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)