Maths class...
I used to sit at the very front of my maths class... not because I was a slimey little swot, oh no, I figured, the best way to coast through the year would be to get in with the swots and just copy their work - worked a charm... anyway, this guy called Phil sat right at the back of the class, opposite side to me. He'd somehow pissed me off, I don't remember the details.

My revenge was simple, where I sat I was right next to the heater, toasy warm. Shortly after the lesson began I decided on my vengence and left my metal compass resting against the heater on full whack. About ten minutes from the end of the lesson I picked up the compass by the now slightly squidgy plastic bit, carefully carried it all round the room to Phil where I uttered the phrase

"Thanks for lending my your compass Phil." I passed it to him and he took hold of the hot metal. I reckon I got about six paces before he screamed.
( SubCulture Hero ... ... He... .... Comes ... ...., Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:57, Reply)

Queen of the Harpes
For those who don' remember my previous room mate story, I'll fill you in now. My fiance shared with a spotty goth girl with no sense of right and wrong. We'll call here Tessa, because that's her name.

Anyway, months of bullying my fiance (who has suffered serious depression since she was a teenager due to traumatic and horrific events that I won't go into - but lesser people would have topped themselves over it), she eventually gives up work and can't afford to contribute to the bills.

I supported her as long as I can, but I decided to go back to university. We used to live together, but had moved to separate places due to her having left work previously. Anyway, she was just getting her life back together when the evil bitch she lived with started bullying her as I said. So when I could no longer afford to pay her bills, my oher half moved out, leaving Tessa witth nearly a grands worth of bills etc to pay! HA HA HA HA HA, serves you right!!

My missus and I now live together again and have got our lives back. Don't know what Queen of Harpes is doing now, nor do I care.

No so much us getting our own back really; more her bringing it on herself by bullying the missus (resulting in her leaving work) when she new that the missus had a delicate mental state. Self inflicted, I call it.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:52, Reply)

Well they both taught each other really...
When I was a mere slip of an undergrad lad I used to live with a group of highly respectable young gentlemen, in a house of such mind blowing elegance it could only be referred to by it's full name of "Le Chateux Vingt Sept" (alright it was a shithole with a mental bus driving landlord, filled with the cream of the drinking/slacking establishment of our university but fuck it). Anyway, annoyed at a rare morning wake up to go in to uni, one of these fine young gentleman, who we shall call Alex, (for that was his name) stoned off his gourd after another Jamaican breakfast, thought it would be funny to hide another, somewhat more anal housemate's, (who shall be known as Guy), shoes. On waking up and not being able to find said shoes and seeing a note from Alex mocking him about this, I feel you are left with a few options. 1) Put on some other shoes, go into uni and forget about it. 2) Maybe hide Alex's shoes as some kind of revenge. Guy however came up with hidden option 3.

He took the day off uni and tried to fuck up Alex's life as much as possible before he came back. And that is why Guy is a genius. First he soaked all Alex's towels in cold water (this was Winter), dumped them on the bed and opened the windows (I should also point out that Alex's room was basically an outhouse, and frankly freezing at the best of times). He then removed the radiator knobs (after turning the radiators off of course), wrapped them in tin foil and deposited them deep in the freezer. The first I heard of any of this was when he came to me to say he was turning the power off. I asked him why, he said to fuck with Alex. Naturally I agreed and followed him. He then proceeded to take all the fuses out of all the plug sockets and electrical equipment in Alex's room, then again wrap them in tin foil and hide them in the freezer. As a final piece de la resistance he took the hinges off Alex's door, so that if he tried to open it hard it would just fall onto his laptop smashing it. Nice.

Pretty soon after this Alex arrived home. Now when you've hidden someone's shoes you don't really expect this level of retaliation and was mildly peeved (albeit admiring of the sheer level of detail that had gone into screwing with him). The problem for Guy was that he had a big piece of work to do for the next day (which of course had to be done from scratch - we were proper students). This is what is known as a tactical error.

When Guy was trying to work that evening and nipped out for a piss, Alex, like the stealthy 16 stone cat he is got in and locked himself in briefly. He then proceeded to rearrange everything in the room so that it was all slightly crooked (posters upside down, things at weird angles etc.) and then let Guy back in. Now for most people this wouldn't have been a problem, but as I mentioned before, Guy (who I love dearly btw) is a tad OCD and anal and thus had to spend about an hour sorting everything out. He also quickly nipped into Alex's (now bastard cold) room and threw one of his drawers full of clothes on the floor. Again a tactical error. Aside from the fact that in Alex's room that almost counts as tidying, Alex had nothing to do that evening and a strong willingness to get even.

By now Guy has locked himself in to prevent futher distractions and the only sound we can hear is a sawing noise from outside. (We had recently rebuilt a table and had some wood left over and saws out). Alex then re-enters with an evil grin, a hammer, nails and a piece of wood just long enough to wedge under the handle of Guy's door and nail to the floor, thus preventing Guy leaving his room. While attempting to perform this operation Guy gets suspicious of the noise outside his room and uses a Lynx can and a lighter under the door as a flamethrower to try to stop Alex! It didn't work, but Guy had an ace up his sleeve. If you can't go out the door what do you do? Of course, jump out the window! He goes back upstairs and kicks the makeshift blockade out of the way then goes for the piss that he wanted to leave his room for in the first place. Alex, never one to realise that something may have gone too far then locks himself in Guy's room and messes up everything (NB Guy folds his socks. He does not like things messed up). He then realises (as Guy is standing outside with a hammer sounding seriously pissed off) that he may have gone too far. After 45 minutes of peace negotiations held by yours truly (and Guy completely fucking up Alex's room) the stand-off was ended. Guy got his work done, Alex got his fuses back and we all lived happily ever after.

The moral? Never try and fuck with a student, they've got so little to do they'll spend their time coming up with bizarre and stupid ways to get revenge.

*pop* Wow that felt good. Apologies for the length, I'll try and only give you half of it next time.
(voodooeconomics, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:51, Reply)

on the boil..
fucking inept sorry excuse for a manager..

Putting me in the shit just to try and cover your back, didn't know I was in a union though did you??

Your time will come, and your time will be taught...
(japper, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:42, Reply)

When my old boss was a student...
...he lived with another bloke (Gary) and a girl (Tina). Gary worked out quite a bit and took vitamin supplements including a protein powder. They blokes didn't like Tina much as she was a labeller of food and writer of house chore rosters. So when Tina announced she was going on a slimfast diet they had an idea. They replaced the powder in her slimfast with protein powder. Tina went to the gym and stuck to the diet but after 6 weeks noticed that she was still a similiar size and had slightly increased in weight. She also was becoming more muscular (not toned, muscular). Soon after when drunk, the boys confessed and 2 weeks later she moved out. I suspect the only reason they confessed was because it wouldn't be long before she had amassed enough muscle to grab both of them and beat the living sh*t out of them when she found out.
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:40, Reply)

The Student Halls Lift.... OF DOOM!
When I was living in halls, the management company there were real arseholes. Crap kitchens (only hobs, no ovens or grills), naff showers (alternated between scalding hot and ice cold every few seconds) and extortionate rent (my rent halved when I moved into a bedsit twice the size of my halls room)

Anyway, a few days before we were due to leave, myself and a few friends had drank a few student priced beers... and we decided to get our own back (without resorting to outright vandalism)

The layout of the halls was a square donut building with a light well in the middle and five floors. My room was situated on the third floor looking out into the light well... across at the lift (I could see the lift exit for all floors)

So the four of us got into the lift with my handy toolkit. The control panel was easily removed and the wires to all the buttons were connected using spade connectors. These connectors were quickly (and haphazardly) rearranged so that the wires for various floors all went to the wrong buttons.

We then retreated to my room and proceeded to drink more cheap beer whilst laughing maniacally at all the poor fools getting out of the lift on what looked like their floor (all the floors were identical). Eventually they all figured out that they were on the wrong floor... Some were smart enough to take the stairs... some weren't.

Childish? Yes
Pointless? Yes
Funny to a bunch of beered up students? Damn right!
( Beastie is doing science with his arse, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:12, Reply)

I feel guilty now
I was on Friends Reunited the other night and found the guy who sabotaged my A Level computing project who starred in an old QOTW:

www.b3ta.com/questions/fightfightfight/post50593/

However, it transpires that after years of battling depression he is currently undergoing gender reassignment treatment. I really do feel genuinely remorseful at my suggestion that he "went home to be fisted by his dad again".

The fact that I nearly ripped the guys balls off is ironic considering he's just paid a surgeon in Thailand to do exactly that.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:11, Reply)

Bit of a blokey thing to say here really
but about 6 years ago i had the hots for this girl and most her mates. She often used to tell my friends (in a way that was meant to get back to me) that she and all her mates were out of my league and wouldn't EVER touch me with a barge pole. The funny thing is that her infinitely more attractive and VERY milfy mother didnt seem so picky in a night club a few weeks later.
VERY childish but that taught her.
( Victor Meldrew, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:07, Reply)

Mudskipper's schemie story
reminded me of something I heard about a former colleague who had to drive home every night through a rough area of town. Several times he came upon a group of neds (chavs, pikeys, whatever) standing across the road blocking the traffic. He had to stop until they decided to let him past, which was somewhat intimidating.

Anyway, one night he'd had enough and when he saw the human roadblock, dropped a gear and floored the accelerator trying to scare them off. They did indeed part at the last second to avoid being mashed to pulp, but in doing so also revealed something which they'd been standing in front of, and which this bloke was now going too fast to avoid....

....a fridge.

Which did a fair bit of damage to his car. That'll teach him not to try to kill people.

Unfortunately, while I laughed when I heard this story, I have a great deal of sympathy for the driver, as I'd have probably been tempted to do the same thing to the chav scum.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 12:04, Reply)

college days.....
Let me start at the beginning - when i was at school - because i was a tall stocky kid i was always the first to get shit - people liked to try and get me into fights - now i'm not saying i cant stand up for myself - but i just don't see the point in beating people to within an inch of their lives....!

anyway there was this one kid at school lets call him nick (as thats his name :o) ) he was a short little runt of a twunt who always tried to wind me up. for years on and off i had him being a dick to me.

any fast forward a few years and i'm starting my second year at college - and low and behold little nicky dickless turns up at college - still being a twunt still trying to wind me up.

anyway luckly we drift in different circles - he eventually gets bored of being a dick to me - or he finds a new victim. yay for me.

then one day i'm in the college computer room working on a some crap dos stuff (yep DOS Baby) and i notice this nick leaving his computer with floppy disk still in the machine, i quickly wrote a quick dos batch file to delete his files when he did a directory search (you see in dos if you have a file locally stored with the same name as a program file - it will run the local one.

i pop the disk back in the machine and carry on working. a few mins later - in pops nick and starts to work. he then starts screaming at the computer and hitting the keyboard - it still makes me smile to this day :o)

Why didnt i just format the disk - well i'm not that much of a bastard - so i wanted to give him a sporting chance :o)
( Rev. Jesse. broke his ankle, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:42, Reply)

Video Shop Porn Taught 'Em
In the wild, heady days of home entertainment, way back when VHS had beaten Betamax, I used to earn my crust as the steward of a video shop. Every week an odd looking chap would come in, select one Oscar winning film and one rather saucy porno. I was young and thought I knew it all. I thought "this'll learn 'im" and proceded to make a loud hoo-ha about The Count of Monty's Fisto.

Did this learn 'im?

The next week the strange man came back with his wife, who was wheelchair bound and clearly in advanced stages of crippling M.S.

T'was I who was learnt. In fact I never mocked porn again... in fact I rented out loads of the stuff to help the cause.
(Error 404 - Username Unknown, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:36, Reply)

Revenge on a bully
When I was 10 there was a bully at school who made lots of peoples lives a misery, but managed to never get caught doing it.
She, yes she, was picking on me one lunchtime and I had enough, so I pushed her over while managing to lift her dress over her head, then removed her knickers and threw them into a tree. This was witnessed by quite a few, unfortunately including a teacher. I got a monster bollocking, but the girl left me alone after that.
(Underpants, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:32, Reply)

Re Junk mail
I was recently pushed over the edge when I returned home to find my small letterbox crammed so full of shit that the postman probably couldn't fit real post into it. Among the pointelss flyers was a letter from a company offering to loan me money. They had provided a Freepost address, so I wrapped up a Yellow Pages in brown paper and sent them that. Hope it cost a lot.
(frankspencer, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:31, Reply)

Being a chemistry student is great
One day in my lab class, this utter cnut I desperately try to avoid is put in my group.
He does no work, while the rest of us run around like headless chickens doing his share.

We tell him to do his own work, he says "Why, YOU'LL lose marks too."
Eventually, after being plagiarised for nearly a month by this dip-shit, I decide, for the good of the group, that he needed to be taught a lesson.

The twunt in question always - ALWAYS - brought food into the lab. When he wasn't looking, I smuggled a couple of drops of phenolphthalene into his sandwich.
Phenolphthalene, for those of you who don't know, is not only a common acid/alkaline testing substance, but also one of the most powerful laxatives ever.

Inside 5 seconds it had entered his blood stream, by 10 seconds his bowels were filling with water, and at 20 he ran from the lab with a strange, brown snail trail issuing from his trouser legs.

Oh how I laughed, oh how he didn't, oh how I'm now failing my course!
( Pointy Head poked another hole in my anorak on, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:29, Reply)

I was young and stupid....
I'll keep this short as I am ashamed. A friend and I always used to knock down ginger this very grand house, the door knocker was a giant newt or something which made this pastime even more hilarious. One day the man that lived there got sick of this and came out and grabbed me shouting about how I could damage his door and swearing in an extremely posh voice which made me laugh. I of course just said someone else did and and told him to fuck off.

About a year later I was drunkenly walking past the lizard mans house really needing to shit. I grabbed some nice leaves from nearby and proceeded to shit on his doorstep, pick it up with the leaves and smear my greasy shit all over the lizard and the door handle and keyhole.

That is all.
(Jimmy Large Is huffing Jenkem on, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:20, Reply)

The Tea Run
I work in a small department of ten people. We have tea twice a day - once in the morning and once in the afternoon - which we take it in turns to make.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Here's another story involving bodily fluids. But no.

If someone has pissed me off, they get a cracked mug. If I'm having to boil two kettles of water, theirs is made from the first, meaning that their tea might be a bit on the cold side by the time it arrives at their desk. And their tea is made from the last dregs of water in the kettle, meaning that they might get a few bits of limescale at the bottom of their mug.

Yeah. That teaches 'em.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:14, Reply)

Served her right
Quite few years ago I ended up moving into the flat of a girl I'd been at school with. In the years between leaving school and our flatshare she turned into the most boring, pedantic, lazy, jealous cow I ever had the misfortune to live with. I tried really hard to be nice, and helpful, and be friends with her but she was a nightmare. Her Daddy paid all the bills and her mortgage, she didn't work because she didn't feel like it. She was a spoilt little brat.

I moved out after a few months which caused her to go into unpleasantness overdrive so I was determined to wreak my revenge.

I worked for a newspaper at the time and I filled in every form of every leaflet that dropped out of all the magazines and papers that arrived at the office every day. She got brochures for the lot - garage doors, awnings, granny clothing, wheelchairs, stannah stairlifts - you name it, I also made sure she got any freebie samples ie incontinence pants. I ignored anything requiring payment but I reckon she got on nearly every mailing list in the country. In those days there was no mail preference service. I bet she still has problems opening her front door after a few days away. Hah!
(Superene, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:09, Reply)

Posting about posters...
Leeds Festival last year, the company I work for does all sorts of Festival advertising and one of the perks is getting to go to the festival for the weekend to photograph all the posters and see the bands.

I was lining up a shot of a Kooks poster when a teenager (couldn't be more than 16/17) grabbed a corner and tore most of the bottom half off, drunkenly declaring "the Kooks were shit". I went up, grabbed him by the shoulder, and asked him why he did that. He shot me a look of pure venom and said he hated the Kooks. I said there was no reason for him to tear the poster down, as it was my job. He then proclaimed me full of shit, and went back sniggering to his friends. Twat.

Anyway, an hour or so later, when I was minus camera and a couple of pints the heavier, I was walking past a bank of the posters, I saw the little cunt again, this time trying to tear down a GTA poster. By then it was obvious he was being a vandalising little shit, so I paced it over while he was still facing the other way.

I'll never quite know why I did what I did (more than likely it's a combination of reading too much Preacher and pure love of my job) but I grabbed his greasy locks and slammed his face into the poster bank (just once) and dropped him on the floor, in a crumpled heap with blood pissing out his nose.

I then found the nearest = security guard, flashed my staff pass and explained the situation. Glad of the excitement, he followed me over, stripped the now blubbing teen of his ticket and wristband and in front of his friends (who had idly stood by since the head v.s. board incident!) had him thrown out of the Festival.

That'll teach 'em.

Length? It's not big and it's not clever.
(Himjim died a little more inside on, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 11:01, Reply)

The schemie hunter
Inverkeithing is undoubtedly the shitiest armpit of a burgh in all of Scotland, an accolade earned by the ceaseless pig-ignorant nastiness practiced by every inhabitant under the age of 25. It was my misfortune to have to travel through this suppurating abscess of a town every day for too many years, but one evening I had a small measure of revenge: while driving along in light rain I spied a bunch of typically mankeous schemie females standing by a crossing, shrieking abuse at every car passing. Then they saw my car ...
well, they shouldn't have been standing so close to that huge trash-filled puddle, should they?
I accelerated.
The next second the scabrous little ned bitches got utterly, utterly soaked by what can only be described as a tsunami of dreich.
I slowed for just a couple of seconds to see their reaction in the rear-view, it was beautiful. They were standing there in a state of honest bewilderment, staggering around blinded by filthy rainwater.
That's what you get when you yell at my car.
Schemie vermin.
(mudskipper, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 10:54, Reply)

Yay! Repost 1
One Nissan Micra less...
Long story cut short....

Fact: only arseholes/infirm/aged drive Nissan Micras. This has little bearing on anything but I feel better telling you.

A little man decides to pull out of a junction and turn right without noticing I'm travelling on the road he's just turned into. Result: weighed anchor narrowly missing him.

Generally I'm cool with idiots however, he makes that 'cheery wave after looking in his rear view like his just been let out of a junction through me being courteous and just wanting to test my brakes'. Gets to the queue at the light sand I'm at his door giving him my considered opinion.

He decides to lock his door and make rude gestures (brave and stupid - always a fun combo) so I grab his door handle which comes off in my hand. I then throw the broken handle at the window somewhat de-stressed and amused that this pathetic piece of Jap Crap has come apart with minimal effort.

Fast forward three weeks and there's a phone call from PC Plod. The half wit has taken my reg and called the Rozzers. Cue suitably apologetic conversation with an 'old school' copper who suggests I make amends by posting this numb nuts a cheque for the door handle and then he won't have to pay me a visit and fill in forms. I agree and the filth gives me his address!!!! (Data Protection - whats that?)

I dutifully sent off a cheque to the supplied address, waited 'til it cleared thus verifying the pillocks whereabouts and then in the still of the night paid his Micra a visit with iron filings. For those not of a destructive persuasion - sprinkling iron filings onto paintwork in a pattern (or words of your choice) overnight sees them a) become rusty with the condensation / dew / wet and b) eat into the paint / attach itself to the bodywork so that the only thing that can be done is the panel needs to be sanded flat and repainted. Not something an insurance firm will be doing on a ten year old car.....write off.

So - until the pay out (approx three weeks) and the long last drive to the knackers yard this one handled blue pile of sh*te drove around with 'wanker' in rust on the bonnet and sex pest on the roof.

Do I win a prize?
(Tue 17th Oct 2006, 15:28, More)
(Danny Fishcharge Half arsed, smart arsed, on & off a lard arse sinc, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 10:48, Reply)

I am a horrible person
I can't believe I'm typing these words and about to reveal a source of secret shame I've harboured for over 10 years. Only 4 people in the world know this story - me, the then boyfriend, the current boyfriend and a little person (dwarf/midget/vertically challenged - you know what I mean).

I was 16 and in love for the very first time with a wonderful 24 year old who didn't mind that I was a ridiculously fucked up, melodramatic loon who came from an insanely dysfunctional family.

We were out in a club and he was involved in a long and animated discussion with his mates about something related to music that was boring me rotten.

I felt he wasn't paying me enough attention and resolved to teach him a lesson.

When you're 16 and more used to discos than bars, and tweeny relationships vs adult ones that involve concepts like patience, accountability and respect - you think that the best way to get your man's attention is to flirt with someone else.

So out to the beer garden I headed where I bumped into (not literally!) a little person. He was very little. About 3 and a half foot. Late 30s, wearing a little leather biker jacket, ear-rings, a Guns and Roses T-Shirt and some little biker boots.

I sat down beside him at a bench and we fell to talking.

Actually, when I look back, he was a bit sleazy but he started to tell me how sad he was because he was a little person who had never kissed anyone as beautiful as me. (Remember, I was 16, a sucker for compliments and naive as fuck).

Anyway, I felt all sorry for him and self-righteous about being ignored by boyfriend so started kissing for him.

A minute later, I hear the voice of my then boyfriend yelling: "What the FUCK are you DOING?"

At that point, I realised the error of my ways.

Horrified, I stood up, groping in my drunken mind for a way to make things right.

The little person stood up between us and in consequence, was out of my eyeline so I promptly forgot about him.

I drunkenly stammered: "This doesn't count."

To which he replied: "What the FUCK do you mean it doesn't COUNT? You're KISSING ANOTHER MAN!!!!!"

I defensively slurred back at a ridiculously high volume: "It doesn't count. IT'S ONLY A FUCKING MIDGET!!!!!!"

He argued but I felt, best to stick to my guns, so I repeatedly screamed this over and over.

He eventually forgave me, by which time dear readers, alack, the little person had vanished without either of us noticing.

I am terribly ashamed of this incident and if you're reading, little man, it's a memory that will haunt me until I shuffle off this mortal coil. I am sorry. You were the best kiss I ever had.*

Little man - stop reading now.

Everybody else - * May or may not be true - I can't remember the kissing of the little person in any great detail. I just wanted to make up in a very small way and give him a bit of a lift.
(littlemissmischievous, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 10:44, Reply)

I'm Tyler Durden...
Well, not really. But it's what everyone associates with my previous professional incarnation as a projectionist.

While working at said profession in Scotch-land a few years ago, me and my colleagues were blessed with an absolute Arse-hat of a boss. When he wasn't screwing us over by being intentionally vindictive, he was screwing us over through his incompetence, with an ever present steaming mug of tea in his genetically challenged claw.

He truly was the worst man I have ever ever met and he made my life hell.

A quick example;
All of the projectionists, himself included, had partners and loved ones a long way away in other cities, be they continental, or just a couple of hours on the train away. So we all agreed to do shift work, so we could get as many as days off in a row as possible, and we could visit our main squeezes, in exchange for working 12 and 13 hours shifts in the cold concrete corridor that makes up the projectionists workplace.

I took up the challenge to create a roster that gave us all a full week off once a month, and two long weekends. I presented it to Arse-hat, who looked at it and said he would think about it, and when I turned my back he screwed it up and put it in the bin.

Problem was, Arse-hat didn't like his wife or his two children (who had the elephant man disease...) and would change the rosters around so we were basically working one day on, one day off.

There's so much more to tell about this crusty shit stain of a man that I have to restrain myself bodily from launching into a rant.

Anyway, one day, near the end of my employment there, I was chatting with my colleague, who happened to be a druid, a compulsive liar and chronic mastubator who never washed. Sound fella, just a bit whiffy and unstable.

So I was feeling quite embarassed about some revenge I had taken after a particularly gruelling shift with Arse-hat. I shame-facedly confessed that after a run-in, I had found a cardigan that Arse-hat had left behind one shift and had gobbed massive wads of phlegm into it every time I walked past.

The smelly druid just nodded, and said... "Do you drink tea?" I replied in the negative, and he said, "neither do I, at work...". And started fishing around deep inside his trews. After several long and concerning moments, his hand emerged, stuffed full of tea-bags, which he then dropped striaght back into the tea-tin.

For the rest of my time there I felt no further need for retribution. Happy in the knowledge that Arse-hat was imbibing copious amounts of a smelly druids ball sweat.

Apologies for length, as always.
(lessmiserable, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 10:29, Reply)

sheila
i used to work for this skanky old bag named sheila in a wholesale nursery.

we would make thousands and thousands of cuttings and pot them up into small pots at first, then transfer them into gradually larger pots. ..it was truly monotinous work, and took hours and hours to complete even 1 task. this was not helped along by the fact that sheila was a complete bitch. other things we had to do included taking weeds out of acres and acres of tiny pots, carrying not-so-tiny pots around, and my favourite: making sure that 10's of thousands of pots were perfectly in line so that each plant got exactly the same amount of water and nutrient.

one of the worst things was making the potting mix for the cuttings to go into. she insisted that it was mixed absolutely perfectly. pete moss, perlite, vermaculite, osmocote...all of it had to be mixed exactly right and then wet with exactly the right amount of water.

this was always my job, and i always had to make SHITLOADS...enough to re-pot every plant in the nursery as they moved up to the next sized pot.


well, after 2 years i had really done what i would call 'fucking hard work' ..and one day i had just potted about 5000 bouganvillea plants, only to be inturrupted 30 minutes before knock off. apparently they were in the wrong pots or something, and i was to re-pot as many as i could that day, finish off the rest the next day, and then make a new batch of potting mix in the afternoon.

i got through the re-potting, handed in my resignation and said i would stay for the afternoon and make a new batch of potting mix before leaving.

pete moss - check

vermaculite - check

perlite - check

osmocote - check



2 bottles of concentrated weed killer - check.


i heard she went bankrupt a year or two later.
(softporn 70's sink fixer, Fri 27 Apr 2007, 10:11, Reply)