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This is a question And that's the thanks I got

On getting screwed over by people for whom you were doing a favour:

I spent several weeks helping my best friend - a complete layabout - with his A-Level computer science project so he wouldn't fail his course. In the end, he did so little work I actually ended up doing the whole thing for him in a half-term week I should really have spent revising for my own exams.

I got back to college to find that while I was hunched over a red-hot BBC Micro, he had spent the week screwing my girlfriend.

Then he didn't bother sitting the exam because "I'm going to fail anyway".

And that's the thanks I got. How have you been screwed over whilst doing someone a favour?

(, Thu 24 May 2007, 10:20)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Imagine my surprise
What's the thanks I get for getting all my work done early?

More work.

(, Fri 25 May 2007, 3:50, Reply)
In my long term profession
I have found that corpses never say thanks.

My profession shall remain undisclosed for mysterious, ineffibly spooky and obvious reasons.
(, Fri 25 May 2007, 2:35, Reply)
Not me, but then again if I talk about me I'll just get angry again...
One of my best mates is a former Born Again Christian (capital letters very intentional, he used to hand out pamphlets, man the BBQ at schools telling them to have a snag and come to Jesus etc etc).
Anyway, in the course of his love for God, he meets a fellow Christian, a lovely girl and they fall in love.
As these things often do, it progressed to a physical relationship and after much agonosing over what was right etc, they had sex.
It was, for both of them, the first time, and it weighed heavily on their hearts so they thought they'd do the right thing and confess to their pastor, ask for God's forgiveness and advice on what they should do next.
The bastard nodded sagely, said he'd think about it... and that weekend told their entire congregation including their parents what had happened, how they were evil and how everyone should get on their cases immediately.
Funnily enough he's not much of a church goer these days.
(, Fri 25 May 2007, 2:12, Reply)
Don't even start me...
I work in the media, where getting fucked over by your seniors is such an entrenched part of the job it's just not even worth getting into.
Research, interview, write the whole expose that brings down a corrupt government minister and then watch some other person get an award for "their" work? Been there.
Sit in a stake out for three days to get a pic which makes front pages around the country only to have someone else tack their byline on it after contributing three paragraphs? Done that.
Best part is not how many times it's been done or the worst instance, but how you start getting smarter.
Like the time a big shot investigative reporter took all my work and ran it as his without checking a single fact. Especially the one which I totally invented and which landed him in a massive defamation case which he could never explain away because that would have been an admission of plagiarism.
Or watching the work of a past culprit until eventually, buried in the middle of a piece, you discover someone else's unattributed work and having him outed on Media Watch and then fired. Fuck me I'mm getting so angry just typing this people are starting to look to see why I'm slamming the keyboard. I need a cup of tea.
(, Fri 25 May 2007, 2:05, Reply)
Working for an extremely low wage in my field, I get past the 3-month intro to be told I'm the first person in a long time to make it that far... I work my arse off every day, gradually taking on more and more work, answering the phone more, while everyone else goes out for lunch and leaves me manning the place...

Few months later and I am responsible for the checking of 30 companies servers every month, amongst answering the phone and being expected to chip in on 1/3rd of the other Techy work (there were 3 of us)... I go away for a weeks holiday and come back to find NONE of the server checks have been done, yet I'm still expected to chip in 1/3rd of the other work and answer the phones all the time...

Best bit about it? A week after returning, while things are starting to settle down again, I'm sacked. Sacked for not noticing that the backup had been failing for 2 weeks... starting from after I had gone away. I hadn't even been told it was my responsibility to check the backup until that point!

That's what you get for a small-time company trying to be the IT department for 30 much larger companies. I now work 3 doors down, make faaar more money and have a much less stressful and more interesting life.

So no thanks for the lack of appreciation, but by the time I got home the day I got sacked I was happier than ever for being forced to realise how shit they were.
(, Fri 25 May 2007, 1:45, Reply)
As the original good samaritan I love a lost cause.

On our way home from a movie one night, my ex-wife and I met a little ole lady stumbling from a city bus, shopping trolley in tow... I gallantly dashed forward to help the old dear to the pavement. She grabbed my hand gratefully and looked pleadingly up at me and said... "Can you help me home, I can't walk!"

T'was true, she couldn't walk. This was partly due to the fact that her beltless trousers were residing somewhere around her knees and she was completely rat arsed.

"I'll tell you what," says I. "hang on here and I'll go and fetch my car and give you a lift."

"OK" says she. I pop into a kiosk and ask them to keep an eye on the old woman ouside while I get the car. On hearing this she pipes up...."I'm not a woman, I'm a man. I'm the king of Copenhagen!"

I apologise and set of for home and the wheels. Five minutes later and he's still waiting for the ride, bollocks. Ah well. As I wrestle his shopping trolley into the boot it clinks in an ominous fashion and several unidentifed liquids spill out into the trunk.

I help "The King" into the car and notice an interesting odour. Kind of a musty, yoghurty smell, unpleasant yet strangely intruiging... I also spy something that resembles well padded underwear protruding from the waistline of his strides. I should have twigged...

After 15 minutes of scouring the streets of Copenhagen for a landmark the King could recognise, we finally find his flat. I carry his trolley up four flights of stairs and descend to help him out of the car.

We somehow negotiate the stairs and I leave him fumbling for his keys... Once back in the car, I notice that the smell has not disappeared with its initiator. I turn on the cabin light to be met with the sight of day old, marinated piss seeping gently into the front passenger seat.

(, Fri 25 May 2007, 1:02, Reply)
A Friend of mine is dating a lovely girl.

This lovely girl has a friend, which is deemed in this post, " Chavalamp"

Why? She's a Chav. fitting in lava lamp was just an amusing tidbit.

So we all hang out a few times and it's alright. Chavalamp is fucking beautiful, so when I hear she had an interest I thought "Fair enough, I could use another shag" She's a bit ditsy but thats ok if all you're going to do is tolerate her for a while then fuck the living senses out of her...which I did end up doing by the way...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

So we all hang out one night, my friend and his girl have to leave, leaving me with Chavalamp all alone with me.....the fangs extend....and I give her the best night of her life thus far...so she says anyhow...as I left her blissfully drained.

I got to work in the morning thinking to myself "That was the best shag i've had....dirty mouth...very loud....fucks like a porn star.....just what I needed, and even though shes a bit annoying, shes nice enough, and I wouldn't mind fucking a few more miles out of her."

The day goes by, and I get home..she been bragging to me about my room mate...yipee....I find out she burned a CD on my comp...ok...no worries..they arent expensive.

A week passes when I come home from work and my friend wants to have a chat with me. Aparrently the night of the shag to end all shags..Chavalamp had drank an entire bottle of my friends booze. We were drinking that night...and she asked if she could have a bit so I said yes...but a bit doesn't mean the whole bottle!!

Well...we talk to her online, and she says she'll replace it...no worries.

A few days later and shes horny....she starts talking to my friend..who she wants to have a go with now. I don't mind, I'm not exclusive, but my friend does, as he has the girlfriend, who is Chavalamps best mate. My friend turns her down saying something about having said girlfriend. Chavalamp says that she loves her mate..but can keep her mouth shut.

This doesn't impress us....at all...and before we can warn his girl....Chavalamp has already called her in a huff..saying her boyfriend just offered himself up for sex.

Things are eventually smoothed over....but I don't care how beautiful you are....thats fucken cold. We were nice guys and great shags and what was the thanx we got?

oh well...when you shag a chav...what else can you expect. except the clap maybe...but I pee with out pain...luckily..

Length? She was too shagged out to comment....or maybe it was the roofy.....hmmm
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 23:12, Reply)
Priorities need to be fixed
I do consistently good work,

The cunt next to me does nothing, does one piece of good work and gets a fucking parade for it.

I fucking hate people.
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 23:12, Reply)
How fucking timely...
If anyone knows the job situation in teaching in South Wales they will know just how fierce it is. (200+ applying for each post).

After qualifying two years ago and applying for god knows how many jobs and getting no-where I thought once I was known in a school things would improve.

And lo! A college friend gets me some work in his school. I work there as a supply, getting more and more work until I'm full-time (despite keeping on a part-time job to tide me over the holidays). I'm offered temp post after temp post. I fit in. Worked like a dog, especially in one really challenging class. I run extra-curricular activities, I'm monitored and do well. I even work when I'm so ill I get sent home.

So some jobs come up. I apply. I have members of staff run round doing everything in their power (risking their own jobs) to help me.

I don't get it.

I gave a 'wonderful' interview in the eyes of one governor. The senior staff can offer me no feedback to help me improve. 'Keep doing what I'm doing'. I still didn't fucking get it.

Anger, disappointment. They don't even cover it!!!
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 21:28, Reply)
I was a good Christian for 23 years.
I held charity events in order to help the homeless and starving.
I ran collection boxes in the worst parts of the worst towns.
I flew to Ghana to try and give a little salvation to AIDs victims.
I prayed to God every night.
I developed an understanding with those with different religions, and learned to accept that.

And He STILL didn't make it any fucking bigger!!111!!
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 21:18, Reply)
Work Nightmare
So I work for this small company. Ive been here almost three years and was the third employee in the company...Yep, me and the CEO and his wife, El Presidente.

So I work like a dog and after a year, we have a new sales manager brought in (over me, ah well) and he builds this new compensation program which DOUBLES my commision! YAY ME!

This January? After almost 3 years with the organization, the CEO announces a new compensation program: (I commonly refer to it as the "Screw Citadel" program)

No bumps in commissions
No raise in salary (still on the same base salary I signed on for)
Oh yeah, and Citadel's two largest accounts dont 'count' towards his commissions anymore.


I cant wait until I tell him I am leaving...
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 19:45, Reply)
I went to all the trouble of clicking on page 3
and all I got was one post.

What's all that about? Have I been screwed over by B3ta?

Mod Edit: it's because of the shower of rubbish posts that got deleted from that page.
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 19:36, Reply)
...I put a lot of thought and effort into my responses to the QOTW, and tell some of my best stories- and most of the time they don't even get to the FP, and end up buried.

Shower of cunts...
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 19:14, Reply)
Legless 2.0
Waste of your life... you're reading the b3ta qotw for christ's sake!

ps was first post so be nice you slag
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 18:33, Reply)
Thanks a bunch
My boyfriend - let's call him 'Rusty' - used to have a close friend who we'll call 'Incubus', due to his ability to drain the life out of every social situation. He was the most tight-fisted bastard, renowned for stealing from charity collections (putting in a few pennies and grabbing a fist full of coins).
Now, Rusty was moving with a group of mates (and Incubus had none) so he arranged to move him in too. Was he grateful? No, he acted like even more of a kanute than before and decided to sabotage our relationship by sending me texts and emails saying 'Rusty doesn't fancy you', then sobbing like Tiny Tears when he got found out. When it was time to move, the c*nt was too 'depressed' (lazy) to do anything, so Rusty did it all.
A couple of months in, the new housemates were called to a meeting. My boyfriend soon realised that Incubus (who was too scared to show up) had told his mates a huge pile of lies, which for some reason they'd believed (e.g. that Rusty had tried to steal his girlfriend - he didn't have one - and that'd he'd beat him up). The housemates were totally enamoured of Incubus to the extent that one of them dropped him off to his stupid I.T. job every morning with a packed lunch. That didn't piss off Rusty as much as coming back days later to find that his stuff had been packed into boxes (apart from anything that the housemates had fancied and stolen) with a neat little note telling him to move out.
A few months later a series of letters started to arrive. Incubus had written to the local council to tell them that Rusty had been living alone in the house for a year and owed the council £1k of tax. He also told his lies to everyone who'd listen, losing Rusty a lot of mates. Never mind, as far as we know, he's still living in the middle of ASBO-ville (where the neighbours shoot at each other with air rifles) getting my boyfriend's mates to wipe his arse for him as he hits 30. Some thanks I guess...
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 18:08, Reply)
"It doesn't matter that you cared for them and wanted the best for them, because the other guy/girl has a bigger cock/tits."

...getting dumped for a transsexual must be really harsh.
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 17:32, Reply)
A pedantic aside
Nobody thanks you for anything in life, unless they're lying and want something.

Employers will try to give you the minimum they possibly can while expecting you to do the most you can. If you miss a day because you've got bubonic plague, they accuse you of slacking. And they'll pay more to lazy, useles cunts who are related to the boss (unless it's you).

Partners will use you until they get bored and leave you. It doesn't matter that you gave your life to them and helped them to understand what they really wanted (not you). It doesn't matter that you cared for them and wanted the best for them, because the other guy/girl has a bigger cock/tits.

Children take advantage of you and only realise after you're dead how lucky they were not to be molested every night. It was more important for the selfish little shits to have that pair of fucking Nikes than not have their arse reamed.

You spend your whole working life working and saving for your retirement - then you find that it wasn't enough and you've got to spend the rest of your days sitting in your own piss as your body packs up and you realise that it was all a waste of fucking time.

Which is why I'm an atheist. Is it the weekend yet?
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 17:18, Reply)
And I paid for the stamps too
I was a member of Amnesty International for three years, writing dozens of letters every week. Letters of support to prisoners, letters of condemnation to the regimes who imprisoned them, letters to our own leaders asking them to intercede on the prisoners' behalf.

In all that time, I didn't receive a single letter in return. Not one. I mean, the politicians you can understand -- they're busy with all that oppressing and so on -- but what with all the time they spent lying around in their cells you'd have thought the prisoners could've spared a moment to put pen to paper.

Damned ingrates.
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 16:59, Reply)
I was doing a business trip for some rather well off blokes down at the local brothel (gawd knows what they were doing there [probably management..]), which included driving all the way to some docks up near Portsmouth in the dead of bloody night, just to hand a package to some shady stranger, who seemed more than pleased to accept it. I was swayed from suspicion when he handed me an envelope full of fifty pound notes though, and carried on regardless throughout the night.

Anyhow, i got back to the brothel and met my now managers, as i guessed that i was now under their employment. Well, The boss (Or Big Tony as he liked to be called), said i had to perform an 'overseas' (yes, he did the 'quoty' thing with his fingers) shipment to sunny Denmark, of which my constant accompaniment with the packages was crucial.

So i took the flight to Denmark in their private jet and was left alone in a place which i later learned was called Horsens, to drive up to a warehouse where i left the packages under a pile of crates as instructed by Tony (what a nice guy). I looked around and was twatted in the face with a metal object. The camera then panned to a rather impressive shot of me, as i stared, then wiped a bit of blood off the side of my mouth and observed it with a disturbing glint in my eyes. (it really did look impressive). I then proceeded to do some fucking massive matrix-like fight scene with about 20 foreign blokes with scimitars and tasers, looked into my inventory and pulled out the chaingun, which immediately turned the old field outside the warehouse into a churning ocean of mud and blood which drowned all the fucking survivors.

Annnywaay...So i grabbed one of the corpses, and smeared his filthy blood over my face (sorta psychological thing which probably makes someone about to shoot you from a mile away have second thoughts about actually fucking with someone who could ruin your shit even after death, 'cause he most likely has an invincibility cheat somewhere, or Death owes him a debt) and roared like our primitive ancestors who sought that which we need to live by simply killing everything else, therefore causing any OTHER survivors to have 5 defense points taken away, and their morale lowered by 3...And jumped onto the helicopter which i assumed is what they all arrived on, and ordered the pilot to take me back to fucking England or i'd cut his weasly throat.
On the way he must've accidentally taken a wrong turn because next thing i knew, we were in Cambodia, and you can't fucking blame me because i got a G in geography. So next thing i know i'm struggling in an all out battle against some vietcong fucks to try and destroy a POW camp, with all porisoners intact.

I won, naturally skimping out on the finer details.

I was congratulated by the US army and taken back to Good ol' England where i was hailed as a hero.
Went back to Big Tony's where i was congratulated and was promised 'a big reward, and no mistake!'.

you know what they gave me?

15 kilograms of fucking talcum powder, which i was later incarcerated for 18 years for being in posession of.

please click 'i like this' because i am a starving ethiopian child.

with internet connection.
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 16:47, Reply)
Arsehole farmer
Well, not a farmer of arseholes strictly speaking...

One summer's day about 15 years ago, I got a phone call first thing in the morning from a pretty hot girl I used to knock about with. She lived on a farm and asked if I wanted to come and help out for the day. Eager to make a few quid dossing about in fields and sensing a rematch with said hot girl, I got changed and got up to the farm sharpish.

Well, what an utter, utter bastard of a day that turned out to be.

Lifting half a million bales of hay onto a trailer, pissing about in a hay loft doing pretty much the same thing, dodging dangerous farmyard machinery wielded by boss-eyed inbreds, getting shouted at constantly by her arsehole father and basically doing all the shittiest jobs the proper farm labourers didn't want to do.

After a generous 15-minute lunch, we were off to another farm about 5 miles up the road. I thought things might improve a bit with a change of scene. Wrong. As everyone jumped in the tractors, I was shown the trailer behind one of them and invited to climb on.

It was a truly humiliating journey. Sat on the this rickety wooden trailer, clinging on to the bastard while it bounced around all over the place, I was dragged agonisingly slowly through all the villages between the two farms, people stopping and pointing, as I was continuously pelted with chunks of poo flying up from the shit-caked wheels of the tractor. Really good.

So 8 o'clock rolls around and I'm pretty knackered, what with working since 9 with 15 minutes' break, I tell the farmer I've got to get home. The miserly twat wasn't happy since he was expecting me to stay there working presumably all fucking night, and left me to walk the 5 miles back. Totally shagged out, covered in insect bites and scratches, and covered in cow shit.

And the magnificent reward for this day of labour? 5 quid. FIVE whole pounds.

I still hope all his cows get AIDS, the minge bag, Jasper Carrott-lookalike bastard.

And not a sniff off the hot daughter either, gah!
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 16:46, Reply)
on topic
I set up a little arrangement between 2 mates (who didn't know each other) to sort out some stuff. Mr A was to purchase 9oz from Mr B and all I had to do was meet Mr B in Manchester to collect a sample and have a few beers, as was planned anyway. All went well and Mr A got his stuff from Mr B and both parties were happy. Mr A had some fine quality, very cheap skunk and Mr B had a nice wad of cash. I got a free ounce off each party for my troubles :0)

Best fuckin thanks I ever received!!!

actually, thats off topic coz I didn't get screwed over.
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 16:15, Reply)
At the end of the final semester at Uni, I somehow got roped into redecorating a lasses room for when the Landlords came round for their final inspection. Every room had to be white, but she in her infinite wisdom had decided to paint her room pink over the year, and now needed to turn it back white again.

So we did what all students would do, and had a redecorating party. After a few cans we started painting the walls with white paint. Unfortunatly you could still see the pink through the paint, and we didn't have enough to do more than one coat. So I thought quickly, and in my opinion came up with a genius solution to the problem.

Grabbing the fire extinguisher from the kitchen, I aimed and fired at the wet paint, covering the wall. Problem solved I declare. The powder from the extinguisher stuck to the paint, and the walls were white with no pink showing.

The only problem was that everyone else in the room was also covered in it, and were proceeding to heave their guts up all over the carpet due to the amount they had breathed in.

I redecorated an entire room in 5 minutes and thats the thanks I get!
(, Thu 24 May 2007, 16:08, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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