I went out for a couple of quiet drinks with my friends
and when I woke up the next morning I found that my complete shit of a husband had put spunk in my hair.
(spanishfly 2, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 14:15, 11 replies)

I voted Lib Dem
That is all
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 15:54, 5 replies)

Abuse of trust
~~~~~~~wavey damn lines~~~~~~~

i'd just started at uni. i didn't knwo anyone, and was in a house full of people i had NOTHING in common with.
Through mountain bike riding (trials, to be precise) i'd met a bunch of people, including one dude i got on reallty well with. very, VERY talented rider, good for a laugh etc. we hung out a lot, went out on the pull together, generally very mate-y.
It came to pass that i was leaving uni, disillusioned, and looking to move to reading (knew some people there, new start etc etc)
This guy, we'll call him Dan, because while that's how i knew him, turns out that's NOT his name- was also looking to get out of where he lived.
we had simlar interests, music tastes etc, both bike mechanics, both looking to move, so we decided we'd try and get a 2-bed placein reading.
he crashed round at mine a few times, then told me he was having trouble- a mate had stayed on his floor in his place, and had basically turfed him out, invited a crack dealer round who was using his flat to deal, threatened him and his family with bad things if he argued (he had his own bedsit- council deal-he'd had some trouble with his 'rents and been kicked out- this should have rung alarm bells but i was naive and trusting)- he needed to get his stuff back.

Foolishly, i went round, faced up to this dude i the only way i kno0w how- passive but firm, just walked in, started bagging stuff up, answered his 'what you doin bruv' with a cheery 'just getting dan's bag for him, be out in a sec' and left with his holdall and his cd's.

so Dan stays at mine for a few days, during whcih time i lent him some cash for a train ticket for a job interview, fed him, etc.. we were supposed to be moving in to a flat in the next couple of weeks.

then i lost my bank card.

then i noticed a cheque for £100 written out to cash. i didn't even know where my chequebook WAS. and unsurprisingly couldn't find it.
same day someone withdrew ANOTHER £100 cheque for cash and £300 from a cashpoint.

by this time, i KNEW it was him. i called him, said i was coming home, asked if he'd be about- casual as you like, because i didn't want to spook him.
he said he would be back late and had left the keys with my housemate.


when i got home, half my clothes, my cd collection,and my discman were gone. so were a few of my bike tools.
i lost my shit, trashed my room (well done me!)- in hindsight, i'm grateful he wasn't there for me to confront, as i don't know what i would have done- used to be a right angry idiot i did, thankfully i have a lid on it now. once i'd calmed enough to hold a phone, i called the police. Ffwd two months, they recovered some of my clothes, splattered in paint from his job, a few scratched cd's.. the bank refused to refund a penny as i'd 'allowed him to have access to my bank details' they also refused to provide the police cctv footage of him cashing the cheques as the cctv in that branch 'doesn't work' and eventually, it took SO long to get anything done i gave up and moved on.

about nine years later, i walked in to a bike shop i'd been working in and bingo- there he was, behind the counter.
i'd often played it in my head what i'd do to him if i caught him, but i looked at him, saw what a scrawny, balding, pathetic fucking shit he was, and knowing the shop (and the manager), I knew he was on minimum wage and all the bullshit he could handle.. i just waited till i knew he'd recognised me, watched him standign there clearly shitting himself said 'hello dan. you know i used to work here? good mates with the manager. well.. i'll be seeing you around, eh? ' and walked out.
my life's fine, you know? i don't need to fuck it up to go caveman on some fucking oxygen thief and get locked up. he's gotta live every day as a worthless bag of shit, and i'm proud of myself for gaining the self-control not to do so.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 15:51, 7 replies)

There was this smooth-faced posh bloke...
...who had this lovely poster saying "The NHS is safe in my hands". How nice.

But it turned out he was a lying scumbag. Who could have seen that coming?
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 11:28, 8 replies)

A one sided affair
I was never popular at school, if I'm honest. I was one of those oddball types who actually enjoyed learning, I was the kid who did his homework during lunch.

In short, I was, looking back, the ideal victim. Through secondary school my injuries included a broken nose, several cracked ribs and bruises so numerous that I would lose count a week or two after any school holiday was finished. I couldn't make it from one lesson to another without getting either physically assaulted (at least once per day) or getting verbal from someone as I tried desperately to be invisible as I marched through the corridors.

The teachers... Their idea of punishment when I couldn't hide the bruises, was to give any assailant a three day holiday, which as you can imagine, got round and only made things worse. Despite my parents best efforts after a particularly egregious assault, whereby my face was utterly pulped. Nothing changed, the school would tell them there was nothing they could do beyond suspensions... There are many days I wish I'd taken my step dad's invitation to go to the police up. But I like a fool didn't, trusting the teachers to protect me...

Then one day what little faith I had left in the system was utterly destroyed. One of the gangs that made it their mission in life to make mine hell jumped me just before the start of the school day. I'd like to say that I was trying to be adult in not retaliating and going to the staff, but it would be a lie - the fight had been beaten out of me long since. At the insistence of a mate who witnessed the end of the assault, I slowly made my way to the staff room. That was that I thought. Wrong.

The staff brought the Keith (for that was his name) and demanded to know what he thought he was playing at. He claimed I'd shoved his brother into a corridor wall with my bag before pushing him to the wall and in front of dozens of witnesses threaten to and I quote "fuck you up permanently". The brother and his mate were duly brought and they confirmed the story. I had a big bag at the time and readily conceded that I may well have barged past him at some point. At worst I figured Keith was about to get away with it yet again, but no. My head of year informed me, whilst I stood before him with several cuts and no small amount of bruising developing on my face, that if I couldn't find any proof that I hadn't shoved this kid, I would be permanently excluded, with no right of appeal. I didn't have a word to describe how I felt at the time, but looking back thunderstruck covers it nicely.

This same head of year was the person who had on no fewer than three separate occasions told my folks that there was no possibility for such a thing happening was now telling me this was precisely what was about to happen to me. Zero tolerance was the reason given. Again I'd like to claim that I was simply playing it cool, truth was I didn't have any words left. I went to my next lesson pretty much accepting that I'd not be in that hell hole by the weeks end.

As it happens my Spanish teacher after hearing what had happened went to bat for me, turns out it was her class that this incident occurred, together with his form tutor, who stated in no uncertain terms that both he and his friend were lying sacks of crap who would back each other up no matter what and who would whine and complain at the sound of a raised voice much less than a physical assault had said nothing to either, went to my head of year and put a stop to the process that was at this point half way complete.

But I never forgot and again when word got around, the bullying increased tenfold. They and I knew at that point I couldn't complain, that if I defended myself beyond trying to block their blows they could have me expelled. I'd like to say there was some happy ending, or funny comeback, but there isn't. About a quarter of the boys in my year who left at sixteen were in prison before they hit eighteen, a fair few died in car accidents a drug overdoses and me? Well I my life pretty much went from one disaster to another after that.

Apologies for length and lack of funnies.

(edits for loose/lose fail)
(the_leander, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 17:37, 103 replies)

(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 5 Aug 2012, 10:42, 8 replies)

4 years in hell
Back in 2008 - I was working for one of the biggest design agencies in the south.
I had been there for 4 years and I still consider it to be one of the greatest jobs I ever had. I made friends for life, and was given plenty of opportunities to further my skills - it was awesome.

Then the recession hit and our 36 strong studio was hit with redundancies. 16 of us were left by the time all was said and done.

Thankfully, I was one of the lucky few that remained, though the studio was never quite the same afterwards. Everyone felt guilty that they had been spared - and several others took every opportunity to tread on other people to make sure their job was 'secure' should a second wave of redundancies hit.

It was during the summer that I decided that I had to move on. I contacted my previous employer to re-establish contact, and within a month, I was offered a job.
Now I must add at this point, that I had left my previous employer after 2 years service because I didn't really like the boss, and the company was a little to 'tin pot' for my career aspirations - but this was the recession and I couldn't afford to be picky.

Interestingly enough though, my old boss proceeded to tell me that the company had merged with a large IT firm, and was really going places.

The day of the interview came along - and to my surprise, that statement was not complete bollocks - I walked into a nice big shiny office full of awesome furniture and felt a real buzz. I was also able to negotiate a modest increase in salary - Result I thought. The conditions of this were that I would have to successfully complete a 3 month probationary period on a lower salary where upon it's completion the agreed salary would come into effect.

No problem I thought.

I asked for this in writing which they proceeded to get typed up on the spot. However, when they handed it to me - there was no mention of the final salary after 3 months.

I asked if they could rectify this and was told that they were sorry, and that they would get a full contract out to me in the post with the correct details. I was satisfied enough with this to hand in my notice with the current employer. I work my months notice, and left with my head held high.

The 3 month period flew by in no time - however several times over that 3 month period I mentioned that I still had not received updated paperwork only to be fobbed off and told not to worry

On the last friday of the month my immediate manager (my old boss) calls me into the conference room to discuss how the probation went. To say I passed with flying colours would be an understatement - he was thrilled with my work, and was really impressed by how much I had improved over the last 4 years.

I was over the moon.

He then pulls out a full contract and asks me to sign it - I took my time and read it carefully, only to find that the promised final salary was not present. I questioned as to why this was the case only to have this said to me:

"mmmmmmmm, yeah - turns out we can't really afford to give that to you",
"but I've been asking about this for 3 months?? why are you telling me this now?",
"I'm sorry, maybe I could have a word with "mrP"
"you do that, this is totally unacceptable….."

I heard nothing for a week and by this time I was getting noticeably angry and frustrated - so much so that I went over my managers head, and went straight to the managing director.

MD "don't worry, we'll have a meeting about this tomorrow and get everything straightened out"

--------

Sure enough, good to his word, I was called aside the following day and sat opposite my manager and the managing director.

MD to my manager "right then, so what's his work been like over the last 3 months?"
My manager "very poor. I'm not impressed at all"

My jaw hits the floor - this from the man who only a week ago was singing my praises.

Me: "hang on!!!! thats not what you were saying last week when you tried to get me to sign the contract after passing the probation…."

MD: "I don't like this attitude"

Me: "well I'm sorry, but you have messed me around - I left a job of 4 years to come here… I feel totally let down"

MD: "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

Silence ensues, I realise at this point I have been well and truly shafted. There was no way I was going to see justice done that day.
I like many other people had bills and rent to pay and was left totally stranded with this bullshit company slap bang in the middle of recession.

Me: "Well you haven't left me much choice - I guess i'll just crack on…."

--------

It took 3 years for me to improve the salary and now another year later I take great pleasure in the fact that I have found a better job, and will be leaving this place right in the middle of a massive project - stitching them up.

Moral of the story - always get offers in writing before taking the plunge. And if possible, try to remember why you left a previous work place the first time round.
(Oobla, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 14:35, 6 replies)

I once shipped all my stuff to Brazil
About 13 tea chests worth. The shipping company took their fee and gave me an address in the port of Santos where I could pick it up in 3 months time.
Three months later me and the pregnant missus were choofing down the mountains in our pissy little renault into the port of Santos with all our documents to pick things up. What follows is an exercise in beauracracy of the highest order. If you're bored by this kind of anecdote, I advise you to look away now.
I'll use a list to aid my memory:
1. We queue at the shipping company office for an hour, and are given a chit to pay an addtional fee.
2. We queue at the fee window, and are told we must clear the goods through customs ourselves.
3. We go to some government office where the woman says she can't do anything unless we have the minister for the exterior tax paid.
4. We go the minister of exterior office, wait 3 hours, and are then told that we need to have paid the state tax before they will see us.
5. Still deludely hopeful we can do this before the day is out, we go next door to the state ministry office. It is closing but my wife begs the doorman for them to see us, and he relents. We stop a man who was packing his briefcase, and he allows us to pay the fee.
6. We rush back to the ministry of the exterior. It is still within office hours but the officer who can help us has inexplicably gone home.
End of Day 1
7. We arrive first thing at the ministry for the exterior. We wait 4 hours. When we see the officer he tells us that they don't recognize the official copies we have, and they won't take the originals.
8. We search through town to find a registered office that can redo our documents, basically photocopying them and stamping them. the fourth address we go to has someone who does this for us, for a fee
9. We return to the ministry of the exterior and wait another 2 hours. this time he accepts the documents but says they are not enough. We had to prove my wife was overseas for the last year to avoid paying 100% import duty. I had about seven utilities bills, with a good spread. he says he needs a bill for every month, as if we were ducking back to Brazil between bills. I should add that he has copies of every page of our passports. We're fucked, but luckily my wife begs again, and it's hard to refuse a 7 month pregnant woman on a minor technicality. Howevere he says before we can pay the fee we need a signiture from the ministry of agriculture. there is no time
End of Day 2
10. We arrive at the ministry of agriculture, and get a signature certifying that we are not bringing in any agricultural produce and return to the ministry of the exterior. We are beginning to think we are in some sort of video game
11. After a pleasant 3 hour wait and reading brochures on why you shouldn't try to smuggle in motorcyle parts, we are allowed to pay the fee.
12. We return to the anonymous government office, staffed by three fat old women who eye us suspiciously. One looks particularly hostile, and my heart sinks when our number is called and it's her. She gets into an argument with my wife that my portuguese isn't fast enough to follow. There is some form that is missing, but my wife insists we don't need it. To my suprise, the woman eventually backs down, accepts our papers, and gives us the shipping company cargo terminal address.
13. We drive through the port along muddy roads amongst the lorries. Our shipping company has a queue of about 30 lorries waiting. We try and cut the queue but are refused. There is no more time
End of day 3. game saved
14. We arrive the next day early. there are less lorries. After 2 hours we get to the front gate. There is a problem. As a foreigner, my name is not on the car. Under the rules I am not allowed to drive the car into the cargo area if i am not the owner of the vehicle. my wife is seven month pregnant and can hardly sit behind the wheel. I offer to hire a car, but they say this is against the rules. I ask if they can deliver our goods to the gate and i can load it from there, but this is against the rules. We ask for the manager. Eventually he sees reason and relents. One of their staff will drive our car in.
15. We go into the shipping office. there is fee for them holding our stuff for the week that no-one told us about. it is twice as much everything else we've paid until now. We have no choice. we pay the fee.
16. There is a final inspection by the federal police. I wait for another 2 hours in a room full of shipping agents who spend there time cracking jokes. When my turn comes I walk with the policemen through huge warehouses, and there is my stuff, sitting on a pallet. I am nervous, there are some dodgy items including a turkish sheesha pipe that I never could get the bong-water smell completely out of. He makes me open one box: clothes on the top. He says that's all and leaves. I could have taken 200 ks of heroin into the country. How am i going to get the stuff on the car?
17. Some warehouse workers take pity on us, another benefit of having a pregnant wife. one loads the pallet with 8 boxes on my cheap roofrack with the forklift, then expertly ties it with rope he gifts us. I get the other 5 boxs crammed into the car. It is sitting low in the waterline, but still drivable.
18 We make it to the exit gate after getting lost in a maze of sea containers and almost crushed by a lorry. The official there asks for our papers. There is a problem, you cannot leave. I can see the open road and I scream on the inside. Maybe I should just drive off, who'd stop me? The problem turns out to be that I can't be the one driving the car to exit the place, as my name is not on the papers. Fuck it. My pregnant wife slides into the drivers seat, drives 5 meters through the gate and stops. We swap again and are free.
Game Complete. You have rescued the princess. Would you like to play again?
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Tue 7 Aug 2012, 21:26, 7 replies)

I used to be in a jazz band called 'The Banned'
A theatre manager stiffed us on our fee for a christmas concert a few years ago.

We were playing a jazz medley of Christmas carols while in fancy dress. Our drummer had gotten rather excited in the costume department, and insisted on wearing a full size padded Frosty the Snowman costume, complete with giant head.

While playing the stage got very hot. The heating was on full blast, and all the stage lights were on. Halfway through the medley the drummer got dizzy with the heat and stopped playing, resting his head in his hands. The kids in the audience watched, intent, as Frosty decided to get off stage. He wobbled his way out of the kit, wove through the rest of the band, and then lost his direction and staggered stage front.

"Ohhhhhh dammmnnnn..." he said slowly, the sound muffled through the thick costume. We kept playing. Perhaps we could write this one off as an interpretative dance.

Frosty staggered stage left, and then reeled back from the curtain and, finally, fainted. Two hundred kiddies screamed as the snowman collapsed, and his head fell off and rolled... slowly... slowly... into the middle of the stage, where its cold dead coal eyes stared at them accusingly....

...but apart from that, it was a great gig. I don't see why he refused to pay us...
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 14:32, Reply)

I once made a flash animation for a record company that was taken down by the same company for copyright infringement
Back in the early days of B3ta flash videos were the hip thing. It was mainly because limited bandwidth meant video didn't work that great and a flash item would play properly, being say 500k.

So there was this brief golden age where record companies would actually pay hard cash to people like me to cut out some jpegs and make them wobble in time to the beat. Madness. Glorious madness.

A major record company got in touch and invited me to their offices where a very pleasant (but not very young) woman in a leather jacket played me a rap record. She tapped her fingers to the beat whilst I attempted to look enthusiastic about what to me sounded like utter drivel. Someone moaning about people on Pop Idol being a bit rubbish. As a satirical target it felt weak. I know they are rubbish - so I don't watch the show and really fail to care.

"Brilliant" I said, "I'll make a flash video. £5k you say?' Blimey. £5k for some old tosh. That'll mean I won't actually have to look for a job for a month or two and still be able to fiddle about running B3ta.

A week or so later I'm having a panic about what they want - most of the stuff I've done that's been popular consisted of things like satanic kittens exhorting people to kill themselves - I can't really see how to make this work, so phone up my friend Dave to help out. We bash some stuff together and I return to the office.

"Hmm", she says, "I've looked at B3ta and you're pulling your punches."

"Oh you want dancing cocks and Will Young being buggered by Simon Cowell then?"

"Exactly."

Two weeks later I return. It opens with Will Young being buggered. There's dancing cocks AND a really embarrassingly weak scene of S Club 7 being flushed down the loo.

They called the whole office to watch. 30 people stood around. They gave me not just polite applause but whoops and cheering. "This is exactly it. You've nailed it Rob."

Then a phone call. "Rob, the legal department can't clear this. However we still want it to go out, so if you can stick it out via B3ta that would be great."

OK I think. Haven't really got much choice as I was still waiting to be paid. So out it went. I forgot about it until two weeks later when I got a letter from their legal department saying I was infringing their copyright and I must take it down ASAP else the threat of proper legal action.

I phone the lawyers. I tell them I had specific instructions to stick this out from their company. "No you didn't", they reply, "We've spoken to the department. They told you not to." What? But they did!

So I phone the people who commissioned me. They were very very cagey. The best I could understand it was that the legal department said no, they went round them, then didn't fess up to the legals and blamed me.

Ho hum. I'm not bitter. I got paid but I don't think I've ever had such an extreme contrast of reactions from a client in the space of a couple of weeks for the same item of work. To be cheered (almost carried aloft in the office) to nearly being sued. Hooray for the mentalness of the record industry circa 2003 as they struggled to deal with the internet I guess.
( rob, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 13:51, 22 replies)

In which grandmasterfluffles is screwed over by a letting agent, but it's ok because he nearly electrocutes himself in the process
​There is no creature so foul as a London letting agent. This particular agency was run by the most vile bunch of evil cretins that ever lived. In fact, I shall now refer to them as "arsebadgers" for that is what they were.

​After we'd been in our three-storey house for a couple of months, the top floor bathroom started leaking. By the time the arsebadgers had been persuaded to send someone round to fix it, it was so bad that whenever it rained, it was raining just as heavily in the bathroom as it was outside. Few experiences are more soul-destroying than getting up for a piss at 3am in November and getting rained on in the process. Arsebadgers sent some cowboy builders round, after which the leak got considerably worse. We contacted them again, asking them to send round someone who would actually solve the problem. "But we sent someone to fix it," they said, "It's not our problem if it's still leaking."

​I failed to see the logic in this.

​Predictably, the leak continued to get worse. After a few months it had made its way to the 1st floor, where the ceiling was gently dripping and various interesting mould and fungi were growing in the walls. I was cultivating a row of unidentified mushrooms out of the wall next to my bed, and coming down with various respiratory complaints.

​A few months later, it had continued to the ground floor. Damp and mould spread in a predictable pattern until one fateful day during a particularly heavy storm when water started pouring through the light fitting in the living room. Fortunately it wasn't switched on at the time. We sent yet another email to the arsebadgers informing them of the latest development and received no reply.

​A couple of months later we were coming to the end of our contract, and the arsebadgers had decided that rather than fix the place up, they were immediately going to try to let it to a bunch of hapless students. Various teenagers trooped in and out, while the arsebadgers smoothly lied that of course the place would be fixed by the time they moved in. One day a teenage girl came round with her mother. I should say at this point that we had a big sign next to the light switch on the living room wall reminding us not to use it. The teenage girl, her mother, the arsebadger and my housemate were all standing in the living room, and the following altercation took place:

​The mother: What's this all about?
​Arsebadger: Oh, that's nothing
​The mother: "DO NOT USE THIS LIGHT OR YOU WILL ELECTROCUTE YOURSELF AND BURN THE HOUSE DOWN, KTHXBAI"
​Arsebadger: There's nothing wrong with it
​The mother: It doesn't look like nothing to me...
​Arsebadger: It's lies, the current tenants want to stay, they just put that sign there to put you off
​My housemate: That's slander - we could sue you for that
​Arsebadger : They're all liars, they just want to stay in the house
​The mother: In that case, you won't mind switching on the light

​Arsebadger: .............I don't want to........

​Housemate: If we're all liars and there's nothing wrong with that light fitting, why don't you want to switch it on?
​The mother: Yes, I think you should switch it on
​The housemate: Switch the light on, or admit that you're a slanderous, incompetent, irresponsible liar

​He was enough of a stupid fuckwit to do so, predictably causing massive blue flashes to light up the house like some sort of potentially lethal Christmas tree.

​Arsebadger.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Thu 9 Aug 2012, 11:51, 4 replies)

what do you mean it was really popular?
Back in 1991 I was asked if I wanted to help out on some artwork and animation for a DOS based space adventure game. Happy to help I spent a few weeks of my spare time coming up with monster designs and simple animations in lovely old DPaint and the even lovelier DAnimate.
I handed the artwork over and pretty much forgot about it (college and running a video shop took my mind off it I guess). Fast forward maybe 15 years and I happen to discover that not only did the game get made, it was fairly successful and quite highly regarded, to the point that it had a decent budget sequel made a couple of years ago.

Not only did the man not pay me, he didn't even put my name down on the credits for the artwork :(
( HappyToast Groat froth, Tue 7 Aug 2012, 13:27, 16 replies)

When you know you’re right, but have to shut up.
I work in remote locations, on large resource projects. From time to time it is necessary to enter private property (think sheep stations, 1,000’s of acres of dust) and undertake our site engineering duties.

In the normal run of things, the landowner has been consulted beforehand, we drive onto the property, whack a few pegs into the ground and leave. All cool.

It is the usual protocol to carry a “permission slip” from the client which establishes that everything has been negotiated, and we are supposed to be there, should anyone pull us up and question us.

So, about 6 months ago, I was onsite, checked into the site office in the morning to find out today’s job, and was handed the daily brief from the client’s Project Manager. I noticed the property we were expected to enter was owned by a rather infamous feisty landowner, not renowed for his kindly views on trespassers.

I questioned the client (God forbid)... did we have authority to enter the land? Had it all been sorted?

“Yeah yeah, it’s all sweet, don’t worry about it, just get the fucking job done. No paperwork’s been prepared ‘cos it’s all rush rush. Just get going will ya”.

Umm, yeah, righto.

So, with some trepidation, we drove down the track, through the gate and found the area we were supposed to set out.

And well yes, surprise surprise , just as we set up the equipment and are setting out the pegs for the engineers to build something amazing, a small angry truck bumps across the dusty paddock towards us, with a small angry red-faced man at the wheel.

He leaps out and starts to yell small angry expletives. I wait a few minutes for the pressure to abate, and call the Project Manager. I hand the phone to the landowner to talk with him. The Project Manager insists we put the phone on speaker, then proceeds to berate me with small angry expletives, within full earshot of the landowner. “How fucking stupid am I, why am I on the wrong property? etc etc.”

What. The. Fuck?

Thanks for backing us up prick! I could barely talk for rage, but didn’t want to lose it and upset the landowner. Not his fault my client’s Project Manager is a fokking prick.

The upshot is, I pack up quickly, apologise to the landowner get orf his laaand and return to the site office, ready to club the client to death with a sledgehammer.

The client is completely unperturbed...”Yeah mate, had to do it, otherwise we’d never be allowed back. Had to make us look good didn’t I, fucked if I'm owning up to that one?“

Yeah, well it’s not your fucking logo emblazoned all over the truck is it? He’ll be on the phone to his neighbours, telling all the locals to watch out for the arrogant arseholes that go onto your land without permission.

Nowadays I don’t go anywhere without a permission slip in triplicate, and the Project Manager was sacked not long after for pulling a similar stunt on the neighbouring property. I think the local farmers pretty soon worked out it was a lazy method of gaining entry to their property.

We still work for the same client, reputation unfairly tattered, but we deal with a much more organised Project Manager who bothers to call the landowners first.

It still rankles that someone so well paid could be so blatantly flippant about ruining someone’s reputation to save face, not to mention his own firm’s reputation.
( Ken Oath, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 13:53, 14 replies)

Screwed over by the management…

I work for a pharmaceutical company. Usually this is a pretty safe industry economy-wise, but the double choc-dip recession or whatever it’s called has finally spurted forth and bitten us on the arse in a rather substantial big-stylie fashion.

The (sarcasm alert) ‘hardworking professionals’ in upper management decided to save money by putting a highly paid team together *facepalms* to handle this crisis. They adopted the tried and trusted method of picking another bunch of likewise cuntboils to come up with a plan of sheer flabbergasting genius….

Priority 1: Protect their own useless jobs
Priority 2: Get shot of anybody that remotely knows what they’re doing.
Priority 3: With the exception of themselves, whoever is left will have their wages cut and their T’s & C’s amended so they lose many of the ‘perks’ that they had previously enjoyed – like Private health care etc.

Well that’s ok then. We’re obviously in safe hands.

You may think that this is going to be one of those bitter rants along the lines of: ‘Wah wah – they made me redundant’. It isn’t. Although I wasn’t amongst the 300+ people they got rid of – I don’t consider myself one of the ‘lucky ones’. If anything keeping me on merely compounds their decision as being even stupider. In the blink of an eye (or 90 day ‘consultation period to be more precise) hundreds of collective years of experience and knowledge has been blitzed; yet the useless likes of me have been kept on to pick up the slack…I’ve only been here 10 months – what the bingo-winged fuck do I know? Nonetheless now I have twice the work to do, with nobody to train me in my new responsibilities, and I’ll probably get a pay cut for my efforts. Cheers.

Staff morale is about as chipper as you’d expect – what with lost comrades and the constant of an uncertain fate it’s like the fucking WW1 trenches round here. Like rats trying to jump ship before the arrival of a shit-storm tsunami, the few of us left to rattle around this ghost town of a building are looking for ways to get out. In between our sharing of shell-shocked expressions, our only topic of conversation seems to be the realisation that this plan is destined to fail and everybody’s hard work over decades will crumble away just so the next couple of month’s balance sheets look a bit healthier.

I know things could be worse – there are people out there with far more worrying issues, and yes, at the moment I can still pay the mortgage but I can’t help but wonder…How many lives are affected by such corporate fuckwittery on a daily basis?
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Mon 6 Aug 2012, 12:23, 12 replies)

Un-named TV star's pool party
He said it would be fun and wouldn't hurt, promised cuddles and to take it slow at first.

Next thing I know there's a speculum, 6 man gang bang, no lube and I'm dead at the bottom of a swimming pool.

Never again.
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 12:11, 3 replies)

I fought Oxford University, and the law won.
Some years ago I took Oxford University to the small claims court for removing and destroying some of my property. The case was heard in front of a District Judge in Oxford, and two of the witnesses were the staff who had done the removal and destruction.

The judge heard their evidence, asked questions and then said "Well, I don't think there is anything else we need to ask you. You can go."

As the door closed behind them he said "There is no evidence that the item they destroyed was yours. That could be cleared up if we asked them about it, but they have left now. Case dismissed."

I suppose the chances of anyone beating Oxford University in court were always going to be slim (the number of lies they told and threats they made about potential costs beforehand were remarkable too) but I took some comfort that the staff costs for the four witnesses they had to produce, and their preparation costs, must have far exceeded the amount I was claiming for them.

It was still a complete and utter stitch up, though.
(ubergeekian, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 16:53, 8 replies)

Used to do extermination work
and was asked to clear out this massive old house of lizards. I do this and turn up for payment, then this odd looking fuck loitering there says "I'm sorry, but your Princess is in another castle." Conning cunt.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 15:55, 3 replies)

I once bought a shed from popular DIY retailers B&Q, but there was a screw missing
and when I called their helpline very inefficient woman called me a cunthorse :(
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 14:07, 4 replies)

They came, They saw...
I got screwed over by these three guys claiming they caught a real nasty "Class 5 Free Roaming Vapour" in my hotel ballroom. Had to fork out $5000 or they were going to put it back in there. Mrs. Van Hoffman wasn't happy about her party being ruined either.
(Claude Speed was a Roman called Claudius Speedicus, Sun 5 Aug 2012, 14:16, Reply)

3 Mobile
Yes, I know *now* but ffs - don't go there peeps..
(Outrun Is it the weekend yet?, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 23:11, 11 replies)

Look Rob, you're the fucking "Man" on this website
so we all hate you.
Just saying, like.
(woocfot friends with Sacha Distel, Thu 9 Aug 2012, 14:09, 1 reply)

Not my story but
www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2012/aug/08/olympics-spectator-parkinsons-arrest-smiling

Bloke is arrested for not smiling during the race.

"Worsfold, whose experience was first reported by Private Eye, claims police questioned him about his demeanour and why he had not been seen to be visibly enjoying the event. Worsfold, who was diagnosed with Parkinson's in 2010, suffers from muscle rigidity that affects his face."
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Wed 8 Aug 2012, 16:24, 11 replies)

anyone fancy a spot of dogging?
Years ago, me and my girlfriend were adventurous sorts, we were both wild, young and happy to "try new things"

Anyway, we found out there's a dogging spot near our home, so after some deliberation, we decided to see what all the fuss was about... well, after reading about the rules and etiquette of dogging, we set off for some of this canine-sounding activity! We pulled into the carpark, sat there looking at a bunch of cars each flicking their lights on and off in a sort of luminescent Morse code. Eventually we saw one car signalling that the occupant just wanted to watch rather than participate, and once the initial nerves set in, we both headed over to find a young chap sitting there alone.

Anyway, long story short, me and the mrs went and screwed over by the man
(Anne Frank started to build a loft conversion on, Wed 8 Aug 2012, 6:34, Reply)

Don't screw over my loved-ones.
The woman who was to become Mrs Airman Gabber joined the software company I worked for back in the 1990's. After her probationary period she was taken on full time but on a pittance, but was promised that after a further 6 months she would receive a substantial payrise. During this 6 month period we established a clandestine relationship that only one of my colleagues knew anything about.

Over the following months she put her heart and soul into the role (with additional coaching by me) and, as promised, was duly summoned to the 6-month appraisal by the 70 year old Managing Director, he informed bluntly that he was not going to give her the promised payrise as,"You'll probably be going off and having babies soon so there's no point."

As I was in a senior role in the company, and was planning to start living with this girl we decided that if either of us made an issue about this blatantly illegal conversation it could jeapordise my situation. We told all our colleagues about it though who were equally outraged.

Ms Gabber-to-be left the company shortly after for a much cushier job. My colleague and good friend (the programmer responsible for the software she supported) had had enough of training a succession of support desk people. He left shortly after that leaving the project right in the shit.

They got a new guy in on £4k more than Ms Gabber-to-be had been paid and he was pretty hopeless, especially without the back-up of the original programmer.

After some coaching by another colleague I plotted my revenge. I arranged a meeting with the MD of the company and told him that although I loved the company and really didn't want to leave I'd been head-hunted for a job that was almost too good to refuse and could he see whether he could possibly match the offer to make sure I didn't have to make this difficult choice.

He did. The rise came to exactly £4k and I took the first salary payment the month after Ms Gabber-to-be and I moved in together.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Tue 7 Aug 2012, 11:01, 7 replies)

Refill
Bought a lovely brush-pen for doing scribbling with. The packaging contained two ink cartridges, billed as: 2 refills. Upon opening it up, I find that the pen itself is empty so surely the message should have read: 1 fill and 1 re-fill. I will hunt Pentel down like dogs until I get satisfaction.
(Mr McKenzie Mr McKenzie, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 19:44, 6 replies)

Not all training centres are equal
After leaving school in 1997 aged 16 I found myself in a bit of a rut, I simply didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Looking through the local paper I saw what I thought to be the answer to my prayers: A skills centre for teens that offered the option of doing the then newly introduced NVQ qualification - the so called modern apprenticeship scheme. Having received my NVQ training credits card (a blue plastic card with the yellow NVQ logo) I quickly arranged an interview.

I was shown around the place, the idea was that you'd try all manner of different trades, welding, brick laying, motor mechanics etc in order to find what you liked and then start working toward an apprenticeship in that field.

A brilliant idea in principle and to this day I think its a clever idea to offer this sort of introduction to real work to early school leavers like myself. I had a great time, I learned that I had a knack for electronics and that I was frankly lethal when attempting welding (turns out that if you have the knack, you can in fact use a mig welder to drill holes through a couple of 3mm thick metal sheets). Also learned the value of good stock keeping, acting as a storeman for their automotive dept and in doing so stopped a spate of thefts that had been going on for weeks.

There wasn't the availability to do my NVQ there in electronics, so I signed up with another provider that specialised in electrical and mechanical engineering.

The NVQ scheme was broken up into two parts: A foundation course - NVQ2, where you learned how to read and create technical drawings as well as use basic hand tools in mechanical engineering, health and safety etc, it then split to a specialisation - you could choose to do either electrical or mechanical engineering, though you also had the option of doing one after the other if you so wished. The second part was the modern apprenticeship or NVQ3 itself, this would be part paid for by a company and part by your NVQ credits...

Specialising in the electrical side of things I was truly in my element. The tasks came naturally to me, there was no bullying and the trainers treated you like adults. I had a great time making the test pieces in the electrical side - things like building a ring main spur (one light that could be operated by either of two switches - the sort of setup you'd find with a flight of stairs) or the electronics side learning to solder and building neat little things like an astable multivibrator (two LEDs that flashed alternately).

I passed the foundation section with flying colours with both my sense of self worth and my confidence being as high as they had ever been. Things were finally looking up.

Right until the head of my section had to sit me down and explain that there was no way I would be eligible for an apprenticeship. Turns out that you only have enough credits to do one NVQ2 and part of the NVQ3, but that the skills centre drew their funding from the same pot (something that was frowned upon deeply by many of the actual training centres - the skills centre was only supposed to tap them when actually on the NVQ, not the taster sessions), I didn't have enough left and no company was prepared to take the full burden.

I've been told that the loopholes the skills centre used to exploit have long since been plugged and that the whole area of modern apprenticeships has been radically overhauled since I passed through, but it did and still does annoy me that it was allowed to go on at all.

Cunts!

(edits for clarity)
(the_leander, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 5:49, 1 reply)

The wife took it at work...
Not in the way it sounds. She got suspended for two weeks due to a policy violation (fair enough, she did do wrong). They told her she had to leave the premises (Cinemark Theater) IMMEDIATELY!

When she went back to start up again the POS manager had extended her suspension for a third week for not signing out of her shift.

The dickweed used to manage the Cinemark in Aurora, CO. So, yeah, disgruntled employee was the first thought across our minds.
(sloremonger, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 0:11, 10 replies)

SNAFU
We had a fairly large staff at the research laboratory where I worked through the 1980s. That was in Rockhampton. Most of us were chemists but there were a few mechanical engineers working projects on mining machinery. Draglines, washeries, longwall face equipment. Arthur N joined us about 1985. I didn't see that much of him since he was in the field much of the time clambering over coal washeries. After a year he got married. His wife was a school teacher.

After two years or so the word went round that Arthur was leaving for the other laboratory in the state. It was in Ipswich, which was about the same distance as London is from Edinburgh. They managed to delay the transfer until the school holidays so his wife could resign from her school and get another position in Ipswich. So they closed the lease on their flat, packed up and moved. Bye Arthur, bye Rhonda.

Two weeks later he was back in Rockhampton. What the hell?

When he turned up at the Ipswich laboratory they asked him what he was doing there.

He resigned a few weeks later.
(Redemption blamed it on the Bossa Nova since, Sun 5 Aug 2012, 7:50, Reply)

Did a bit of cleaning
at my local pub to earn a few extra quid. When I'd finished the landlord said I could help myself to a couple of beers. Jolly decent of him. A few days later I discovered his missus had added them to the tab I'd been running up. Cow.
(Haywood Manley, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 9:49, 1 reply)

young mmps watched his giant alien B&Q shed friend and lover
cunt the evil greenhouseicon right in the fuck.
"Nice one shedulus!" mmps called out, feelings his loins stir. "I need to do the lawn now," he said in a quivering voice. The alien shedformer smiled and transformed back into a blooma 10'×7' wooden shiplap with the sounds of alien gears grinding. He was a big shed, just the way mmps liked them. The young human stripped off his 1997 dundee utd replica kit with shaking hands and opened the door with a smile and lob on like a cuban missile crisis.......
( mark morrisons prison shoes I love Willie, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 8:33, 2 replies)