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This is a question Sacked II

I once had a "friend" (I hated his guts) who lost two jobs on the same day - he drunkenly crashed the taxi he was driving when he was supposed to be at his office job. How have you been sacked?

(, Thu 29 May 2014, 13:33)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Not sacked but
Was offered a job a few years back which I happily took and gave acceptance over the phone and via email.

Their HR department sent the paperwork through for me to complete, I informed them that my current boss was on leave and I would hand my notice in, and give confirmation of my start date, when she returned.
A week later (and on the day of my stag do) I got a call saying they were withdrawing the offer as I hadn’t shown enough interest in the role…

I think I was a few days late in getting them into a group circle and pissing into their mouths while they bathed in the new 100,000 litre salt water pool I’d built them, along with some shiny new Accords that I’d also purchased as a welcoming gift.

All turned out for the best as the job was in Portsmouth
(, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 10:15, 2 replies)
I was sacked for building a 43,000 litre salt water pool and not a 44,000 litre salt water pool.
They would not accept that I was making an allowance for the owners body weight.
(, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 9:14, 7 replies)
Take the bastards down with you.
Boss and co-worker were both heavy pot users. This was evident the first time co-worker (let's call him Adam - a 20-something sales rep.) came into my welding bay to smoke a can bong. And then the 15 odd times he came back to do it each and every day. Apparently my bay was perfectly shielded from the offices' view. Most of the time I only really noticed due to the smell as I was usually head down bum up working on a jig with headphones and a discman with some Fugazi or Jarre blistering my eardrums. As a former pot smoker myself I could usually smell the boss (yeah, name & shame and all that - Justine - our somewhat haggard 50-something accounts manager) coming back from the toilets reeking of having just blown a spliff.

It seems that pot smokers gravitate towards each other because soon enough Adam and Justine were taking breaks in my cubicle to discuss the jig I was working on. Clearly they couldn't go to the dunny together so I was it. Or so it seemed. Again most of the time I acknowledged their presence but basically due to my workload and the fact that I had my headphones on at work with Painters And Dockers or Consolidated pumping through them for at least 8 hrs a day. I never really said much else - it was kinda annoying but then I'm a jig-monkey doing $15/hr. in a large factory, wtf did I care if they get caught. I did ask them a few times not to leave their canbongs in my bin cause I didn't want the cleaner to think it was me smoking and dob me in.

Then about a month later the big boss calls me into his office. He asks me if I know anything about a supposed affair between Adam and Justine. I looked at him incredulously and said "No." He didn't believe me and told me I can clear out my bay and payroll would work out my final paycheck. So as a parting shot I told him that I was a heavy pot smoker (I knew they had left more than a few canbongs in my bin recently - I even had to explain to him what a canbong was!) and suggested that he needed to make sure others weren't doing the same. Cue mandatory drug testing for the entire factory.

About a month or so after that I came across Adam at a pub. I was getting a nice union wage at a site welding for the FUCKU at the time. Apparently him and Justine and a few other people lost their jobs due to the drug tests.

It's a good thing that job's not on my CV, right?

Shambo is a dobber to the mods btw.
(, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 7:47, 19 replies)
The Day of the Mouse
Hello fans!!!

It’s me again, your super smexy BRAND NEW Doctor Skagra!

As you all know, I have regenerated and am now female.

Full story here!


As you know from reading that, I had to chuck in my old job as there was simply no way of carrying on with it after the regeneration. My erstwhile employers would simply not be able to believe the truth! Unlike you, my fine, festive, felchsome fans. Oh how you all love me! I often spend idle moments thinking of how you must look forward to reading my stories each week; it gives me a warm glow in my small (but firm) breasts.

Anyhoooo, obviously I was not sacked from that job, I left of my own accord – but I HAVE been sacked from a job once, many baldmoons ago.

It was shortly after I breached the omnivoox and ended up on your planet. I was in my seventh incarnation, the one before my last one. It was rather an unstable incarnation, truth be told I was a bit mental – like some of the people on here! Onlyyy joking, fans! I love you all! XXX!!!!!

That incarnation was a wiry, gangly thing with a mass of ginger curls and boggling blue eyes, that looked a bit like Gene Wilder crossed with John Lydon with a bit of Angus McAdder thrown in to the mix. My journey through the omnivoox had confused and disorientated me and was the reason why I was a bit mixed up back then. I was living hand to mouth to arse, taking odd jobs here and there whilst I got my head together and worked out where, and when, and indeed who, I was.

At the time of the story I was working in Burger King in Piccadilly Circus – though it might have been a Wimpy, or a McDonalds, and it might have been the Bull Ring in Birmingham. Or Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow, or somewhere else again. I told you I was a bit confused! Wherever it was, it was a good job. I enjoyed serving the customers - vile, ignorant scum though they were to a man - and of course there was plenty of free food and I would gorge daily on Whoppers or Big Macs or Spicy Beanburgers or whatever they were and the… matter… that passed for chips, or ‘fries’, as they were called back then, and, indeed, are now.

It was a good time, an oasis of calm in a sea of confobulation – but it couldn’t, and didn’t, last.

Whilst preparing the customers’ food, I used to add my own relish. One of my colleagues had shown me how to do this, and the idea had caught on. It added a frisson of excitement to the working day and, of course, did no harm to the customers, whom I really had nothing against, worthless bags of SHITTT though they all were. Bogeys and earwax mixed in with the BBQ sauce, gob in the Cola, semen in the mayonnaise, lumps of oily smegma smeared on the burgers – I gather this will surprise none of you, fans, as it is now standard practice in fast food joints to garnish the dishes in this way. Back then, though, it seemed like a daring, rebellious thing to do. None of the customers ever noticed – not even when I mixed some cat diarrhoea in with the chocolate milkshake – until one day, when I went Too Far.

On the way to work one morning, I found a dead mouse beside some bins – freshly killed, still warm, but missing its head which had clearly been chewed off by something, probably a cat or a rat. Struck by inspiration, I took out my hanky and carefully gathered up the still-bleeding rodent carcass. I then made my way to work with a big stupid grin on my big stupid face.

When I got in I discussed with my colleagues the best way to deploy the dead mouse in order to maximise our hilarity. In the end, after some abortive ideas about mincing it up and making it into a burger, we decided to place the mouse corpse at the bottom of a bag of fries. We imagined the poor customer eating half the contents before discovering the grisly treat, and giggled like the gits that we were. And so, that morning, this plan was put into operation.

Now, my fine fescennine fans, you may be thinking that this little prank was the reason why I got sacked. And it does have something to do with it, but it is not the full story...

One of our regular customers, Martin, was rather ‘special.’ I don’t know what his particular brand of retardation was, but it was strangely fascinating. It caused him to have abnormally big ears, and a prodigious nose, either side of which tiny, confused little eyes blinked in perpetual bafflement. His thin yellowy hair receded above a permanently sweaty forehead. He always seemed to wear the same pair of blue jeans, trainers, Mickey Mouse T-shirt and filthy blue anorak, and was always carrying a bag full of comics. There are people like him everywhere on your planet, I came to realise – they’re even on the telly now, as anyone who has watched my good friend Richard Gervase’s show ‘Derek’ will know.

I have nothing against such ‘people’ as individuals – not at all. Obviously, en masse they should be slaughtered to provide food for the physically and mentally fit among you, but it’s your planet, and it’s up to you (but seriously, mince the tards – it’ll solve SO many of this planet’s problems – though it might mean this site might have to close down. OOOH! Edgy humour there fans!!!)

Now I think you can see where this is going, fans – Martin ends up with the mousy fries, and indeed he does, but there is something ELSE you need to know. Quite apart from being all tarded up, there was something else about Martin: he seemed familiar to me, as if I had met him before, somewhere, somewhen else. As you know my mind was a bit scrambled by my passage through the omnivoox, and it kept throwing up odd shards of memory here and there. And one of these concerned Martin. I was sure I had encountered him before, on some distant world, in some distant time, a long time ago in a galaxy etc, but when? And where?

This all came to a head on the Day of the Mouse.

An atmosphere of excitement prevailed amongst us after we had deployed the mouse, as we wondered which of the lucky customers would discover it. Maybe, we thought, they wouldn’t even notice and scoff it down with their fries – this of course made us giggle even more like the gitsome gastards that we were!

Of course, the inevitable happened. I’d noticed that Martin had come in at about noon, but we were crazy busy and I didn’t serve him or see who had served him, but shortly after there was a hubbub going round that the mouse had been deployed. We waited with bated breaths for the impending shrieks of disgust. The manager, Richard, was oblivious to all this, as he looked down his nose at us, and regarded us as mere plebs and peons, which, in fact we were. He therefore ignored all our gigglings and furklings as long as the work got done.

I’d just served a customer (a bloated pug-eyed bint and her two dribbling snotlets) and so the next customer stepped forward. It was Martin. I smiled but the troubling thoughts of familiarity began to bubble up in my brain once more. *Where had I seen this sweaty big-eared big-nosed stumblebum before?!*

Martin gazed mournfully at me with his tiny tarded eyes. ‘There’s sumfink in my chips not right,’ he spluttered in his gurgling spazmoid voice, spraying me with spittle.

‘Really? Well I’m sorry to…’ I began, and then tailed off. As I gazed at his sweating, blinking, mongoloid face my mind floated far away in space and time to another scene…

The bridge of an Oabex battle cruiser. Badly damaged. Port engine out. Half the crew dead, the others safely away in lifepods. Just me and the Oabex commander. We were plunging through the dense atmosphere of Mengoxtra Prime, the ship shuddering and convulsing around us. The commander was injured, its forelimbs crushed – it could have escaped, but it didn’t want to leave its beloved ship. Such loyalty. I was manning the controls, screaming my hate and rage as I gunned what was left of the starboard engine. I was aiming for Mengoxtra City itself, hoping to fly the wrecked ship smack into the Royal Palace and take out the Mengoxtran leadership. Death or glory! Death *and* glory, more like; and although I knew I would regenerate, all I could think about was killing the hated Mengoxtran supreme commander. The forward viewscreen showed a tumult of billowing clouds. The screaming of the overworked engines merged with my exultant yells of defiance and hatred. Suddenly the clouds cleared – and there it was, Mengoxtra City, laid out like a big plate of chips - sorry, fries - before us. I zeroed in on the Royal Palace – but then a squad of Mengoxtran fighters swooped in out of nowhere and zapped us, zapped us hard, real hard. The ship seemed to fall away beneath my feet and then we were in free fall, engines dead, spinning down and down towards the rocky plains outside Mengoxtra City. I screamed again, my throat raw, in anger and rage and defiance and pain (I’d stubbed my toe against a support strut). And then – and then – and then an incoming transmission. I sent it to the forward viewscreen. It was an image of the Mengoxtran leader’s face, his laughing face! ‘Ha ha ha!’ he crowed. ‘Aaah ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Aaah ha ha ha haaaaa!’ – his face lit up with demoniacal glee, his hated face with its protuberant nose, massive ears and beady little eyes -

My mind snapped back into the here and now. I stared at Martin. He stared at me. He blinked. He dribbled.

In one convulsive movement I leapt right over the counter. ‘Wooolwee!’ I shriddled (my ancient Gallifreyan clan battle cry). ‘Woooolweeeeeeeeeeaaaaa!’

I landed right in front of Martin and immediately grabbed hold of his ears, bearing him to the floor. Chips and bits of dead mouse scattered in all directions. ‘Woooolweaaaaaaaaaaa!’ I yelled. ‘YOU ARE THE FEAG MENGOXTRA! Supreme Commander of the Mengoxtran Stratocracy! Woooolweeeee! I must DESTROY you! I must. I MUUUUUUUST DESTROOOOOY!’

Eventually my co-workers managed to wrestle me off the protesting mong (who was not, of course, the Feag Mengoxtra – it was just my omnivoox-addled brain playing tricks on me). Martin was escorted gibbering and stinking (he’d shat himself) from the premises and I was manhandled into the back room.

‘Get off me! GET OFF MEEEE!’ I cried. ‘I must destroy the Feag Mengoxtra before his bluxagrotron beams reduce this planet to radioactive dust!’

I broke free and stood facing them, panting. Something about the way Richard was looking at me stopped me from running after the ‘Feag Mengoxtra’. Some semblance of reality began to return to my omnivooxed brain.

‘I’m sacked, aren’t I?’ I muttered.

‘Yes! You fucking well are!’ shouted Martin. ‘Now get the fuck out of here and don’t ever come back!’

I drew myself up to my full height (which wasn’t much in that incarnation). ‘DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?’ I screamed.

‘No, and I don’t fucking care!’ Richard and two of his cronies began to manhandle me off the premises.

‘I AM DOCTOR SKAGRA!’ I shrieked as I was dragged away. ‘I am as superior to you humans as the Toddlebongs of Gwiffeem are to the lowly Scrunge Worms of Phobios Beta! Argh! AIEEEE! I have travelled through coruscating infinities of multiverses! I have danced naked in the screaming heart of a supernova! AAAA! AAAAAAA! I have pissed into the deepest black holes, shitted the most royal mattresses, and wanked into the finest bone china cups in the entire history of time and space! Piss! Wank! Ass! Turdy toss balls, hog anus! Unhand me you cunts! How dare you treat me like this! I, Doctor Skagra, who has beaten Davros himself at arm-wrestling, who has drunk an entire battalion of ten million Sontarans under the table, who has made even the fucking Cybermen piss themselves in fear, how DARE you, you feculent TURDS!’

So saying I was shoved into the street. I hammered on the door for a good ten minutes before they came out and gave me a ruddy good kicking.

Then I wandered off into the town, whichever one it was, and spent a year or so totally off my Time Lord face on booze and drugs, and I think I was a drummer in The Fall for a bit.

So there you go sweeties, the tale of how I once got sacked!



(, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 22:26, 23 replies)
Sacked on vaious grounds..
I worked for about 4 days for a company that sold tile products, but the MD and the Office Manager (Mother and daughter) thought that it was way more important than that. I was watching over the web orders on email and taking sales calls.

We had a lunch half hour, when it was fine for everyone to eat and the phone system was switched to a "call back at 12:30pm" message. One day, I'd forgotten my lunch, so I told everyone I was popping out (no-one said a thing), walked the 200m to the greasy spoon on the estate, got a sandwich, walked back and ate my dinner on the way. Took me 15 mins max. Sat back down with 10 mins to spare.

Called into the Office Managers room, "We don't leave the premises".

"I'd forgotten my lunch, and I was back way in time!!"

"You'll just have to not forget again. What happens if someone calls??" the manager said to me.

"The phones are switched off.." I reply to be shouted at "What if its a call for me that I need you to answer!! Consider this a formal warning".

Next day, I remembered my lunch, but because my son had been up all night being sick, I hadn't shaved - 1 days growth which to me was a slight blonder colour to the face. 20 minutes into the day called into the MD's office, "Here is your written warning for incorrect attire". I asked her "Where does it say in the introduction pack or in the interview that I need to be clean shaven? - its a call centre" get told to go back to my desk. I get "sent to Coventry" by the other staff and I'm realising this is not the place for me.

So I work through the morning, taking orders for their pointless products and lunch time comes. Phones switched over, other 3 phone operators talking and ignoring me so I get out book to read for 10 minutes.

"Strump, come in here now" comes a voice.

"Do you think the company wants to portray the image of people who read at work?" - really wasn't sure how to answer this.

"You are not the material we feel will progress our company and we ask you to walk out the door and the rest of your belongings will be posted to you. You are not allowed back to your desk".

"Bollocks, my keys, phone and wallet are in there and I'm not leaving those". So I walk to my desk and one of the other office staff watches me take out my stuff, while the other two are stood, making a corridor to the entrance. The next thing I know, the on-site security have arrived and because I have been "causing trouble", they grab my arms and are ordered to walk me out the office and off the entire industrial estate.

Well, they walk me to the office door, apologise and just say "This happens about once a week - hope you work somewhere better than this next time".

TL:DR, I got fired for fuck all.
(, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 18:38, 5 replies)
I lost a role in a shit company for telling the shit family run company how shit they were at running their company. Second geneartion and they are the worst.
Apart from third generation but the second generation has usually ruined the business by the time they come along.
(, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 17:16, 4 replies)
if someone says they were sacked because they were complaining about being bullied, this should be investigated. if they say this every single fucking time they get sacked, they're full of shit.
(, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 16:19, 17 replies)
I got fired for telling the old Star Wars exhaust port joke too many times.

(, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 15:56, 7 replies)
I got sacked for being a quarterback circumcisionist potato

(, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 15:01, Reply)
don't leave the exhaust vents unguarded or everybody will make the same star wars joke
lol star wars
(, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 10:16, 11 replies)
Air conditioning grate
Always replace the air conditioning grate when you're done, they said. Otherwise there'll be no filter to stop all the random crap circulating around the office getting into the vents and buggering up the fans. Then the client'll get sick building syndrome and we'll get audited and booted out.

Forgot to replace the air conditioning grate.

Went home.

Some nobber shot two proton torpedoes up it.

(, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 9:38, Reply)
16 years old, first job...
...farted NEAR the boss' coffee.

Sacked on the spot. A tad unfair I thought. Ended up getting more money (with the help of a solicitor) than I'd earned in wages the whole time I was there.

I feel like I won that one.

The solicitor did have a good chuckle at it though.
(, Sat 31 May 2014, 23:40, 6 replies)
I was supposed to fit a protective grill over the exhaust vents on this space station but I got wankered on Romulan ale and forgot
lol Doctor Who
(, Sat 31 May 2014, 17:39, 9 replies)
The boss looked at my browser history and found a load of puahate.com entries.

(, Sat 31 May 2014, 13:20, 3 replies)
Katy Perry has got massive tits.

(, Sat 31 May 2014, 12:49, 28 replies)
Sacked due to religious differences
Working as an audio/visual tech guy at a teaching hospital I was one day partnered with one of the other guys and was working on a lectern in a lecture theatre. My screwdriver slipped and I managed to stab myself in the other hand eliciting a

"Jesus Christ!!!"

Turns out the other guy was an evangelical Christian. He toddled off to the boss and complained about me taking the Lord's name in vain and offending his religious sensibilities. The boss hauls me in and tells me to apologise. I ask what for.

"For offending his religious sensibilities"
"Oh, tell him to grow up. I stabbed myself, I could have said many, many things more offensive than Jesus Christ"
"Granted. Still we have to be careful not to offend our co-workers' religious sensibilities"

I take a long slow look at the boss's Black Sabbath T-shirt and pentagram pendant, point to them and say

"What, you mean like you do?"


Moral of the story: so long as you're the boss it's okay to piss off the Christians who work for you.
(, Sat 31 May 2014, 10:34, 32 replies)
carbon dioxide
So, I asked for an apprenticeship at a place where I had been employed, everything was good, had a good 3 and a half years, did some stupid stuff with acetylene, had a mate swing me 4 metres in the air on a crane just for laughs, this was before all those safety ( can't get a job fucktards) entered our lives and had a laugh with the workshop. I was the resident fuck up, and being an apprentice, everything was overlooked, because I was an aforementioned apprentice.
So 3 months out of my time but still being in the mindset of an unsackable tradesman my work offered me the golden chalice of some dry ice.
Now for the non trade b3tans dry ice is frozen CO2, it makes things very cold, especially metal and there was a lot left over. So I purloined a handful of said icy career killer and got a mate and informed him of the fun to be had when you added it to my absent friends 1.25ltr water bottle that was a quarter filled. Ha ha ha I thought as I described the blowing off of the bottle top to the unknowingly coerced mate.
So I filled the bottle with 5 fingers of ice, he put the top on and we waited for the the pithy fun that would ensue.
5 minutes later, the bottle looked stressed, but didn't look like blowing it's top, we (I) got afraid and moved the boiling bottle into a safe area and told the blokes around us to take cover.
A couple of minutes later the most resounding boom ever heard by 99% of every human in existence occurred and my boss was 5 metres away around a corner, he rushed around and exclaimed, "What the fuck was that?".
If you are interested in chemistry you will know that carbon dioxide and water when it explodes creates nothing but steam which dissipated by the time he rounded the corner. But idiot me was the only person still working at his post when the most awesome thing to happen at work happened instead of cheering and saying what the fuck?.
So past history and them digging through bins and getting lagged by rubbish people, I got the sack.
(, Sat 31 May 2014, 9:45, 20 replies)
I suck at DA JAHBBBS!!
Over the last 18 years I've lost so many jobs due to bad time keeping, loss of will to live, calling my boss a cunt, telling a Senior Engineer to fuck off....mostly bad time keeping.....that I now work for myself,at home. I regularly pull 12+ hour days (*edit* look at the time. I've just knocked off for the evening), never call anyone a cunt and couldn't be more smug about it if I tried.
(, Sat 31 May 2014, 2:53, Reply)
Sacked for asking for a pay rise
Working for a fly-by-night training provider just off the Edgware road. I was being paid a pittance and was ‘promised’ a pay review after six months. I was handed a new contract but the salary was still the same. So after discussing things with my line Manager, Mick, I went to speak to the Managing Director and owner of the company, a lady called Lela.
Lela was overweight, Israeli, and had halitosis so bad it could melt your nostril hairs. When I asked her why I wasn’t being given a pay rise, she could have quite easily told me any number of plausible excuses e.g. there’s not money in the budget, not at this time etc. but instead her opening gambit was:

“You are not putting in enough of an effort”.

So being a cocky little fucker I decided to make her squirm a bit by asking lots of difficult questions.

“Can you explain how I am not making enough of an effort? What aspects of my work do you feel that I could improve on?” and so on.

Of course she couldn’t really answer any of my questions because she had no clue what I did from one end of the day to the next. So I left her office feeling at least morally vindicated and went back to work.

The next thing I know I’m in Mick’s office being handed an envelope with my name on it. He sucks his teeth and makes embarrassed noises.

“Oh. Right.” I say.

I spoke to some friends of mine who worked in Human Resources. They basically told me I didn’t have a leg to stand on because I hadn’t been employed long enough to seek unfair dismissal.

Well, education is a small world and in a weird twist of fate I ended up working at another training provider with two guys who had also worked at the Fly-By-Night place. Turns out my then manager Mick, who I had mistakenly thought was on my side, was actually a bit of a weasel, and had probably been bad mouthing me behind my back. Perhaps I should have realised from all of the snide just out-of-earshot quips he made at my expense - Stupid, naive, trusting, fucker that I was.

Turns out Mick shafted quite a number of people at the same organisation forcing them to leave, before Lela finally got sick of him and he was shown the door himself.

So the moral of the story… know your rights and never trust anyone in management.
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 23:56, 9 replies)
Totally not my fault. Misrepresented by the agency.
While escaping the wilds of Cornwall to earn enough money for a divorce, I got a job up in Congleton (Cheshire), a mainly featureless town that nevertheless housed Siemens Standard Drives, a company that made inverters to drive industrial motors at variable speeds.

Running on single or three-phase mains, the drive electronics were compact blocks of industrial design to be mounted in giant cabinets. My job consisted of reworking and rewiring prototype units' PCBs and power devices (IGBT packs) and testing them in the lab. Slightly dangerous as the 415V three-phase was rectified in the DC link so there were voltages up to 560V present in the equipment and we mainly had to work with covers open or off. Still, nothing bad happened.

When that contract had run its course, the next job was working in Oldham reconditioning and servicing all kinds of industrial motor inverter drives that had gone wrong- it was a national service centre.

The company was told by the agency I was going through that I was very experienced in working in High Voltage DC electronics and they were short of time and had a large backlog so they snapped me up.

This led to two things - one, a truly powerful dislike of Oldham where I was working, and two, a truly powerful dislike of Denton which was the only place near enough that I could find somewhere to rent.

Things were OK if a tad grimy (they got through a lot of units from the McCain factory where the cooling fins became clogged with airborne oil droplets which resulted in the units overheating and I had to scrape the vanes clean before fixing them....ewww..)

Then out of the blue the supervisor came over and said- "YOU. Tools down. Don't touch anything. Go to the office NOW."

Went to the office and the manager was ashen faced. "In the job description we made it very clear that you had to be qualified with IEEE 16th edition. Have you got IEEE 16th edition?"

"Errr, no. I never said I did?"

"We specifically asked your agent. They said you did. We asked for proof in the form of a copy of your certificate to be faxed over. They haven't."

He continued "We're being audited by our major client in the rail business tomorrow. You can't be here. Our insurance doesn't cover non-IEEE qualified people. If you'd have had an accident we wouldn't have been covered and would have been investigated by the HSE and we would have lost our contract and the company could have folded. You've got to go."


"You have to go. Sorry."


"Go now. don't even pick up your tools, our guy will scoop them up for you and bring them to you out in the car park."


Fucking agencies.

Still, every cloud and so on- got to leave Oldham AND Denton in the same weekend.
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 20:38, 4 replies)
I got sacked for using the office computer to look at porn.
Boring, but true. That's all there is to say about it, really.
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 17:32, 8 replies)
Sacked or Fired?
These are Building Industry terms and go back 100s of years, apparently.

If you fucked up a job they gave you your tool-bag back (so 'sacked')
If you really fucked up they burnt your tools first.

Trufax? Who knows?
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 17:10, 3 replies)
Drink, arse, feck
Never been sacked. Forced to about 5 times now. Don't drink m'kay?
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 15:53, 11 replies)
Having left a previous job due to an injury that was entirely my fault
I found myself doing some temp work in a call centre. One of my fellow temps was sacked on the first day, when during an argument with a customer, they decided to get the upper hand by pointing out in the most threatening manner possible that they know where they live.
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 14:33, 8 replies)
An old guy I used to know got a job by lying. Lying about having experience with dynamite.

All started well enough, but then he was left in the boondocks with a crate of dynamite and some rocky ground where a road was supposed to go.

At lunch the supervisor turned up. The crate which was supposed to have lasted all week had lasted half the morning. He'd had a lot of fun though and didn't mind being paid up for the rest of the day and told to not bother turning up tomorrow.
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 13:10, 11 replies)
it's like that episode of that show where they throw a surprise party and make cannoli but his favourite is actually cannelloni

(, Fri 30 May 2014, 12:28, 21 replies)
I wish the cunt in my office would get sacked
Because he's a lazy, rude, manipulative, arrogant and grossly overpaid lying cunt who sucks all the fun and joy from the world in a ten yard radius around him.
And he stinks up the toilet.
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 10:15, 8 replies)
The last time I was sacked
was at the race on primary school Sports Day.
(, Fri 30 May 2014, 9:42, 12 replies)
anal incident
When I was a ponce doing "new media" in that London I developed a bad cocaine habit. I was missing work regularly- at least one day every couple of weeks- and I was rapidly running out of plausible excuses.

After one midweek night of making a beast of myself I found it was 9am and I hadn't slept. There was no way I was going to work.

I rang my boss before I had fully formulated my excuse. He picked up the 'phone and here's what I said:

"sorry, I have to go to hospital. I've got a blockage in my colon and I need to have an enema".

I went in the next day and they sacked me.

Fair enough really.

I still do the occasional line, but I've given up new media. It's for cunts.
(, Thu 29 May 2014, 23:40, 6 replies)

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