I used
to work on a sugar cane plantation in Barbados that did a bit of business on the side raising sheep. Fucking hard work. Very fucking hard work. Then one day the boss called me into his office, glanced up at my sweating manly form, and said gruffly:

"You're fired!"

And that was that. Not another fucking word. I was back in the UK within the week with no fucking severence pay, nothing.

Thats what you get for mixing sugar cane and sheep husbandry -

I was sacked by a man who lived, ate, breathed, and probably shagged according to the laws of

Alamb Sugar.
(Big Grant, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 12:06, 1 reply)

I've had a few bosses in the past....
.....but of late I've come to see a major flaw in my current boss.

Don't get me wrong, he's a nice enough fella, he's just a bit bad with people, you know?

If only he had that human touch, he'd probably be a lot better.

....I'll show myself out.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 11:57, Reply)

I was an estate agent for a week
and my boss was a proper, face-in-your soup alcoholic.

Everything was paid cash in hand, and we were supposed to get paid each Friday. When I nervously asked for my meagre week's salary one Friday he drunkenly yelled "I'M NOT A FUCKING MONEY TREE" and fell off his chair.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 10:50, 3 replies)

I used to work for the NRMA
(National Roads and Motor Association - similar to the Automobile Association). They were all bloody mad. Mad, and completely hostile to everyone they encountered. As Wall of Voodoo later sang,

"NRMA on the far side of crazy
NRMA: the mortal enemy of Man."
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 10:04, Reply)

To be honest...
I'm currently enjoying a four week paid holiday in Malaysia with no qualms.

My boss is great.


*Sits back and waits for flamage*
(CptFantastic stopped doing work on, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 9:48, 5 replies)

Can I just say that I think the 'Springsteen' Jokes this week have been despicable. You won't find me doing anything like that...

...and I’ve also been a bit hard on my previous bosses, so I thought I would tell you about a time when I actually had a very successful time with a very accommodating boss.

I had a brief stint working in America, and the team I worked with was under the charge of a hot-bloodied, Latino beauty called Rosalita.

The flirting and sexual chemistry was 'Magic'. It crackled between us, and seemed to intensify by the hour…until one day I could not stand it any more, I knew I had to ask her out. I wasn’t about to ask her at the office so I waited until she went home. I followed her.

After waiting a minute to pluck up the courage, I shouted at her window: “Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)!". Eventually, she wiggled out of the front door and I saw a very different woman to the dour demure lady who had become my trusted manager. I actually think she was stoned or something because she was 'Dancing in the Dark' all the way to my car.

I was transfixed, overjoyed at the prospect of not having to endure another 'Lonesome Day', I had a feeling that this place was going to be my 'Lucky Town'.

As she slid into the car, I tuned the stero into the local station: ‘Radio Nowhere’ and began to drive. Within a minute, the delightfully filthy scutter had her 'Human Touch' on my thigh, and I began to feel ‘The Rising’ in my underpants…

I quickly found a layby and parked in 'The Darkness on the Edge of Town', and she began to massage my monumental member like a fully paid up professional, as if she was 'Born To Run' her hand up and down my shaft like it was a heavily greased up battered Saveloy. However, despite her incredible efforts, I could not make it past half-stonk...

It certainly wasn’t one of my 'Glory Days', and me trying to explain the lacklustre case of damp cement in my concrete obelisk by saying I had a ‘Hungry Heart’ didn’t do too much to keep the romance of the situation.

She seemed to know what to do to get me going. She stepped out of the car, then bent seductively over the American flag design on the car bonnet. I didn’t need asking twice, and before long I was pumping away enthusiastically at her ‘Tunnel Of Love’ from behind. To keep my wood solid she shouted various dirty slogans and showed me pictures from various ‘art pamphlets’ that she kept in her handbag. After a couple of minutes, her eyes lit up with an idea to keep me rigid.

Rosalita looked at me with a smouldering glare. “Give it to me up ‘Thunder Road’”, she implored, before producing a small pot of ‘Philadelphia’ spreadable cheese and smearing it over her puckering chutney cupboard to aid lubrication.

“Are you sure?” I asked tentatively. “I’ve never pushed it up ‘The Badlands’ before”

“Go on…you know you want to…” She purred.

I shoe-horned my twitching phallus into her eager Marmite Motorway and began to go at her like a pneumatic drill. “I don’t know how long I can keep going, I think I’m going to snap my cock off!” I pleaded.

“Harder!” She screamed. “I want you to prove to me that you can go the distance. 'Prove It All Night'!”

But a couple more minutes was all I could muster. I spaffed and spaffed until there was little more coming out of my poor cock end than 'Devils And Dust'.

As I pulled out, spent, I then began to feel an instant irritation in my todger, which before long began to feel like it was on 'Fire'. The slag had given me the clap!

Then, before I knew what was happening, she pushed me over, stole my car, and sped away, leaving me desperate and lonely with my trollies round my ankles. I knew I would have a 'Long Walk Home'.

And that, dear friends, is my story of ‘Porn in the U.S.A’
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 25 Jun 2009, 9:48, 6 replies)

Now I'm self employed
I have had a total of 6 bosses in my career and they have been mostly good.

There was one who was a complete and utter cunt and if I saw him in the street I would not hesitate in bludgeoning him to death. My job is very specific and after taking a year out working abroad I came back to the uk to find the job market a bit sparse. I applied for few jobs and only one came up. This guy gave me a load of what I later found out to be bollocks and I ended up working 4 days a week, 13 hours a day on my own running his business whilst he swanned around town in his porsche seducing some old slappers behind his wifes back. Each morning he came in and found something to bollock me about, no matter how well i had done the day before. This became a war of attrition eventually and he got more and more frustrated with the fact that no matter what he threw at me I would laugh it off and ignore his ridiculous demands. Eventually he 'let me go' and gave me 40 minutes notice, thank you very much. What the cunt didn't know was that because I was the only one there I had no one to control me. I could easily pocket money from the till and disguise the evidence. I skimmed off the top for months and he never knew a thing about it. I am not proud of what I did but I do not regret taking the cunt for a ride as he was definitely out to make my life a living hell.

If anyone wants his details I would be happy to give them
(gentleman mongoose the Lion, the Witch & the Robot, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 9:27, 4 replies)

I've got a great boss...
Paid for my V Festival ticket in 2007, and didn't blink an eye when I called in on the Monday saying I'd be in the following week.

Quite often he'll come into the office about 3, move some papers around on his desk, sigh, then take us down the pub :)

Apart from 18 months working in the US, I've been working for this guy for nearly 20 years - he has his rants, but never holds a grudge.

Before I worked for him, I was working as part of a group of companies - 2 weeks before Christmas, I was laid off with the words "There's no money - here's £80". My current boss came round to my house the next day, gave me £200 and said there's a job for me in the new year :)

I've got a great boss :)
( snee held his breath since, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 8:47, Reply)

Just thought I’d mention…

In my considerable years on this miserable, boring planet I have encountered approximately 67 ‘bosses’ in one form or another.

Out of those 67, 3 have been good, decent, fair people…a pleasure to work for…

Every single other one has been a total and utter cunt

That’s a good-boss-to-cunt-ratio of 22.33 recurring : 1

In my experience a good boss, like a good woman, is fucking hard to find. So if you do manage to get one, take some time to realise how lucky you are and enjoy it, whilst not taking it for granted.

Sometimes we don't realise what we've got until it's gone.

Here endeth the lesson.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 25 Jun 2009, 8:36, 3 replies)

White slavery
After university, I went travelling for a bit and at one point found myself in the USA. I got a job on a farm in Virginia but this proved to be a mistake on account of it being incredibly hard work for little pay. The boss was an old southern farmer, who must have forgotten that slavery had been outlawed many years previously. I used to have to work my arse off from dawn till dusk every day, with no breaks for food until we stopped at the end of the day.

OK, there was machinery to do most of the big jobs, like harvesting the grain and so on, but when it came back to the farm I and another couple of student slaves had to move these huge bags of wheat around all bloody day. It was like something out of the dark ages.

Eventually, I had had enough, but instead of quitting, I took it further. I went to see the state representative, who actually listened to my story of antiquated working practices, and not only did he manage to sue the farmer, he took my case all the way to Federal government.

The result was a complete shut down of all trading of grain from farms in Virginia for a while, with all of the grain on the market coming from the midwest.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I got the east wheat banned.

Oh, come on, it's Thursday
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 8:32, 2 replies)

Mumble mumble
[lengthy buildup] (*something about an Aussie bloke catching a high-school student with MDMA hidden in some snack food, leading to some legislation bollocks*)

...and the headline read:

Bruce springs teen's Es, treat banned

Feel free to write the buildup yourself :)
( chart cat has an itch, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 8:31, Reply)

A bit tragic really
I had a job as a receptionist at a backpacker hostel where all the staff lived-in, including the manager who was called Seagull as far as I know...never actually found out his real name.

It is fair to say the lifestyle is a reasonably lush one but Seagull was a raging alkie of the highest order. On several occasions he came home, spewed his ring everywhere and passed out (leaving us to clean up the mess) then pretended nothing had happened the next day. He also pissed on a keyboard in the reception area then tried to blame its brokenness on us eating toast in a careless manner while receptionning, pissed in dorms where customers were trying to sleep, repeatedly set off the alarms in the middle of the night by sleepwalking through fire doors and tried to get into bed with several frightened backpackers. He drank solely in the nearest underground pub with no mobile reception so noone could get hold of him ever (I sent prospective employees to the pub for interviews) and generally did absolutely eff all when it came to work, leaving us to deal with all the junkie scum/sex offenders/thieves that plagued us as the owner refused to install cctv. In retrospect I guess I'm lucky he never followed through and shit the bed.

Added to this Seagull was diabetic and would go into regular hyper/hypos which would have pub owners and other staff members calling me at all hours in a panic as I had somehow become his on call physician/person who did all the functioning he was incapable of. I lived in fear of him choking on his own sick and would roll him onto his side every night while trying to box him in with pillows. The worst 5 seconds of every day were spent listening at his door in the morning to try and hear if he was still breathing.

The last straw came when the owner awarded Seagull a spacious and furnished room to himself with a custom built bed. I had been sleeping in a 16 bed dorm which was always at full capacity for 5 months, had endured litres and litres of vomit and piss, had been robbed (some junkie bastard spent £200 quid on my credit card at the Odeon - THE ODEON??) and physically threatened by some proper full-mooners - all this time Seagull had either been in the pub, hospital or his box-room hovel avoiding his life. How DARE he be awarded a palace.

It was the other post about having sex in the bed of the boss which reminded me of this. I orchestrated a raging night of chafe-enducing passion with a fellow receptionist in Seagull's shiny new bed before he took up residence. I then left the next day knowing my co-worker would tell the world about it thus achieving the rare combination of concurrent sexual and job satisfaction (though it probably didn't last as long as this post I seem to remember a hefty girth).
( bland is bland, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 7:39, Reply)

Well not that bad really
Honestly the boss I really hated, as he made me hate myself, I have no really good stories about, just a lot of time spent being yelled at.

However there was this one woman in a previous job, very nice although she never really had that much actual work to give me, who was one of the most hideous people I'd ever met. She had orange fake tan skin, fingernails that were waaaay too long for a human being, and most of all, a nose that was split in the middle ever so slightly exactly like a double chin. However, this was no slight split, this was creepy, the split was deep enough to cause a shadow giving the impression of a third nostril in certain light. I never could stop staring at that arse of a nose, and wondering in horrible curiosity if her sneezes sounded like farts. I still will occasionally feel the little cleft in my own nose and shiver in horror at the memory of ass-schnoz.
( Arsonade is saving up for a new box of hummus, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 7:28, Reply)

I don't know if this counts
but have it anyway.

This is the story of a stag night an old boss of mine told me. He was a good 20 years older than me at the time, but loved to regale me with tales of his wild and excessive younger days - mostly shagging and drinking - with a divorce and the failing of a promising football career thrown in.

The stag night was in his home town of Paisley I believe. Paisley - Scotland's smelly, methadone addicted armpit. Anyway, it was a typical, cliched, unoriginal boys stag night. They got really drunk, went to some strip clubs, possibly a brothel, and just got up to crap mischief.

Then, the climax (possibly an unfortunate choice of word) of the evening...what to do with the stag? Now, a blow up doll had been bought either for or during the evening, and a plan was conceived.

First, he was stripped. Then, tied to a lamppost. Ho ho ho very original I hear you say. Well, they had a plan. The doll was then tied to the stag and he was left to it. What's so funny about you say?

Well.

He wasn't just tied _to it_ he was also placed...um...inside it. Yes dear reader, he was given an erection, which was manhandled (eek) into the doll's hole...and he was left there. In the street. Erect. Inside a blow-up doll.

Now. 3 questions come to mind when I think about this story, and I asked them at the time, and to this day they remain unanswered.

1 - Who the chuffing fuck came up with the "give him a hard-on" idea!?
2 - How must he have felt when he became aroused by one of his drunken mates wanking him off in the street??
3 - Who the CUNTING FUCK volunteered to do it to him!!??

There will be no blow-up dolls at my stag...and neither will this old boss. Thank you for your time.
(Zutroy started without you, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 1:26, 2 replies)

The Drunk
When I was 17/18 I worked for a local council. At one point I was working in the office at one of the depots for a few months.

I had a boss there with whom no one would ride in his car. Because he was always pissed. He started work at 7:30am and would arrive pissed. You could smell him from a couple of metres away.

I started at 8:30am then an hour later was morning tea during which more beer was consumed. Of course. Afterall it's 9:30am and when you're drunk all of the time you need to top yourself up.

The men's toilets were opposite the women's. Maybe 1.5metres apart. Way too close. The women's toilet door was kept closed - there were only two of us and we were trying to protect ourselves from the stench of the men's toilets entering the women's toilet and possibly melting the porcelain bowl. Sadly the men left their dunny door open. So there were lots of unfortunate views of titty mags, smears (don't ask, you know what I mean), often no toilet paper (god knows what they used to wipe given they all sure as hell emptied their putrid bowels daily, that or they had the most vile, straight from hell piss in the world) and a little table for titty mags and for when they thought they'd be a while in there and took a beer in too. Part of the brain must have been burnt out in all of those guys as to survive more than a second in that kind of violent, almost visible fug would kill a normal person.

I was instructed to store any questions I had for alco-boss each day and ask them all at once near the end of the day. He couldn't handle a question every so often. It riled up his alcoholic temper. Most especially if he was required to read his own writing. Focusing after sloshing down enough beer to flood a small country was pretty much beyond him.

There was one man working there who was nice and impressively not an alcoholic, nor a perv or someone who thought drinking on the job and especially, driving, was a good idea. He or the one other semi-decent chap would come in on some days a couple of hours before my usual knock-off time (5pm), and tell me it was time to go. The first time I was really surprised and asked why, this was my first week. Apparently alco-boss had laid into the beer a lot (I was to find this was normal for most days) and he'd got to the point where he couldn't be trusted around women. The nice guy would stand there, wait for me to get my bag, turn off the computer and walk me outside ensuring I didn't run into alco-boss. Alco-boss never really had an excellent command of language and his leering and sexist comments were standard but after a certain point he would degenerate to utter filth, not to mention his acting out of certain things he'd like to do with women (he was married, I don't know how his wife coped with him, she was apparently a nice person).

I got used to being sent home early at various times but I never lost that sense of urgency to get out of there once I'd been told to leave. Alco-boss was a nasty drunk and how he got home each night and to work the next day is beyond me. He drove a big ute and swerved all over the road. He's dead now. And so he fucking should be the filthy cunt.
(Dog Bum Cute, wiggly, has scary anal glands, Thu 25 Jun 2009, 0:11, Reply)

An oddity from this morning
I get on very well with my boss, who is worryingly similar to me (to the extent that we frequently get mistaken for each other on the phone). We don't see eye to eye on sport (he's a football fan, I couldn't care two shits about it), or music (he's a jazz nut), but mostly it's good.

One area that is an occasional problem, however, is political correctness. I'm a fairly PC guy, I don't approve of casual racism/sexism and can be a bit sensitive to it - my feeling is, if you're going to make a dodgy joke, it has to be *seriously* funny to justify it. (I think this is pretty close to the consensus position on B3ta). And today, well, it was a fairly odd conversation. I'll do my best to report it verbatim:

Boss: I was watching Wimbledon yesterday, it was a crazy match. There was a dwarf playing!
FF: (pause) A dwarf.
Boss: It was fucking hilarious. She was running about on her little legs - had a fair speed on her, but she was a fucking dwarf!
FF: Sounds fairly unlikely.
Boss: Right, that's it, I'm looking her up. (Wikipedias) There, that's her. Look - she's a fucking dwarf.
FF: (Reads stats) She's 1m 67. That's a pretty tall fucking dwarf.
Boss: I don't care how tall she is, look at her head!
FF: Oh, so she's a rare freakishly tall dwarf. She's doubly afflicted, not just a dwarf but a huge one. Is she outcast by the other dwarfs?
Boss: That's it, I'm not arguing about this any more. That's a fucking dwarf.

I don't know what this says about either of us. It's not even that funny when I see it written down. But I had to share it in some way.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 23:56, 1 reply)

Very tenuous
In fact, almost completely off topic. I'm applying for an internal job at my work, and having written a mammoth email itemising in excruciating detail why I should be considered for the job to my boss, I signed it off by writing 'Apologies for length'.

Cheers, b3ta.
(BaronBiscuits, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 23:47, Reply)

I AM the Boss
At my place of work, I AM the boss. I did mostly boss-y things, such as acting as a liason between my department and corporate, checking and proofreading memos that were sent out, and even occasionally celebrating with my workers on their birthdays.

But then things went wrong.

One day, we hired this new girl. She was an absolute stunner. Body to die for, face to kill for. I secretly admired this girl from afar to cut down on any creepy boss-ness she might have felt radiating from the direction of my office. Her name(a beautiful name) was Deborah. Well, one Friday, I decided I'd go ask her out. She flat out rejected me, telling me it would be horrible to date her boss, etc. I was crushed. So I did what any red-blooded, American male would do. I grabbed the company phone and rang the "naughty talk" line. After a few minutes of attempting to pleasure myself however, the rejection and sadness caught up with me...

I began to blubber like a baby.

Embarassed, I pulled myself together and grabbed a bagel. Chewing slowly, I began to re-assess my life; what was I even working for? I had no family, no friends, and my position of power would only leave me hollow inside. I had made up my mind.

On my lunch hour that day, I went down to a sporting goods store and bought a gun. A nice 9 mil. handgun, slightly heavy, but it would do the job. At a quarter past 12 I pulled into a deserted alley and put the barrel in my mouth. Weeping to myself, I tried to pull the trigger. Much to my dismay, however, the safety was on. At this point, I went a bit mental. I threw the gun in the nearby dumpster and turned around to go back to work.

I worked late that night, I just needed something to put my mind off of things... As it hit around 3AM, I decided to go outside for some fresh air. Not wanting to trip the building's alarm, I climbed out the window.(Actually, it was more like falling, due to the 5th of vodka I has drank earlier)

It was then that I saw her... In my drunken state, she was a vision of beauty. I ran over to her, and offered to pleasure her orally. She agreed, and began to unzip her pants... As she seductively slid off her trousers, I realized it wasn't a she, but a he. Having had no luck with the ladies recently, I decided to soldier on. After giving the first and last blowjob of my life, the man paid me with something he assured me "would show me a good time." It was cocaine.

I snorted a bit, then got in my car to get some food. As I pulled up to the nearest KFC, I missed the drive-through a bit, and smashed the menu sign up. After I had straightened things out, I grabbed my chicken strips and left. They didn't last 5 minutes.

This is where things started to get really weird. I don't know if it was the lack of sleep, or what, but I started to get loopy. Ashamed of my prior homosexual experience, I convince myself that the only penance for my sins was to chop off my own genitals. As I sliced through the scrotum and clear into my leg, I let out a howl of agony and stumbled into the street. Little did I know what was waiting for me...

After I regained consciousness, I realized that I had fallen down a sewer drain and landed in the catacombs of the city. I began to hear strange noises nearby. Looking around, I saw a frightful sight; there, in all his slimy glory, was the biggest fish I had ever seen. I immediately did what any male would do; I climbed on and gave him a good drunken, ball-less, fucking. Spent from my effort and the blood loss, I began to feel woozy. The last thing I remember is making jet noises, flying over moscow, and then crashing into a huge ball of light. Then, presumably, I was dead.


And that was pretty much a typical day. I'm the boss.





www.youtube.com/watch?v=NisCkxU544c
(DarkSol, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 22:47, 7 replies)

The cat murdering whistler
My former boss once described how he had suffocated his cat to "put it out of its misery" because apparently the feline was on its way out and he didn't want to spend the money to have the vet do it. I'm guessing he told us as some sort of twisted method of instilling fear in his employees, but we just told him that it was a terrible story.

He was a fat, repugnant ginger shit of a man and I have no idea why anyone ever agreed to marry him, let alone have children with him. He would always whistle, though, so you could tell he was coming down the hall. Also, he went into a rage if anyone ever described him with the term "jolly."

One of my favorite moments working there was when he called my co-worker a pussy and then we all had to talk to the HR woman about the incident. The result was a company meeting where HE told all of US that we had to watch our mouths. Wow. Fuck that guy.

Glad to be out of there and in my new place of employ. Easily one of the best work experiences I've ever had. And I actually like my current boss!
( intesvensk can't recall when I last checked the newsletter, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 22:10, Reply)

Quotes from the boss
Remembered since my previous post. The same, elderly, head of the company:

1.
BOSS: Ah, John, hello. Do you like my vase of flowers?
JOHN: Yes, sir, they're very nice.
BOSS: Hmmm... I'd rather be looking at a Beautiful Naked Woman, though, wouldn't you?
JOHN: Errr... yes, sir?
BOSS: Tim! Tim, come here!

[Enter Tim, BOSS's creeping - and camp - PA]

BOSS: Tim, wouldn't you rather be looking at a Beautiful Naked Woman than these flowers?
TIM: [creepingly]: Oh, yes sir.
BOSS: Right, that was all.

*He later had to be talked out of firing every gay in the building.

2.
[on learning that one of his female employees was moving to another floor of the building.]

BOSS: Oh, that's a shame, Janet. You're always so cheery! You have such a lovely smile. Sometimes I sit here in my office and I just... look at you...

Ewww!
(The Phantom Postgrad, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 22:08, Reply)

THE MOST HORRIBLE BULLY OF A BOSS
NG was the boss and unfortunately the owner of this accountancy firm. I'm sure that if he hadn't been the owner he would have been out the door really quickly.
I believe he had decided from the start to victimise me because I have Asperger's Syndrome and was therefore a perfect target. I am a really good, loyal worker ( no other boss I've ever had has accused me of being lazy and stupid ) and perhaps he felt threatened in case these qualities highlighted his inadequacies.
I have a Maths degree and as a result am really comfortable working with figures, a much-sought quality in accountancy firms. NG managed to ultimately use this skill of mine against me. He refused to give me adequate training and often never bothered to explain to me properly how to do a job. For all that, he'd always be down on me like a ton of bricks if I ever made any kind of mistake - I'd be publicly chastised.
Here is the kind of thing he used to shout at me for any kind of mistake: "Oh for f*** sake! Here I am waiting for - - and you go and type the whole f***ing lot out! I can't say whether it's to do with your Asperger's Syndrome or just lazy thinking as I'm not a psychologist, but personally I'd think just lazy thinking 'cause surely having Asperger's Syndrome doesn't make you as stupid as that! I think you just have a very lazy mind! Your attitude is Numbers, Numbers, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah - F*** sake!"
Additionally NG used to make me work extra hours and have short lunches without ever reimbursing me. In fact, I discovered only after leaving that he'd been cheating me on pay all along.
Not only would NG always publicly shout at me for mistakes, but he also used to come up to the person sitting next to me and right in front of my face tell her horrible things about me, things to the effect that I was a really bad, lazy employee who was completely incompetent at everything. Nobody there would stick up for me - they say the boss's attitude will rub off on the other staff. Quite a few of them too appeared to have the attitude that I was a bad, lazy, stupid person.
One time in fact NG had lost a document he was desperately needing for a client meeting (he was always very messy, yet once gave me a big row in front of the whole office for letting my desk get somewhat untidy) and started stomping round the office, blurting out about how, "The problem in this office is that Gandalf is completely incapable of - - From now on we're all to ignore Gandalf -"
NG was an extremely arrogant and self-important person and very full of himself. For all that he used to act in unbelievably stupid ways at times. For example, he might tell whoever was answering the phone to say that he was in a meeting. He would then tell that person as they were on the phone to tell or ask the client something. The client would then hear him speaking and so refuse to believe that he was in a meeting. This would ultimately be NG's loss as the client would subsequenly be likely to leave him.
NG was maverick in that he had a slightly posh, upper-class accent, but was very foul-mouthed. Normally he would be nice to clients' faces, but might talk about them behind their backs (as I mentioned he did not always even have the curtesy to talk about me behind my back), and was constantly talking about how either they or people from the Inland Revenue were "a complete f***ing a***", or "a f***ing b**ch", or "a stupid cow". A very hypercritical individual, he once made the racist comment that he hated American people because they were so full of themselves.
Like a lot of bad people NG was good at making himself appear like a good, nice person. I remember the first time I met him I thought he just seemed like a nice, pleasant person. Hence he was obviously able to attract both clients and staff. Unsurprisingly, the place had a sky-high staff turnover rate, plus a pretty high client one as well.
Just why was NG such an awful individual? I will never know. He appeared to be happily married with two grown children who were both doing quite well for themselves. Perhaps he felt unhappy about his lack of interpersonal and management skills. Perhaps he did not like hard work (he once threw a job at me because he was going out for a game of golf, and aggressively and rudely refused to tell me how to go about doing it, saying I needed to use my brains and work it out for myself, just expecting to find it all done correctly upon returning from his game of golf) and was projecting his laziness onto me, possibly using my Asperger's Syndrome as *proof* that I was lazy.
Thankfully I am now working for another accountancy firm which is far, far better, and am flourishing in an environment which is infinitely more supportive. I have learnt so much more there than I ever did whilst working for NG, and have achieved far more for my bosses there than I ever did for NG. This just shows that you achieve far more for a good boss than you do for a bad one.
(Gandalf, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 21:10, 2 replies)

I've not really had any mad, psycho bosses...
...apart from this one who never does any work, never makes an appearance until 3pm, and blames everyone else for the lack of work done.

Oh, that's me.

Best boss I ever had was the actor who played Mr Parrot from Grange Hill. The man is a legend.
(TheUnthinkingMinority needs some new music to listen to., Wed 24 Jun 2009, 20:45, Reply)

I'm self-employed
My boss is a cunt

/pith
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 20:44, Reply)

Horrible Jargon Boss
I had a boss years ago that would never meet your eye.
He'd be looking up at the ceiling, down at your shoes,
over at the desk next to you, but never look at you
directly. You'd get dizzy talking to him.

He loved jargon, and used all sorts of manager speak in
meetings. But he didn't understand it and would misuse the
terms. In one meeting he once said "We need to
come together - we need to combine our synergies".

...Which means we need to combine our combined energies.
I snickered at that.

He also tasked me and another co-worker to do the same task
at the same time, so he could see who would finish quicker.
Obviously we clashed - I overwrote the co-workers code and
we went to the manager when we found we were working on
the same thing. He mumbled something about metrics and
then gave me the task to finish. Sigh.

I had enough and turned in my resignation. The only time
he looked at me directly and told me "You need to give me
a plan on how to accomplish everything we planned for you
to do for the next year".

Funny, I had no plan for my work for the year, and had no
idea what I was to accomplish. So I gave a list of my
skills and work I was doing and planning on finishing before
I left.

Wasn't good enough - the response "I need that plan -
how are we to accomplish all that work for the year when
everyone is busy on other tasks". I wanted to suggest he
get on a computer and code it himself, but didn't.

I left quietly without responding to that without issue.

Whew!
(potted plant, Wed 24 Jun 2009, 19:31, 2 replies)