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This is a question Screwed over by The Man

We once made a flash animation for a record company. They told us it was brilliant and 30 staff gave us a round of applause. They asked us to stick it out without their name on it. Then their legal department sent us a cease and desist for infringing their copyright. How have you been screwed over?

(, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 13:46)
Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

I bought every single Doctor Who VHS video
and then they started releasing them on DVD. I still have all the VHS ones and my DVD collection is almost complete. I just KNOW that the


will find another format to - oh bugger, Blu-ray.

And that'll be superseded by summat else, and so on and so on I'll never catch up.


Serve me right for being such a mong.
(, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 22:16, 26 replies)
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.
(, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 19:44, 6 replies)
I bought some cocaine of some geezer in a pub
and it was fucking shit
(, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 16:27, 3 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.
(, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 13:53, 14 replies)
Teachers should strike during the long summer holidays, when they're busy doing all that marking.
That would show The Man!
(, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 13:22, 17 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?
(, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 12:23, 12 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.


(edits for clarity)
(, 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.
(, Mon 6 Aug 2012, 0:11, 10 replies)
I took a job
In the interview for my job I was told: "You won't have targets to meet and you get commision on every sale." I took the job, turned up, did two weeks training and was promptly asked why I was so far below my targets. I did not get commision either.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2012, 14:55, Reply)
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.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2012, 14:16, Reply)

(, Sun 5 Aug 2012, 10:42, 8 replies)
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.
(, Sun 5 Aug 2012, 7:50, Reply)
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)
(, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 17:37, 103 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.
(, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 12:11, 3 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?
(, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 11:28, 8 replies)
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.
(, 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.......
(, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 8:33, 2 replies)
When I was a lad
There was a field in the edge of town, and one autumn it was filled with haybales - the rectangular rather than round kind. They were arranged in three long rows next to each other, and being about ten years old me and two buddies, Colin and Barry, thought this an excellent opportunity to build a large fort. (As you do). All we did was pile some bales between the rows so it was like an H with three legs - an exellent defence system in case of Nazi or Russia invasion, I'm sure you'll agree.

The farmer didn't. Driving past and spotting us, he swerved into the field and suddenly screeched up next to us. We bolted and fled, but the farmer caught my tubby friend Colin and beat seven shades of shit out of him, as we plainly saw looking back as we ran. Returning to the field when we judged it safe (about 20 mins later), Colin was slowly restoring the haybales as he'd been ordered to after the beating.

Colin's parents didn't take too kindly to what happened, the police were called and the case went to court. Giving evidence were myself, Barry, Colin and a woman who lived in a house looking onto the field who hadseen what happened as she washed the dishes. I wasn't even called, as the judge deemed there to be sufficient evidence.

You won't be surprised to learn that the farmer (a former MP) got off on "Not proven" (damn Scots Law). I'm told he and the judge were drinking buddies.
(, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 1:59, 2 replies)
nuff said
(, Sat 4 Aug 2012, 1:25, 6 replies)
i only went in the hospital for some advice about removing nose hair and I ended up with a free rectal exam , only afterwards did i realise both his hands where on my shoulders the entire time.........
(, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 23:30, Reply)
I worked a 60 hour week during school holidays when 16, at a steel processing factory co-owned by my dad.
In 1987 and before minimum wage I was offered £2/hour, which seemed absolutely fine to me after paper round wages. Work Slog Work Slog, H+S would have had kittens at the thought of an untrained 16-year old driving fork lifts with no licence, or operating cranes hauling 10-ton coils of steel 20 feet up in the air out of stacks of others, (no training), or operating compressed air banding machines that pinched the coils tight with metal strip and crimped a staple to stop it unwinding (good bye fingers if you weren't clever). At one point I almost put a fork lift on its side because of the high-ish speed gas engine and very highly geared rear-wheel steer.

But at the end of the first week, very long days of dangerous dirty work, my pay packet came. JOY! MONEY! I AM RICH! £120! WOW-wait, what? This isn't £120, this is (counts) more like about £65! I've been ripped off! Conned! By my dad's own company!

Reads pay slip to see if there's any clue, any mistake, any evidence of what went wrong.

A little later on I picked up the phone on the shop floor and dialled my dad's extension.

'Dad....what does "Emergency tax code" mean?'.

Not dad's fault at all, of course. I mean THE MAN, i.e. Nigel Lawson, Chancellor of the Exchequer

I don't think I ever got that dosh back. So I'm going to pay the next plumber I engage with cash in hand to even the playing field.

EDIT I'd like to know at which point the Exchequer thought my earnings constituted and Emergency in the tax system. Obviously I'm Barclays or some such, having a job on the side.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 23:26, 6 replies)
3 Mobile
Yes, I know *now* but ffs - don't go there peeps..
(, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 23:11, 11 replies)
dormitory with bunkbeds, sleeps six. Amsterdam '98.
fitted seven. two snugly.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 22:18, 1 reply)
Not so much screwed over, as crushed
The glories of military research. One time, we were moving heavy boxes containing coral rocks obtained by coring below craters left behind by hydrogen bombs on South Pacific atolls (never learned if the rocks were radioactive, or not), when we were informed that a Two-Star General wanted to inspect our work. I began getting excited. I had never met a Two-Star General before.

I extended my hand to shake hands with the steely-looking Two-Star General. He took my hand, and crushed it, in the manner of heavy machinery. He looked into my eyes, and I could see he was enjoying my pain.

I bought hand exercisers, worked out, and dreamed of hand revenge, but all the experience did was ruin me henceforth for handling sensitive things, like breasties, and the like.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 21:03, Reply)
i once voted
for a qotw suggestion i thought was good

then some ginger bloke just chose his own idea instead of the ones people voted for
(, Fri 3 Aug 2012, 17:29, 9 replies)

This question is now closed.

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