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This is a question The Boss

My chief at a large retail chain used to decide on head office redundancies by chanting "One potato, two potato" over the staff list. Tell us about your mad psycho bosses - collect your P45 on the way out.

Bruce Springsteen jokes = Ban, ridicule

(, Thu 18 Jun 2009, 13:06)
Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

One of my previous bosses would refuse to believe that some things could not be done.
The toolroom manager would come in with a design schematic and say something like 'Look, we can't fit the display behind the bezel because there'll be a clash with the mounting posts. It can't be done.'

To which the boss would not argue, he's just say 'Go away and think about it'.

An hour later the toolroom manager came back to say 'well, if we move the posts back 0.5 millimetres and mill out half of the pillar we can just about fit it in. But then there'll be nowhere for the backlight inverter cable to come through cos the display will be butting on the PCB. It just can't be done.'

'Go away and think about it'.

An hour later, 'Look, if we drill a hole through an unpopulated area of the PCB and feed the wires up through then we can get the inverter wires to the backlight. But then there'll be nowhere for the serial connection header IDC to go, there's no radius of curve for the cable to enter. It can't be done.'

'Go away and think about it.'

An hour later- "Mike, (for twas his name) I've thought about it every which way I can, it's impossible.'

'Go away and think about it.'

By which time the toolroom manager is spitting feathers, stressed, angry, bitching about the boss, grumble grumble grumble going to get another job tomorrow, what I have to put up with etc.

An hour later 'OK, if we desolder the existing header and put on a right angled instead, assuming we don't fuck up the through hole plating, we can just about make the serial header IDC fit so long as we can get a double-45 degree fold in the IDC cable. But evn if I do that, the front panel wiring bundle needs 20 mil circular clearence to get past the power switch and now the IDC header is there it won't fit. It's impossible.'

'Go away and think about it'.


'Just go away and think about it' (unruffled).

Another hour later- 'FINE if we space the PCB on 3 mils' worth of washers this will give us z-clearence to get the panel wiring bundle in IF we press it oval instead of round, but to fit in the frame we'll now have to lose the cooling area for the air circulation. It'll overheat and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. That's it, Game Over, we're fucked with this one.'

'Go away and think about it'.

GODDAM IT don't you get it? IT CANNOT BE DONE!'

'Just go away and think about it overnight'.

Next day- 'OK. Maybe if we take the front panel off and depopulate it we can - carefully- mill some slots into the panel either side of the display- that way we can get air through from the back to the front if we fit a small internal fan. So now the lid is 2mm thick but because of the retaining screws in the captive fasteners can only protrude by 1 mil we have to use 3 mil long threads. But no-one makes 3 mil long threads in M2.5. It can't be done.

'Go away and think about it'.


'Just go away and think about it'

an hour later- OK, well perhaps if we use countersunk to avoid the overflush condition and cut down 5mm threads to 2.5 we can make this work.

At this point the equipment in question was bulging at the seams with the requirement of getting everything into half a 19 inch rack and when the screws were undone the top tended to pop up like a jack-in-the-box. But it all went together. Under strain. Next stop, EMC testing. The results came back.

'Oh this has all been a colossal waste of time. The 200Hz from the backlight inverter is driving up the harmonic range and exceeding class 3 radiated emissions. Might as well chuck this fucker in the bin! What a bloody waste of time.'

'Just go away and think about it'.


an hour later- "Look. We need to shield the inverter, the wires, the screen, the serial header and the only way to do that is put them in a can. There is NO FUCKING WAY we can fit a can into that. It's as tight as a gnat's chuff down there.

'Go away and think about it'.


An hour later- 'OK. If we mill a slot into the rear of the panel, get barry to make a can of 0.1 mil thick tinplate, run a transparent wire mesh in front of the display, star-earth the rest, elongate the PCB mounting holes to let it slide back off the posts so it can allow the space for the screening can and then FUCKING PRAY that it works, it might be OK.

Said modifications are done. The final product is presented to the boss for approval.

'There's a surface blister on the anodising from where you've milled the reverse slot in the front panel. Do the whole panel again but without making it blister'


'Go and think about it'.

The next day,m the replacement panel is on, it's blemish-free and the whole thing has finally come to fruition despite the toolroom manager suffering apopolexy.

The boss says 'OK. Now make me 10 more before next week or we lose the contract'.


The odd thing was- he drove the toolroom manager absolutely to distraction. But in the end there was always a way if you just 'went away and thought about it'. I wouldn't say he was particularly liked, but he was respected.

Then he fired us all and moved production up to his other company in Essex. But in hte end that turned out to be a good thing so I'm not going to complain.

apologies for length.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 19:28, 2 replies)
I once worked for a guy
who really had the work-life balance sorted - sure, we had to work bloody hard on occasion, but he was equally as likely to take us all to the beach for the day as he was on a job.

the work itself was great in some ways - never a dull moment, but the conditions were far from ideal - he did make an effort to supply the right protective equipment, and we certainly had the right tools for the job, but a health and safety manager could have had a field day in terms of the violations we committed as a regular part of our day to day activities.

anyway, things had gone on for some time, and life was pretty sweet - when we werent working we'd be partying somewhere. we returned to one town where we'd had a fair bit of work go on previously, and thats where things all started to go sour. towards the end of the summer, this guy started going out with the bosses ex (which wasnt a problem in itself - they were still on really good terms), but this guy started nosing around what we were doing and just didnt know when to leave alone.

we left work one day and all jumped in the car to go home, and he appeared out of nowhere and started bloody shooting at us!

damn undercover FBI agents...
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 19:28, Reply)
my boss treats me like an imbecile
we share a flat in london and both work for the government. i could tell you exactly what our job entailed, but just think james bond and you're on the right track.
my boss' boss is a forgetful old duffer, often losing the conversational thread halfway through giving us one of our assignments and slipping into a tale of his army days. not a bad sort, but certainly not compos mentis enough to be running the whole department.
my boss is a flash bugger at times, always insisting on wearing a pristine white suit, which I have to keep clean and ironed. he's so fussy about his clothes that i spend so long doing his ironing that i never have enough time to iron my own shirt or my favourite blue jacket.
he insists that i go with him into terrifying, life-threatening situations, despite the fact that i'm gripped with fear. i'm never allowed to drive the car and god help me if i mention his french girlfriend, fifi!
the final straw was when he forced me to sell my eyebrows to some scrap-metal merchant. i'll never forgive him for that.
also, i hate his fucking couch-lift.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 19:24, 8 replies)
I wish I could have managed to post this earlier but unfortunately I have been out and about for the last few days. The biggest cunt I ever worked with was my dad and his business partner. I love my dad. He is great. But he was a total backstabbing cunt in the workplace. Anyway, here is the story...

I was bumming around in between IT contracting jobs about 11 years ago when it was still lucrative to abuse the IR35 thing. My dad was (and still is) partners with this dude call Matt and they run a motorbike and motorbike accessories company. They are fairly large, but they wanted to get into the INTERNET and to get all of their computers networked etc. They were still mostly using paper and bits and bobs. Basically they wanted a complete IT solution for their business. Luckily, due to my not insignificant skills I could do it, and also on the cheap.

This guy Matt took charge in the negotiations. He said that he would buy me the biggest and most baddass laptop money could buy. He would buy me a £5k laptop. In return for doing the IT solution. Also, he said that when I setup the dual ISDN line (the fastest in the area at the time!) that I could use it whenever I wanted which was a better deal than it sounds now considering I was on 28.8k modem.

I was still fairly young, and living at home anyway, so I said I would do it. I had a day job, but I would have to do it at night after work anyway so I didn’t disrupt the normal working practises. I am a bit of a night owl so it didn’t bother me. I went in after work at 5pm every day and worked until about 4am. I also spent my weekends on site doing work.

I had it done it a month, and I was so happy when I finally finished and I could sleep properly again. I handed over the lengthy manuals, backup keys, tape stuff, everything. I also handed Matt the details of the laptop I wanted from a highend mail order laptop shop.

My dad and Matt were overjoyed. There were a few initial hiccups but I went in and fixed them as and when. Most of the staff didn’t really know how to work it all so I provided training on Saturdays for them.

A few weeks later, I asked my dad when my laptop would arrive. He said that he would ask Matt, as Matt took care of all the procurement etc. A few weeks later, I was a little pissed off, and asked Matt directly. He said that my dad was sorting it out. They managed to put me off for about 3 months before they said that they weren’t going to get me a laptop because they had lost a large order due to the initial hiccups. When I asked them about it, they refused to give me details of the order.

I moved out after that, and I have never really spoken to my dad again. He tried to speak to me though, especially as the network needed some work doing to it, but I refused.

(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 19:11, 1 reply)
It's in the taste
I had a boss once that was an utter cunt. Dispite me working 14 hour days and getting good results he couldn't help himself but to scream and shout like a guniea pig giving birth to an elephant at everything I did.

To my amusement though he'd had a motorbike accident years earlier which meant he didn't have full movement one of his wrists. This resulted in him having to drink cups of tea like one of the chimps off the PG Tips adverts and it was this image that helped me sail through his bullshit bollockings.

Once the amusement wore off though I told him to shove his job and he couldn't believe it as I was doing such a good job.

The twat
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 18:33, 2 replies)
terrible boss.
To be absolutely fair, he was handicapped, and probably in a lot of pain, and I think he had personal issues with his family. BUT, knowing why someone's a terrible boss, and being sorry for them because of it, doesn't make them not terrible.

One thing he'd do is, when people came to him with a problem, he'd tell them that they HAD to get it fixed or they'd get into a lot of trouble - but not give any clue as to how he wanted that done. For example once some important plans had gone missing, and his response was just "you'd better find them!" - not any advice about where they might be, or who might know, or what to say if the clients ask. Basically "management by fear and terror."

Oh God, I've just remembered he was a New Ager as well. Not a problem as such, but he'd use these methods to make workplace decisions. And he'd get *very* aggressive if anyone showed any skepticism.

But his attitude to Occupational Health & Safety was the worst part. Seriously, he literally didn't seem to care if someone got injured because he wouldn't take a little bit of effort. Of course that little habit bit him on the arse in the end - one laser beam in the wrong place and an entire battle-station blew up.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 18:26, 8 replies)
I'm starting one of these, and everyone who's posted can join.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 18:11, 1 reply)
First post!
My supervisor must weigh about 30 stone, she is absolutley mahoosive! Once she fell over and the ground was condemned due to damage caused. She is also the rudest, nastiest, selfish piece of work I've ever had the 'pleasure' of working with. She also uses up all the overtime budgets so no one else in our department gets to claim any if we stay over, which we often have to do as she never does any work.

Our current boss has the thickest Indian accent I've ever heard (I think she was hired to fill some kind of ethnic quota) and no one can tell a word what she says.

When I was 16 I worked in a kitchen for 2 days, caught my 'boss' smoking a joint out the back and my 'contract was ended'.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 17:54, 1 reply)
My boss
has just caught me sending personal - not rude, not intimate - emails to a friend. He didn't say anything but I've never alt-tabbed so fast in my life.
My only defence is that I have a colleague whe does the same thing all day every day.
*fears retribution*
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 17:38, Reply)
Three years ago
my old boss took a few of us away for the weekend on a leadership exercise.

Unfortunately, my boss was not the best at forward planning. Also, being tighter than a canard's nipsy, it meant that we knew for a fact a quality weekend would not ensue. We were all told that it would be a no smoking affair, and all cigarettes and so on would be confiscated before leaving the office. No bother to me, as I didn't smoke then anyway.

So anyway, on the first night we arrived and were pleasantly surprised to find all our tents set up and away we went. To his credit, the evening's leadership exercises (all along the three pieces of rope, 2 planks and 5 metres of shark infested custard line) were quite well thought out. It was going well. Too well.

A dinner of some tasty sandwiches ensued, and we sat around on the ground.

"Right" says the boss "I want you all to tell everyone in the group one fact about yourself that we might find shocking."

Ooh fuckity, I think. I choose one out of the file marked risque but not depraved. "I once had sex with twins. One of each sex, at the same time." This got a round of "oohs" and a smattering of applause. Then it comes to my mate Rob's turn. Rob is an ex-squaddie, and built like a brick shithouse.

"Well" says Rob,"After I left the army, my mate set up a private security company for diplomats in Iraq. This was after the first Gulf War. One thing led to another, and I have in the past worked as a mercenary. I still do some odd jobs for him."

We all looked shocked. None of us had expected something that serious. The boss looked worse, but I think he was more worried that Rob was doing work outside company time!

Anyway, the sun slowly set and we decided to light the campfire.

Or at least attempt to.

Y'see, the boss had forgotten to bring any matches or anything to light the fire. "No matter" he cried "I know how to rub 2 sticks together to create flame. I watched Ray Mears once. You go off and have fun." I had also watched the portly Mr Mears, and decided that 2 sticks were good, but matches and a fuckload of high octane petroleum spirit were much better.

So we got the radio out and put on some tunesome music. 30 minutes later, the fire still wasn't lit, and the boss was getting hysterical in the ever increasing gloom. Me and Rob went over, and I put a comforting hand on his shoulder, to remind him everything would be alright and said:

"You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
even if we're just dancing in the dark"
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 17:32, 5 replies)
So that explains it!
In the days when recorded music mainly came in 12” and 7” varieties and revolved at 33 or 45 rpm, I was a small cog in the large wheel of the record business. I worked for a major record company’s pressing plant.

After a couple of years of this I thought it was time to move on and I applied for a job as a shift leader in a small pressing plant. Putting on my best (and only!) suit I went to the interview. I waited and waited in an office cum landing outside the main office, when suddenly the door burst open and a guy in overalls burst out closely pursued by a podgy man in a suit. Podgy man shouted “I want you to take all the fucking records and put them in the middle of the fucking road and everybody who walks past will see what a bunch of stupid idiots I have working for me!!” A good start to an interview!

A guy whose manner and appearance closely resembled Sergeant Wilson in Dad’s Army introduced himself as a director and apologised “for all the noise” and explained that the Managing Director who was interviewing me was upset as too many records of an order had been made and that they would have to be scrapped as the customer would not take them.

Minutes ticked by and I was ushered into the inner sanctum where podgy man ruled his empire. The previously angry man had changed into a charming albeit smarmy man.

I was offered the job and (against logic and my better judgement) accepted it.

After working there a few weeks the MD’s rants and rages became worse – he ripped a telephone off the wall as it dared to ring whilst he was giving somebody a bollocking, he also was spotted picking up spindles of warped records, inspecting them, dumping them on the floor and jumping up and down on them!!

One of our major clients at the time was a company who specialised in Christian music; everything from albums of hymns to impassioned folkie type singers whose over dramatic renditions of Biblical stories in song were truly cringeworthy.

Anyway, the Christian Music Company used to dump 10,000 LP covers and 10,000 pairs of labels on us and then ask for 500 records. Now and then they would re-order some records, but for the most part the boxes continued to pile up in our warehouse.

Our MD had several meetings with the Christian Music Company and asked them to remove at least some of their stock, but little progress was made. Things came to a head and the company withdrew all their work from us. A couple of days later 3 girls dressed in rather prim and proper dresses arrived at our warehouse and began going through the stock, some of the record covers and labels were consigned to the bin, but the majority were transferred to a rival pressing plant.

I asked my director (the guy who looked like Sergeant Wilson) what had caused a regular customer to suddenly withdraw their work from us. His reply was short and to the point:- I think it might have something to do with our MD telling their boss to “Fuck off you fucking hypocritical Christian Cunt!!”
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 17:23, Reply)
i must say
without a hint of sarcasm, i've enjoyed the various bruce springsteen puns this week.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 16:46, Reply)
Didn't think that one through.
Back in the 1990s after work, we used to play LAN games for a couple of hours - not much else to do in that town in the early evening. While waiting their turn, people might hack out the odd bit of code, or answer phone calls from any late-working customers who might call on the offchance someone would be there.

One day, one of the numerous directors decreed that playing games on office equipment was "Not conducive to productivity" and banned them.

He was apparently astounded when we all started going home at 5 o'clock.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 16:24, 4 replies)
"You and your bloody sausages! One of these days you'll turn into one!" howled Mother. "Nonsense!" spat Dad his mouth full of Lincolnshire’s best "I'm saving up for a pig!" chuckled Dad spitting sausage fat everywhere.
"Daaaad!" we piped up, but it was no good.
Dad was tucking into his daily breakfast of 12 sausages, 8 rashers of bacon, 3 fried eggs, black pudding, beans, hash browns, tomato and 2 rounds of toast.
"My favorite" he munched. We'd warned him before that it wasn't good for him "nonsense!" he mocked, wiping his brow with a fried egg.
I sat and watched as dad shoveled mouthful after mouthful into his maw, spilling egg down his beard, sending mum crashing around with a wet dishcloth.
"I'm as fit as a fid-" he didn't finish the sentence...

Just stood up and went for a bob.
When he returned there were still lashings of hot breakfast left, mum had topped his plate up with various odds and ends that we'd all left. A rasher of bacon here, sausage or two there...

"It all adds up!" bellowed dad with an enormous belly laugh.
Suddenly Dad stood up again, he clutched his left arm!
"my.. my .. my .. watch.." he gasped, "where is it?".
Just then he saw his timepiece over on the television and strode over to inspect it. "hmmm, yes a quarter to nine" he burped in a high pitched funny voice.
He whooshed past me and back toward his chair, then he suddenly stoped, he'd noticed something, something had caught his eye. He ran over to the dog and lifted up its tail.
"WHOTHEFUCKSBEENTOUCHINGTHEDOGSBUM!" he yelled, each word blending into the last.
"Geoff! sit down" mum barked and dad slinked over to his chair.
He knew when to push mum and when not.
He sat in silence for the remainder of the meal, quietly shoving mounds of food in, quietly thinking to himself.

Later that morning Dad gave me my usual lift to school, "see you later dad!" I shouted, he smiled and waved.
As I got towards the school he called me back. "Carly!" he shouted, I gave my books to Jenny and jogged back to the car, "what's up now dad? Dad?" I looked in the front of the car but it was empty. Where on earth was he? was he playing games?
Suddenly the side door of the SUV swung open, revealing dad on one knee, pointing with one hand and holding the dogs tail in the other.
I didn't answer, just pulled the door shut and ran back to Jenny. "what did your dad want?" she asked. "Oh" I replied, "not much".

Back at home later dad seemed fine again. We all sat around the table patiently waiting for him to finish our supper.
"sausages!" I moaned, "not again!"

"they're my favorite" chuckled dad, stuffing his thumb into the mash and producing a hefty mound of it to munch on.

"...and beside's..." he continued "it's your mum's night painting tonight so she'll not be back till past ten".
I knew for a fact that mum wasn't painting, she was having another of her ruddy affairs, the only reason I knew was: one: because I knew her too well and two: becuase I’d seen her with Michael, the blind estate agent from down the road, kissing at the back of the Odeon.
Still, Dad was none the wiser and it was good to see him laughing and joking in the kitchen.
We had one of those houses with a serving hatch between the dining room and the kitchen, open, but for a pair of small saloon doors. Quite a dated fashion these days, but still quite functional.
Suddenly they swung open. there was dad, he'd somehow managed to get the dog onto the worktop and was holding its tail up and pointing at its anus through the gap.

Not long after this dad did the bad thing and mum didn't wake up.
Now I just sit and rock, stuffing in the porridge every other day so I don't die.
My name is Lewis Capes.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 16:02, 10 replies)
Like A Boss
Mr. Samberg thanks for coming to your performance review
No problem
So your in charge around here is that fair to say?
Absolutely, I'm the boss
Ok, so take us through a day in the life of the boss
Well the first thing I do is
Talk to corporate (like a boss)
Approve memos (like a boss)
Lead a workshop (like a boss)
Remember birthdays (like a boss)
Direct workflow (like a boss)
My own bathroom (like a boss)
Micro manage (like a boss)
Promote synergy (like a boss)
Hit on debrah (like a boss)
Get rejected (like a boss)
Swallow sadness (like a boss)
Send some faxes (like a boss)
Call a sex line (like a boss)
Cry deeply (like a boss)
Demand a refund (like a boss)
Eat a bagel (like a boss)
Harassment lawsuit (like a boss)
No promotion (like a boss)
Fifth of vodka (like a boss)
Shit on debrah's desk (like a boss)
Buy a gun (like a boss)
In my mouth (like a boss)
Oh, fuck me a can't fucking do it shit
Pussy out (like a boss)
Puke on debrah's desk (like a boss)
Jump out the window (like a boss)
Suck a dudes dick (like a boss)
Score some coke (like a boss)
Crash my car (like a boss)
Suck my own dick (like a boss)
Eat some chicken strips (like a boss)
Chop my balls off (like a boss)
Black out in the sewer (like a boss)
Meet a giant fish (like a boss)
Fuck his brains out (like a boss)
Turn into a jet (like a boss)
Bomb the russian's (like a boss)
Crash into the sun (like a boss)
Now I'm dead (like a boss)
Uh huh so that's an average day for you then?
No doubt
You chop you balls off and die?
Hell yea.
I think that at one point there you said something about sucking your own dick?
Actually I'm pretty sure you did
Naw that aint me
Ok well this has been eye opening for me
I'm da boss
Yea I know I got that you said that 400 times
I'm da boss
Yeah, yeah I got it
I'm da boss
Ok great I heard you, bye
Like a boss
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 15:32, 3 replies)
His word is worth shit
After spending one Saturday night through to Sunday morning replacing network switches and consolidaing servers scattered across the building into a properly air conditioned server room, it transpired that the rather tasty financial deal I had with my boss was null and void and that I was going to be given time off in lieu. Nothing in writing, his word is his bond and all that...

This rather pissed me off, I go to work not because I find IT interesting, but because I need the money.

Sadly for my boss I hold grudges, so three weeks ago when the lonely Citrix server decided it had had enough of this world, my boss was quite surprised to find me a tad unwilling to go back into work at 8pm on a Friday night to fix it.

I think the words I used were someting along the lines of "you can stick it up your arse". He did rant a bit, and the machine was left down until Monday morning leaving those that rely on it (only a handful of people but the company runs 24/7) screwed.

First thing Monday morning was I left to resolve the problem? Oh no, I had to justify my actions the my boss and the HR manager.

I mentioned the previous overnight work I did and were surprised that I wasn't happy with the time off arrangement. After a review of my contract, it seems my contracted hours are from 9:00am through to 5:00pm, Monday to Friday with an hour for lunch, and whilst they had put a clause in to ensure that they can bog me off to the back of beyond to deliver a fucking Blackberry that could be DHL'd, there was no clause about working out of hours.

I'm still holding a grudge, only it's worse now...
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 14:28, Reply)
I've just remembered another one
One summer I worked in a hardware store in a small Welsh town. The manager had recently left and, being a small chain, the company had temporarily sent over another manager to step in for a while.

This woman had basically come onto a fasttrack management programme, so hadn't actually worked in any of the roles she would be managing, plus was more than a little resentful to be pulled away from her 'vulture in the wings' position to be a temporary manager to our little shop in the middle of nowhere.
As you can imagine, all of this on top of her serious personality malfunction, and the fact that she was stepping into the shoes of a very liked manager, meant that she went down about as well as half a slug in your salad.
Anyway, we all got on with it, hoping to weather this unpleasant period with as little issue as possible, and that her dislike of our location/team would mean she would move swiftly on.

One day I was serving at the counter, the manager was wandering around trying to look busy, and I saw someone struggling down from upstairs with THREE big tins of paint in their basket! These were lovely plastic baskets in our company colours but not exactly sturdy, the handle merely clipped in either side and we'd had a fair few near misses from the unwise combination of flimsy baskets and an upstairs paint department! The maanger was oblivious and I was helplessly in the middle of giving someone their change, however I managed to catch the eye of one of my colleagues and desperately gestured to the customer on the stairs, seeing the danger he ran off in that direction to try and intercept but it was already too late. As the guy reached the bottom steps the basket finally gave up, the handle unclipped and the paint hurtled to the floor, two smashing open and pouring all over the bottom three steps and seeping slowly but with conviction out across the floor.
Manager-witch finally notices, there is a dead beat of silence, then she turns to my colleague who was on his way over and says 'clean that up', nothing else, just walks into the back and doesn't come back out for the next hour.

I suggest to the customer that they go and pick up some more paint and another colleague goes with them to help them carry it (by hand!), I found some card in the back and break that up so that a couple of us can start scooping up as much of the paint as possible before finally doing some serious mopping. It didn't all come up because the paint had stained, but at least it was clean and safe again. When we're all sorted I return back to the till and inbetween serving customers I make up a very neat, very polite note to stick to the back of the basket rack pointing out that we're sorry but the baskets are not suitable to be used with heavy items, such as paint tins.

About 10 minutes later manager-bitch finally reappears, sly glance at the stairs to confirm it's all cleaned up, no comment at all on it (not even 'wow you got that cleaned up fast, well done guys' which frankly would have done her a lot of favours as well as being pretty fair), does some more pottering around, eventually wanders by the counter and...pauses.
She's staring at my sign for a good 30 seconds, then suddenly she steps forward, tears it down and very purposefully screws it up. She throws it in the bin by my feet, unnecessarily shuffles some papers about under the counter and then goes to walk away again.
I've been watching all of this inbetween serving a customer, but they are out the door and gone and I'm stood there genuinely quite surprised at how petty her actions seemed to be, but even more so that she hadn't even asked about the sign ('who wrote this? why? I need to take it down because...') so in the void of her actually acting like a professional, nay adult, I call to her as she walks away.

"Was there a problem with that sign (manager-bitch)?"

She swings around, looking like I've just spat in her face

"YES. I'm not having that up"

Again, she looked at me like I'd just stripped naked and started rubbing furniture polish on my writhing form

"Because I said so!"

She turns to walk away at this point but frankly I've always had issues with people not answering perfectly reasonable questions. And also with over-trumped authority figures ;)

"(manager-bitch) we can't let people use those baskets for paint, they're just not sturdy enough"
"well that's OUR problem" she hissed "we can't go telling customers what not to do just because we're not providing the right things!"
"...so are we ordering some better ones?"

God, if looks could kill

"I will look into it, if it's available then I'll consider it"
"Well, surely we need a warning up in the mean time?"

That was when she walked back over to the counter and started in with her 'are you telling me my job? are you suggesting I don't know my job? how dare you question me! if you have a problem with me you can leave' thing. She just absolutely could not see that 'it's our responsibility not the customers' quite logically progresses to 'we need to do something about this problem that has just been highlighted'.

In the end she stormed off back to the store rooms, demanding that we 'clean those stairs properly' as she went and stayed there the rest of the day, only popping her sullen face out when necessary.

Thankfully I went back to uni quite soon after that, but I felt for my colleagues who I left behind having to put up with her for quite a while. Apparently it wasn't just us that had noticed her attitude problem and head office seemed strangely reluctant to move her back into a more central store.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 14:17, 5 replies)
having a boss who is younger than you
anyone ever been in this situation? quite annoying really. a few years ago i worked for quite a big company in a PA type role to the young dynamic director, who was indeed a fair bit younger than me. now i'm not a big fan of being told what to do as it is. really gets my goat though when i have to follow orders from somebody who was but a twinkle in their father's eye when i was already a fully grown man. the guy was okay though, and we got on quite well. bit of a flash-harry type arsehole at times which bugged me somewhat, but i suppose that's what happens with youth meets wealth. unbeknown to almost anyone except me however, he had some pretty strange fetishes which he was desperate to keep secret. think dressing up in tight, figure hugging black outfits and getting people to punch you and you sort of get the idea. yeah.

anyway, i've never been one to judge and as i said we got on quite well. just a bit weird to have a boss who is considerably younger than you is all. anyone ever had this?

(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 12:46, 12 replies)
I really daren't get onto my current bosses
because that place makes me so angry that yesterday I walked off a shift, and you'll just have to take my word for it that I'm someone that prides themselves on always being as professional as my flawed human nature will allow (at work anyway :p).

But a good few years ago I worked in a fruit and veg concession inside a Kwiksave, it was just me- sweet sixteen and not even eligible for minimum wage despite having my own place, and my rapidly approaching senility 'supervisor' who I will call 'D.'. This guy was lovely really, just from a different age, and despite the fact that within a month of working there I was practically running the place he never stopped seeing me as a) young and b) female so I had to do a lot of our job while he was looking the other way, in truth I think it would have been a major blow to his ego to know that I did things like recheck his order sheets before they got faxed off to catch the regular and major mistakes/oversights (I started doing this after the time he ordered a whole pallet of jaffas instead of a box when we barely sold 2 oranges a day), the whole time I was there he found excuses not to officially show me the ordering system, yet when we took a guy on to cover 16 hours a week he showed him his 2nd day!

Anyway, once when I was putting out some new stock I came across a very large spider in one of the fruit boxes. I never used to have a major phobia of spiders (though they can GET TO FUCK when they do that quick scuttle at you) but I don't mind admitting that this one was giving me some major fear. A customer came in at this point so I went and served him, made sure no-one else was likely to come in and then went off to find the supermarket deputy to lend me something I could catch the bugger in. After he'd offered to get him on a piece of paper, went white when I showed him my new charge, then wandered off again to 'find a bigger boat', we settled on a big yogurt pot (yay lid!) and spent a fun twenty minutes cornering Mr. Scuttles and safely securing him in his new temporary home/pot.

D. often rang in to 'check on me' during a shift so I waited for his call to ask his advice on the next move, having already been told by the supermarket manager that we'd need to report it to our head office and then get someone in to identify what the spider was. I swear, within 5 minutes the guy was in! any excuse to feel useful/in charge, but he poo-poo'd my notions of it maybe being a foreign critter and told me I was over-reacting (which was funny given that the only reaction I'd given up to that point was 'I found a spider, it doesn't look like any I've seen before so I caught it to be identified').
After I hassled him into giving me the number for our boss he agreed to ring himself and a few minutes later I was put on the phone with an irate manager
"Now, it doesn't do anyone any good to overreact love"
"I'm not, I just thought you'd want to know what's going on. Plus, where ever it's come from, at some point it's been in your warehouse, you might get more of them"
"house spiders are hardly anything to worry about love, we get them in warehouses just like yer own house"

I glanced over at D., he smiled sheepishly.

"It's not a house spider"
"Well it sounds like one to me"
"It's definitely not"
"They CAN get pretty big love"
"I know what a house spider looks like, even scaled up, I've seen plenty of them, this is about twice the size of the biggest one I've seen, its legs are shorter and much thicker, its body looks armoured, it's fangs are more pronounced and it has distinctive markings on its back"
"...put D. back on"

They finished their little chat, the boss was spooked enough to convince D. to call in someone to identify the spider but was reassured by D.'s conviction it was all fine.
D. was in in the morning so said he would sort it out then, he went home and I finished up my shift.


I wander in, chat to D. about the morning, go into the back to drop my things off...notice an empty yogurt pot. Suspicion blooms in the deepest pits of my stomach.

"um...what happened with the spider D.?"
"oh, hahah, I let it go outside!"
"D....please tell me you didn't?"
"yes, but I stepped on it!"


Later in the day I hear from the guy at the butcher counter next door that this is all true, except for the stepping on bit, unsurprisingly the spider was too quick for my 70 odd year old supervisor and ran straight off, finally free to terrorise the British land. Apparently he couldn't be bothered with the hassle of getting someone in to ID it (despite me offering to handle it the day before, and the fact that HE had never seen a spider like it either).

For a few years after that I kept half an ear open for tales of odd spiders in the area, I know it most likely would have died soon afterwards anyway, and that it couldn't really breed...but I still think now, 10 years later, that it's a really fucking stupid thing to do to just release an unknown spider into a most likely new habitat.

Sadly, that was far from the most stupid thing he ever did, but I've bored you enough :)
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 11:52, 7 replies)
The shit heard around the world
A couple of years ago I worked with a legendary technical manager. Since we were the two most techy techies in the company we tended to get sent off to fix broken expensive things on remote sites. Having similar taste in music, ale and curry helps in these circumstances when you're often working away and staying in B&Bs.

The only thing was, whenever we went to a site I had to make sure we were there half an hour before anyone else was likely to turn up. Said technical manager would have a quick scout around the site, then slope off into the bushes to curl one down. Twenty minutes or so later he'd emerge, grinning like a mong and showing anyone who cared a mobile phone pic of the newly-hatched brown trout.

For all I know he's still doing it.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 11:37, Reply)
Top Gun
MD discovers one of his exec hasn't see the film Top Gun. Gives entire company the week off to re-make the film.

Then posts re-make on YouTube. It's probably about as good as you think it's going to be. Assuming you think it's going to be fucking terrible, that is.

(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 11:32, 2 replies)
Tales of Geedub.
Many years ago, I worked in a Sales office for a small company, down in that London. One of the owners of the company was a complete alcoholic, and very nearly brought the company to its knees through his constant pissing up the wall of anything good the other owners managed to accomplish.

We nicknamed him “Geedub”, through a convoluted process: his tipple of choice was scotch, or “gold watch” as it’s known in Cockney rhyming slang. This was then shortened, first to GW, then (Volkswagen stylee) to Geedub.

Highlights of his antics were:

1. Going out for drinks and a meal with some very important customers, Geedub was chatting to the big cheese of one of our biggest accounts, about a mutual contact. Geedub couldn’t remember this mutual friend’s name, resulting in the following conversation:

Geedub: “Gah, it’s on the tip of my tongue, I can’t remember it…”

*both men think for a moment*

Geedub (slamming hand down on table for effect): “I’ve got it! It’s Michael Prescott”

Other customer: “Er, no – that’s me”

Geedub (angrily): “I know!”

2. Phoning the office from his desk, and quickly answering the “incoming” call. He would then proceed (at great length) to have a conversation with an imaginary customer which would invariably result in him having to go out to site to look at a problem.

He would then proceed to disappear until 5:25, whereupon he’d roll back in, as pissed as a fart, and start work on an imaginary quotation for repairs that didn’t exist.

(These conversations were very easy to spot, and would usually result in everyone in the office stopping what they were doing to listen, and trying desperately to stifle giggles)

3. See above – Geedub would always have these imaginary conversations with real customers whose names we all recognised, so as to ensure maximum plausibility.

One day while he was deep in “conversation” with someone, that person turned up on our trade counter. When we told Geedub this, he said “Oh, I wasn’t talking to him, it was his boss” – the guy was a sole trader :)

4. Taking me to task for getting to work 5 minutes late one morning. When I asked if the fact I’d come in from Rugby, 110 miles away, on a train over which I had no control, through 5 counties and had still got in before anyone else counted in my favour he replied with “Just be on time tomorrow”

I’m sure there’s more, I’ll post again as they come to me…

(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 11:18, 3 replies)
I used to work in a sales office for a complete and utter cock
His name was Matthew and he basically made me do all his work for him. I'd research the presentations, I'd write the presentations, I'd use one of these here magic computer boxes to design the presentations. Then he'd go and present the fucker and claim the work as his own. Fine. No big deal. I was getting a decent wage. The prick used to keep out my way for the most part and anyway, I'd just been offered a new and better job down in Landan, so I was working my months notice anyway.

But then Matthew committed the cardinal sin. One night while we were out for drinks after work, my then girlfriend Emma met up with us after she'd finished at her pit. Most of the people in this mortgage brokerage were nice, friendly, cheery people. But Matthew wasn't. He was an oily shit who thought he was God's gift to womankind. To cut a long story short I ended up going home that night with Emma. She eventually told me Matthew had attempted - quite well as it turns out - to get his hand inside her bra as she was making her way back from the bogs. Emma started crying. I was fucking livid. If anyone was gonna attempt to fiddle with my girlfriend's knockers in public it was going to be me. But I had no proof and I could hardly go into work the next day and chin the cunt. I needed a reference.

So I bided my time. I knew Matthew, the colossal bastard that he was, would still expect me to sort out every fucking presentation on his behalf. And I did. Impeccably. I came up with some pretty decent stuff in that month. And then on my last day, a Friday, Matthew put a big bundle of paperwork on my desk and demanded I come up with one more presentation before I left. The utter, utter shit. No sitting on my arse doing bugger all on my last day. No.

This presentation was for a very important Midlands-based building society that were looking to use our firm to peddle their wares. It was a BIG fucking deal. Now, I had the dubious pleasure of sitting in on all of Matthews excellent presentations. He was a tedious twat who always stood in the same place to the right of the projector, flicking through the slides without paying them too much attention, leaving them up on screen for far too long to hold anyone’s interest, his dull as fuck voice droning on and on and on...

So at ten to five on my last day I went through the new shiny presentation with Matthew. He seemed pleased. It was a great piece of work if I do say so myself. Then he fucked off a little early to try and get his love stick in one of the poor temps he'd been sexually harassing in the local work's pub. That gave me enough time to fuck about on paint for a bit and put an extra page in the presentation just between the loan to value stats. I knew Matthew wouldn't bother checking over the weekend or on Monday morning. The extra page went something like this:

Then I put my jacket on and left.

The following Monday, sat on my arse watching the test match, I suddenly received five or six congratulatory texts in the space of a few minutes from my former colleagues. They were all rather pleased with my last presentation though apparently the client wasn't...

And who got a in a whole world of shit for this? Matthew. After all, he wrote and checked all his own presentations (for spelling mistakes, factual and gramatical errors, or - as the case may be - impressive meter-and-a-half tall bright pink projected spurting cocks).
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 10:58, 12 replies)
Time and a quarter thank you very much.
My immediate bosses vary and we have some very good duty shift managers who know what they are doing and one total waste of space who everyone dreads working with. I went to another section yesterday to see if we could borrow someone who used to do my job to cover a vacant shift and found that they have incorporated the shift managers' roster into their own so they can avoid him.
The "suit" responsible for our office usually leaves us alone but a few weeks ago didn't impress me. A new director visited (never see him again). For once when someone visits it was total chaos. All phones ringing, lots of shouting, things changing by the moment. The suit comes over to me with a piece of paper and asks me to put the director on the paging system. Something done very infrequently and a time consuming operation. I put it to one side to do when things calm down, prioritising, when he says "Now." I look at him in disbelief and then get on with it. On the bright side I got an hours overtime out of it.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 10:34, Reply)
I’ve just had a great meeting with one of my bosses after an accident this morning.

I was about to wipe my ass after my morning dump when the plastic cover that holds the toilet rolls on the wall accidentally opened. From the look of it the cleaner had not sealed the thing when she replaced the roll earlier and the front half of the case fell off at a perfect angle to hit me in the eye and temporarily blind me.

It hurt like hell and I will admit that I did yell a few expletives while doing a strange mad stomping effect with my trousers still round my ankles at the time (I was still on the loo its not like I could have done anything else. The sound of me yelling (and also beating the hell out of the toilet roll holder-Take that inanimate object) attracted a bit of attention from my work colleagues (we work in offices that were built with walls made of crackerbread so that’s unsurprising really).

Upon returning to my desk (with a now semi closed eye) my boss came in to find out what happened and has been doing nothing but take the piss for the past hour.

He has written the report into the company accident book, not for legal reasons but just so he can go back to it when he is feeling bored and have a good laugh at me making a prat of myself. He has also asked me to phone up claims direct so he can see me grinning like a mong in one of their adverts with a re-enactment of someone being blinded by a bog roll holder.

Thank God I’m only on half day today.
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 10:11, 1 reply)
The only thing I look forward to at my shitty job is my Marmite on toast for lunch.

Now my boss has forbidden it.....
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 9:49, 20 replies)
Worth getting sacked for?
Back in the mid to late 1980's I found myself in deepest coastal Kent during the construction of the Chunnel.
As I worked for a dredging company (Rock'n'Roll), we worked by the tide. If said tide was too rough we put in to operation the old skeleton crew, whilst the rest buggered off site to do whatever they feckin well pleased. As we worked pretty hard whilst on duty, we did have a week off in every 4 to compensate. Many a trip to quality European cities were had during these times. I waffle & digress however as this tale is in regards to a Bar/Nightclub on Marine Parade in Folkestone called La Parissienne/Pigalle, and in particular a manager called George.

Young me scored a job on the door of said establishment to further fund my monthly soujourns across the water. Enter into this narrative our anti hero - The bossman! Now George was all that is wrong with mankind, creepy to the ladies (under the misapprehension that he was an Adonis-like super stud-muffin. He was Greek but hardly given to lapping up the delectable manna/ambrosia combo. Regularly hanging out with the door staff, George would regale us with his tales of derring do and allround hardman qualities. The thing that really pissed me off however was his shoddy treatment of the bar staff and in particular one glass collector (Brian), who was very young, green and if truth be told a little simple. The girls loved him though as he posed no threat and they got all maternal about him. George of course treated him like shit.

To the night of the dirty deed. La Pigalle had set up a mud wresting night (Classy huh!). Said girls were writhing around in a large rectangular pool thingy as the gathered, predominately male crowd bayed for more. After about 20 minutes of slippy grappling, things were hitting a lull in proceedings. No more of the punters seemed keen to join in, fair enough really as it involved getting filthy and the more discerning male had pulling activities later on in the club. At this point George spies young Brian duly going about his pot collection and summoned him towards the pool thingy. A brief conversation ensued, cumlminating in George throwing naive Brian into the pit. The wrestlers naturally took the cue and smothered the helpless pup.

Brian freaked! I mean really freaked. The pitiful cries are something you dont forget easily. The wrestlers spotted that the kid was so distressed that they stopped and tried to calm him down. A deathly silence enshrined the whole bar. Even George looked shellshocked, only for a second as he grabbed the mic and continued to berate the inconsolable Brian. The whole gathering started booing George who slunk away towards the door. You know when sometimes snap decisions can go either way? On this occasion I decided that the best course of action, was to leap to the bosses side in case things got nasty. A cunning ruse however as what I did next brought the house down. As I reached George the opportunity presented itself magnificently. I made it to George's side and stuck out my hip, connecting perfectly with his and sent him sprawling, resplendent in his pristine white dinner suit, straight into the mud pool. The place erupted, and I just carried on walking straight out of the door and home.

P45! - Fuck him the greasy pustule of mongtardery!
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 9:37, 1 reply)
The Boss
I don't know where he is now, but my ex-boss spent most of his days looking after his two fucked-up families. He was a big fat fuck of a man, always eating, chronically fucking depressed and with a fiery mother-fucking temper. Thanks to my impeccable dress sense and loyalty to the man, I ended up as his 'number two' guy, but all that came to an abrupt end after I got capped outside the strip bar where we used to hang out. People say they always wonder what became of Tony Soprano...

lots of love,

Silvio 'Silv' Dante*

*played by Steve van Zandt, who, in a glorious twist, also plays guitar in Bruce Springsteen's E-Street Band
(, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 9:12, 4 replies)

This question is now closed.

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