Environmental Righteousness
A previous post reminds me...I was accosted after work one afternoon, on the train station platform, by a rather aggressive young bloke reeking of patchouli oil, wearing velvet pantaloons, sporting long matted dreadlocks with a “wigga” tea cosy hat...stands right in front of me; ”Mate, do you care about the environment, Do ya?”

Oh hello, he’s after money to finance the “Forestry Action Group” or some such organisation. If he was collecting for “Lady Garden Society” he might have piqued my interest, but no, sorry mate, just not into the “right on” anti-logging militant protest scene.

I don’t enjoy seeing whales getting killed, or native forests being cut down any more than the next person, but I really don’t appreciate the assumption that just because I don’t source my clothes from rubbish bins, smoke clove cigarettes and lie down in front of bulldozers that I somehow don’t qualify as an environmentally aware person. I mean, I have a dual flush toilet at home!

I’ve seen plenty of his sort at the various “workshops” that my father used to organise, Dad being a bit of an alternative guru in his own right. They talk a lot, thrive on confrontation and espouse how “everyone” should live, according to their lifestyle. Strangely, they are usually quite well educated, but opt for a semi-feral welfare existence to prove some obscure point. And they shit me to tears.

Despite my polite indifference, he pressed on; “Mate, if you really cared for the environment, you should sign up for 50 bucks a month and make a difference”.

Make a difference. This statement really irritates me. He had obviously been briefed to tap into people’s guilt and hook them in, but really, just get fucked.

Looking directly into his pin hole pupils, I smiled nicely at him, and spoke rather quietly and softly; “Well, firstly, I’m not your mate, Secondly, financing your existence will not legitimise my environmental awareness, and finally, I work for my money. I’ve earned it. You do not deserve any of it”


“Oh......ok. Um...gotta smoke you can gimme then?”



“No. Please fuck off”.
( Ken Oath, Tue 29 Jan 2013, 12:50, 15 replies)

As sometimes happens
a few guys were sitting at the bar a little ways away from me, talking about the imminent layoffs at their company due to technology advances. I could definitely sympathize as I know many people who've lost jobs because technology had rendered them obsolete.

One in particular took a deep gulp of his pint. "When we walk out the door they're going to lose over sixty years' experience instantly! Who else can braid a Type 3A in less than twenty minutes? When they can't keep up with the demand for buggy whips they'll be begging us to come back!" And he thumped his glass on the bar for emphasis, to the approval of his fellow braiders.

I raised my whisky in silent solidarity.
( Wanderer, Tue 29 Jan 2013, 12:04, 3 replies)

ssh
Working in a shop back in my student days, on sundays we opened at 11am.

On Rememberance Sunday, we would always open the shutters, observe the two minutes silence, then open the doors to the braying public.
Every year the silence would be interupted by at least one person banging loudly on the door and pointing to their watch.
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Tue 29 Jan 2013, 10:12, 12 replies)

You've got a long way to go to beat this...
b3ta.com/questions/dad/post986596
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 29 Jan 2013, 10:11, 11 replies)

Richard Dawkins.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 29 Jan 2013, 8:46, 35 replies)

I'm feeling some inflated self-importance now.
Remember how I went off in a huff a few months ago, saying that the QotW will probably die if the trolls keep going?
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 29 Jan 2013, 5:28, 19 replies)

Acorn Orange
I'm a member of the National Trust - they're the ones with the brown roadsigns that have an Acorn, not a Potato Waffle. My girlfriend and her family are quite interested in that sort of thing, and as such I've been to many stately homes and grand old houses over the past couple of years. I enjoy them a lot more than I thought I would (Dunster Castle near Minehead is my favourite, as they let you hold shotguns and play snooker), but all the dining rooms, sculleries, landscaped gardens, and bedrooms where royalty once* slept all merge into one after a while. As such, I cannot remember exactly where this story took place.

We were at a National Trust property somewhere in England, and we were at the outer part of the grounds (where they tend to put the cafe and toilets). It was late-ish in the day, and we wanted to see if the last tour of the house had left, so I went up to ask the NT volunteer by the cafe (pretty stereotypical middle-class female retiree). As I walked up behind her she was talking to another group who I heard ask the same question, so I just started listening to the volunteer as she found out the information. She raised her walkie-talkie and barked:
"ACORN BLUE, THIS IS ACORN ORANGE, DO YOU READ? OVER!"
Silence, then a similarly well spoken man fizzed back over the radio:
"ACORN ORANGE, THIS IS ACORN BLUE, LAST TOUR LEFT AT 1400, OVER!"
"UNDERSTOOD ACORN BLUE, OVER AND OUT!"
It was fortunate that I'd not been in direct conversation with Acorn Orange at this time, as my reaction to these clearly heavily drilled yet completely unnecessary callsigns would probably have resulted in a court martial and a stint in a lovingly restored and historically accurate prison.

We went AWOL from the NT platoon and walked around the house on our own in the end. It had beds and tables and paintings and stuff.

*And I actually mean once. I've walked around an exhibition inside a room that had Mary Queen of Scots in it for approximately 15 hours.
(Dowbocop, Tue 29 Jan 2013, 0:46, 10 replies)

Vegans and militant vegetarians.
We don't want to know, we don't want to hear. You don't know better, you don't have secret knowledge, you won't live longer...in fact the only thing you'll win at is at being smug without justification.

Just fuck the fuck off with your witless fucking agenda you fucking fucks, for fuck's sake.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Tue 29 Jan 2013, 0:38, 39 replies)

Charity spruikers at the shops.
You know, Oxfam and the like - all trying to jump you in order to elicit a donation from you as you attempt go about you daily business.

My standard response - "I chose which charities I donate to and I flatly refuse to give money to charities that approach me for money. Particularly when they attempt to stop me going about my business." I usually will also point out that I do understand that as charity collectors they are usually itinerant works who are paid on commission but that won't change my mind.

So here a young lady with an English accent has stepped right out in front of me as I'm on the way to the supermarket asking me to donate to [insert charity name here]. I have my reusable bags with me and clearly have not come to the shops in order to make a charitable donation. I give her my schtick, rather than lower my head, mumble an apology and rush past as most of the other people do.
She looks at me incredulously. "Don't you think that's really selfish and socially irresponsible?"

I explain that if I give money then I reserve the right to chose which charity I give it to. I also point out that I often volunteer as I personally see this as far better way to "donate", my reasoning being that I can perform a service which can usually give far more benefit than a cash donation.

She cannot believe that I am saying such things and says so. She also feels that I am somehow suggesting that the charity that she is working for is not worthwhile and that any cash donated is not being used in the manner it was intended.
I assure her that as I don't know the inner workings of [charity] I would not know if it was on the level or not. I also again point out that as the "giver" it is my right to chose when, where, how and with what I donate to a charity of my choosing.
She ends our interaction by all but calling me a self-centered prick and saying that my attitude is morally reprehensible.
I bid her a good day and go about my business.

FTR - some excellent places to dump your money or spend some time volunteering.

The Cat Haven
Father Brian's Christmas Appeal.
Swan Animal Haven

EDIT: I have a feeling this is a pea. It's a pity no-one took BD up on his charitable offer to fix search, otherwise I would be able to verify this.

tl;dr? I donate money to charities, just not those that ask me for it.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Tue 29 Jan 2013, 0:28, 20 replies)

Lloyds-fucking-TSB credit card department
My credit card's gone 30p over my credit limit this month, despite me paying twice the minimum payment... not quite sure how that works, but anyway. The collections department phoned me to tell me that my card was over the limit and I'd be charged £24 as a result.
Obviously I was quite unhappy at this and made my displeasure known. I was polite, but told her quite firmly that I thought that was taking the piss.

"How do you manage your finances?" she asked me. When I told her that I used Lloyds-TSB's online banking, she replied "Well it's your responsibility to keep track of your money".

I phoned the personal banker who's attached to my account afterwards, to complain. When I got to the bit about it being my responsibility to keep track of my money she said "Really? That's what she said?! That's a bit rude!"

I'm glad it wasn't just me who thought that.

tl;dr - I'm an overinflated prick who thinks that bank's rules shouldn't apply to me
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 22:54, 6 replies)

I once bought a blow up shed. I'd taken a bird in there for some kinky shed sex but unfortunately a tin of paint fell off one of the shelves, which I realised too late did not offer the rigid support of a wooden shelf, and landed heavily on my erect penis
Needless to say that after this trauma I was unable to continue as I was suffering from a terrible case of inflated shelf impotence.
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 22:22, 6 replies)

Crowd Marshal Montgomery
I used to live next door to a guy called Mark who did some work for a company called Events Management. They do crowd marshalling, door work etc for various large events (the clue's in the name, see?). One of the events they do this for is the Formula 1 Grand Prix at Silverstone.

I did it a couple of times, it was quite good fun. Keep an eye on the fence, make sure there's no-one climbing over, maybe meet some celebs, then watch the race when it starts. Mark though turned into a different person as soon as he put his uniform on. He bought a shirt with epaulettes specifically so that he could hang his radio on one and his mobile phone on the other; he started talking to people like he was some sort of earl - seriously, even his voice changed.

Anyway, one day he and I were working on the entrance to the paddock - many many celebs were spotted that day, although most of my time was taken up with telling people that they couldn't get through unless they had the right pass. While I was talking to Mark, Murray Walker walked through behind him. Murray Fucking Walker! I ran over to him, put my hand on his shoulder, and stopped him. He turned round, looking ever so startled, whereupon I told him I was a huge fan and asked if I could shake his hand. Still looking startled, he held his hand out; I shook it and let him go on his way.

"Oooh, not supposed to do that" said Mark "He could get you sacked for that!" he continued. I shrugged and continued with my day.

Much (much) later, Murray Walker is coming back through, to go home. I just opened my mouth to speak when Mark piped up "Good evening sir, hope you've had a good day?"
Murray responded that he had indeed, and made his way into the distance.

"I was going to apologise to him" I told Mark, slightly annoyed.

"I know you were" he replied, giggling. "But I didn't want to let you!"

There wasn't a lot of conversation in the car on the way home.

tl;dr - I worked with a twat for a few days
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 22:17, Reply)

Revenue Officers
Back in my commuting days, on the train. Like a conductor, but more bastardy. One Friday night, on a packed train, the conductor came through with a Revenue Officer in tow. This guy was like every traffic warden in the world, rolled up into one person. He treated everyone like shit, even the ones who actually *had* tickets.

One girl hadn't got a ticket, and explained that the queue for the ticket office was so long she was worried that she'd miss the train, but was told she could buy one on the train. He proceeded to charge her some ridiculous sum for the ticket. She nearly fainted in shock, whereupon he rejoiced in telling her that the special offer £17 fare was only available if you bought in advance. After explaining again that she would have missed the train if she'd done that, he said "Well there's another one in an hour, you could have caught that!". Her explanation of "But my mum & dad are expecting me to be on this train" wasn't even acknowledged.

Another guy had reserved his ticket but there was no-one in the office when he went to get them. The Revenue Officer flat out refused to phone the office and insisted that, despite having a receipt and reference number, the guy would have to buy more tickets and write in to claim a refund. He even said "Oh I could phone them, but I'm not going to!". He was slightly undermined on this one though by the guard, who didn't hear this conversation, and phoned the office to confirm the reservation details.

Seriously, I'm not doing justice to what a thoroughly unpleasant man he was. I'm pretty easy-going, I try and see the good in most people, but he really did have no redeeming features at all...

tl;dr - don't go on trains, they're shite
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 22:01, 12 replies)

*something about Star Wars here*

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 19:39, 9 replies)

My great-grandfather
was in the Home Guard based at Walmington-on-Sea, and their Commanding Officer etc etc.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 19:38, 2 replies)

Drs Receptionists!
I've lost count of the number of times I've had to call the doctors for an appointment and been greeted with one of these lovely ladies(!)

They all seem to think that we're all worthless peons who are not worthy of bothering the Gods that they work for.

Drs receptionist: May I ask what's wrong?
Me: My head has fallen off!
Drs receptionist: Well, I don't think that's worth bothering the doctor with, take some paracetamol and call us in a week if you don't feel any better

(Not an actual conversation, but used to illustrate the level of frustration they cause!)
(quincinatorX, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 19:31, 21 replies)

Anyone who refers to themselves a 'Professional'.
I find as a rule of thumb the more someone goes on about how professional they are, the less competent their actions prove them to be.
(Woodlouse say it with flowers. Send her a Triffid, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 18:39, 6 replies)

That Twat Simon Cowell
Off of the singing compo
( Locus213 Slightly to the left of Bakunin, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 16:43, Reply)

Hey DJ!
I took my 7 year old to a birthday party this weekend the dad of the birthday boy was providing music for the little uns to throw some shapes to.

did he put on a CD? nope he was mixing tunes like he was at an Goa beach party....the twat
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 16:13, 9 replies)

What do I need to say to make you STFU?
Last week my mother died. So I'm with my dad, trying to help him do all the things that need to be done. The phone rings, as it had been all morning, but this time it sounds like some kind of telesales. My father politely ends the call.

The phone immediately rings again. It's the same guy; again, my father attempts to disengage and ends the call. I tell him that you don't have to be so polite with these people.

Yet again the phone rings - this time I answer it. The drone at the other end starts with his script; I cut him off and tell him that we are not interested, and hang up.

You guessed it, he calls back. This goes on for several more calls, with me becoming less polite each time. I don't see what business it is of his, but eventually I tell him that we are dealing with a bereavement, so do not call back again.

Amazingly, that's not enough. We had to leave the phone to ring out before he got the message.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 12:43, 27 replies)

P & C.
The post below about self important police made me think...there’s another forum for releasing the inner self important prick, but it requires having kids (or being a carer of kids).

When the first of my kids started attending primary school, I got rather excited about entering the realm of parental responsibility and become involved with the P & C (Parents and Citizens) of my local school.

Basically, a bunch of parents meet regularly to organise fundraising and activites, decide how to spend funds, and chase up any obscure grants that the Government secretly issue from time to time.

I imagined a bunch of like-minded folk, all sitting around a table, having a few drinks, talking about what needs to be done, allocating tasks and well, just fucking doing it. Just like everyday work, really.

After the first couple of meetings, I soon surmised that there always seemed to be the following characters:

- One very loud "organiser" who is an anal retentive stickler for meeting protocols, but couldn't organise the proverbial in a brothel. Invariably has forgotten important paperwork. “So busy, so busy, so many things to organise, barely time to scratch myself, to many things to remember”. Always sucking on a take-away cappucino. Always having to “rush off” early. Always smells vaguely of sweat.

- One passive aggressive mega-miffed "vice president" who covets the main role, but couldn't quite get the votes, so white ants any rational debate. But, with exquisite timing, broods in silence until the meeting is almost over, then theatrically announces “err....that’s a lovely idea in principle, but the Sensible thing to do would be blah blah blah, but, if you want to be the responsible party for approving a debacle, go right ahead Mrs President, just don’t come running to me later....”.

- One older “too cool for school” character who loudly sighs and snorts derisively at any suggestions, yet contributes nothing, except a scathing assessment on the quality of education “these days”, oh, and the quality of biscuits on offer at the meeting.

- One Earth Mother who makes the most absurd unrealistic suggestions and dissolves in a flood of tears when everyone rejects her ideas, as they are obviously inspired by a soft drug habit (wishing well in the playground? Yeah, of course. Kids will learn to deal with life by flinging pocket money into a fountain. Heal Your Chakra stall at the fete? Fuck yeah! So many broken Chakra’s around these days, it’s a wonder we have any earth spirit left at all! )

- One quasi-lawyer know-all who hoses down any remotely different ideas, citing “Duty of Care”. Well, let’s consider the risks, take appropriate measures, and do it safely. No, no, nothing is “safe” nowadays, we have a “Duty of Care”, you see. Well, I’m not fucking proposing cage fighting for the under 6’s, it’s just apple dunking ffs.

Some people relish the chance to release their frustrated business mogul ambitions on the smallest of possible stages.

Highly entertaining, and time after time the usual background supporting cast to these personalities organise all the stuff and make it all happen.
( Ken Oath, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 12:41, 10 replies)

BACK OFF, man - I'm a scientist.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 9:36, 14 replies)

Made the newsletter once
That means I'm special.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 8:27, 33 replies)

And then all Hell was unclamped..
Another parking one, not mine.

A mate of mine, Ando is a tradie, he's a bit of an all rounder really - landscaping, brick paving, building etc. He can also come across as a bit rough sometimes, but he is also one of the most laterally thinking people I know. This story was related to me by another mutual friend Carlos. He had been working with Ando when this incident happened.

Carlos and Ando pull up out the front of a bottle-o at the end of a busy day at work in a fairly swanky suburb. Ando wanted to grab a couple of cans for the drive home because he loved a beer before, during & after work. Both of them spied the clamper and his ute pulled up in the carpark they had just pulled into. The same carpark with all the warning signs that if you were parked more than 15 min. your car would be clamped.
Ando hops out and heads into the shop to grab a 6-pack. Carlos calls his missus, gets out of the ute and spends a couple of minutes arguing with his missus about what they're having for tea.
Carlos notices the clamper standing near the ute and wanders back to find the nice fellow has placed a clamp on their front passenger side wheel. He begins to remonstrate with the clamper.
The clamper tells him they've been parked more than 15 min., if they want the clamp removed they need to pay the AU$200 fine - they can do so by calling the phone no. on the signs with their credit card details & then the clamp will be removed.

Total time Ando was in the bottle shop = 5 min. max.
Ando grabs a 6' pry bar, a rated extension lead and the hand-held bricksaw out of the back of their ute. He hands the pry bar to Carlos and then heads to the back dock of the bottle-o and asks them if he can plug in the extension cable. Then he plugs in the bricksaw (it must have been an old blade as Ando is a tight bastard and wouldn't waste a new diamond tipped bricksaw blade on something like that).

Ando then apparently spent about 3 minutes cutting the clamp whilst Carlos took turns levering it off with the pry-bar. He then chucked the mangled clamp on the back of the clamper's ute - much to the delight of many of the people now watching, retrieved his gear and him & Carlos hopped in the ute and drove home.

Of course he got caught up with by "The Law". He went to court - he'd kept his till receipt for the beer and the lawyer they had could show when Carlos was on the phone - hence showing that they had not been there more than 15 min. so Ando didn't have to fork out AU$4000 to the clamping co. for a new clamp & had all of his court costs paid by them.

tl;dr? There are some smart, vindictive tradies out there.
Apologies for length? I reckon the extension cord must have been at least 18m.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 28 Jan 2013, 5:55, 10 replies)

Female police officers of rank.
I have the misfortune of working for the police (for now, until the twunts make me redundant) and can honestly say that I have never met such a bunch of stuck up fisters in any other walk of life.
Don't get me wrong, there are some genuinely lovely people in the organisation whom I would trust my life with. However, there are a disproportionate number of egocentric sociopaths who, sadly, seem to be the ones that flourish in the back-stabbing culture of the ranking system.

Without a doubt, the worst ones are the ambitious women. I hate to betray my sex, but there is something deeply wrong with women of rank (Inspectors and above). Every single one that I have met in the last decade has been an absolute bitch from hell. Smiling assassins with a bizarre need to out-butch their male counterparts and get promoted at all costs. Women who take pride in saying things like 'I'm not here to make friends' and happily kick the weakest dog repeatedly to get what they want. The level of arrogance is impalpable in these career obsessed she-daemons. Seriously, bitches be crazy.

Each weekend, I pray for a lottery win so that I can buy a segway and ride around the station telling all the horrible shrews exactly what I think of them. I know I come across as a tad bitter, but some of these people have on occasion made my life unbearable in their quest to gain more pips and crowns. Although I don’t want to be made redundant, I cant say I’d miss much more than the income if I go.
(The Curse of Millhaven. Pretty little mouth underneath all the foaming, Mon 28 Jan 2013, 0:07, 15 replies)

Back in the 1990s I was out of work for a while due to being geographically challenged, e.g. living in Cornwall.
The employment service had started this new scheme called Job Club, where you would turn up once a week for a morning and get access to an agent who would coach you on your CV, help you go through job ads, phone people on your behalf to make interview appointments etc.

In the corner of the room was a word processor so that you could type up your CV nicely and print off 50 copies, which was manned by the kind of pre-internet shut in stereotype of a mummies' boy/living with parents and almost 40/no social skills/no friends/remarkable lack of self awareness/pompous defensive wanker. With a bad haircut and shit knitted jumper to boot. You get the picture. Anyway, all session, every week, no one else got a go on the word processor because this charmless tosspot was hogging it.

The machine in question was a vastly powerful 286 PC with amber monochrome 80 column text screen, but it could fulfil its role, if you needed to write your CV.

I needed to write my CV.

So I approached this sack of charmless shit with my request;- may I have 10 minutes on the machine please?

The look he gave me, full of disgust and contempt and sneering pity said it all, but to add insult he said (comedy sing-song nasal wail) 'You won't know how to use this. No one else understands it. If you leave me your written version then maybe I can find time to do it for you but I'm far too busy to do it now'.

Let's get this straight- he was under the impression that he was somehow only required to be there to help out other poor unemployed, while he was in exactly the same boat as the rest of us but actually unable to admit it to himself- so his power trip was hogging the word processor.

Later on my brother in law (headmaster that he was/is)gifted me an obsolete but perfectly workable BBC Master with a Wordwise ROM and a daisywheel printer, so I didn't have to bother the pustulent shitbag at Job Club again.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Sun 27 Jan 2013, 18:06, 12 replies)

I work with a guy and when he has no work he sticks his nose into every other fuckers business.
we use gold wire bonding machines for electronic bits and bobs for planes. So one day he says to me (by the way he sounds like Kenneth Williams) "oh this bonder is all shaky" so I tell him "well we will have to strip it down and re-build up all nice and tight which is over half a days work" to which he replied "OH NO YOU DON'T, I'll SHOW YOU!" bearing in mind I went on a course on how the fix the things. I took great pleasure in watching the condescending twat sweat when he made the £20,000 machine worse than it was, nobody likes to use that machine now but he insist that its better, I just leave him to it can't be arsed with him.
( CysticSpazzGland has just puwked on your mum, Sun 27 Jan 2013, 17:40, 1 reply)

One for the professionals..
PAs - the jumped-up secretaries of Directors of a company. Took several years of efforts to get one of them put in her place (redundancy) who thought she had a right to talk down to people who'd actually had to get a qualification and years of experience to hold their positions....
(Carpe Cyprinidae, Sun 27 Jan 2013, 17:24, 16 replies)

don't know if anyone has said this yet
but if there's one group of people who truly believe the world revolves around them and that the entire universe owes them a living, it's teenagers. not all of them, i know there are some exceptions. on the whole, though, they're incredibly arrogant, pushy and selfish.
we should know this, we've all been teenagers ourselves :(
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sun 27 Jan 2013, 14:48, 13 replies)