the next day.
It was this that led me to ring in and get carried away with the excuse: "can't come in today- I had a very bad stomache blockage early this morning and had to go to the hospital for an enema- very messy".
Justifiably told not to come back in.


Apologies for length and shitty stench
( MontyyouterribleCUNT I gave Jeremy Kyle cancer, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:06, Reply)

Singlepoint
In the month between the contract finishing for my old job and getting my new job I did seven evenings at Singlepoint, a bunch of lying fuckbags who do some of the billing for Vodafone. Sailed through a week of training (and pointed out several inconsistencies and outright lies in the trainer's other-networks-are-shite spiel [One2One and O² weren't digital, EFR stands for Extended Frequency Range and is employed by the lesser networks to make up for the narrower bandwidth available for the voice and so on... no idea if this bloke was making it up or if it was official Vodafone™ misinformative propaganda]) then came back on Monday to my first evening of cold-calling misery.
I had suspected all along that I simply don't have the sick and unpleasant mindset to describe a shitty retention offer then say "so I'll just add that to your monthly bill, then?" and was correct. On the first evening I sold absolutely bugger all and was spending most of my time cutting off the calls after five seconds (as the person was obviously not going to answer), misdialling (entirely by accident) and dithering before ringing the next number. Anything to avoid having to demean myself and the poor bugger I was calling. The next evening I sold one package and was entirely unsurprised when the punchable little go-getting spunnock of a supervisor said that it would be best if I didn't come back.
Luckily I knew that I'd be starting my current* job by then so was not particularly fussed about the lack of job and was secretly ecstatic about not having to do any more evil telesales.

*well, starting my then-job with my current employer as I have since progressed and NO LONGER HAVE TO ANSWER THE BASTARD TELEPHONE TO PEOPLE. Except those that really need my help. Which is OK.
( wingpig wish I'd known about liquify eighteen years ago, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:01, Reply)

Burgers to Pizza's - Winner's Lifestyle.
Following my Sacking from Burger King I landed a Job at Pizza Hut up the road. Now compared to BK this job was fucking aceness.

A few of my best mates worked there, and being 1992/1993 and the height of the rave scene in the North West, whoever got Saturday night shifts was usually gutted.

Cue 9 months later, my favourite DJ on the planet is playing at Manhattan Heights in Blackburn (my fave club at the time) - OH MY GOD I HAVE TO BE THERE i spluttered as I saw the flyer, imagine my utter utter disbelief an hour later as it said - Hoogie Saturday - 7 - Close on the rotor!

Fuck that I said, someone will change with me, did they? did they fuck, anyway come the night in question, I trudged into work in the foulest mood ever. Keith was the Manager on at the time, and he was ok, let you have a spliff or a few lines when you wanted. However about 8pm I just told him I felt sick and fúcked off to Blackburn.

Now all was good and he covered for me, until the regional manager found out. He called me in the next night "for a chat"

Turns out I was grassed on by Keith and he hadnt covered for me, anyway I got a written warning. 2 days later Keith was working and I had been drinking with a few lads in town, I went into Pizza Hut and knocked fuck out of him in the corridor upstairs.

2 days later I was fired as I was caught on CCTV

Mind you I looked like fucking Jackie Chan on the Video.

Deep Pan? Ram it up your shitter

Cunts
(hoogie Original Cunt Horse Author, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:59, Reply)

Sacked Once.......
Working for a computer networking company, got on well with the sales manager (who hired me!) until, she left, to be replaced by a slogan shouting short arse. Long story short he caught me half way through a slagging off session with some of the reps calling him 'a stunted little oompa loompa!' he couldn't sack the reps, so it was me!!! - he sacked me on monday and said i can either work until the end of the week or go home and still get paid.......i said "bye tosser!" - Last i heard he'd written off his TVR!!
( Random Image Yes, yes, I'll speak to you on Monday, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:58, Reply)

Sacked
I was head hunted for a position, took the company through an incredibly extensive audit, passed with flying colours and sacked the next day. Something about, "No longer needed". Wankers.
(DustyD, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:58, Reply)

Long story but worth reading!
About 2 years ago, a friend and I were working in a fast food restaurant that I shall keep nameless. One of the managers there was working one night with us and giving us hell. She left at 11pm, and me and my mate Dan finished about 1am after all the cleaning was finished etc etc.

Anyway, we decided that we were so pissed off with her for the grief she'd given us that we were going to go round her house and piss on her car. Unfortunately, she lived in a village a few miles away and had no idea where her house was. After about 30 minutes of searching we gave up and went home.

The next day a group of us went tenpin bowling in Cheltenham, and on the way home, me and Dan happened to be the only 2 in my car, so decided we'd try again. This time we rang a mate who happily gave us directions to her house. Once there we placed 2 KFC bags on the roof of her car, and Dan proceeded to urinate on it, right over the drivers side door handle. I wanted to join in but had to run away before I actually started crying with laughter.

One week later and word of our deed had spread around the store (I think everybody knew about it apart from her). Another Monday night meant another trip bowling - this time 10 of us went in 2 cars and we decided a repeat performance was a good idea. This time all 10 of us went, resulting in 8 KFC bags being placed on her roof, and I threw a cup of piss all over the back of her car.

Next day and I was driving back from Stratford and I get a phone call from a mate who was pissing himself as he was telling me that she had come into work crying because "nobody likes her," and somehow she found out it was me and Dan. An investigation followed and we all got questioned, all denying that any urination had taken place but admitting the KFC incident as a "bad joke". We then bought her a box of chocolates and an apology card, thinking we'd got away with it.

Next day however, me and Dan get called into the office and needless to say we get sacked. However, 30 minutes after we left our victim arrived at work and found herself being ignored by virtually everybody. It seemed she had become even more unpopular, and once again spent the day in tears.

But, the story doesn't end there, me and Dan appealled against our sacking and won our appeal. The only reason it was successful is because we'd bought her the chocolates and the card, and she'd failed to mention that fact to the cock-sucking franchisee who'd ordered our dismissal.

So, the lesson to be learnt from this, is if you do fuck up, apologise before you get sacked, not after.

I still work at the same place during uni holidays, and have my original dismissal letter in a frame on my wall!
(McPete needs a new job, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:53, Reply)

Don't drink at your workplace. Just don't.
I used to work at the crappiest pub in Guildford (the Star, in case u know it).

So after work one day I go for a pint with the chef. A few hours and 80 quid later we're in the heavy metal night and the only ones moshing. Ugly powertrip bouncer guys decides we're fighting and kicks us out. Dan makes a fuss and gets nutted to the floor and armlocked, and held there while they call the police. Somewhere in all of this I apparently poked a chav in the eye (I don't remember it, but I bet the bstard bloody deserved it)

I got fired the next day, and they kept Dan until theyd trained a new chef, then sacked him too
(Ouermyhte, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:44, Reply)

oh yeah
me and me mate also got sacked for having off with about 6 grands worth of stock from the local photo lab/chemist type place where we both worked.

we were only 14! which was a bonus as it turned out we where ilegally employed, so the fuckers couldn't prosecute us! HAHA! cunts, serves them right for paying us £1.35 an hour.

i'm a nice bloke really, just prone to doing bad shit.
(unintendo rubbed another mans rhubarb, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:34, Reply)

Oh my Dearie Lord
I have been fired quite a few times in the last six months.

The first time was when I was working for a data storage company, and managed to fuck up their database. Not good.

About a month later, more data entry, I was fired again, and no reason given (that one still cuts). Odd though, because I was the most productive person there, got all the work out of the way before anyone else, and actually went looking for work because I didn't want to sit around mentally stagnating. So they fired my arse. Go figure. Bloody agency work.

Then most recently, two weeks into a new job, fired again, thanks to me not being able to wake up in time. Twice. In a week. Out the door quick sharpish there.

I have a new job now. Please don't let me fuck this one up...
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:33, Reply)

Oops!
I got sacked by the Methodist Church for erasing the autoexec.bat file from my PC.


Forgiveness??
(darfy1, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:27, Reply)

working for a really crappy office canteen a few years back...
ended up getting caught shagging the boss's daughter, by said daughters boyfriend...

and she was still at school...

got the sack but it was worth it, she was well fit, and she'd been teasing all the lads in work for months, coming in in her school uniform...

was also banned from the pub i was working in (which is kinda simillar, except they still wanted me to work, fucking yates wine lodge!) for offering 2 of the waitresses a threesome after a night out on the tequilas. they refused. arse.
(unintendo rubbed another mans rhubarb, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:19, Reply)

Filth
I'd never had a data entry job before, and I've never had one since. I thought it would be easy money for the break between the end of school and the start of uni since I can type fast enough, and I'd already tried more manual jobs (just too lazy).

I was offered a job working for South Wales Police hammering out pages and pages of employee medical records that were being transferred from their paper form. It was only a two week job, but it was still money so I accepted.

Over the first week I got to know my degenerate workmates well enough to want to kill all of them. The office was split down the middle with half the staff performing data entry and the others being full-time employees doing things that I wasn't important enough to know. The attitude of the permanent staff towards the temps was just outright rude. Some would just outright refuse to talk to any of us and insisted any questions went through the person in charge of the temps, despite being something as simple as asking where certain office stationary was kept. Every command you were given was hugely patronising. It was like they truly thought they were scientists testing the monkey / typewriter / Shakespeare theory. Any social events, whether going for lunch or a drink after work we were explicitly not invited to.

This alone would have been fine, as I've come across dicks many times before and I was only there for two weeks. The problem was that there's something about the mindless repetition of data entry that just numbed my mind and made me angry all the time. Day in day out I'd just type out lines and lines of information, keeping one eye on the clock constantly and over-analysing every single aspect of my life with no distraction. All the time, the radio would be blaring out some awful Swansea based radio station where the advert jingles outnumbered the songs and the DJs banter just made me sad for the state of humanity. I'd tried light-hearted conversation with workmates, but the only person close enough to hear me talk over the radio was this guy next to me who was about 34, still lived at home and spent his evenings researching trivia for the weekly pub quiz. Every song that came on the radio would be followed by him telling me what it was called, who it was by, the album it was from, and some pointless trivia relating to one of those points. He wouldn't actually answer any questions about himself, and by half-way through the second week, I spent most of my time trying not to scream at him. I've never met anyone so one-dimensional before.

On my last but one day I was given a formal warning for not highlighting each employee on the paper list with my issued highlighter pen after I'd completed adding them to the system. I chose to just tick them off since most of the people there were spending more time lining up their ruler and highlighting each employee than they were actually inputting the data. Apparently, not highlighting the entire name could cause a risk of inputting the wrong information. I worked about 3 times as fast as anyone else there, and my system worked best for me. This utter pointless flexing of their authority was the last straw.

I spent the rest of the afternoon just adding any name I could think of with any disease I could think of whilst highlighting pages and pages of data. Sergeant filth, the police constable with herpes, leprosy and permanent diahorrea... Twatface McGraw, died in 1972 then got the flu 10 years later... Shit Forbrains born last Wednesday with three heads. Got crabs on Thursday... I was highlighting the fucking world! Off to the toilets, graffiti everything with a highlighter, back to my desk, re-highlight some old pages that only had the ticks (you never know). Add a few more police records (interspersed with real ones so if I was caught it wouldn't be so easy to trace all the faulty ones) Barry Thewelshcunt who died of double anal fisting from the Chief Inspectors mother, whilst your dad watched and wanked. After a while, I gave up trying to be coherent and was just typing flange everywhere. At 5pm I left the office as per usual, not really satisfied with my revenge, but no longer caring either way.

As soon as I got home I received a phone call from my recruiter saying that the police had asked me not to come back the next day. I was most worried that I'd be blacklisted by the recruiter, but after telling them what it was like to work there, they told me I wasn't the first to complain about the and they'd still find me employment, but if I'm not happy I should come to them first rather than concocting my own form of revenge. However, I was also told that I can no longer work for the police in any capacity again.

From the first weekend I was reading this at lunchtimes too. It was a present from my brother: bilder4.weltbild.de/kno/3409/3409771z.jpg
( ma0sm, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 16:12, Reply)

My current job
I have a feeling i'm going to be laid off very soon. Apart from spending all my time on b3ta i am currently in the process of making 2 gummi bears have sex.

Pot noodles and Trisha here i come.
(chili_kitten Cheese, peas and honey bees, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 15:57, Reply)

InfinateZenMaster - Re: Timekeeping, How Right You Are
I was lambasted by a manager in a later job, because I "Didn't put in the effort" that he did.
Basically he turned up at 7am and left at 7.30pm.. had no life, few friends and no partner. His job was everything and he made us all know it.
I criticised him because "If he couldn't do his job within the hours of 9 - 5.30 it must mean he either (a) couldn't manage his time, or (b) was crap at his job, needing longer to do it than anyone else."
Like you, I always insisted my staff sod off home at a reasonable hour.
(LunarJim, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 15:56, Reply)

Working for a credit reference agency
who were pissing me about, moving me to a different department every day. I advised my manager that it would be beneficial for the company to let me settle into one department and focus on perfecting the job and to increase productivity.

Two hours later my contract 'expired'

Worked in a bar for a year, now manage an IT helpdesk.

Fuds. They lost out when they 'expired' me. FUDS!!!1!!1!!!!111eleventyone1!!1!1!!!
( diablo290582 Professional.....something., Thu 23 Feb 2006, 15:53, Reply)

Never had a job... but I was "sacked" at school
My mother had, unfortunately, not been able to wash my school shirts because the washing machine had packed in. Blue long sleeved affairs they were. However, we did have a light green short sleeved affair which would work, seeing as the sleeves would be covered by my school jumper anyway. Mum gives me a note explaining the shirt, and off I go.

Everything goes ok until about lunchtime, apart from the shit I was taking off my mates for wearing a really shit green shirt. However, at lunch the deputy headmaster (right old bitch, she was) saw me with this green shirt on, wouldn't accept my note, and removed me from lessons for the whole afternoon. The reason? My shirt would set a bad example to the other children. I can only assume that large groups of children in green shirts would lead to mass riots and many deaths.

I felt that this was both stupid and pointless, for 2 reasons. Firstly, surely taking me out of lessons would encourage the children to wear shite green shirts, because they get taken out of classes and don't have to do a single bit of actual schoolwork. Secondly, if she had just left it, who the fuck would want to wear a shite green shirt anyway? Daft bitch.
(Keiths Dad, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 15:52, Reply)

I'm never going to get fired from my current job
I work for myself. On the downside, management are cunts. On the upside, I do get free handjobs at work.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 15:45, Reply)

My Brother
My lickle brother got himself a job many moons in the cafe of the local Safeways. Two years later he was sacked for eating a 27 pence piece of toast without paying for it.
Fuds.
(tallulah kittiwake, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 15:23, Reply)

Looking back they may have had a point
About 19 years old, I blagged a job with an engineering company where (i.e. purely because) a friend's fiancée was the supervisor. Utterly unqualified for the job, no idea what I was supposed to be doing until the first day I got there. However I did know that I got a company car - great!

A few weeks later I still wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to do, other than drive to various building sites across the South and hope somebody else from the company was there so that I could stand there and pretend to watch and learn.

I soon found out that overtime was available at the weekend so happily started driving to these building sites on saturdays and sundays, to still stand around doing nothing, but with a hangover. Unfortunately one sunday morning I was a bit too hung over and ploughed the company car into the back of a parked car somewhere near Bracknell and smashed it up somewhat.

I was given a replacement car, an Escort not a Metro - oooooh! - this time with a DialCard (company credit card supposed to be used for fuel & oil only). Took me about a day to realise most staff at independent petrol stations would happily let me buy whatever the fuck I wanted with the card and give me a receipt for petrol.

The next friday I phoned in sick, took three mates in the company car and took them on a long weekend to Blackpool, all expenses paid courtesy of DialCard. Three days of utter booze-fuelled debauchery with nights spent sleeping in the car because no hotels would accept DialCard for payment - it was not for want of trying, mind.

I had no idea what site I was meant to be at on the monday morning so I turned up at the office. The manager confronted me in the car park and pointed out that I was stinking of booze, the car full of torn up porn mags, one headlight was smashed and it had vomit streaked all down one side.

He went bezerk at me, asking what the hell I'd been playing at - I explained that there was no problem, I hadn't even been driving when I'd been sick on the car, my mate had taken over the driving halfway back from Blackpool because I was too pissed. I didn't know about the headlight, but it probably happened when we had a fight in the motorway services.

I reflected on the wisdom of my words all the way to the job centre.
.
(Ali Bongo 9000 Ali Bongo 9000, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 15:20, Reply)

c/f Captain Haddock & learning from jerks
Forgot to mention: despite the job spec being 9-5, he expected 8:30 - 5:30, earlier if poss, because that's when he was in. Cunt.

(On the bright side, he doesn't show up in 192.com any more, so with a bit of luck he's wormfood.)

These days I go round the office and tell people to fuck off home if they're still in at six pm. "It's only a fucking job, come back tomorrow and finish it then! Besides, you're no good to me (as your boss) shagged out, psychologically damaged by stress etc etc so piss off home and spend some time with the kids! I'll see you at 9 am tomorrow!"

My team loves me. :)
(InfiniteZenMaster, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 15:15, Reply)