Fast food
I worked in a popular fast food restaurant when I was 16. Crap money, crap hours, crap environment; but my parents made me get a job. The manager was alright, but his other-half wanted to be a manager too and so was going through the training.

One such night of her running shift we had an inspection the next day. We usually closed at 9 and we were fairly efficient since the nights were quiet and would get out about 9.15. She wanted the place perfect of course for the inspection, so kept us all back till 1am shining every surface and promised us time and 1/2.

I clocked out at 1am, went home, all was well. I'm fairly good with the old computers so logged in the next day to check she'd actually noted us as time and 1/2, to see she'd actually gone in and changed all of our clocking out times to 9pm. Cheers.

She got fired the next day for leaving the door unlocked all night and a bunch of chavs walked in and cooked themselves a meal.

Karma and all that.
( Regger, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 14:17, 3 replies)

I work in a pub
My landlady is an alcoholic. She is obsessed with doing the suduko in all the newspapers "before the punters get a chance" and is never without a glass of rosé in hand. As is often the case with drinking, you never know if she's going to be very lovely or very mean. Once she began telling me off for something or other, but fell over sideways which somewhat hindered her intimidation technique. Another time I was sure she was going to tell me off again, when she shrieked "surprise!" and showered me in handfuls of black jacks and fruit salad sweets.
(Mrs Ballunatic counting calories, not votes., Fri 19 Jun 2009, 14:05, Reply)

"Where's Craig?"
My boss has no social skills. In addition to (or because of) this, he is also a bit of a loud talker.

One day I'm in my office, working away, and I hear him looking for a coworker.

"Hey Craig! Where's Craig?"

He starts walking down the hall, getting louder each second. "Where's Craig?"

I heard Craig's voice, somewhat annoyed, but I couldn't make out his words. The boss heard it too. "Craig? Where the hell are you?"

I heard Craig again, and my boss replied at top volume
"In the bathroom? What are you doing in the bathroom?"

I could hear the door to the bathroom open as my boss went to investigate. He FINALLY figured it out, the tard.
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:50, Reply)

Nursing home wankers
My first *real* job - by which I mean, one in which I actually paid tax - was at a nursing home as a chef's assistant.

The shifts were 13 hours long - which was not really a problem, apart from the fact that we were paid £2.30 per hour, and only for 12 hours (one unpaid hour for lunch) and not allowed off of the site. We were also not allowed to bring food on to the premesis - the chef used to give us lunch if there was anything left after cooking for the residents.

...that was until our boss decided that she would rather see it go in the bin that see the staff have it. If we wanted the left overs, we had to pay £2.30 for it.

Well, that coupled with the fact that there was no smoking at all on the grounds, and you weren't allowed to leave the grounds - even for the hour in which you were not being paid was quite enough for me.

I took to fucking off at lunchtime down the town to spend my money on food that I'd actually want to eat, rather than poison myself with.

One day, I was casually walking back to work, when the mad-fascist-cow boss drove past in her Bently, no less, staring at me wildly as I was smoking a cigarrete.

I got back to work and the chef told me that she wanted to see me in her office, I asked if he knew what about, but he said "I have no idea, but she was as angry as fuck!"

I went to her office, tapped on the door, entered and said "you wanted to see me?"

She said that she did, and that I knew full well what about.

I answered that I had no idea. It was then that she started screaming at me that I was 'smoking in a forbidden area'.

I casually asked her if she owned xxxxxx high street?

To which she *really* blew her top - I shut her up by replying:

"Look, you stupid fucking bitch. You don't own xxxx high street, any more than you own me. You imprison me here, whilst not being paid, stop everyone from smoking, charge for substandard food and then have the audacity to fucking have a go at me for smoking in my own time in a public street?"

Anyway, during this tyrade, the owner of the place was standing behind me.

He casually asked me if I'd like to accompany him to his office.

I did.

He then proceeded to ask me why I was swearing.

I told him, it was because I was angry - I was, this was the truth.

He asked again.

I told him again.

He then said, "Ok, I'll ask a third and final time, why were you swearing?"

So, I said "because I was fucking pissed off, and if you fucking ask me again you are going to be very.fucking.sorry!"

Fuck knows what answer the mad cunt wanted, but needless to say, I didn't work there after that.
(dchurch bah, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:49, 8 replies)

Retail fun-ness
I work in a retail clothing store, with 3 Letters as their name.. let's call them You Ess See...

Anyway, I have 5 managers:
Anne - the stockroom bitch. This mental shouted at me for saying "fuck" in the stockroom, at 8am, before the store was open. Apparently customers can hear you in a stock room.

Rab - the mens floor manager. He is a legend, works in a bar too, and got me in for free last night as I just turned 18. Free drinks were all around! He often comes into work drunk, and during our tidy up period he'll say something like "Right lads, get tidied and dick about for a bit". And will then go about calling me a crazy cunt, mocking other members of staff (in a playful way) and will randomly burst into '80s songs.

Kerry - the office manager. She's immensely sound! One of my favourite managers ever and is probably the manager I work hardest under in said clothing store! Can have a joke about, get work done, run out to the shop etc. I look forward going into work when she's in.

Gary - the store manager. He openly hates the place, yet like many store managers is an absolute perfectionist. Nice, genuine guy, good taste in music, is a drummer, and hasn't given me disciplinarys when I really should've had some! The only downer is that he's ginger.

Then there's Elaine - the Assistant manager / ladies floor manager. She is the person that hired me yet seems to hate me with a passion. Now the store I work in isn't exactly the best paid, and they expect you to spend all yer wages on the clothes as 'uniform'. So, I got a job in a sports fashion retail shop - we'll call them JC Sports... so, I phone up the first store on tuesday to check when I'm working and Elaine answers the phone. This is a fairly accurate account of the conversation I had with her.
"Alright Elaine, it's Colin, can you tell me when I'm working again?"
"Erm, not really, Colin..."
"Ok, I'll phone back later then."
"No, wait. I've had a discussion with Gary and we both feel that it'd be better if you don't work here anymore. The fact that you have another job means you are no good for us as it's conflict of interest..."
"Ok, is Gary in?"
"No, Gary's on holiday."
"When did you speak to him?"

She stuttered, said that, instead of sacking me, she wants me to hand in my notice with immediate effect. I'm questioning that as possibly unfair dismissal and will appeal it, just to waste time and resources.
I still sort of work there though, as Kerry & Rab still want me there. And I respond to those two people.

Apologies for length / lack of sense this may have made. I'm hungover. Big time.
(ColinS needs to eat, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:37, 3 replies)

Safeway
Just remembered a bit of a tosser I worked under when I was 16.
Lazy eye and an attitude problem. I don't think he liked me.
Being unassertive I didn't ask for time off when I had a pilonidal cyst (I've spoken about this before, and got sympathy! woot!) as yet undiagnosed by still hurting like a skinned kitten in salt.
"I might not be able to walk up and down the isles very quick today... I have a cyst."
"Oh I'm so sorry(!) Do you think you can manage your shift(!)" he quoths.
Harsh, eh? But remember I was but a wee mid-teen without much backchat on my side.
Git.
He searched my bag once, as was company policy, after a shift. I wouldn't mind but doing Stock Management (checking sell by dates and wasting) I could have had shit loads of stuff out of the place. All I ever had was one going-stale cookie in 6 months and I felt really bad about it.
As he's checking my bags and looking suspicious about a half empty can of aerosol ( "Why have you got this?"... why the fuck do you think Mr Management College?) a mate walks past the office with a bag full of donuts. Bastard.
I was the hardest worker in section, got fuck all recognition for it. They even screwed me on pay - the younger shelf stackers were getting more than me.
/rant
*seethe*
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:34, Reply)

My boss
My boss was a bully. Always on at me to work Saturdays, always haranguing me about TPS reports, lording it over the other guys I worked with too. Mind you, that all changed when I had this hypnotherapy session which really changed my outlook, I moved a wall from my cubicle to give me a better view, ripped down his stupid motivational banners, destroyed a fax machine and stole his parking space – and despite this I got promoted!

Unfortunately the two other guys I was working with got sacked so we hatched a plan to steal fractions of pennies from the company – it worked a little too well and we ended up with nearly a third of a million. Anyway, long story short, the quiet mumbly guy who everyone ignored ended burning the entire place down. Still, I’m in construction now, which suits me better.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:17, 12 replies)

Gaylett: Part One ('Flash' photography)…

I used to work in a car parts warehouse. Every sorrowful day I would leave my dignity at the turnstile and waste my time pushing a trolley around. Imagine a glorified ’Supermarket Sweep’ but without any trace of glory…and lots more sweeping.

As you can imagine in a warehouse filled with troglodyte mongs, the deeply emotive and philosophical topics of conversation that floated about the place were a veritable cultural delight….(what I mean is that if you didn’t talk about football, booze or shagging then nobody knew or cared what the fuck you were going on about.)

I’ve posted quite a few times about the management from this place before – and they all deserve it...but I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned 'Gaylett' yet…particularly as I’ve got so much material on him that I could write a book.

Although his name sounds like a cross between a ‘gayer’ and a ‘piglet’, this bollocks-spouting bellend was so called because that was the combination of the initial and surname that adorned his namebadge.

With his short, stumpy, overconfident stance, his weasly, beady eyes (one of which used to be lazy) and sporting a bald spot like a monkey’s ringpiece that actually grew larger before your very eyes, Gaylett was a colossal mimsy of the highest order.

I have worked for some putrid cunt-stenches before…, some egomaniacal workplace wankwobbles, some turgid, turd-tasting terrorist tyrannasaurs of trade and industry in my time – but this winnet of crusty jizz not only took the cake, he dipped his dongler in it, then put it back on the canteen shelf to be eaten after the traditional Friday Curry.

Gaylett had worked in the same place since he was 17, and at the time in question he was 30-something and scraping the dizzying heights of team leader. He had no friends, no hobbies (unless you count ‘brown-nosing’ as a hobby)…and generally no life. Every relationship he had ever entered into (3 marriages and counting to date) was the result of work flings and an unwanted pregnancy here and there.

Now, one thing about bosses is that they all have an Achilles heel, some point that you can expertly exploit to gain some foothold over the puddle of misery that is your dreary workday. Gaylett’s weakspot was the simple, yet ravenous and insatiable craving to be popular. Unfortuantely for him however, every ruse he attempted to endear him to his colleagues always ended in catastrophic failure

Despite his blatant lack of sexual experience, He would perpetually brag to anyone who’d listen about shags that he had ‘scored’ behind his wife’s back whilst he was working away. Although we all knew he was making it all up, he would still try and turn on the ‘Casanova’ act to a bored audience of minions who would grimace through the experience solely because it beat working.

On one such occasion there were a group of about a dozen of us who were gathered in a team cabin bantering between ourselves, when Gaylett shoulder-barged into the conversation, and launched into his usual self-indulgent hyper-twaddle, spouting what he considered to be the immortal ‘ultimate male’ lines. He poetically stated:

“Are you lot talking about sex? I get more fanny than all of you lot – and I’m a fucking brilliant shag!”

Eyes collectively rolled in everyone’s heads. Some people ‘tutted’ and tried to blank him out, but he continued:

“…and I’ve got the biggest cock as well!”

Then, to her credit, one of the team scrubbers, a hardbitten hariden harpe called Sharon, spoke up first. She nonchalantly said:

”I find that when men always go on about how big their tackle is, it’s because they’re overcompensating, and they’re usually hung like a castrated maggot! ” She stylishly accentuated her point by waggling her little finger.

Everyone laughed, and Gaylett was enraged to be shot down in flames in such a way. He roared: “Right….you fuckers…I’ll show you!” before marching off in a huff.

Nobody thought any more of it – But little did we know that Gaylett was on a mission to prove us all wrong.

That night, he went home, went up to the bathroom, stripped bollock naked, and proceeded to take a POLAROID OF HIS COCK.

The next morning, he brought the picture in for us all to see, and rushed up excitedly towards the group of us before thrusting the sick-inducing schlong snap into Sharon’s unsuspecting palm

Then, with his hands on his hips, he proudly stood there and smugly declared: ”Well, what do you think of THAT?”

Sharon merely glanced at the photo, turned it to a 90 degree angle, raised one eyebrow, then said in a monotone, unimpressed way: “Hmm……it kind of rings a bell I suppose…it looks a bit like a penis……only smaller.”

As everybody guffawed at him he looked shellshocked. He then tried to cover his embarrassment by demanding she ‘repay the favour’ by taking a photo of the’ filthy kink in her minkle’ for him to look at, but she only retorted straight back with:

“Nah, only a fucking TWAT would go and do something as stupid as that to try and show off...”

Defeated, and with his protests going unheard over our laughter, he then slumped off and started his backpeddling 'damage limitation' exercise. He desperately tried to stifle any resultant rumours by lying that it wasn’t his todger in the photo. This of course, merely made things even worse as it implicated him as being someone that proudly carried round and displayed a polaroid of someone else’s cock...which had been taken in his bathroom.

What stunned me about the whole thing was that he genuinely thought that people would be impressed. On reflection, this sums up the arrogance of the man. I mean, what was he expecting? For all the girls to drop their kex and bend over the filing cabinet, whilst all the lads queued up to ‘high five’ him and salute him as our 'whopper-cocked hero'?

He really was an unadulterated cuntwhistle. It was probably only out of our naievity (and pity) that we didn’t get him sued for sexual harassment at the time. Worse still, he’s got away with it now…as he’s now the warehouse manager, and one of his first acts in charge was to ensure that everybody that knew about his ‘incidents’ first hand was driven out of the place or made redundant.

Who said the bad guys never win?

Next part here...

Third part here...
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:15, 8 replies)

Ron
Ron liked a drink.

He owned the small software company I was working at. Every Friday, he used to take us all to the pub for an extended lunchtime drinkathon until his missus, who did the accounts, put a stop to it. He used to go down the pub after work every day and a few of us would join him but the missus also put a stop to that.

He had to get his fix somehow.

One afternoon, he called me into his office for a chat. I placed my cup of chilled office water on his desk and sat down. He pulled a bottle of drink in a brown paper bag out from under his desk and said "down that water, have some of this". So that's what he got up to in there.

He used to lock himself in his office and hang his jacket over the small window in the door. Aparently he liked to have a wank whilst he was drinking judging by the reams of porn that he accidently sent to the office printer one day.

Dude.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:12, Reply)

this weeks qotw
when i started working at my current place (it rhymes with mitty blink)a bloke worked there who was a total wanker he was basicly the superviser in the office part but tended to bleed out onto the warehouse part a lot (now looking back at it this may have been a reaction to stress on his part)but at i was just starting my first job and he just yelled at me all the time (fair enough if i fucked up) but it was consatant and he could be really cruel.

it was like being bullied at school but with no way to get a stop put to it (the manager was told by many people about this guys conduct and did nothimg about it) -- anyway evently a friend of mine got so sick of me being down over it he called a friend who was ex-militry and had the guys legs broken-- after he healed and came back to work it just started again but by then the manager had been replaced and got rid of the guy in short order
(imgunnabesick rawr ^ \_/ ^, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 13:12, 4 replies)

Berkshire Hunt
Several years ago, I had a rough year.

My mum was diagnosed with cancer, my girlfriend had a miscarriage and a subsiquent operation where things had gone bad.

I was also buying a house for the first time, and there were several complications. I'd also opted to do the conveyencing myself to save a few quid and had bought the house from 'a man in the pub', so didn't even have an Estate Agent to hold my hand (not that it would be worth much in any case).

To say that this year was putting me under a lot of stress would be a fair thing to say.

In fact, it put me under so much stress that I got ill - not seriously ill, like contracting Chrones disease or anything, but I would catch any cold or flu going due to being generally under the weather.

In that year, I had 12 days off sick. I know that sounds quite excessive - it did to my boss too. I explained to him everything going on in my life at that time, and to be fair to him (despite him being quite useless at nearly everything and almost completely socially inept), he understood, and just said that he hoped things would get better for me, and so long as it wasn't a problem caused by work or the firm, then he was ok with it, and he thanked me for coming to explain to him what had caused everything.

So, all good so far.

Then, 3 years later, he was shuffled sideways to make room for the new IT directors mate.

A man, who's name is rhyming slang for cnut.

...by name and by nature!

Upon joining the firm, he took each of the 'project leaders' into a room, one-by-one to explain his 'vision' and to introduce himself.

Then he called me.

I wasn't a project leader as I wasn't one of the COBOL programmers (I was C#) and therefore not a 'real programmer' (his words - despite the fact that some of the programs I had written - and come up with - bought in hundreds of thousands of pounds each year, and had single-handedly written the entire credit control system for the whole of the multi-billion pound organisation - which is still in use today), and as such would never be considered for such a position.

Anyway, he sat me down and started to quiz me about certain days off. "Why did you take the 14th March off sick in 2001?"

"I have no idea," I reply - how the hell can you remember what you were doing on a specific day over three years prior, unless there was something quite dramatic going on?

...he continues in this way, for each of the 12 days I had taken off ill in that year.

I explained that I had been over this with his predecesor at the time - some three years ago. That didn't seem to matter.

I pointed out that the two years prior to that I had taken no days off ill, and indeed, was so busy that year that I didn't even have time to take any holiday. I also pointed out that the year after that, I had taken no days off ill, or the year after that.

I only ever take sick days when I am genuinely sick - I don't think I have ever taken a 'sicky' in my entire working life.

Sad, I know!

Fast forward to 5pm and one of the servers had gone down and wouldn't reboot - I was the only one left in the office that might have a clue about bringing it back up - despite it not really being my job.

He comes across to me and asks me to have a look at it - it's quite important as our clients cannot access their accounts.

I simply replied, "no, I have to go and mow the vicars lawn."

(which of course was a blatent lie, and one I knew he's see right through).

...and so I left. I mean what else did he expect was going to happen after that?

The very next day was the day we were to learn about our annual bonus payments.

He walked around with a shit-eating grin on his chops handing out envelopes to everyone, in which there would be a letter outlining how much each individuals bonus payment would be.

In mine, however, it had a letter explaining that because I had taken 12 days off ill over three years ago, I would be getting sweet bugger all.

I wrote my notice there and then, after 7 years of making a fortune for the place.

Of course, I was required to work a very long notice period - I refused. A meeting request was issued for a time about 6 weeks in the future to discuss my leaving day.

I left the same day I wrote my notice.

Strangely, a few months later, he was escorted from the building by security staff, and then so was HIS boss and friend.

Funny that.
(dchurch bah, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 12:55, 1 reply)

I've had two bosses
who were very good at their jobs. If they left, the company would've just fell apart. No micro-management, no bullshit, no pointless meeting about leveraging synergy, just out an out hard graft and efficient productivity, with the rest of us workforce feeling that we were well managed and felt quite satisfied how productive we were.

But there is always a flipside to every coin. Both of these bosses have had the people skills of Stalin with a hangover. On one occasion, I went into the office to discuss something and she said "Get out!" before I had even said anything. She did this to anyone who went to her about somethig without being invited first.

It was easier to keep out of her way, and any communication was done by email after that.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 12:46, 2 replies)

HARDCORE!!!!!!!! (Sales)
Ahh, time to tell the tale of Chris the hardcore business midget.

I have mentioned before that I previously worked at an IT firm in Sheffield, supplying kit to a number of locals for an inflated price. The company really took off and therefore we had a number of new staff start at the place, one of these new staff members wasa new sales manager Chris, a bloke who was around 5 foot and had worked at a more high sales IT firm in Leeds where backstabbing and sales targets meant everything. Our firms approach was a bit different to his and he would often be seen running round the office with a bright red face yelling sale sale sale at the close of every deal.

When he didn’t close the deal or hit a target was a different story.

I remember a few months after he had started I was walking to the office one morning and found his car in the car park. I was usually the first to arrive at work as I had to catch a lift to Sheffield so usually arrived at the site at 7:30 – 8:00 am (This was my pre- driving days). I tried the door to the premises but it was locked. Hoping to not find Chris sat upstairs beating himself with a cane for underperforming I made my way up to the sales floor and found……….nothing. The place was empty.

After a conversation with him (when he eventually turned up) it turned out that Chris had decided to punish himself for the missed target via walking home on Friday night after work (allegedly he deemed himself as unworthy of using company property for not hitting target). If he failed next month he said he was going to do it without shoes.

I may have forgot to mention this earlier but Chris lives in Leeds, a number of miles away from our business in Sheffield.

I am happy to say that I left the company before he got this style of treatment passed as a companywide thing.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 12:30, Reply)

I used to work in a lab as a doctoral student
Belonging to a well-respected academic in a prestigious UK university.

The trouble was that he had his head in a previous century. He actually had no idea what we did up there - he thought we were still in an age where all lab apparatus was made of glass and metal (plastic was something that just happened to other people apparently). In terms of scrutinizing our research, he spent more time obsessively correcting minor grammar mistakes than he did actually discussing the work that we were supposed to be doing.

As if this were not bad enough, he also had a terrible temper and a number of highly disturbing habits.

We always knew when he was coming up to the lab to check on us because you could hear the coins jingling in his pocket as he played some joyful trouser-hockey with his wedding tackle on the way. He had appalling halitosis. He had an unfortunate "habit" of putting his arm round any female students in the vicinity at the slightest excuse.

Apparently the love of his life jilted him at the altar. I can't say I was surprised. He carried a copy of the Little Book of Calm around with him, obsessively, and would visibly panic if he couldn't find it.

And boy he needed it because he had a temper like a volcano. We always used to dread the regular update meetings in the privacy of his office. It'd start out nice and friendly but then he'd find some pathetic grammatical error and start to get cross. He'd chew the corners of his mouth until he started to salivate horribly, and it'd all spiral out of control. Once, he broke the pencil he had in half and physically threatened me with the most jagged end. I didn't know whether to laugh or run away.

He didn't confine it to his office either. If he lost it in public he'd start shouting and gesticulating wildly. His favourite catchphrase - which we always knew was coming when the temper started to fray - was to stand in front of all his staff and students and yell "You're all a bunch of wankers!!!". Once we sampled it and re-worked in to a hip-hop beat. We called it the "paddy rap" and it became a source of great amusement amongst the whole department. He never found out where it came from.

He was tremendously mean. I once went with him to a conference at Leeds University where we were stood at the bar, him, me and another professor from the hosting institution. When someone came to serve the guy from Leeds ordered himself a beer and stood staring at my boss for a good minute, waiting from him to offer to buy me - a poor PhD student - a drink. When this was not forthcoming, he bought me one himself in spite of the fact we we'd only just met.

Eventually I got so sick of it that I decided not to finish my PhD and got a job instead. It was a pretty good job, and I was pleased. But telling him was an absolute nightmare. I survived his resultant wrath and, to this day, a small piece of me remains immensely satisfied that I managed to waste three years of time and funding on one of his pet projects. Bastard.
(MattDP (Squiggle), Fri 19 Jun 2009, 12:30, 3 replies)

What's professionalism to a young upwardly mobile person?
Many years ago, I was a sort of ad hoc webmaster for a portal-a-like that TBH was a pointless venture. Especially as the dot-com bubble had burst 6 months earlier. The MD at the time was a nice bloke, talked a bit like Mr Bean, but had attempted to launch a site at the wrong time.

Consequently, he was given the elbow and in came a new young dynamic MD who was about 33 at the time. Now don't get me wrong, I'm 95% certain that he reached that lofty position on merit alone. However, when your career rises that quickly, you've had no time to develop any wisdom or any air of professionalism. And that's what let him down.

During the first week, he called every member of staff into a meeting to introduce himself. A 90min meeting where no one manned the phones, as if the company had closed early. At the busiest time of the year too I might add. A 90min meeting that comprised of his CV as a PowerPoint presentation, plus then he outlined his intentions, which were as vague as a minor-party's election manifesto, interspersed with utter contempt for his predecessor including the line "couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery"

Back to the portal. Because the CMS (and most of the other components) was a bit too bespoke, and badly constructed I might add, my first task of the day was to take the site offline, run an obscure script that produced a completely useless statistics report and then restart the web-server. I kid you not.

One morning, I forgot to restart the web-server and went back to my desk to turn the stats report into something more presentable. Even though the site was offline for 20 mins it wouldn't make any difference. The site was getting maybe 15 hits a day, and most of those were internal, the rest were AltaVista's webcrawler.

The MD approached me and reprimanded me loudly, in front of everyone.

"Why is the site not working? That's your job, as soon as there's a problem, you need to be on it straight away. It's costing us money"
Everyone had stopped working and were doing that thing where you pretend you're working but watching something more compelling. The sales manger had stood up in his office and was looking through his partition window.

I explained how I have to disable the site every morning and that I'd forgotten to turn it back on. I also tried to explain that no revenues from advertising had been lost because of the lack of visitors, but he cut me off mid-sentence.

"So you fucked up then, that's not good enough, how much do we pay you again?"

I wasn't in the best of moods anyway because some commotion out in the street the night before had meant I'd only had 4 hours sleep. I'm an exceedingly tolerant person, but he'd picked the wrong time to kick off. I stood up. He stopped talking and looked slightly taken aback. I was not 18 inches away from him and I said in a calm, quiet voice, just loud enough for him to hear.

"I will go sort the problem, but if you talk to me like that again, I will kick your arse off the top of your legs."
"Don't threaten.." his voice wavering and none too confident anymore.
"and if you try any disciplinary crap, I will fill your computer with illegal images, doctor the relevant log-files and email them to Crimestoppers. The police will show up here, confiscate your PC, and by the time they get you to the station, the board will have found out and you'll be on the dole. Never piss off the tech-guy, Ok?"
We looked each other in the eyes for maybe 10 seconds or so, his mind mulling it over before shouting "I want it sorted, now" and he stormed off back to his office.

I sat down. I didn't care, I was in the last 3 weeks of my 12 month contract and I still had 4 days holiday to take.

A couple of days later, a courier delivered a new laptop for the boss. It was part of my job to set computers up for people, so I took it to him. He said he'd set it up himself. He also said he'll dispose of the old computer himself. Old computers tended to end up on a shelf in the server room until they were so old, they were worthless and were usually donated to some charity.

In those last few weeks, his old computer never appeared in the server room. Funny that.

Length etc
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 12:27, Reply)

My boss
who is an absolute leg-end, spent about 10 grand on two of the most beautiful superbikes it's ever been my pleasure to drool over, then spent another wad on kitting them out with carbon fibre, new brakes, clutches, mag wheels etc.

A week before they are delivered he gets a very bad attack of Labrynthitis (a massive inner ear infection that permanantly fucks your hearing and balance).

Now he can't ride on the road anymore.
( Jimminy_rickets was at Grills Gone Wild on, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 12:17, 2 replies)

Mr Mitchell
A thoroughly unpleasant character.

I was working at a pharmaceutical company as an IT contractor, the vast majority of software developers, project managers, etc were all contractors. Mr Mitchell was taken on as a permanent member of staff, his role was as a document writer i.e. to provide instruction manuals for the software which we were writing and the associated hardware: automated stores, things that suck stuff out of tubes and squirt it into plates, that type of thing.

Our team leader left for a better paid contract so the big boss decided to promote his in-house boy to the vacant position. He was given a grandiose title along the lines of "Chemical Informatix Technical Manager" despite having no knowledge or experience of:
Chemicals
IT
Technology
Management.

He succeeded in making himself universally hated from board level to the cleaning lady. He had an inferioty complex about us contractors, he would try to score points by ridiculing us if we made a mistake. He would tell us that we were mediocre and could easily be replaced with more intelligent people. He told the high-ups that he "couldn't work with those people". He did what he could to generally piss us off:

Timesheets - he would insist that we, well, mostly me, knocked an hour of our timesheets for "coffee breaks" before he'd sign them. He used to sit in our office some days noting down the times which we enetered and left the room.

Squeaky door - he had an office seperate to us developers. The room we were in had squeaky door hinges so he came in one saturday morning and oiled the hinges so that he could enter the room without making a sound, trying to catch us out. He told this to the project manager who naturally informed the rest of us.

Meetings - many of the contractors lived a long way from work so we tended to work ten hour days and not come in on Fridays, this was a well established practice. He would arrange meetings for 9am on Friday thereby forcing some to make a 200 mile round trip to attend a one hour meeting.

Bully - he reduced to tears one of the testers telling her that she was no good and everything she did was wrong. She was really good at her job!

His most famous moment of fucktardery was as follows:

We were trying out our ordering system on the automated robots and sucky squirty things for the first time. The functional specification documents provided by the manufacturers of the robots were a bit vague about "units of measure" and we had placed orders for quantities of gunk in litres. It turned out that we should have been using millilitres, we were getting specs of solution rather than filled tubes. Fine, we now knew for sure what unit to use and could adjust the software easily enough.

Mr Mitchell came into the lab and asked us how it was going. We explained to him that we had to change the units we were using but apart from that it all worked. He then came out with the following:

"6.02214179 times 10 to the power of 23", he really had memorised the number to that precision.

"What?" we asked in unison.

"Avogadro constant" he beamed.

"What's that got to do with anything?" we asked.

He smirked and said "Well, if you don't know that, you shouldn't be working here" and, victorious over the proles, he walked away in triumph leaving us in stunned silence.

They got rid of him in the end...

Apologies for geekiness.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 12:02, 1 reply)

I must confess that...
I have been pretty darn lucky with bosses in my working life, most of them have been relatively nice, sane individuals, although there have been a few which have made me want to poke spoons in their eyes… this is a story about a spoon-pokey boss…

Her name was Elaine, but she was referred to quite a lot as ‘the she-devil’ or just plain old ‘bitch’ by near enough everyone in the office. I could have almost felt sorry for her if she wasn’t such a gigantic arse.

She was clearly unhappy about being in her mid 40’s and would always totter around the office in tiny, tight skirts and high heels thrusting her old, wobbly breasts in men’s faces, it was really quite embarrassing to watch. I think she just assumed that because we worked in the motor trade and there wern't that many women in the office, all the men would drool over her - this was not the case.

Sooo yes. I think she took an immediate dislike to me when I started working at the company, mainly because I was young, blonde and liked cars - I was competition and therefore clearly a nasty piece of work in her eyes. As she was my manager I couldn’t really avoid her, and because she didn’t like me she spent a great deal of her time being evil to me. She would palm all her work off on me, tell other managers that I was lazy (yes me the lazy one, doing two peoples jobs) and just generally badmouth me around the office.

If I was a sensible person would have gone to someone higher up and made a complaint, but I was seriously lacking in confidence so just yet her verbally and mentally attack me everyday. Thankfully I did get my revenge on her, in an unintentional way.

I was planning on going on holiday for two weeks so handed in my holiday form marking up that Elaine would be covering my work while I was away - She was the only other person in my department so she had to agree. Before I went away I thought I would do the right thing and ask her if she needed me to go through anything with her, just in case she had any questions or needed any procedures explaining. Well. She. Went. Mental.‘I know what I’m doing thank you, I’ve been here for years, I’m your boss, I don't need your help’ etc etc. Not wanting to get in an argument I just left it and buggered off on my holls.

So there I was tanning away in Greece while she got a taste of her own medicine. Apparently she fell to pieces and just couldn’t cope with the workload. She made a ton of mistakes and everyone in the office suddenly became aware of how much I did around the office, it was brilliant! When I got back one of the main bosses asked me to write down everything I did at work and they gave Elaine a MASSIVE bollocking for taking advantage of me.

Thankfully I left a little while after that and Elaine was pretty much forced to take back her work and hardly spoke to me for the rest of my time at the company – result.
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Fri 19 Jun 2009, 11:58, 3 replies)

my old boss was certifiable
He was a geniune mentalist. My job interview consisted of me interviewing myself while he sat there nervously mumbling incoherantly and avoiding eye contact.

And that is pretty much how he communicated with everyone. If anyone has seen Ralph Fiennes in the film 'Spider' that is a fairly accurate representation.

Most days he would come in to work at 6 o'clock in the evening in the hope of avoiding any of his employees. On days that we did see him he was usually sitting at his computer in a darkened room with his face inches from the screen, slowly disintegrating. On rare occasions that he did need to talk to us he would creep into the room, stare at the floor and mumble something, then leave before anyone registered that he was actually there.

Then one day he stormed into the office at 9 in the morning and told the accounts woman "If you don't like working here then fuck off!" When she refused to budge he had some kind of brain-spazm and announced that the office was closed and everyone had to leave. So we all sauntered out in bewilderment and went to the pub.

Meanwhile the accounts woman still refused to leave the office until she got paid. Aparently he then scribbled out a cheque for ten thousand pounds and threw it at her, before rushing out and locking her in the office. Being in charge of accounts, she used her time while imprisoned to put her next wages through the system.

A few days later we were treated to the sight of him running around the office being chased by two policemen who wanted a chat.

Happy times...
( mutated monty, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 11:39, Reply)

At the struggling dotcom company where I once worked
A meeting was called by a senior manager to discuss productivity – specifically, our lack of it. Unfortunately, it was held in a glass-walled room that backed onto the uber-boss’s office.

As a result, we rank-and-file watched the manager of the company play spider solitaire for 45 minutes straight, while the second-in-command made suggestions over his shoulder, all while being told we weren't working hard enough.

I really felt like I was on the management fast-track after that.
(silencer, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 11:36, Reply)

Rix
His name was Rix. I won't give his first name as I don't want to go to court. He'd only been in the company for six months when I was put in a new team under him. Well, more of a double-act really, just me and him. Due to my 10 years experience in various parts of the company and the exams I'd taken, I'd finally managed to get a job in a relatively interesting area: Strategy. He, supposedly, had had similar roles in different companies and came highly recommended.

LIAR.

How can I put it? He was so clueless that if he was chained down in front of a Bumper Book of Crosswords, with Inspector Morse on his left and Sherlock Holmes on his right to help him, he still wouldn't have been able to discover a single, fucking clue. I can honestly say that he added absolutely no value AT ALL in the year or so I worked with him. Mostly, I did the work then he picked over it. He fussed like an old woman and knew nothing and nobody that would help in our role. He was 100 percent free of gorm.

Funny thing was, I quite liked him at first. He was fairly easy to get on with and although ten years younger than me, that wasn't a problem for me: virtually all the managers I work for are younger than me, because they've had a decade's head start. But then his habits started to annoy me. Constant stories about his car, some BMW or other, e.g. it had a scratch and he spent the best part of three weekends sanding and spraying it until he'd ruined a whole panel and had to get it done professionally. OK, but why tell us the whole story every single day? Also, he'd constantly, but surreptitiously sniff his fingers - yuk, and when he said 'marketing' it came out as 'margeding' and WITHOUT FAIL, at every single meeting we ever went to (and there were lots), he'd use the word 'predicated'.

He would moan about how the work we were getting wasn't interesting enough. He thought he should be advising the executive board on strategy. The sum total of his knowledge was a passing familiarity with the BCG Growth-Share Matrix (see Wikipedia), which is probably taught in term one of A-Level marketing [that's Marketing 101 for our American cousins]. Imagine going to the top guys at NASA and suggesting that to get more thrust for their rockets, they should have a look at skateboard propulsion technology principles.

This numpty I then discovered, was actually two grades higher than I had originally supposed and, as a consequence was earning over £50,000 a year, while I scraped by on roughly half that, while I did his job. Towards the end, we weren't given any new work to do. Stuff we should have been doing was given to other people and what did Rix do about it? Did he have a frank discussion with his boss, ask why, suggest stuff we could usefully do? Did he fuck. He'd call a 'team meeting', which meant we'd get up from our desks with our pads and pens and wander off to find somewhere to sit. Then he'd bitch about everyone and everything and I'd advise him to pull his frigging finger out of his arse, stop sniffing it, and get something done. Then we'd go back to our desks no further on; this went on for a year. Gradually, he started taking more sick days and 'worked from home' a lot, it was only a matter of time.

In the next reorganisation he opted for redundancy and was refused, so he had to resign, while I finally got a decent job. Hurray! That was back in 2007...

About six months ago we were recruiting for a new strategy manager, our department boss (a very nice guy) came over with a c.v.

'Che, you were in the team when this guy Rix worked here weren't you? What do you think of him?'

So I said (pretty much verbatim) 'He was a complete and utter waste of space and if you give him a job I'll leave.'

'Well, that's fairly clear. I think we can forget him then.' and he dropped the c.v. into a re-cycling bin on the way back to his desk. Out of curiosity, I fished it out of the bin and read a more imaginative piece of fiction than even SpankyHanky could manage - though a hell of a lot less entertaining.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 11:32, 1 reply)

Bit of a lame one
My Boss was weird. He though I was weird because I would read books on my lunch break and take breaks with the smokers instead of staring at the TV in the canteen.
Anyhoo I handed in my notice and that was it, for the whole of my notice period not one word, He avioded me. He would send me tasks to do thrugh other minions but never speak to me or ever see me diretly.
This went on for a fortnight, I should have seen it as a licence to do what I wanted but instead grafted up till the final 15 mins (more fool me).
I think he was scared of me. WTF!
Crap story I know.
(Gru being trolled since 1998, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 11:13, Reply)

Lot's of stories really
It wasn't too rare my boss in a company past would come in drunk, which often gave the most entertaining results.

For instance; we at one point were based in a shop front despite just being a web company. One day he had the idea of taping a €50 note to the end of a fishing line, attached to a fishing rod and placing the note on the pavement outside while he hid near a window. When someone came and noticed the note, he'd reel it in a bit...then a bit more as they stooped to try and pick it up; each time edging closer towards the main entrance. Genius. Except that house-wives/general day-walkers rarely were interested in buying a website, but still; didn't stop my boss from giggling like a mong anyway.

Also interviews. For any job we advertised, we'd always put the contact name as "John Fox" in the ad; that being a code for "it's some cunt wanting to work for us" - often there wouldn't actually be any jobs; some pleb would phone in 4 weeks late just on the off-chance it was still going. So the boss would often stroll round the office while still on the phone to whoever it was...and just randomly hand it to one of us with no explanation; mid-way through a conversation and we'd have to pick up the conversation just knowing it was another "John Fox" call. Most amusing, lines such as:

[random employee] "So tell me your greatest strengths".
[telephoning hopeful] "I did 4 times already"
[random employee] "Ah yes. So why are you well suited for this design job then?"
[telephoning hopeful] "It's for a php job?"

Best of all was when, inexplicably, the "interviewer's" voice would randomly turn female for a single question...and back to male again, with no explanation. Once or twice we even group answered back things like "yeah, sounds really good" in perfect synchronization as the guy reeled off about some talking point or other. John Fox had multiple voice-boxes apparently...and all this while the guy on the line was trying desperately to impress and keep his cool.
( slippery doctore, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 11:09, Reply)

I hate my boss
I work for a pretty famous company known throughout the world, for the sake of anonymity and the way I’m describing things I will keep the place name off of here.

The boss is seen by most people as a good bloke who loves his job but to be more precise he is a total ass to everyone and enjoys mistreating his workers (Myself included). His hiring policy is to use immigrants like me to do everything for a fraction of the cost. I know that we were shipped into the country illegally and he dosen’t give a monkeys as if anyone comes to review the site he will happily pay them off. As we are also cheap workers he uses us to try out all manner of unsafe chemicals etc he plans to use.

He also goes by the policy of hiring people that are shorter than him so then he has a feeling of superiority over the workforce (my mate who was 6 foot 2 was turned away). I have a feeling that this guy must be a member of the BNP or something as even though we speak English he also likes to call members of staff to him via a variety of hand gestures/ stupid sounds/ playing a flute he keeps in his pocket (I know this sounds weird but we low level staff have got used to it by now).

I have to go now, the boss has arranged for me and a few mates to sing a few songs to entertain a few kids that have won a trip round the place with a golden ticket. I just hope that one of them comes a cropper so we can take the piss.

I hate being an umpa lumpa

(P.S Before any of you say anything about forming a union or something we tried that but a few days later the union leader was found drowned in the lake with an everlasting gobstopper placed in each of the now hollowed out eyesockets)
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 10:57, 7 replies)

The MD
With the swaggering gait of a self-assured cock-about-town he prowls the office, surveying the small empire he built upon the blood, sweat and tears of countless designers, developers, marketers and an ever-changing, expendable unit of salesmen. His thoughts briefly drift to those sacrificed for his cause in the Round of the Redundancies, but just long enough to deliver a motivational speech to the survivors on how they've "really moved the business forward". The shallow words fall upon deaf ears. The motley crew that are left have heard it all before, coupled with promises of riches that were never given and improvements to working conditions never implemented.

He moves on, unable to hide the facial ticks and incessant sniffing that betray the Bolivian influence to his corporate strategy. It doesn't matter to him. It has worked thus far and secured a buy-out from a bigger, more experienced army. His spoils of war are rich and plentiful. He will bow out wealthy and content as those left behind are forced to uproot from the shiny lights of the City to the concrete monstrosity that is Slough.

The boy done good.
(Rilux might be pregnant and has bum-aids, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 10:28, Reply)

Goofy
One of my ex-bosses was a pathetic and clueless specimen. As he didn't have any friends in the real world he'd employ some absolute numpties and then try to befriend them - the desperate, sycophantic prick that he was. This obviously resulted in the usual fawning/favouritism and fuck all getting done. Oh, and although he hated children, he was obsessed with owning Disney collectables. He even had a front lawn in the shape of Mickey Mouse's head (I shit you not) and had cabinets in his house stuffed with grotesque porcelain Disney tat - much to the hilarity and suspicion of the staff I might add. He was also corrupt and ran his own eBay business during office hours, claiming he had Head Office approval. He'd bring in sacks and sacks of parcels to put through the company post and then have his staff drag them to the loading bay! Come Christmas, with his ill-gotten gains, he'd shop 'till he dropped and return to the office with hundreds if not thousands of pounds worth of gifts for his wife. Sad bastard.

I left and needless to say, Head Office closed the branch down a little while later.
(ThudStaffer3, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 10:22, Reply)

fAT UGLY WEIRDO
I had a short term (you will realise why) job, many moons ago, when I was probably a bit inexperenced in life and the nature of people's intentions.
The boss used to follow me around while I pottered around the workplace working happily (I like to keep myself busy)...We used to chat about general stuff, I thought he was being friendly and did'nt give it much thought, I would be more paranoid these days (oh what life does to you!
This is very hazy, probably because it was so wierd, I've tried to erase it out my mind and put it in the wierd bad experience box..
One day he was coming on a bit, lets say, overly friendly, standing closer, leaning in MY SPACE! I proceded to edge away from this weird encounter... The room we were in, as I remember was full of those hard staff room type sofas, only big enough for 2 people sitting up straight. There was a lot of them, all placed in a social gathering way..Anyway this fat bloke was moving closer and I was moving farther away from whatever the fookinghell he was up to??? He was my boss for godamm bloody sake......I decided in that instant that I had to get away from Whale looking bloke and ran all over the sofas to get away from him (I don't remember being scared, just getting out a wierd Alice in Wonderland situation)...It was like a fooking game of tag, me jumping over sofas, and him chasing me...but I was too quick, due to my slim build verses his fat arse. I made my way to the door and never went back...What a totally weird experience..thanks for reminding me..now it must go back in the box!
(Undercoverbitch *-*, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 10:21, 3 replies)

I took advantage of my boss' kind heart and gullible nature.
Whenever he asked me to do something I would pretend I didn't quite understand, until he eventually gave up and showed me how to do it. As he was doing it he'd say things like "See? This is how it's done... do you get it now?" And I'd put my finger to my mouth in a comical fashion and go "uhhh I think so..."
We would both keep this up until he'd finished the task at hand.

Brilliant. I never worked a day.

Length? Depended on the job, but sometimes it would go on for hours.
(I'm not here was here on, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 10:13, Reply)

Targets, Targets, Targets !!!
This was the mantra of an old boss I used to have in a sales department for a large human resources firm. Over the particularly busy summer period my boss, a bloke named Derek, a dour dyed-in-the-wool Yorkshireman who thought anyone from the otherside of the M62 should be tarred and feathered as a matter of course, set up an office competition. Top sales bod got a car. Very impressive. Very impressive, indeed. Derek handed out the competition details on a sheet of A4 and fucked off to his office to masturbate over the image of Geoffrey Boycot. Now, not being a driver and also as I was swanning off for a great big chunk of the summer on my jollies and wouldn’t be able to make a stab at the competition, I ended up spending most of that June sitting round staring at the busty office temp, Sarah, as she jiggled her way through load after load of photocopying. And anyway, I’d read the incredibly-fucking-small smallprint at the bottom of the flyer.

At the time I worked with a bunch of arrogant bastards and wasn’t really in any hurry to point out the blatantly obvious flaw in Derek’s great prize give-away. Instead I sat back, hands behind my head, and watched as this bunch of walking abortions proceeded to backstab the fuck out of each other in a bid to be top sales bod.

I went on holiday, came back, and a few weeks later a meeting was called. The fella who came out on top and delivered the best sales figures was literally cumming at the prospect of receiving a shiny, brand new Ford Fiesta (Derek wasn’t a complete prick, he was hardly going to give away a Porsh). Still, a Fiesta’s a nice enough car if you get it for fuck all.

Derek sat in his big office chair behind his big desk and ploughed through a speech about how great we all were, and how happy he was with our overall blah blah blah blah blah... And then Derek called this cunt who’d won - a wanker from a public school with so much oil in his hair if he ever went swimming in the sea he’d cause an enviromental disaster that would attract the attention of the world’s media – to the front of the room.

“You did well, lad,” said Derek. The oily sod beamed. Derek reached down, opened a drawer. “There you go,” said Derek, and placed something in the lads outstretched eager and incredibly sweaty palm.

I think the lad was expecting a set of keys. But he got alot more than that. In his palm was a Ford Fiesta. A Matchbox Ford Fiesta. A nice one, mind. It was bright red. But it was a small toy car all the same.

Derek then launched into a thirty minute tirade about checking the small print on documents, and about how fucking shit and lousy we all were. It was fucking great. I quite enjoyed it. Afterwards the lad who’d won had to sneak off to the toilets to throw up a bit; I think you could say he was well and truly gutted.

In a funny sort of way I actually miss having Derek as my boss. He was an ok sort, once you got past the fact he was ever-so-slightly mental and a complete and utter bastard.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 10:10, 4 replies)

I've said it once, and I'll say it again.
Good people, things will never go well in England so long as goods be not in common, and so long as there be villeins and gentlemen. By what right are they whom we call lords greater folk than we? On what grounds have they deserved it? Why do they hold us in serfage? If we all came of the same father and mother, of Adam and Eve, how can they say or prove that they are better than we, if it be not that they make us gain for them by our toil what they spend in their pride? They are clothed in velvet and warm in their furs and their ermines, while we are covered with rags. They have wine and spices and fir bread; and we oat-cake and straw, and water to drink. They have leisure and fine houses; we have pain and labour, the rain and the wind in the fields. And yet it is of us and of our toil that these men hold their state.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 19 Jun 2009, 9:57, 4 replies)