Stupid Colleagues
Godwin's Lawyer tells us: "I once worked with a lad who believed 'Frankenstein' was based on a true story, and that the book was written by Shirley Bassey." Tell us about your workplace dopes.
( , Thu 3 Mar 2011, 15:34)
Godwin's Lawyer tells us: "I once worked with a lad who believed 'Frankenstein' was based on a true story, and that the book was written by Shirley Bassey." Tell us about your workplace dopes.
( , Thu 3 Mar 2011, 15:34)
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That Office Moron? I am He.
From the dark dingy depths of IT support, a young wax chewer had moved into a new, shiny department. A high profile area, in a high profile bank. Surrounded by intimidating keen-eyed people, corporate and thrusting. People who never left the office, even when they hand gone home. Investment bankers were wont to stalk through the gleaming open plan office, doubtless looking for their missing 'W'.
It would be easy to fade into the background in such an arena, and I'm a chronic fader. I decided I needed a shtick, just like all those Succeed in Business books suggest - a banner to proclaim that I was not just a suit - dedicated, but still possessing humour.
A prior colleague had had two little wooden manikins that he would put into different karate poses each week - even people who didn't know his name would call him The Karate Guy. I would shamelessly copy this idea - my mother had bought me a stress ball thingy as a little gift - a googly-eyed rubber ball that could be moulded into different face shapes. I would make this my 'thing'. I'd have a different face each week.
I also didn't read the packet my stress ball came in.
A few weeks, I was reading some dull report, and idly stretching my stress ball out wide, to give it two huge cheeks. And it broke. Or maybe I should say 'erupted'. It was not filled with gel; it was filled with flour. FLOUR.
I sat rigid in shock as a mushroom cloud of flour enveloped me at my desk, the broken rubber flinging some non- aerial clods of flour as dusty doodlebugs, spinning spectacularly across the office.
A packed, open plan office.
I had to stand there, red-faced, and be hoovered clean by the sniggering Puerto-Rican cleaners. I emitted clouds of dust whenever I sat down. My training partner still wets himself whenever he hears the word 'flour'.
I am known as 'the flour guy'.
Yes, of course there were photos. Damn camera phones. No, you can fuck right off.
To compound it all, when I had escaped the scene of my humiliation, I dumped my clothes on the bathroom floor and jumped straight in the shower. You know what you get when you mix flour and water? Oh, you do? Well, thats probably why your clothes weren't glued to the floor with cheap gooey paste, you smart-alec.
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 16:05, 17 replies)
From the dark dingy depths of IT support, a young wax chewer had moved into a new, shiny department. A high profile area, in a high profile bank. Surrounded by intimidating keen-eyed people, corporate and thrusting. People who never left the office, even when they hand gone home. Investment bankers were wont to stalk through the gleaming open plan office, doubtless looking for their missing 'W'.
It would be easy to fade into the background in such an arena, and I'm a chronic fader. I decided I needed a shtick, just like all those Succeed in Business books suggest - a banner to proclaim that I was not just a suit - dedicated, but still possessing humour.
A prior colleague had had two little wooden manikins that he would put into different karate poses each week - even people who didn't know his name would call him The Karate Guy. I would shamelessly copy this idea - my mother had bought me a stress ball thingy as a little gift - a googly-eyed rubber ball that could be moulded into different face shapes. I would make this my 'thing'. I'd have a different face each week.
I also didn't read the packet my stress ball came in.
A few weeks, I was reading some dull report, and idly stretching my stress ball out wide, to give it two huge cheeks. And it broke. Or maybe I should say 'erupted'. It was not filled with gel; it was filled with flour. FLOUR.
I sat rigid in shock as a mushroom cloud of flour enveloped me at my desk, the broken rubber flinging some non- aerial clods of flour as dusty doodlebugs, spinning spectacularly across the office.
A packed, open plan office.
I had to stand there, red-faced, and be hoovered clean by the sniggering Puerto-Rican cleaners. I emitted clouds of dust whenever I sat down. My training partner still wets himself whenever he hears the word 'flour'.
I am known as 'the flour guy'.
Yes, of course there were photos. Damn camera phones. No, you can fuck right off.
To compound it all, when I had escaped the scene of my humiliation, I dumped my clothes on the bathroom floor and jumped straight in the shower. You know what you get when you mix flour and water? Oh, you do? Well, thats probably why your clothes weren't glued to the floor with cheap gooey paste, you smart-alec.
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 16:05, 17 replies)
I like this, especially this line! *click*
"stalk through the gleaming open plan office, doubtless looking for their missing 'W'."
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 16:29, closed)
"stalk through the gleaming open plan office, doubtless looking for their missing 'W'."
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 16:29, closed)
Oh, go on then...
The bastard holding the camera was laughing too hard to hold it steady.
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 17:37, closed)
The bastard holding the camera was laughing too hard to hold it steady.
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 17:37, closed)
Fucking brilliant!
Reminds me of an old guy who used to clean the office in the evenings who I would see whenever I stayed late. He had an old battered vacuum cleaner that he used, and like most of his stuff it required constant fiddling to keep it going. One night I came around a corner just as the bag on the vacuum cleaner came loose, resulting in a huge cloud from which came much cursing and coughing.
After that he was known as Dusty.
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 18:24, closed)
Reminds me of an old guy who used to clean the office in the evenings who I would see whenever I stayed late. He had an old battered vacuum cleaner that he used, and like most of his stuff it required constant fiddling to keep it going. One night I came around a corner just as the bag on the vacuum cleaner came loose, resulting in a huge cloud from which came much cursing and coughing.
After that he was known as Dusty.
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 18:24, closed)
Damn you
Made me snort AND guffaw when I was supposed to be reading B3ta surreptitiously in the office. *click*
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 16:52, closed)
Made me snort AND guffaw when I was supposed to be reading B3ta surreptitiously in the office. *click*
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 16:52, closed)
For some reason it reminded me of this...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJP3YJrRd0s
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 22:56, closed)
www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJP3YJrRd0s
( , Mon 7 Mar 2011, 22:56, closed)
*click*
And hurredly turns his officelol into a coughing fit (must be the flour)
( , Tue 8 Mar 2011, 11:47, closed)
And hurredly turns his officelol into a coughing fit (must be the flour)
( , Tue 8 Mar 2011, 11:47, closed)
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