Bah.
Just over a year ago I was living in Colchester with some mates, making ends meet as a temp desk-jockey. One temp job I had as a QA involved preparing artwork packs -- gluing colour separation details to bits of paper like a five-year-old, and preparing specifications for coloured inks required. Boring but bearable. I've had worse jobs.

Towards the end of the year there was less and less for me to do, so I was basically doing more experienced people's monkey work while they got on with other stuff. No task too menial; taking old samples to be recycled, bulk data entry, and if nothing else needed to be done I'd work in the archive, making space for the next metric fuckton of files due to arrive. Generally trying to stay busy, civil and helpful. And so it continued for a few weeks.

A week from Xmas I was told they didn't want my services. Why? Not, as one might think, because they didn't have any more work for me to do. No, apparently I 'wasn't particularly enthusiastic'. And being an unmedicated depressive with serious self-esteem issues, naturally I did fuck all to contest that. Not that I had a problem with being let go -- that's all part and parcel of being a temp -- but being bad-mouthed like that still pisses me off. Did they mention this at all to me beforehand? Any brief aside to the tune of "'scuse, Phil, any chance of you shaping up, you miserable bastard?" Was there, fuck. Cunts. And thanks to that the temp agency was quite happy to be shot of me as well in spite of previous jobs going extremely well.

I realise naming the company would be a bit vindictive and unprofessional, so I'll do that right now. Betts UK Ltd. They make toothpaste tubes and crap like that.

Back in Norfolk now. Gizza job. Go on, giz it...
(dungeoneer, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 11:11, Reply)

There are a few, all part-time work though
1: When I was 15, I was fired from my paper round after 2 year hard graft for being late, as the big important workers from the City didn't get their financial times before they left to go sweat on a train.

2: 2 weeks after No1 I was working in a bike shop, replacing inner tubes etc, nothing spectacular, also cheap parts. Fired for being too good, I had so little work, I read the the fatherland in 3 shifts.

3: The same paper shop that fired me from my round offered me a job working in the shop when I was 16, so I promptly took and loaded up on free ciggies, sweets and magazines until I was caught (and quite rightly) fired on the spot.

4: Working as a waiter when I was 16, first 'real' part-time job as in paid into my bank account, I had a ponytail that I refused to cut off so at the end of my probationary period I was 'released'

5: Milton Ernest Garden Centre, fucking brilliant job, worked with all my friends and just generally enjoyed it, except one thing, The Owner.
She didn't like my mum and they had had a falling out at the local garden club about a month after I started. My following shift I was banned from handling any money at all, this was actually good, I got to do the fun stuff outside, until one day where we were all called into the office, someone had be stealing from the tills, (turned out it was my supervisor but that is by the by), and I was, despite not working a till in 6 months, was the prime suspect, and I was given a written warning. The following 2 weekend I was on holiday with my friends, and when we went back to work we found out that our jobs were 'up for review' and 4 of us were fired. The jobs were then given to 16 year olds that would work for less money.
( Neon Blue Ah ha ha haa! I feel positively capital!, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 11:06, Reply)

Lloyds TSB
A few years back, I worked in the Eastcheap banch of Lloyds TSB, as an web admin monkey, updating their graduate recruitment site.

This was around the time of the foot & mouth crisis, and, whilst bored, i changed the Horse logo to a cow, and the name to Lloyds BSE, on the screensaver graphic file i had access to - just a bit of dumb photoshopping.

I didnt realise that, since I was updating the site, I had full access to the London network, and the core directories for all the city branches. The next morning, everyones machines, including front line branch machines, was displaying my 'edited' version.

I was given an *instant* dismissal. My bank account was cancelled and refunded to me, I was walked out of the building by security at 11am. Although it's not enforced - I signed a form stating that I was legally not to enter a branch of Lloyds TSB again.

As I left the building, not a single person smiled, they all looked at me like I'd just killed a puppy. Fucking humourless cunts.
(Mildred is a slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 10:46, Reply)

Where do I begin?
Probably the best story is my dramatic exit from KFC in the late 90's. At University I used to work in a walk-in KFC on a very busy student drinking road.

I had a habit of turning up late, and in a variety of states but as I and the manager were friends, I got away with it for months. Unfortunately, he was dismissed for emptying the safe and was replaced with a dimwit named Gemma. Charm, sophistication and intelligence, she had none of it! It had taken her 9 years (from 16 to 25) to rise to the dizzy heights of temporary branch manager.

Naturally she compensated for her feelings of inadequacy by shouting and being generally as unpleasant as was possible ( a particular fave of hers was to try and ensure staff only got a wing or drumstick for the staff meal - no breast or keel!). I was given a number of warnings owing to various misdemeanours (playing gladiators with mops on a wet kitchen floor, humourously cleaning the floors naked with my friend and leaving it on CCTV, etc), culminating in a written warning after I had soaked her work clothes and all her possessions before placing them carefully at the bottom of a box of fries in the freezer. I also soaked her at the end of her shift, causing her to be off ill for a bit.

The crunch came when the owner came and threatened me with my job. I nodded, took serious note of the conversation, and went onto the counter. I had been up for a while, and had taken a lot of acid the night before which meant I served a meal to someone who wasn't there (made a bit of a mess on the floor, as I recall). When Gemma began to be unpleasant about this (understandable) error of judgement I calmly removed her hat and placed it into the fryer, giving it, I imagine a lovely crispy coating. I then removed a tureen of beans from the bain-marie and emptied them over the counter, picked up a bucket of chicken, explained to her that if she so much as looked at me again I would chop her up and serve her in a crispy coating, put my nose in the air and made a dignified exit, to the open mouthed horror of her acolyte, Amy and general smiles and approval of the rest.

On the way out I superglued her car door locks. Ha.

The best part of this was I had seen this coming, had stashed a 50 kilo bag a secret coating which I sold by the half pound, I had many chicken fillets, and still maintained friendships with the staff, all of whom would bring me chicken and chips etc after the shift when thay came round for a smoke and game on the playstation.

Happy Days.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 24 Feb 2006, 10:40, Reply)

I <i>didn't</i> get sacked...
... cause I was stupid, maybe.

Fat, waddling, toffee-nosed 50+ boss of a small company had taken me on not two months earlier as his QA manager, and I had met his stunning, leggy, brunette, husky-voiced, vampish, European young trophy wife, who was a buyer for the business.

The Christmas party was a strange affair: we working people getting merrily drunk, while the top boss and his old-etonian-school-chum "silent partner" and attendant more sensibly-matched wife looked down their noses at us.

Except trophy wife. She was getting plastered. The first thing she said when I arrived - contacts instead of my usual glasses, hair let loose instead of tied back - was "My, you are very attractive!"
Thank you. Nice to hear. Trophy wife drank much that night. By the end of the dinner, she'd smashed a glass, ordered more wine and demanded we go to a night club. Boss looks unhappy, but pampered his wife. Off we went.

In the darker, louder surrounds, the now wobbly, but still gorgeous trophy wife sidled up to me and announced "We have a very open marriage, you know. The most important thing in life is to have fun, yes?"
Her husband was standing right there next to her as she leant lushiously on my shoulder.

I was still in my probationary period, and contractually could be fired without reason. There was no law to back me up, and I knew it. "Tell me this again when you're sober," I said.

She never did. I kept my crappy job, but got no hot swinging action with gorgeous brunette sophisticate.

Damn.
( no cake for the impuritay Patrick Stewart hasn't aged since, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 9:50, Reply)

sacked from the papershop
I got the sack for steeling porn whilst making up my paper round when I was 14. I only got found out cos I accidently delivered the paper I had hidden the porn in. The family in the house went mental. Once confronted my only excuss was that I was 14 and had access to porn, what did they think was going to happen.
(finbad, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 9:39, Reply)

Hey, Apeloverage got sacked!
How ironic!
(misteroz, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 9:36, Reply)

Fedex Kinko's
Worked there for 3 years, and of course, along with the job, comes the perks... free copies, posters, supplies, internet browsing when it's slow, etc. Then a new manager comes in and posts a big sign saying "I'll be getting rid of the deadwood over the next month." So she fires 8 of us, rehires 6 more people, only then realizing that we'd all been there for at least 3 years, and it takes about that long to really be able to deal with this specific brand of customers' shite. The store closed down a month later due to "excessive customer complaints."
(derekw741, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 9:19, Reply)

The short version
A friend and I got sacked from A temp agency, Him for daring to be diabetic when they closed their canteen on a sunday without telling us. I got sacked for injuring myself a work, getting a doctors note and going through al the correct procedure.

we did both tell the management to cock off over the phone though
( DeKay There's jam in the bath!, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 8:10, Reply)

A friend and I got sacked by the local temp Agency
whilst on contract for them in a warehouse for a large distribution food chain that may or may not rhyme with the word "fuckers", having said that, we only actually worked there for 4 days, a Thursday to a Sunday.

The first day was quite fun, we got a full days pay for half a days training on electrical pallet truck things called LLOPs, (Low Level Operating... Pwiddles, it's pronounced Lollop, which is a fun word to have to say all day) and RF stocktaking jobbies.

The second day was fine, we weren't very good at the fast version of shopping having never needed to put 32 crates of stella on a pallet before, and with that in mind, they cut us some slack, because we only got through roughlyhalf of our estimated workload for the day.

Day 3 was more of day 2, but we were getting better, but now that it wasn't our first day anymore, the line manager started getting on our backs over it, we took great deligh in confusing him with long words, like arm and leg. He was a cunthorse anyway.

Day 4 was when it all kicked off. Early in the day (about 2 hours in, I took a fall due to a broken pallet, twisting my knee and aggrevating an old sporting injury involving ligaments and massive pain. and then later with it being a sunday, the canteen was closed, this in itself didn't cause me such a problem, but my friend was diabetic. I knew this, the agency knew this and a fair few of the high level staff knew this. Had anybody told us the canteen was shut on a sunday? Had they buggery! the following convesation happened between myself and the line manager.

Me: The canteen's shut
LM: yeah
Me: we weren't told
LM: Not my problem
Me: Sam's Diabetic
LM: and?
Me: if he doesn't eat, we have a problem
LM: He has a problem
Me: If he goes into anaphylactic shock, it'll be a bookers company problem
LM: well what can I do?
Me: I'd suggest letting him go off site get smething to eat
LM: he can't go off site
this carried on for about 10 minutes. and the final solution was that we would have to borrow a card, which we had been advised against buying in the first place, from another permanent staff member, and, as the machine to credit it didn't take notes, had to use our meagre amount of change to stock up on crap crisps and flat, out of date drinks.

the next day they phoned us up to work the following wednesday, I said I was going to the doctors and would get back to them, sam told them he'd have to see what i was doing, as I was his driver.
I went to the walk-in centre, and was told to "stay off it for 2 weeks, or risk serious damage" which was fine for me. I phoned up the agency and said i wasn't going to be able to work for a fortnight, as I didn't fancy hospitalizing my self, the woman said they needed a note from my doctor, otherwise it would coun as AWOL, this I arranged, but it took a further 3 days.

I took the note in and was told to contact them for further work "if and when" it heals, I essentially was accused of lying despite going for a note and recieving a physical, in which i was told i had medial ligament damage to an extent that i shouldn't be walking without extreme pain, and a note writing me out for a "minimum of a fourteen days"

My friend phoned them up and said that he wasn't going to go back because of their attitude in response to his diabetes dilema.
They phoned him back a few days later asking him to work and he told them to cock off and hung up. I went back 2 weeks later and said i could go back, they said they weren't going to take me back as they had had a load of other members of staff quit (she mentioned names of 4 others, all also students, and said they would have to review their recruitment policies.

They then phoned me back and told me I owed them back pay as I had lost some bonus for being absent, i told them to cock off and hung up, knowing full well that if they wanted to reclaim an overpayment, they can only take back 10p in the pound a month, and i wasn't going to be working for them ever again, they had no choice but to let me keep it. Which was lucky as I had already drank it.

Apologies for my extreme length (hehe)
( DeKay There's jam in the bath!, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 8:07, Reply)

Many moons ago...
I used to work at at a place that made liquid density & level sensors. The fateful project was for the fuel probes on an Arianne rocket. The cables on this thing were bloody long, so had to be ran down the warehouse, around the corner and into the metalwork shop.

Little did i know as i rolled out the cable, the sensor was following me - cut the cables 8 metres too short. Now this was all epoxy'd and cooked, so the cable could not be replaced...delayed the launch for 6 weeks whilst a new one was made.

Sacked for stopping a space rocket take off. Cool.
(phazey, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 7:30, Reply)

coffee is bad
I used to have a boring job in the mortgages department of a building society. We basically had to put some code into a form and write "redemption quote sent to customer" in the log of somebody`s account. 60 times a fucking hour. This was my first job after graduating from my piece of shit worthless arts degree, and it paid minimum wage, plus I was working in my inbred little home town with people who never went to uni.

They made the mistake of putting me right next to the coffee machine. coffee was only 20p a go, so me thought it would be a nice experiment to put 6 espressos in 1 cup, and to see how much coffee I could get through during the day. After a week or so I started to get the stomach pains and the shouty episodes with the folks at home, and all the papers on the desk at work became inextricably congealed with the laminate surface.

It took them 3 weeks to find all the comments I had written in people`s accounts. I`m not proud. But I`m not repentant either. Nobody should ever have to do that shit.
(inscrutable no use in these temperatures, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 5:21, Reply)

My greatest achievment?
I got fired from two telesales jobs on the same day. I rarely take pride in my inability to do something.
(Shining Love Pig, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 5:04, Reply)

Got made redundant once ....
... for a total of 16 hours.

In 2002 I was working on A Major Sporting Event in Manchester (yes, that one). The main sponsor was a vast company that had over-stretched its finances and flushed cash down the khazi for 5 years and were about to go bust with a capital B.

When the inevitable finally happens, a verrrrry nice young lady from some accountancy firm comes round to tell us we're all redundant and will recieve a month's pay in lieu of notice, offers her sincere apologies and best wishes for the future.

At which point we all break up laughing. The city council had already agreed to pick up our contracts the next day.

Redundant overnight, back at my desk in the morning with a cheque for £1600 in my pocket ayethankyewverymuch. Sometimes you fall downstairs and land on your feet.
( Gilgamesh gazed in wonder as Frampton came alive, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 4:30, Reply)

This wasn't my best week
I got made redundant in January. We thought they were bringing us in to discuss our role in the restructured night shifts. They were in a sense, as in they were saying we didn't have one. What really made this hurt was that it was in the same week/ten day period as Arsenal getting knocked out of two competitions, me splitting up with my girlfriend, and me getting injured so I couldn't train properly for a Ju Jitsu competition, in which I got battered. But things have picked up since then :)
(Dowbocop, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 2:31, Reply)

I'm a postman
I get the sack every day.
(David Fishwick Minibus Sales - notmad.co.uk, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 2:25, Reply)

My brother was fired from volunteer work.

One year at the Cincinnati Flower Show, hosted by the one-and-only Martha Stewart, my brother was forced by the she-bitch to plant flowers in a very specific pattern, lest he face her wrath in the form of a screaming fit. After about 30 minutes he screamed back at her "Excuse me, lady. I think you've mistaken me for someone who gives a damn!"

He volunteered at the museum the next year.
( Digeridude Lord Wellington's Beef Trapeze, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 1:41, Reply)

Revenge, sweet but not at all fattening
Before I emigrated to Sunny Sydney i used to run pubs in Dull Hull. One of which was right near the marina. A really quiet little boozer opposite the fruit market that was earmarked for knocking down when the area was to be renovated. (Its still there, Hull council are soooo very efficient).
Anyhoo, I had dramas there. the place had had 4 landlords a year for the past 3 yrs and I went in with the attitude that I could do so much better as the other guys had all been young idiots that had treated the place as a free booze shop for them and their drug taking hullscum mates.
The company that owned the pub were quite small and only owned 5 pubs, and as I had just left a large national comapny I thought it would be nice to be a big fish in a small pond for once. WRONG!
So to the pub. Gotta love the patrons. S-C-U-M. think of the worst type of chavster dickhead and treble it, then add Wayne Rooney. Awful terrible burberry clad idiots. Except on Band nights where the local bikers came down and the burberrys all disappeared. That is except one memorable night when the chavs stayed in "cos its our boozer innit?" and i professionally presided over what the Hull Daily Mail cheerfully described as a "wild west style bar room brawl" before the rozzers came round and arrested 30 blokes and 5 women.
So I got rid of the dickheads, the bikers, the band nights, and started quiz nights, comedy nights and singles nights. The takings remained constant and repair bills, police calls and the smell of despair around the place all decreased markedly.
3 months after i took over I am summoned to the office, the managing director says he has had a complaint about me. He tells me that a guy has written to the office and said I called him a fuckwit and had physically assaulted him and then thrown him onto the street. I laughed and told him i had, but was comfortable as this guy had tried dealing E's in the toilets. I had punched him and flushed his stash, then kicked him out. I settled back waiting for the pat on the back, when my managing director told me he was sacking me, as I hadn't passed my 3 month probation due to this incident. I ahd an hour to clear my stuff out of the pub and unscrew my name plate from above the door.
Nice
In the next few days, I asked around and it turns out the filthy chav is rooting the financial directors daughter, so I embarked on the best revenge mission of my life. Firstly, I rang the tax office and told them that both directors went around the 5 pubs on a Sunday lunchtime and creamed an average of 200quid from each till. (this was true) and that I had been actively encouraged to water down spirits and beer by them as it was "company practice".
They were investigated by HM customs and excise and both fined 10k each and deemed unfit to be directors of any business for 2 years apiece.
Then, and this is the best... I sneaked around to both of their Fisher Price Mansions, and superglued Cornflake boxes to the outside of them ("baffling vandalism on Village estate" - Hull Daily Mail). Then I emigrated, and am now earning fortune and have a lovely tan. Fuck em
(airliebird Has now found Twiglets in Sydney!!!!!!! yay!, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 0:56, Reply)

Micky D's part 2
Not me but 2 guys I worked with got the boot (technically I suppose one of them quit).

First guy was only new and was being trained in at the french fries station. Boss started giving him a bit of grief for being too slow so we told him that he shouldn't take any shit from her as she was only store manager because her folks owned the place. Stupid git took it literally and suggested this was the case in front of the whole restaraunt.

Second one was a guy who was told to take the sacks of rubbish that were built up by the back door out to the dumpster shed at the back of the car park. 2 hours later when the lunch rush was over someone thinks to say "where's reggie got to?" Managers in a bit of panic thinking he might have been abducted or something call his parents to find out that halfway across the carpark he's decided sod this I'm going home.
(Neuromancer, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 0:42, Reply)

Been sacked a few times over the years
#1 Working in an engineering company making extrusion dies. Was put in charge of the heat treat tank after 2 days of training (the dies had to be tempered at high heat in case anyone gave a shit. I didn't) Put a couple in the tank and went off for a spliff to try and kill the boredom. Forgot about the dies and instead of taking them out after 45 mins finally remembered to get my stoned ass back to the tank after three and a half hours. End result? £17000 of dies fucked and me walking out the door.
#2 Worked as a locksmith in one of the most soul crushing places imaginable. The boss was a demented little Hitler who thought nothing of giving his girlfriend a couple of hundred pounds worth of locks to take home for free, but went fucking mental when I made a spare key for my mate for a quid. Told him to "fuck off or you'll get locked in the basement and left there for the rats to shag" earned me a nice shiny P45 for gross misconduct.
#3 Ice cream factory. Temporary contract. Nicked my body weight in cornettos(strawberry and mint mmmmmmmmmmmm..) Little twat grassed everyone up for the ices, 18 people sacked in one go and one little twat kicked in the balls.
#4 The worst job I've ever had was making stone garden ornaments. The shed we worked in had no ventilation other than the door so the cement dust floating around was horrific, got in your eyes, nose everywhere. The boss was mental and that is no exaggeration, there was something seriously wrong with him. He'd make a point of coming into the workshop, looking around and if there was something there he didn't like the look of no matter what it was he'd destroy it. I saw him smash the statues, jump up and down on buckets, rip our radio off the wall and throw it across the room. Bastard fired me for putting my back out moving a six foot tall statue out of the corner, so I shopped him to health and safety for the conditions in the workshop. Plus I went round to his house a few weeks later and took a shit on the bonnet of his pride and joy Mercedes. Serves him right the fat cunt.

inevitable length knob joke
(boltneck sacrificed a smurf to Cthulhu on, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 0:36, Reply)

Stupid Jobs
I got fired from a large retail chain when I was 17. Apparently management frowns upon their employees smoking weed in the parking lot. Who knew?
(scarsfromknives, Fri 24 Feb 2006, 0:23, Reply)

I worked ias a member of the Entertainments crew at University..
and I told the Ents Manager he was a coke sniffing midget who's having a longer sex drought than Pat Butchers minge.
( Bamboo Steamer, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 23:42, Reply)

its a learning curve...
Apart from my experience described in www.b3ta.com/questions/googleruinedmylife/post48596/ i was sacked after five weeks of working in a certain McShite of a restaurant for giving away a free meal to my friend.

They called it fraud; I called them motherfuckers.
( prem1um is full of life, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 23:29, Reply)

Jadeviper...
... I'd have bloody promoted you, not sacked you!
(testmeuk, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 23:22, Reply)

Farewell Cuntoc
One year ago I was a fresh-faced 17 year old working in a local computer store. It was one of a chain of five or so stores in Ireland, and it was owned by a man who we reckoned had assets in excess of a million Euro.

Suffice to say, the guy fancied himself the Irish equivalent of Alan Sugar and enjoyed nothing more than strutting around his stores in his Armani suits and ranting about the tiniest things he found wrong with each store. One of his favourite tricks was placing a penny in some inaccessible nook, coming back a week later, finding the penny and screaming about how we hadn't swept/wiped down/stuck our hands down the hole between the printers and the laptops to check for gold.

His visits were thankfully infrequent, so one quiet day I decided to play a joke on my colleagues by sticking masking tape on the bottom of the optical mice we use on the two till computers. As an added feat, I rearranged several keys on the till keyboard too.

About a half-hour later, in strolls Alán óSuicre and heads straight for the tills "to send some important emails". He's not very tech-savvy for the owner of a chain of PC World wannabes, but before I can do anything he's fumbling angrily with a mouse that won't respond, composing an email that reads like the keyboard-hammerings of an angry spastic pigeon and demanding to know who's made him type: "Inpartumt nossugi far ull Cuntoc staff"

I claimed full responsibility and was given the harshest verbal beating of my life, I even got the Irish equivalent of "You're fired!" which in retrospect is quite pleasing. Why did I own up so willingly? Well I'd just accepted a full-time job in London, so getting fired from 'Cuntoc' wasn't so bad. Needless to say, I didn't become The Apprentice.

Still in London now, so that worked out alright.
(scrapsmckenzie, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 22:31, Reply)

Oh the look on his face
I used to work for a company in a shit job destroying vinyl so that we could send it back as a return as damaged, if it didn't sell well. Oh the joy of destroying Danni Minogue 12"s, putting them on the radiator to warp them, tearing the sleeves and running needles across the grooves to scratch them. The company was run by a short arse cunt, (napoleon complex methinks). Anyway the job became irritating, for various reasons and I became angry and this came to a head.

Napoleon calls me into the office and told me that "if you don't like the job, I could get someone else in tomorrow to do it".

Me fuming said "do it!".

I then proceed to vent my spleen, and tell him like it is. After calming down and making it clear I was out of there, he said "So how much notice can you give?".
"Well you can get someone in tomorrow, so I'll go now!".
Oh the look, the "I'm a stupid big mouthed cunt and just painted myself into a corner" and you know it look.
Priceless!
He then backs down and said "Well that puts me is a bad situation".
Me shoots, me scores, result!!
I gave him two weeks and took very good advantage. Nuff said. Doing VERY well, Fuck him hahahah
(AlbertTatlock is Ena Sharples Bitch, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 22:24, Reply)

pubs..
when i were a bit younger i used to work behind a bar collecting glasses and the like, me being quite tall, i decided what would suit my growing hair, was a nice 4 inch spiked bright red haircut.

i worked my arse off all summer, showed everyone up.

got fired for being "the wrong sort of chap for the job" so i got drunk the evening they were going to let me go, and i was sick all over the bar.

needless to say i didnt pay for a drink and the manageress i managed (arf play on my words there) to shag the next week when i met her in a club with my mates. yarharharhar
(konigsred, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 22:21, Reply)

i was sacked for being a shit, but a proud one
I used to work for a chain of pubs, Yates, and basically was a pump jockey for a couple of weeks until my duty manager realised that I could add up and I was a University student (it was a summer job) therefore, I could train to be a bar manager (meant I did the tills at the end of the night and worked a rota). The pay would go up, so I said what the heck.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, Blackpool's season is in full-swing. I loved working nights as I tended to get lots of tips from the ladies and I was good at making the cocktails (I always say that cocktail manufacture is like chemistry with sex-appeal). At the end of one such night we were told that since it had been so busy, we'd all have to muck in on the cleaning and the place needed to spotless at 2am.

Needless to say, due to the complete laziness of most employees and the lack of energy after a 10hour shift, 2am came round and the place still looked like a student bedroom.

We all beavered away and I noted on my timesheet that we finished at 2.45am. The timesheet was handed in and my wage packet the next thursday came and showed me working until 2am. Sure enough, the manager of the place informed me there had been ample time and tough, we were only paid until 2am.

I then waited until the Saturday, when I worked nights. Another busy night and come 2am, the place was a shambles. I asked the manager, loud and proud "Are we still being paid now?", the answer as expected was "No". I shouted a riot act at him and downed tools. I marched to the door and was told "don't come back".

I went in the next shift and the manager had a quiet word with me, regarding the fact that I will get paid for all hours I work, as long as I don't tell the rest of the staff. I kept my end of the bargain up, and so did he.

It was when I was shunted onto day-only shifts that I got a grievance. I then noticed that a blonde bimbo had been promoted to Night shift manager and I thought what the hell, so just got on with it, as the new Uni term was only a couple of weeks away.

One night, I was asked to work for someone who'd called in sick. I turned up for the shift and noticed that the blonde thing hadn't been seen for a while, so assumed the management role for a bit.

After a few hours, I needed change, so, stressed miffed off and completely irate I marched to the office and unlocked the door, completely oblivious at this point to the blonde being boned by two doormen and the manager (who were all naked).

I, still irate, oblivious, opened the safe and got my change. I then left, slammed the door to the office and then on my way back to the bar realised what had been going on in the office.

It was only then I had the genius idea to turn on the office security camera on the large screen projector that was showing the rugby. (I'd found out previously that the cctv screen behind the bar could be used to watch sky, so I knew that they were on the same circuit..)

Some families demanded to see the manager and licensee, to which I said certainly, madams/sirs. I telephoned the office and said that customers were complaining and needed to speak with him. Minutes later he appeared.

You may now imagine a load of irate parents, randy rugger buggers and crying children recognising the stars of the broadcast. The manager took one look at me as I walked out smiling with my coat on already.

Funny, I never did get paid for that last week of work there.

/apologies for the length, but I enjoyed every minute of it.
(lunus loves tizer, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 21:52, Reply)

when I was nineteen I worked as a hotel receptionist
in a Scottish castle. it was very formal, and I had to wear a skirt, blouse and suit jacket. I wore stockings under my skirt and in those days I didn't wear underwear. one day I had to plug in a guest's modem cable to the phone socket in the lobby (this WAS 1995 after all ;) ) which was under a table. I was crawling out backwards, my skirt riding up, just as the managing director came out of his office and saw a lot more of me than he wanted to... I was sacked that day.
( Jadeviper was still alive on, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 21:46, Reply)

Sacked for almost dying
Eh-up,
Back in 2004 my career was on the up. I'd finished my MSc the previous year, I'd developed a big fat (and very successful) campaign for a student group, I'd written a paper for a professional association and I'd done a couple of presentations at conferences. All I needed was a proper job.

Yeah, I was a smug wotsit, I'll confess.

Said job presents itself, as an environmental consultant in a small outfit near Bath. This was pretty good for myself and my girlfriend (now fiancee) as she could easily find herself a job teaching English as a foreign language there.

The first Thursday morning I was there, I developed a weird rash on my hands and felt a bit ill. I thought it was related to the heat, as it was damn hot at the time. I cooled off in the shade, had some water and was alright soon enough.

The next morning I had turned bright pink, like a cooked lobster.

I returned to work on the Monday, having barely eaten.

Over the course of the next two weeks, my skin started to fall off, I could not concentrate, my whole body started to swell (steady!) and I couldn't recognise myself in the mirror. My hair stated to fall out too.

I looked like Swamp Thing's uglier brother.

Eventually, I was near-delirous. I was "let go" - read fired for being ill - on the third Friday of working for this lot.

I was hospitalised the next Monday.

It took me four months to recover.

I didn't work again for another four months.

I had a very, very nasty reaction to medicine I was taking. Such is life.
( Parmesan Quality b4 Quantity, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 21:30, Reply)